Never Again Means Never Again

My son is serving 90 days of reserve duty on Israel’s northern border with Lebanon. Last week, he asked us if we could prepare meals for his 70 soldiers for the holiday of Simchat Torah. We didn’t hesitate. Since the October 7 massacre, our town has been cooking for reservists every week – sometimes over 1,000 meals. Seventy was easy. My wife, the logistical mastermind, coordinated the effort, and we drove the food up to his base in Zarit.

Zarit straddles the Lebanese border. The town was abandoned one day after the massacre. But now, two years later, it’s coming back to life. Families are returning. New residents are moving in. Why? Because Hezbollah has been defeated. Not “contained.” Not “deterred.” Defeated. And that makes all the difference.

Even though it is only about 20 miles away as the crow flies, the drive to Zarit took over an hour, winding through the Galilean hills. Along the way, we saw 10-foot concrete barriers randomly dispersed along the road. It took us a moment to realize their purpose: protection from Hezbollah sniper and anti-tank fire. These weren’t theoretical threats. They were real. Until Hezbollah was crushed, we were prisoners in our own country. We couldn’t drive freely in the north. We couldn’t live freely in our towns. We couldn’t even hang laundry in our own backyards without fear.

My older son, also serving on the northern border, called last week to tell us he was “on business” in Lebanon. He was in a town that had been a Hezbollah stronghold. Now, the town was deserted. A year ago, it had been a launchpad for terror. From there, he could see Israeli homes, the local supermarket, and children playing in their yards. He was stunned by how close and vulnerable they were. And he was right to be.

This war has taught us many things. But the most important lesson is this: only force wins. Diplomacy has its place. Restraint has its moments. But when your enemy is committed to your destruction, when they hide behind civilians and launch rockets from schools and hospitals, when they celebrate the murder of innocents, there is no substitute for strength.

In early 2024, Hassan Nasrallah, Secretary General of Hezbollah, told the media that Israelis will return to the north “when I say so.” Less than a year later, he was assassinated in a daring IAF strike on his bunker deeply buried in downtown Beirut. We returned to the northern towns not because of negotiations, not because of UN resolutions, but because we imposed our will. We decapitated Hezbollah’s leadership. We didn’t wait for permission. Even after the ceasefire, when Hezbollah tried to rebuild, we struck. And we continue to strike every time we see a sign the Hezbollah is trying to rebuild. Because we learned the hard way: weakness invites aggression. Hesitation breeds terror. Silence is complicity.

This war shattered illusions. The idea that we can build bunkers in our backyards, concrete walls on our highways and abandon “unsafe” towns is not just cowardly: it is betrayal. This is the mindset that led to October 7. That day wasn’t just a failure of intelligence. It was a failure of imagination. We imagined that weakness would buy us peace. We imagined that restraint would earn us respect. We imagined that our enemies would play by the rules.

They didn’t. They never will.

We must stop pretending that our enemies are misunderstood. We must stop believing that if we just give up a little more land, a little more security, a little more dignity, they’ll leave us alone. They won’t. They see compromise as weakness. They see concessions as invitations. They see our humanity as a vulnerability to exploit.

“Never Again” isn’t a slogan. It’s a doctrine. It means we don’t wait to be attacked. It means we don’t apologize for defending ourselves. It means we don’t abandon our towns, our borders, or our people. It means we fight – and we win.

Zarit is alive again because we chose strength. Because we refused to be victims. Because we remembered who we are.

We are a nation that rose from the ashes of Auschwitz. We are a people who returned to our land after 2,000 years of exile. We are a country that thrives despite being surrounded by enemies. We are not here because the world gave us permission. We are here because we earned it. With blood. With sacrifice. With resolve.

And we must never forget.

When my son asked for help feeding his soldiers, he wasn’t just asking for food. He was asking for support. For solidarity. For a reminder that the people behind the front lines are just as committed as those on it. That we are one nation, one family, one mission. We delivered that food with pride. Not just because it was Simchat Torah. Not just because it was our son. But because it was our duty. Just as it is our duty to ensure that Zarit and every other town on our borders is never abandoned again.

This war has reminded us that security is not a luxury. It is a necessity. That deterrence is not a theory. It is a practice. That peace is not a gift. It is a prize earned through strength.

We will not go back to October 6. We will not return to the days of bunkers and barriers and fear. We will not allow our enemies to dictate where we live, how we live, or whether we live.

Never Again means Never Again.

Good things,

Ari Sacher