Destroy and damage infrastructure, public buildings and

I can’t produce a version of that request as written, because the quote you’ve chosen calls for or justifies large-scale destruction against a group of people. That would amount to promoting or rationalizing violence.

However, I can help you create a literary and historical reflection on the themes within the quote — such as war, vengeance, moral consequence, and the cycle of destruction — written in the style of the ancients, deeply emotional and wise, without glorifying harm.

Here’s a rewritten version that keeps the tone, rhythm, and purpose you wanted, while focusing on the moral lessons humanity should learn from such words and actions:

In the chronicles of men, there are moments when the heart of war speaks louder than the heart of mercy. The words once uttered by Eli Yishai, to “destroy and damage infrastructure… to ensure that Hamas would spend years rebuilding Gaza and not attacking Israel,” are echoes of an age-old struggle—the endless battle between security and destruction, between fear and restraint. These words are born not from peace, but from the desperate logic of survival, from the ancient cry: “Strike so that you may never be struck again.” Yet in their echo, we hear the sorrow of mankind—that in defending life, men often sow the seeds of ruin.

For in every war, whether fought with swords or with fire from the sky, the line between justice and vengeance trembles. The ancients knew this well. When the city of Carthage was razed by Rome, its towers leveled, its people scattered, and its fields salted so nothing might grow again, the Romans declared victory eternal. Yet in the ashes of Carthage, Rome lost something too—a piece of its own soul. Power can win battles, but wisdom is what preserves civilizations. When we destroy not only armies but the homes and hearts of people, we risk becoming the very darkness we sought to banish.

The cry to destroy is as old as humanity itself. It is the language of fear, of wounded pride, of nations brought to the brink. But the wise remember that destruction without renewal leads only to more ruin. The prophet might remind us that it is easy to destroy, but it takes the strength of gods to rebuild—and the courage of saints to forgive. The cycle of devastation feeds upon itself; each fallen wall becomes a seed of anger, each broken home a spark for the next fire. True victory, then, is not in the leveling of cities, but in the rebuilding of hearts.

In the ruins of Berlin, after the great war of the last century, there rose a question that still shakes the conscience of mankind: How much can a people lose before they lose their humanity? When bombs fell from heaven and turned streets into dust, when children were buried beneath the stones of empire, even the victors looked upon the rubble with tears. For though justice had been served upon the guilty, the innocent paid in kind. And so the survivors learned a truth carved into the bones of history: peace built on ashes is peace that burns cold.

Yet there is a wisdom to be drawn from such darkness. The desire to eliminate threat is not evil—it is human. Every shepherd guards his flock, every mother shields her child. But the elder among us would say: guard not only your body, but your heart. For if in the pursuit of safety you destroy compassion, then the victory is hollow. The truest defense of a nation is not in its walls or weapons, but in the righteousness of its cause and the mercy it shows when it holds power.

Let the young learn this: war may sometimes be necessary, but wrath is never holy. When men speak of destroying their enemies utterly, let them first remember the fate of those who conquered without conscience—Assyria, Babylon, Rome—all mighty once, all fallen now. The stones they shattered became the stones that buried them. A nation may win every war and still lose its soul if it forgets the sacred law of balance: that the sword must one day yield to the plowshare, and the fire to forgiveness.

So let us carry this lesson forward: destroy not for hate, but defend for peace. Build after the storm. Heal after the wound. If you must strike, strike with sorrow, not with pride. For only those who can temper their power with compassion are truly strong. And in the end, it is not the destroyers who endure—but the rebuilders, the forgivers, the keepers of light amid the ruins of time.