The sun was setting over Jerusalem as Major General (ret.) Gershon Hacohen settled into his chair, his eyes reflecting the weight of years spent defending Israel. At 68, his face bore the lines of countless difficult decisions, none more so than the day he led the disengagement from Gaza in 2005.
"Even then, I knew it was a mistake," Hacohen said, his voice tinged with regret. "But I never imagined the consequences would be so severe."
Nineteen years had passed since that fateful summer when Israeli settlers were evacuated from Gush Katif. Now, in the aftermath of the October 7 attack that shook Israel to its core, Hacohen found himself revisiting those memories with a newfound clarity.
"If Gush Katif had remained, October 7 would never have happened," he asserted, "The disengagement gave Hamas the springboard it needed. It allowed them to build an army right under our noses."
As he spoke, Hacohen's mind drifted back to the early days of the recent war. Despite his age, he had donned his uniform once more, answering the call to serve. He recounted his experiences in both the Northern and Southern Commands, witnessing firsthand the bravery of young soldiers and the heart-wrenching devastation left in the wake of the attack.
"I've seen war before," Hacohen mused, "but this... this was different. The enemy has changed. Technology has leveled the playing field in ways we never anticipated. You know, when I was a young officer, we believed in our technological superiority. We thought it would always give us the edge. But now? Now a shepherd in Afghanistan has a phone as advanced as any Israeli's. The rules of the game have changed."
Hacohen spoke of the delicate balance between military necessity and international opinion, the agonizing decisions regarding civilian casualties, and the ever-present question of the hostages held in Gaza.
"There's no simple answer," he sighed, running a hand through his graying hair. "We must bring them home, yes, but not at any cost. Finding that balance... that's the true test of leadership."
As the interview drew to a close, Hacohen's demeanor shifted. There was a fire in his eyes as he spoke of Israel's future. "We need a new story," he declared emphatically. "A new song for our people. We can't go back to how things were before. The Israel of tomorrow must be built on a foundation of collective purpose and resilience."
He stood, walking to the window that overlooked the city he had spent his life protecting. "When early pioneers came to places like Kiryat Shmona, they didn't come for government grants. They came because they believed in something greater than themselves. That's the spirit we need to recapture."
As the last rays of sunlight faded, casting long shadows across the room, Hacohen turned back with a look of determination. "Our story isn't over," he said firmly. "It's just entering a new chapter. And it's up to all of us to write it together."
With those words, the old general's message was clear. The road ahead for Israel would be challenging, fraught with difficult decisions and ongoing threats. But in Hacohen's view, it was also a road paved with opportunity – a chance to forge a new national identity, one built on the lessons of the past and the hopes for the future.
As night fell over Jerusalem, Gershon Hacohen's reflections lingered in the air, a poignant reminder of the complex journey that had brought Israel to this moment, and the collective effort it would take to chart its path forward.
* Maariv contributed to this