On Palm Sunday, in Jerusalem’s Old City, Israeli police prevented senior Christian clergy from entering the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. Within hours, images and reports spread globally. The reaction was swift and condemnatory: an affront to religious freedom at one of Christianity’s holiest sites.
Under pressure, access was restored. But the narrative had already taken hold, and far less attention was given to the context in which the decision was made.
Israel is not managing routine security; it is operating under the strain of an ongoing war against an adversary that has demonstrated both intent and reach. Days before Palm Sunday, debris from an Iranian missile fell in the Old City, near sites sacred to billions – places whose symbolic and human significance make them inherently sensitive in times of conflict. In such an environment, large gatherings in this dense and symbolically charged space present not only logistical challenges but clear vulnerabilities.
None of this makes the Palm Sunday restrictions beyond scrutiny. The question is not whether the threat was real, but whether the response was measured. Democracies are tested precisely in such moments, when security collides with fundamental freedoms. Restricting access to a major religious observance demands careful justification.
But that was not the debate that unfolded. Instead, the episode was quickly elevated into something broader: a sweeping moral judgment. Israel was not simply questioned; it was judged largely in isolation from the conditions under which the decision was made. This pattern extends beyond a single incident.
When context disappears from the conversation
Since the Hamas terrorist attacks of October 7, 2023, in which 1,200 people were killed and 251 taken hostage in a single day, Israel has operated under a level of threat that would strain any state. The deliberate targeting of civilians, the abduction of hostages, and the threat of repeated attacks form the backdrop to its decisions. And yet, as the war has progressed, much of the international moral focus has shifted elsewhere.
Pope Francis, like many global leaders, initially condemned the October 7 massacre and expressed solidarity with Israeli victims. Over time, however, the Vatican’s emphasis has increasingly centered on the humanitarian toll in Gaza, with repeated calls for ceasefire and growing criticism of Israel’s military conduct.
The suffering of Palestinian civilians is real and must be acknowledged. But the contrast in tone and persistence raises a harder question: Why does scrutiny appear so much more sustained – and more severe – in one direction? Why are Israeli actions so readily framed as moral failures, even when taken under conditions of ongoing threat, while the context that shapes those actions recedes so quickly?
Part of the answer lies in the present. Israel is a democratic state, closely aligned with the West, and therefore subject to its expectations and scrutiny. But part of it may also lie in the past.
For centuries, the relationship between the Catholic Church and the Jewish people was marked by theological hostility and discrimination. The charge of collective Jewish guilt for the death of Jesus, formally repudiated only in the 20th century, shaped attitudes for generations. Episodes such as the Inquisition and long-standing marginalization left deep scars. The Vatican’s role during the Holocaust remains debated.
The Church has since taken meaningful steps toward reconciliation. That transformation was real and consequential. Yet history does not disappear. It lingers, often subtly, in the formation of moral judgment.
This is not to suggest that criticism of Israel is insincere. It is to suggest something more complex: that historical memory may shape moral reflexes in ways that are neither fully acknowledged nor evenly applied. The result can be a form of asymmetry – one in which Israel is judged not only for its actions, but against an unspoken historical backdrop. The Palm Sunday incident fits this pattern.
A contested security decision, made under real threat, becomes a symbol of moral failure. The complexity – the proximity of missile debris, the vulnerability of the Old City – quickly fades. What remains is a simplified narrative.
Israel may deserve criticism. But the question is whether it is judged within the same framework applied to others facing comparable threats – or a more demanding one shaped as much by history as by present reality.
In Jerusalem, no decision is ever just about the present. Every action unfolds in the shadow of centuries. The question is whether those shadows illuminate moral judgment – or distort it.
The writer is a Brazilian journalist, the CEO of Art Presse, and author of A Sisyphean Task (translated from the Brazilian hors commerce title Enxugando Gelo), on media coverage of the war between Israel and terrorist groups.