Who decides the greater good in wartime? Israel Is fighting that battle now - opinion

In times of peace, the phrase “the greater good” is a unifying idea. It suggests a shared purpose, a common direction, and a willingness by individuals and institutions to sacrifice something for the benefit of society as a whole. In war, however, the idea of the greater good becomes more complicated. It is no longer an abstract concept discussed in philosophy classrooms or political theory books. It becomes immediate, emotional, and contested.

But in wartime, that same structure can create fragmentation.

Different institutions begin to define the greater good differently.

Politicians define it in terms of political survival and electoral legitimacy.

Courts define it in terms of legal norms and institutional authority.

The military defines it in terms of operational necessity and battlefield realities.

The media defines it in terms of public interest and the need to inform.

Activists define it in terms of moral frameworks and human rights.

Each perspective may be legitimate. But when all of them compete simultaneously, the result is not clarity — it is confusion. Instead of a unified national definition of the greater good, a democracy at war can find itself in a constant argument about what the greater good even is. And that argument itself becomes a strategic vulnerability.

War produces dramatic images — destruction, funerals, grieving families, burning buildings. These images are real and must be reported. But when the same images are repeated endlessly, hour after hour, day after day, the media’s role subtly shifts. It moves from informing the public to shaping the emotional environment in which the public lives.

Fear or pride becomes the dominant national emotion.

Destruction or resilience becomes the dominant national image.

Failure or victory becomes the dominant national narrative.

Modern media — both social and traditional - which has become increasingly polarized — creates a constant emotional feedback loop. In conflict environments, news consumption becomes tied to survival psychology. People feel that information equals safety, so they constantly check updates. But neurologically, this creates a dopamine and anxiety loop — a cycle of stress, relief, and renewed stress.

The result is a society that feels constantly under threat, constantly on edge, constantly emotionally reactive. Even when the battlefield situation is stable or improving, the national mood can feel like desolation.

This is not necessarily intentional. It is systemic. Dramatic images attract viewers, and viewers drive ratings. But the result is that media repetition can unintentionally serve as a form of psychological warfare against the very society it is trying to inform.

In modern wars, morale is shaped not only by battlefield victories but by the images and narratives that dominate television screens and social media feeds.

War does not stop politics. In democracies, opposition parties continue to oppose governments. That is part of democratic life and accountability is essential. But war creates a powerful political temptation. Every military mistake, intelligence failure, logistical problem, or controversial decision can be used not only to improve policy but also to weaken political opponents.

When opposition leaders highlight every failure, especially in the middle of a war, they may believe they are performing their democratic duty. Sometimes they are. But there is a difference between accountability and opportunism.

Israel’s political environment complicates this further because elections are always on the horizon. Political actors are not only thinking about national strategy — they are thinking about public opinion and political positioning.

Statements made for domestic political purposes can have international strategic consequences. When senior Israeli figures accuse Israeli soldiers of atrocities or use extreme language, those statements do not remain inside Israeli political discourse. They travel globally. They appear in international courts, foreign media, and propaganda campaigns by Israel’s enemies.

This raises a difficult democratic question: where is the line between freedom of speech and strategic responsibility in wartime?

Consider two scenarios.

But what happens when a public figure makes statements that are used globally to accuse Israel of war crimes or genocide? That may be considered free speech within a democracy, but strategically it can cause enormous damage to the country internationally.

Democracies have always struggled with this dilemma: how to protect freedom of speech while also protecting national security and national cohesion in wartime.

Israel’s situation is further complicated by its ongoing legal and constitutional crisis. The conflict between the courts, the attorney general, elected officials, and the military legal system has not disappeared during the war. If anything, it has intensified.

This creates a deeper structural problem. In many countries, wartime decision-making authority becomes clearer and more centralized. In Israel, decision-making authority is often contested in real time between political leadership, military leadership, legal authorities, and the courts.

This is not merely a legal debate. It is a debate about who ultimately defines the national interest and the greater good.

Is it the elected government?

Is it the courts?

Is it legal advisers?

Is it the military?

Or is it the public itself?

When these questions are unresolved during wartime, national strategy becomes slower, more controversial, and more difficult to execute. The country does not only debate what to do; it debates who has the authority to decide what to do.

This is not just a political crisis. It is a strategic one.

And yet, despite all of this division, something remarkable happens in Israel every time the country is attacked. Ordinary citizens mobilize. People volunteer. Donations pour in. Farmers are helped by volunteers. Soldiers receive equipment from civilians. Families open their homes to displaced people.

In action, Israeli society is often far more unified than Israeli politics, media, or institutions.

This raises an important question: if the public demonstrates unity in action, why is the national conversation so divided in words?

Perhaps the answer is that the public has allowed others to define the national mood. Media defines what we see. Politicians define what we argue about. Legal institutions define what is allowed. Social media defines what outrages us. Clearly we know that foreign influences with significant investments are actively trying to influence our national mood as well.

But in a democracy, the public ultimately defines the greater good — not the media, not the courts, not politicians, and not commentators.

The public has the right to say:

We are informed.

We understand the risks.

We understand the costs.

We understand the moral dilemmas.

But we will decide what sacrifices we are willing to make for the future of our country.

Israel’s greatest strength has never been its weapons alone. It has been its society — its resilience, its sense of shared destiny, and its ability to unite in moments of crisis.

Today, Israel faces not only a military war but a war over national direction, national morale, and the definition of the greater good.

If that definition is left entirely to media cycles, political battles, legal conflicts, and social media outrage, the country risks becoming strategically paralyzed — arguing internally while fighting externally.

The public must reclaim its role.

Citizens must demand information, not emotional manipulation.

They must demand accountability, not political opportunism.

They must demand clarity from institutions, not endless power struggles.

And most importantly, they must participate actively in the democratic process — not only during elections, but every day. Call into radio programs. Write comments. Send feedback to journalists. Demonstrate peacefully. Speak publicly. Make it clear to leaders, media, and institutions:

We are informed. We understand the risks. We understand the costs. We will take it from here.

Judaism has long grappled with the question of the greater good. The Torah and Talmud place enormous emphasis on communal responsibility — the idea that society must function as a moral community, not just a collection of individuals.

The concept of tikkun olam — repairing the world — reflects a collective responsibility for society. The principle of pikuach nefesh — saving a life — teaches that human life has infinite value. Jewish law constantly balances individual rights with communal responsibility, justice with mercy, and morality with survival.

Jewish thought does not define the greater good as simply what benefits the majority. It defines the greater good as the creation of a just, moral, and resilient society — one that protects life, pursues justice, and ensures the survival of the community.

In that sense, the greater good is not only a political concept. It is a moral one.

And perhaps that is the most important lesson for Israel today.

The greater good cannot be defined only by politicians, courts, media, or military leaders. In a democracy — and in Jewish tradition — the greater good must ultimately be defined by the people themselves, acting responsibly, morally, and with a sense of shared destiny.

Because in the end, the greatest strategic asset Israel has is not its weapons, its technology, or even its alliances.

It is its people, the descendants of the same people that at Mount Sinai, agreed to follow a divinely led path forwards for a greater good for all peoples.