The Hub debates Israel’s potential occupation of Gaza

Above and beyond these tactical and strategic considerations lie important questions of morality and righteousness. Here the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and the wholesale destruction of the German Reich, though justified in their time as necessary to end the Second World War, do not offer a moral calculus for our age. We rightly expect humanity to progress, to reject the brutal logic of “total war” in favour of solutions that place greater value on the sanctity of life and basic human rights. Israel, a nation born from the ashes of the worst genocide in human history, has been at the forefront of this evolution. Yet, by embracing occupation and possibly expulsion, Israel risks its hard-won moral legitimacy achieved in its previous just wars, sustained by its remarkable spirit of innovation and collective purpose, and undergirded by its strong traditions of democracy and the rule of law. The moral high ground is not an abstract concept; it is the proud terra firma of Israel’s claim to statehood. Hence, Netanyahu stands at a crossroads. He can cling to the illusion of total victory through occupation, or he can accept the world as it is—a world where the military might alone cannot secure peace. The choice is not between strength and weakness, but between wisdom and folly. Israel’s true test is not whether it can occupy Gaza, but whether it can see its larger strategic interests through the trauma it too has been subjected to over the course of the 670 days of a war it did not choose. Cooler heads must prevail. What should Israel do if its enemy won’t surrender? By Sean Speer, editor-at-large at The Hub Eighty years ago, the United States dropped an atomic bomb on Hiroshima, a decision that remains one of the most morally fraught in modern history. The bombing, alongside the firebombing of Dresden and other cities in Japan, was justified by the Allies as a necessary evil to end a just war. Yet even now, historians, ethicists, and legal scholars grapple with its implications. Today, as Israel seems poised to escalate its war against Hamas in Gaza, we are confronted with strikingly similar questions: How far can a nation go to secure victory when its enemy refuses to surrender? What moral and strategic trade-offs are permissible in the pursuit of peace? The parallels are imperfect but instructive. In 1945, the U.S. faced an implacable foe in Imperial Japan, one that showed no signs of capitulation despite catastrophic losses. The atomic bombs, horrific as they were, are seen to have precipitated an end to the war and paved the way for reconstruction. Israel now finds itself in a comparable bind. Hamas initiated this conflict with its brutal October 7 attacks and continues to hold hostages and refuse any surrender deal. It has no incentive to concede to Israel’s demands to return the hostages and remove itself from governance. This leaves Israel with a terrible choice: escalate further or accept a stalemate that emboldens its enemies and leave its people in captivity. The moral complexity of this situation is evident in the growing unease across the political spectrum. Progressives have long criticized Israel’s military campaign, but now even more sensible voices like my colleague Rudyard Griffiths are expressing misgivings. These concerns aren’t rooted in anti-Israel sentiment but in a genuine struggle to reconcile the necessity of defeating Hamas with the humanitarian toll of the war. The release of harrowing images of hostages this week is a grim reminder of Hamas’s brutality and the inherent challenge for Israel to articulate a clear endgame. Here’s where the Second World War analogy arguably falters. The Allied bombings, for all their destruction, were followed by the Marshall Plan and the democratic transformation of Germany and Japan. In Gaza, no such vision exists. Israel’s government has hinted at a prolonged occupation, but the long-term consequences of such a strategy are uncertain. Occupation risks perpetuating the cycle of violence, radicalizing a new generation, and isolating Israel internationally. Yet what is the alternative? A ceasefire that leaves Hamas intact would be a victory for terrorism and a guarantee of future conflict. This is the essence of the dilemma: How does a nation compel surrender when its adversary would rather martyr itself than concede? The atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki were, in some ways, a brutal answer to that question. Israel, thankfully, is not contemplating nuclear strikes or the wholesale leveling of Gaza. But its proposed occupation raises its own ethical and practical questions. Is it possible to dismantle Hamas without inflicting unbearable suffering on civilians? Can Israel achieve its objectives without becoming mired in an endless occupation? These questions have no easy answers, and the fact that they echo debates from 80 years ago speaks to something enduring about the human condition. We like to believe that history progresses linearly, that we learn from the past and evolve beyond its horrors. Yet here we are, once again wrestling with the same fundamental tensions: justice versus mercy, security versus morality, the immediate need to win and the long-term imperative to build peace. As Richard Shimooka noted in his thoughtful essay on Hiroshima’s anniversary, history doesn’t repeat itself—it rhymes. The rhythms of war and human nature remain stubbornly consistent. Israel’s predicament today is a variation on a theme that has played out across centuries. What makes it uniquely agonizing is the absence of a clear path forward. The Allies in 1945 could justify their actions with the certainty of victory and the promise of renewal. Israel, by contrast, faces a nebulous future where even “success” may come at a prohibitive cost. This isn’t to equivocate or excuse. Hamas bears responsibility for this war and its atrocities. Israel has every right to defend itself and seek the hostages’ return. But as the conflict drags on, the moral and strategic calculus grows murkier. The world is watching, and the stakes extend far beyond Gaza. How Israel navigates this war will shape perceptions of its legitimacy, the stability of the Middle East, and the global order itself. Eighty years from now, historians may look back on this moment as another chapter in humanity’s endless struggle to reconcile the demands of war with the imperatives of conscience. The lessons of Hiroshima remind us that such choices are never clean, never free from ambiguity. But they also remind us that the burden of leadership lies in making those choices with eyes wide open—to the costs, the consequences, and the ghosts of history whispering in our ears. This commentary draws on a Hub podcast. It was edited using AI. Full program here.