Anyone who set foot in Jerusalem this week could feel it—hope.
Over the past few days, we marched, shouted, and fought together. Hundreds of thousands of Israelis stood shoulder to shoulder, in pouring rain, in five degrees Celsius, with aching legs—we are not ready to give up on the only country we have.
In those moments, I better understood the words of Prof. Effi Shem, one of the leaders of the “Academics for Democracy” protest group, whose son Yuval was killed three months ago. When I looked at the masses of Israelis who have been in Jerusalem for days on end, his words echoed in my mind: the critical importance of preserving hope in our hearts. Even—especially—within the pain and despair, we do not have the privilege to give up.
Let’s be honest: we won’t succeed in everything. The current government—the worst in the country’s history—declared war on Israeli democracy and abandoned its responsibility to bring our brothers and sisters home from captivity.
It is waging a “war for the peace of the chair” (a Hebrew phrase meaning clinging to power at any cost). Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu chose one Itamar Ben-Gvir over 59 hostages. Even with millions of Israelis in bomb shelters, he prioritized undermining state security by pushing to fire the head of the Shin Bet during a war—perhaps because he knows exactly what’s happening in his office and is afraid the public will find out.
But one thing he has not done—and never will—is break our spirit.
We’ve always known how to deal with enemies from without. The greatest danger in our history—and today—is the danger from within: corrupt leaders who prioritize their own interests over the good of the country.
Netanyahu’s days in power are numbered. Within the year, there will be elections. The liberal camp will win. And even if, God forbid, not all our hostages return by then—we will bring them back. We will repeal the dictatorship laws. Israeli solidarity is stronger than Netanyahu and his media mouthpieces. The people are greater than their elected leaders.
They tried to carry out a judicial coup—and the public stopped them. And on October 7, while cabinet members hid under their blankets, trembling with fear, it was the people who stood up, took initiative, and saved lives.
Even ministers ended up visiting the emergency headquarters established by Brothers in Arms and Building an Alternative at the Tel Aviv Fairgrounds. When the government collapsed, we were there to step in, take responsibility, and lead. That is the same solidarity on which this country was built—and they will not be able to dismantle it.
Shared destiny and mutual responsibility
Over the past two and a half years, in the face of immense forces trying to tear us apart, we discovered a shared destiny and mutual responsibility that no other nation possesses. Hundreds of thousands of Israelis are fighting for the lives of people they have never even met—breaking together, rejoicing together, and shouting time and again: “No one gets left behind.”
This is in addition to the hundreds of thousands who jumped into reserve duty on October 7, even before receiving a draft order—because the country needed them. The overwhelming feeling I had during my reserve service was this: on the battlefield, we are prepared to die for one another. It doesn’t matter what ballot we cast.
I know many feel despair—especially those who care deeply about our future. But I also know that we can transform despair into hope. There is no government, no matter how extreme, that can destroy what we have built with blood. Dictators may destroy states—but citizens have the power to rebuild them.
That is exactly what I saw in Jerusalem last week: life-loving, determined, and resilient citizens, stronger than the government. A nation of lions will always triumph over a leadership of cowards.
Three days before he was assassinated, the late prime minister Yitzhak Rabin said: “Not always are there people with the courage and the ability to change things, to challenge conventions, to create a new reality.” Those people that Rabin longed for—I found them in Jerusalem, by the tens of thousands. I am proud to be one of them, and I believe with all my heart that together, we will overcome this reign of darkness.
Despair is not a plan, and optimism is a political stance. The struggle is hard and Sisyphean. It is against a destructive, reckless government. But if we raise our heads, we’ll see that similar struggles are being waged in Serbia, Turkey, Greece, and beyond. And when the public rises up—no dictator is too big to fall.
So take your anger, your frustration, your exhaustion, your pain and sorrow—look at the images from the past few days in Jerusalem—and turn it into hope. Into determination. Into creativity. Into building the liberal and democratic infrastructure that, God willing—and thanks to our own efforts—will build a better Israel for our children.
We have no choice but to defeat the darkness. Previous generations faced greater challenges—and overcame them.
So will we.
Maj. (res.) Yair "Yaya" Fink is one of the leaders of the pro-democracy protest movement.