Peace is something very dear. If you've been through wars and

Hear, O children of the earth, the solemn words of Benjamin Netanyahu, who declared: “Peace is something very dear. If you’ve been through wars and operations and battles, you want peace.” These words are not born of idle philosophy, but from the bitter dust of conflict, from the weary steps of soldiers who have walked through fire and the anguished cries of nations long torn by strife. They remind us that those who know the fury of war most deeply are often those who yearn most earnestly for peace.

What is peace, and why is it so precious to those who have seen its opposite? To the child who has never heard the thunder of bombs, peace may seem ordinary, invisible, taken for granted. But to the soldier who has marched through blood, to the mother who has buried her son, to the refugee who has fled with nothing but breath, peace is a treasure beyond gold. For it is the balm that heals the wounds of nations, the silence that restores the broken heart, the sunlight after a storm that seemed eternal.

Consider the tale of the First World War, where millions were lost in trenches that reeked of mud and death. When the armistice was finally declared in 1918, bells rang across Europe, and weary men and women wept with relief. To them, peace was not an abstract word but the return of life itself. And yet, because the peace was shallow and vengeance-ridden, it failed to endure. The Second World War soon followed, teaching humanity once more that unless peace is cherished and carefully tended, war will return to claim its price.

Netanyahu, speaking from the crucible of Israel’s history, knew this truth intimately. Surrounded by enemies, scarred by wars fought for survival, he understood that those who live under the constant shadow of conflict do not long for endless victory—they long for rest. They long for the day when their children may walk to school without fear, when borders need no soldiers, when treaties need no guns behind them. The words he spoke echo not only from his land, but from every corner of history where men have grown weary of battle.

O children of tomorrow, see clearly: war can harden men, but it can also awaken in them a thirst for peace. The lesson of history is that the deeper the wound, the greater the hunger for healing. Veterans of conflict often become the strongest voices for reconciliation, for they know firsthand the cost of hatred. They have seen that every so-called “victory” in war is purchased with tears, and that true triumph is not in destroying the enemy, but in ending the enmity.

The teaching is luminous: do not wait to value peace until war has stripped it from you. Cherish it now, before it is gone. Protect it, nurture it, defend it with the same ferocity that warriors once defended their nations. Peace is not weakness, but the highest form of strength—the ability to end cycles of blood and to build bridges where walls once stood.

Practical action lies here: in your own life, resist the small wars—anger, grudges, bitterness—that erode peace within your home and heart. In your community, be a voice for reconciliation, not division. In the world, demand that leaders seek solutions not through endless battles but through dialogue and respect. And when peace seems fragile, remember that it is still worth defending, for it is the most precious gift humanity can give itself.

So let the words of Benjamin Netanyahu echo through time: “Peace is something very dear.” Take them as both a warning and a promise. For those who have walked through wars know best that peace is not ordinary—it is sacred. And if you, too, would honor that sacred gift, live each day as a builder of peace, so that the children of tomorrow may inherit a world where battles are only memories, and peace is the air they breathe.