I saw clearly how those who saved the state so heroically and

The words of Moshe Sharett, the second Prime Minister of Israel, carry the gravity of both admiration and warning. When he said, “I saw clearly how those who saved the state so heroically and courageously in the War of Independence would be capable of bringing a catastrophe upon it if they are given the chance in normal times,” he spoke not with bitterness, but with prophetic sorrow. His voice, though gentle, carries the thunder of history’s eternal lesson—that the virtues of war can become the vices of peace, and that those who triumph in chaos may falter in calm. In his reflection lies the wisdom of a man who loved his nation enough to see its flaws, and to speak of them with the honesty of a guardian rather than the pride of a conqueror.

To grasp the meaning of this quote, we must first recall its time and place. The War of Independence in 1948 was the crucible in which the newborn state of Israel was forged. Surrounded by enemies and sustained by desperation, men and women rose in defense of their homeland with courage beyond measure. They fought not merely for land, but for existence itself. Out of that fire came heroes—strong, decisive, unyielding. Yet Sharett, who was both a diplomat and a man of peace, foresaw a hidden danger: that the spirit of war, if left untransformed, could destroy the very peace it had purchased. For the sword, once raised too long, begins to crave battle even when the field should lie at rest.

This truth is as old as civilization itself. In every nation, there are those who are made for war—fiery, decisive, and bold. They are needed when the world burns, for without them, freedom would perish. But when the fires go out and the soil must be sown again, those same hands that once defended the homeland may grow restless, impatient with the slow work of peace. The instincts that win battles—suspicion, aggression, dominance—become dangerous in times of stability, when what is needed instead is humility, restraint, and cooperation. Thus, Sharett’s warning is not against the warrior, but against the failure to transform the warrior’s heart when the drums of war have ceased.

History gives us countless echoes of this truth. Consider Rome, which rose from a republic to an empire under the might of its legions. The soldiers who defended Rome from invaders became, in time, the very force that corrupted her freedom. Generals became emperors, and power, once used for protection, was turned inward for control. Or think of the French Revolution, where men who had fought for liberty later brought terror in its name. The energy that had overthrown tyranny could not rest—it needed new enemies, new conquests, until it devoured itself. Such is the cycle Sharett warns against: when the habits of crisis are never laid down, even peace becomes a battlefield.

In the style of the ancients, we may say: the fire that cooks the meal can also burn the house. Valor in war is sacred, but wisdom in peace is divine. The warrior’s courage must yield to the statesman’s patience; the conqueror’s pride must bow to the citizen’s humility. Sharett saw that Israel, still young and trembling, needed not only soldiers but builders—those who could turn victory into vision, and defense into destiny. He feared, rightly, that if the nation remained governed by the instincts of survival alone, it would never learn the gentler art of living.

And yet, this lesson is not only for nations—it is for every soul. Each of us fights wars within our own lives: battles against hardship, injustice, or fear. In the heat of struggle, we learn to be fierce, to stand unyielding. But when peace comes, we must learn a different strength—the strength to soften, to forgive, to build anew. Many fall because they cannot make this transition. They cling to the fight even when the battle is over, mistaking peace for weakness and conflict for meaning. But true greatness lies not in endless struggle—it lies in knowing when to lay the sword aside.

Therefore, let this teaching be passed down: the virtues of one season can destroy another. Learn when to fight and when to listen; when to command and when to serve. The same heart that defends must also be able to heal. In every generation, let there be those who can turn the courage of the battlefield into the compassion of the hearth.

The practical path is this: honor the warriors, but entrust peace to the wise. When you find yourself in power after a struggle, remember that the habits of victory can blind you to the needs of reconciliation. As individuals and as nations, we must never allow the love of strength to eclipse the purpose of justice. For as Moshe Sharett foresaw, those who once saved the state can also imperil it—unless they learn that peace, too, demands its own kind of heroism.