Never Again Is Not Enough: Israel Must Never Forget

“Never again.”

For Israelis, “Never again” has never been merely a historical slogan.

And October 7, 2023, made that painfully clear. For much of the Jewish world, the Holocaust had become something that belonged to history books, museums and memorial ceremonies. The images were black and white. The survivors were growing older. The perpetrators were dead.

The Holocaust was remembered, mourned and taught.

But it was also, increasingly, something that had happened then.

For Israelis, however, the possibility of mass Jewish slaughter never completely disappeared into history. The threats came in different forms and from different directions. Wars were fought against armies that openly contemplated the destruction of the Jewish state. Terrorists attacked buses, restaurants, markets and nightclubs. Rockets were fired at Israeli cities. The intifadas brought suicide bombings into the daily consciousness of an entire generation.

Israelis did not have the luxury of believing that the Jewish vulnerability to mass violence had ended in 1945. They knew better, and yet, Israelis are human. When the guns become quieter, life begins to return to normal. Children go to school, people go to work, Tel Aviv becomes Tel Aviv again. And Israelis return to doing what Israelis do exceptionally well:

Arguing.

In Israel, there is almost a comical relationship between internal disagreement and national identity. If you haven’t complained enough about the government, the Haredim, someone may reasonably question whether you are actually Israeli. When Israel feels relatively safe, Israelis can begin to forget why that safety exists in the first place; the enemy does not disappear, only the noise becomes quieter.

That distinction is crucial.

During Israel’s great moments of national danger, internal arguments suddenly become smaller. During the Six-Day War, the Yom Kippur War, the intifadas and waves of terrorism, Israelis were not spending their days obsessing over constitutional reform or debating which political camp was destroying the country.

They were fighting for the country, and the arguments did not disappear because Israelis suddenly became less opinionated. They disappeared because the external threat reminded everyone that there was something larger than the argument.

Then the danger receded.

And Israel returned to arguing with itself.

After the Second Intifada, years passed in which rockets continued to emerge from Gaza, terrorism continued sporadically, and warnings continued to accumulate. But there was no new catastrophe on the scale of the Holocaust or the great Arab-Israeli wars.

And gradually, something dangerous happened.

The threat became background noise.

Israel became accustomed to living with enemies who promised its destruction but seemed, for long stretches, incapable of delivering it. That is when forgetting becomes possible; then came the judicial-reform crisis. Israel tore itself apart over democracy, the Supreme Court and Bibi’s government. Hundreds of thousands protested. Others demonstrated in support of the government. Reservists threatened not to serve. Families argued. Friends stopped speaking to one another.

One side feared Netanyahu was destroying Israeli democracy, and the other feared the protesters were destroying the government elected by voters. The country was consumed by itself. And somewhere beyond Israel’s political arguments, Hamas was preparing.

Israelis were debating each other.
Hamas was preparing for Israel.
That is the tragedy of October 7.

On that morning, the abstraction disappeared, and suddenly, for Israelis, history was no longer history. The words “Never again” were no longer something written on a memorial wall. They were screaming from the present.

October 7 restored a terrible clarity.

Israelis remembered.

And, once again, many of the arguments that had consumed the country suddenly seemed smaller. The country came together because it had been reminded of something it should never have forgotten: Israel’s enemies had not forgotten Israel.

That lesson remains important now.

Almost three years after October 7, Israel is approaching another election. The arguments have returned. There are fierce disputes over commissions of inquiry into October 7, over Bibi’s leadership, over the war, over the Haredi draft, and over virtually every other question that can possibly divide Israelis.

That is democracy.
Israel should scrutinize its leaders.
Israel should investigate its failures.

None of that is the problem.

The danger is forgetting why all of this is possible in the first place. A free Israeli society can afford passionate internal disagreement because Israel is strong enough to sustain it.

For Jews in the diaspora, “Never again” can sometimes be enough. They can remember the Holocaust without having to live with the possibility that a terrorist might arrive at their doorstep. A Jewish family in London, Paris or Florida can remember October 7 without necessarily having to calculate where the nearest bomb shelter is.

Israelis cannot make that separation so easily.

For Israelis, memory is not merely historical.

It is strategic.

The international community has an even greater luxury. Governments can say “Never again” at commemorations, issue solemn statements, pass resolutions and return to their capitals. They can condemn antisemitism at conferences and condemn Israel at the United Nations a week later. They can remember the Holocaust without having to live with its central lesson every morning.

Israelis cannot, for Israelis, “Never again” without “never forget” is dangerously incomplete. Because “Never again” is a promise, and “Never forget” is what keeps the promise alive, and forgetting does not happen overnight.

It happens gradually.

It begins when the rockets become routine.

When warnings become boring.

When Israelis become more frightened of one another than of those who want to destroy them. That is when history begins to repeat itself—not necessarily because the enemy has become stronger, but because the target has become complacent.

Israel does not need to stop arguing.

It needs to remember while it argues.

It needs to remember while politicians campaign, protesters march, and newspapers criticize. It needs to remember even when the border appears quiet, because the quiet is not necessarily peace. Sometimes it is simply preparation that we cannot yet see. October 7 should therefore not become another historical date that Israelis eventually commemorate from a safe emotional distance.

It should remain a warning.

Not a wound that never heals.

The Jewish people learned the meaning of “Never again” from the Holocaust; Israel learned its meaning again on October 7. The question now is whether it will remember the lesson without needing another catastrophe to teach it. Israelis will continue to disagree. They will continue to protest. They will continue to fight with one another over the future of their country.

They should.

But they must never allow the argument inside the house to make them forget who is waiting outside it. Because the most dangerous moment is not necessarily when Israel is under attack. It may be the moment when Israel becomes so comfortable that it forgets it can be attacked.

Never again is the promise.

Never forget is the responsibility.

For Israel, the command must always remain: Lizkor Velo Lishkoach.