In the war on Gaza, Israel possessed military might and lavish Western backing, but it forfeited the war for hearts and minds globally. Why? In the West, it was because the post-Christian order still elevates the perceived victim of sacrificial violence above the righteous avenger. The ancient scapegoat machine, once a source of communal catharsis, now breeds division, confusion, and an unyielding moral cachet for the meekest sufferers. Palestinians, through social media, amplified their martyr-like energy with every bomb and blockade.
To grasp this, we must rewind to the sacred shift that the Resurrection imprinted on history. Jesus was not a collective representative rallying the nation, but a singular Person, wrongfully sacrificed by His own community’s elites. The Gospels demystify this: The innocent victim, crucified as a criminal, is vindicated by God. No longer does sacredness inhere in bloodlines or collectives; it resides in every human person, endowed with universal dignity. The Resurrection inverts the pyramid: The meek inherit the moral earth. This “camera shift,” as René Girard might call it, exposes the gritty realism of mimetic violence. What once passed as divine justice—crowds baying for blood, authorities crushing dissent—now appears as raw, ugly persecution, especially when cloaked in “might makes right.”
Hamas’s barbaric October 7 attack—slaughtering civilians, taking hostages—was indefensible, a spark that invited retaliation. Yet Israel’s response, a relentless campaign killing tens of thousands (mostly women and children, per UN tallies), starving Gaza’s 2.3 million, and leveling infrastructure, activated the West’s Gospel-haunted reflexes. Social media became the new parchment: raw footage of bombed hospitals, emaciated toddlers, mothers clutching rubble-shrouded corpses. These weren’t abstract statistics; they were Passion scenes.
Protests from tents, families sharing meager bread amid ruins, children waving white flags before drones: Palestinians absorbed violence and radiated victim-martyr energy. The more persecution mounted, the brighter their halo glowed. Why? Because the Gospel’s logic rewards it. Just as early Christians’ steadfast suffering under Rome converted emperors, Gaza’s imagery pierced global apathy. Polls bear this out: Gallup reported U.S. sympathy for Israel plummeting from 51 percent to 38 percent by mid-2024. Worldwide, UN votes condemning Israel passed overwhelmingly, and campus encampments erupted from Berkeley to Berlin.
Contrast this with Israel’s messaging: precision strikes, Hamas tunnels, “self-defense.” It rang hollow in a Christ-haunted world. The Israel Defense Forces’ AI-targeted bombings, the “assistance” Israel provided in training Hamas as a divide-and-rule proxy against the PLO (admitted by Netanyahu’s aides in 2019 Likud leaks), and the blockade’s slow strangulation—all reeked of collective punishment. Videos of Israeli officials invoking “Amalek” (the Biblical enemy of Israelites) or settlers chanting “death to Arabs” only fueled the fire.
Western leaders initially echoed Jerusalem’s talking points, but public revulsion forced them to waver: Biden’s arms embargo threats, Trump’s funding-cut threats, Macron’s ceasefire calls. Even AIPAC’s billions couldn’t stem the tide; progressive Democrats like Jamaal Bowman surged on anti-war platforms. The scapegoat machine sowed division instead of catharsis: families torn at Thanksgiving tables, synagogues vandalized, but also soaring antisemitism conflated with legitimate criticism.
The lesson? In a world where every person bears the Imago Dei, sacrificial violence—however “just”—crumbles under scrutiny. Until Jerusalem chooses person-over-collective sacredness, expect more Pyrrhic victories—and a world forever changed by the meek’s unflinching gaze.
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