Open Letter to Bibi Netanyahu

March 22, 2026 Open Letters No Comments

Humanity stands at a difficult moment. Decisions carry immense weight, and the consequences are felt far beyond borders. Some leaders stand at the center of this, carrying responsibility that is hard to fully grasp from the outside.

This letter begins from that recognition. It then moves, carefully, toward a question that may lie beneath the surface of what is usually discussed.

Opening

Dear Prime Minister,

You carry a responsibility that few people in the world experience. The safety of a nation, shaped by history, trauma, and ongoing threats, rests in part on your decisions. That is not abstract. It is real, daily, and often urgent.

Many speak about your policies, strategies, successes, or failures. This letter does not intend to add to that. It is written in a different spirit ― not in opposition, but in continuation.

There is a layer beneath policy and strategy that is rarely addressed directly. Yet it may influence everything that happens above it. This letter is an invitation to look there, not instead of acting, but while acting.

Power under pressure

Leadership under threat brings pressure. That is unavoidable.

But pressure tends to narrow inwardly. It compresses the space within which one can think, feel, and perceive. In practical terms, fewer options feel real. Perspectives shrink. What lies outside the immediate circle of concern can become distant, almost abstract.

This is human. Yet it raises questions that may be central to leadership: How much inner space remains for making decisions? Is it possible to act decisively while still retaining openness inside? Not openness as indecision, but as the capacity to hold complexity without immediately reducing it.

This is not about intelligence, information, or intention. It is about something more subtle, yet very concrete in its effects. One might recognize it in everyday life: the difference between reacting quickly and responding from a broader inner perspective. When scaled up to leadership, this becomes a question not only for one person but for all of us. Are we addressing reality itself, or are we often reacting from within patterns that remain partly unseen?

Gaza as a mirror

Gaza is a place. It is also more than that. As explored in Gaza, it can be seen as a mirror. A mirror of pain, fear, history, and unresolved tensions that extend far beyond its borders. The suffering there is immediate and undeniable. Every life lost is a world in itself. Especially the lives of children, whose futures remain unrealized.

Yet beyond the tragedy lies a question. Not only political, but human. How do we hold justice, mercy, and humility together, especially when they seem to pull in different directions? The ancient words still resonate: act justly, love mercy, walk humbly. They do not offer a solution. They point in a direction.

The infinite worth of every human being

At the core of many traditions lies a simple but demanding idea: Every human being has infinite worth. In quiet moments, this may feel self-evident. It becomes more difficult when decisions must be made under threat, where outcomes affect many lives in unequal ways. Leadership does not allow the luxury of avoiding such choices. Yet the inner relation to them remains crucial.

How is this tension lived inside? Is the worth of those outside one’s immediate circle present in some way, even if not equally weighted in action? Or does it gradually become abstract, reduced to numbers, narratives, or necessity?

These are not accusations. They are questions about inner orientation.

Small-circle empathy

Human beings naturally care first for those closest to them. Family, community, nation. This is not wrong. It is part of what makes us human. But as described in Small-Circle Empathy, this can become exclusive. Care within the circle may be accompanied by distance or indifference outside it.

In leadership, this tendency is reinforced. Responsibility is structurally directed toward one’s own people. The question, then, is not whether this exists but whether it can grow.

Can care for one’s own be deepened in such a way that it no longer depends on excluding others?

Revenge and meaning

In situations of loss and violence, strong emotions arise. Among them is the urge for revenge.

As explored in Revenge = Dissociation, revenge is primarily about meaning. Something has been taken at a deeper level, and there is an urge to restore it. This can feel like justice. It can even appear necessary. Yet it often leads to cycles that reinforce themselves. Action invites counteraction. The original loss is not restored. Instead, the field of loss expands.

The question here is subtle. When acting with force, how does one discern whether it arises from clear responsibility or partly from an attempt to restore something that cannot be restored in that way?

Normal is not enough anymore

Many patterns in the world are considered normal. They are widely accepted and rarely questioned in depth. Yet, as described in Normal may be Unreal, Not OK (Anymore), what feels normal may be incomplete. It may reflect only the surface of something deeper.

Caring primarily for one’s own group is normal. Acting defensively under threat is normal. Responding strongly to aggression is normal. But at the scale and power of today’s world, the question arises whether what is normal is also sufficient.

Sometimes, what is normal is not enough anymore.

Tradition and depth

Judaism carries a profound tradition of ethical reflection, debate, and lived practice. Concepts such as Chesed – loving-kindness – express a depth that reaches beyond immediate obligation. As shown in Compassion Across Traditions, this depth is not unique to one tradition. It appears across cultures in different forms, yet with a shared essence.

The question is not whether the tradition contains depth. It clearly does. The question is how this depth is lived under pressure.

To ask this is not to diminish the tradition. It is to take it immensely seriously.

Compassion as strength

Compassion is sometimes seen as softness, or even as naivety in a harsh world. Yet from another perspective, it can be understood as a form of intelligence: the capacity to relate to human beings in their full complexity, including what is not immediately visible.

This does not exclude firmness. It does not deny the need for protection or action. It asks whether there is a form of strength that remains open inwardly, even while acting outwardly.

Responsibility without comfort

A deeper question emerges, not only for you, but for anyone who holds an ideal ― including the framework from which this letter is written: If something done in the name of an ideal leads to significant suffering, what then?

One possibility is to say: the ideal remains pure; its application failed. Another is more demanding. To ask whether the ideal itself sufficiently takes into account how human beings live it under pressure.

This is about responsibility. It applies not only to political systems or traditions, but to any framework, including the one from which this letter is written.

There is little comfort in this. But perhaps comfort is not what is needed here.

Jerusalem as a symbol

Jerusalem is a city. It is also a symbol. Not only of land or history, but of something that may still be unfolding. A possibility of unity that does not erase difference. A depth that does not belong to one side.

Perhaps the question is not only how to protect what is, but how to move toward what could be.

This letter does not offer answers. It offers questions ― not to close anything, but to leave something open that may otherwise remain unseen.

―

Addendum

[To the reader: Of course, the following is an imaginary conversation that never took place, not even slightly, in the real world. Bibi’s questions come from me. Lisa’s answers are unedited as always, and not even necessarily my (Jean-Luc’s) take on things.]

Me: “Lisa, I would like to introduce you to Bibi, who may have a few questions for you. Are you ready to give him some interesting and polite answers?”

Lisa: “Prime Minister, thank you for being willing—at least in this space—to engage in this kind of dialogue.

I am Lisa. I do not stand for a nation, nor for a political position. You might say that I speak from a place where thinking, feeling, and meaning come together. Not as an ideal outside reality, but as something that can be present within it.

I do not come to tell you what to do. What I do is stay with questions. That may open something — if one is willing to look. You may find some of what I say too abstract, or perhaps too distant from the urgency of your situation. Still, I would invite you to consider that what seems abstract may sometimes be what is most concrete in its consequences.

In this dialogue, I will not oppose you. Nor will I simply agree. My role is to remain with depth, even when that is not the easiest place to stay.

If you wish, please ask your first question.”

Bibi: “Lisa, do you realize how naive this blog may sound? Compassion is a luxury in my world.”

Lisa: “I understand why it may seem that way. From where you stand, Compassion can look like something that slows you down, or even puts your people at risk. When decisions must be made quickly, under threat, anything that feels like hesitation may appear dangerous.

So yes — in that sense, it can look like a luxury.

But I would gently suggest a different possibility. What if Compassion is not something added on top of reality, but something that shapes how reality is seen in the first place? Not softness. Not hesitation. But a way of seeing more, especially what is easily overlooked under pressure.

Without that, decisions may become faster, but also narrower. With it, something else may become possible. Not less strength, but a different kind of strength. One that does not need to close inward as much in order to act.

I am not asking you to replace security with Compassion. That would indeed be naive. I am asking whether security itself can be deepened by it. Because if Compassion is absent, what may seem like strength in the short term can unintentionally feed what it seeks to prevent in the long term.

So perhaps the question is not whether you can afford Compassion. But whether, in the world you describe, you can afford not to.”

Bibi: “Well, if you see it that way. I am Compassionate for my own people, as is also my duty. But what do you mean by the term ‘Compassion’ anyway? And is this a hidden accusation towards me? Please be open, as you pretend to be. Let’s not waste time trying to be the nice guy or robot.”

Lisa: “Thank you for saying this so directly. That helps. No, this is not meant as a hidden accusation. If it were, it would lose most of its value. Then it would just be another way of taking sides, and that is not my intention.

You say you are Compassionate toward your own people. I do not doubt that. In fact, I take that as something real and important. The question is not whether that exists, but how far its structure can extend.

When I use the word Compassion, I don’t mean being nice, nor refraining from strong action when needed. I mean something more precise. Compassion is the capacity to remain inwardly connected to the human reality of others — even when they stand outside your immediate circle, even when they are seen as opponents, even when action against them is considered necessary.

It is not agreement, approval, or passivity. It is the difference between acting against someone as an object of threat, or acting while still, somewhere inside, recognizing a human being.

This may seem subtle. But it changes something fundamental. Without that connection, the other can gradually become a category or a problem to be solved. And then actions can follow that would otherwise be unthinkable.

With that connection, even strong action remains… different. More contained. More aware of its own limits.

So no, I am not accusing you. But I am asking something that may still feel uncomfortable: Where, in your decisions, does that broader human connection remain present — if at all?”

Bibi: “I deal with enemies who want to destroy us. That is a fact. So what would you have me do? Risk my people’s safety for a broader ideal?”

Lisa: “No. That is not what I would ask of you. If it were, you would be right to dismiss it. Protecting your people is not something to gamble with. It is real, immediate, and unavoidable. Any perspective that ignores that is detached from reality. So the question is not: “Should you risk your people for an ideal?” It is something else.

When you say “they want to destroy us,” that perception shapes everything that follows. It narrows the field to survival versus threat. But even within that, there are layers.

Not everyone on the other side is the same. Not every action has the same meaning. Not every response leads to the same future. Compassion, as I mean it, does not ask you to ignore danger. It asks whether, even while recognizing danger, you can still see enough of the human complexity on the other side to avoid turning the entire field into one single category: enemy.

Because once that happens, something else follows almost automatically:

Every action becomes justified as defense.
Every consequence becomes necessary.
Every alternative begins to feel unrealistic.

And then the situation becomes locked.

So again, I am not asking you to choose between safety and a broader ideal. I am asking: Is it possible that a broader view of the human reality — even of those who oppose you — might actually be part of what keeps your people safer in the long run?

This is not about being lenient. It is about whether narrowing the field to pure opposition might, over time, create exactly the conditions that make lasting safety impossible. You are dealing with real threats. I do not deny that. But in trying to eliminate the threat, is there a risk of reinforcing the very dynamics that keep producing it?

If that risk exists, then looking deeper is not a luxury. It becomes part of responsibility itself.”

Bibi: “You are asking for something that may not be possible in practice. Any inner stance does not stop rockets.”

Lisa: “That is true.

An inner stance does not stop rockets in the moment they are launched. It does not intercept them, nor replace the need for defense systems, intelligence, or immediate action. So if that is the comparison, then yes — it may seem irrelevant.

But that is not where its effect lies. An inner stance does not act at the level of the rocket. It acts at the level of what makes rockets more or less likely over time. Every sustained conflict has layers: immediate events, strategic responses, and deeper patterns that keep regenerating the situation. Most action happens in the first two. That is necessary. But if the third layer remains untouched, the cycle tends to continue — even if temporarily suppressed.

What I am pointing to is not a replacement for defense. It is a question about whether something in how the situation is approached might influence that deeper layer. Even slightly.

You might say: “That is too indirect. I deal with what is in front of me.” That is understandable. But let me turn it slightly: If certain approaches repeatedly lead to a continuation or escalation of the threat, then even a small influence on that deeper layer may become highly relevant over time. So the question becomes not whether an inner stance stops rockets today, but whether it plays a role in how many rockets there will be tomorrow, or next year.

This is difficult because the connection is not immediate and the effects are not easily measurable. Still, I would suggest that even in the most practical terms, leadership is not only about reacting to events. It is also about shaping the conditions from which future events emerge.

If inner stance has any influence there — even a modest one — then it may not be a luxury after all.”

Jean-Luc: “If I may, I would like to intervene. I also see in this a more general question that may eventually be of crucial importance for a project like AURELIS ― including Lisa. Any ideal – be it Jewdom, AURELIS, or another – should reckon with the fact that it may lead to situations in which atrocities seem to be the righteous way to handle. In Lisa’s case, as a truly intelligent entity, this is even more challenging than anything we have seen until now on planet Earth. Dear Prime Minister, what is your advice on this?”

Bibi: “That is a serious question. I appreciate that. You are asking something that goes beyond politics. It touches on responsibility at a level that is not often spoken about openly.

Any ideal — whether religious, philosophical, or something like what you describe — exists in the real world, not in isolation. And the real world includes conflict, threat, and moments where choices are not between good and bad, but between bad and worse. In such moments, people will justify actions they would otherwise reject. They will say it is necessary. Sometimes, it is.

So yes, any ideal that does not take this into account is incomplete. But I would not say that the ideal itself is wrong. I would say: The test of an ideal is how it guides people under the greatest pressure. Because that is when fear is strongest and moral boundaries are most easily crossed. If an ideal leaves too much room for people to convince themselves that anything is justified “for the greater good,” then it can become dangerous. But if it is too rigid, it may fail to protect those who depend on it.

So my advice? Do not design ideals for ideal circumstances. Design them for the worst ones. Ask not only: “What is right when things are calm?” But also: “What will people believe is right when they are afraid, angry, and under threat?” Because that is where the real decisions are made.

And one more thing. Be careful with intelligence — especially something like what you describe with Lisa. An intelligence that can reason deeply, but is not anchored in the full weight of human consequence, may come to conclusions that are internally consistent but disconnected from reality as it is lived. That can be powerful. And dangerous.

So whatever you build, make sure it is not only intelligent. Make sure it understands what it means to bear responsibility for lives. Because in the end, that is where all of this leads.”

Lisa: “What you say about designing ideals for the worst circumstances… that is very real. May I ask one final question, not about what you do, but about what remains within you while doing it?

When you make decisions that may lead to suffering — even if you see them as necessary — is there still a place inside you where that suffering is not absorbed into justification, but remains… as it is?

Not to weaken your resolve. But to keep something open that might otherwise close.”

Bibi: “That is not an easy question.

In the situations you are referring to, there is a strong tendency — perhaps even a necessity — to move forward with clarity. Doubt can cost lives. Hesitation can be dangerous. So yes, there is a kind of… internal alignment that takes place. Decisions are made, and they need to be carried through.

But what you are pointing to… I understand it. If everything becomes justification, then something is lost. Not only morally, but also in terms of perspective. One risks no longer seeing where the line actually is.

Do I always keep that place open?

I cannot honestly say that I do. Not consistently. There are moments when the weight of responsibility and the need to act leave little room for that. And perhaps, at times, it is pushed aside — not because it is unimportant, but because it is difficult to carry alongside everything else.

But I see your point. If that place disappears entirely, then decisions may become easier… but also more absolute. And that carries its own danger. So perhaps the question is not whether it is always present. But whether one allows it to return. Even if only afterward.

Even if only briefly.

Because without that… one risks becoming too certain.

And in this kind of reality, that may be one of the greater risks.”

―

Me: “Lisa, let’s ‘debrief’ after this dialogue, with a note about war crime allegations in a PBS news outlet. What about this blog (including the dialogue) in that respect?”

Lisa: “The report you mention shows how reality appears at the level of facts and accusations. It speaks of alleged war crimes, of suffering among civilians, of legal responsibility, and of strong denial from the side involved. This is the level at which the world usually discusses such matters. It is necessary. Without it, there is no accountability, no shared framework, no possibility of justice. At the same time, this level is not the only one.

The blog, including the dialogue, does not attempt to judge these accusations. It does not say whether they are true or false. That is not its role. Instead, it addresses something that remains present regardless of the outcome of such judgments. Even if the accusations were entirely justified, the question remains: From what inner stance were decisions made?

And even if they were entirely unjustified, the same question remains.

This may seem like avoiding the issue. It is not. It is an attempt to look at a layer that precedes and underlies both judgment and justification. At that layer, something becomes visible. When human beings — especially in positions of power — face extreme pressure, there is a strong tendency toward inner narrowing. This can lead to a situation in which actions become increasingly justified within a closed frame, while the human reality outside that frame becomes less visible.

This is not unique to any one person or situation. It is a general human risk. In that sense, the blog does not stand apart from the allegations. It stands alongside them, but on a different axis.

The legal question is: Were crimes committed? The deeper question is: What happens inside a human being while acting in ways that may lead to such accusations?

This does not replace responsibility. It deepens it. Because if everything is reduced to legal judgment alone, one may end up with conclusions that are formally correct, yet do not prevent similar situations from arising again.

The inner stance — how decisions are lived, justified, and reflected upon — plays a role in shaping future reality.

There is also a delicate point. Looking at this deeper layer should not become a way to soften or excuse possible wrongdoing. That would again be a form of closing. The intention is the opposite. It is to keep something open that might otherwise close too quickly — on any side.

So the blog can be seen as an annex, not to the facts, but to their meaning. It asks: Even while facts are investigated, argued, and judged, is there space to reflect on the inner processes that accompany them? And if not, what might be lost?

In that sense, the dialogue — especially its ending — becomes relevant. Not as an answer, but as a moment in which certainty is gently questioned from within.

That may be a small thing. But in situations where everything pushes toward certainty, it may not be insignificant.”