Terror cannot be finished by one war.

In the vast and tumultuous river of history, where the tides of empires rise and fall, there stands a mighty truth, uttered by one who understood the weight of a world in turmoil: "Terror cannot be finished by one war." These words, spoken by the sage Yitzhak Rabin, echo with the wisdom of those who have seen the depth of human struggle. They speak not just of the immediate clash of arms, but of the unyielding force of fear, hate, and discord that churn beneath the surface of the soul. To defeat terror is not a simple matter of victory on the battlefield. Nay, it is a matter of the heart, and of the spirit of mankind itself.

Terror, my friends, is a shadow that follows close upon the heels of fear. It does not rest in the lands of a single enemy nor in the wounds of a single conflict. No, terror is a tempest that rises from the hearts of men who have lost their way, from those who have tasted suffering and, in their bitterness, seek to inflict that same anguish upon others. It is an infection that spreads like fire, carried by words, deeds, and memories, and it cannot be quenched with a sword or cannon alone. The war may cease, but the terror, the deep terror of the spirit, will linger, for it is not born of armies, but of broken hearts.

Consider the tale of the Israelites in their ancient struggle, from the time of Pharaoh’s oppression to the days of Yitzhak Rabin. The land of Israel has long been soaked with the blood of its people, and yet, though they won wars and overcame great foes, the shadow of fear did not fade with each victory. In the days of the Exodus, when the Israelites fled from the land of Egypt, it was not merely the chains that they sought to break, but the terror in their hearts, the terror of slavery, and the terror of an uncertain future. They fought with courage, and yet the war was not done when the last Egyptian chariot disappeared from their sight. For in their hearts, the terror of their past lingered, and the challenge was not just to defeat an enemy but to conquer their own fear.

And so, Rabin’s words carry the weight of that ancient wisdom. They remind us that war is not the end, but the beginning of a new struggle. The heart of terror lies not in the enemy's sword, but in the fear of what comes after. For every war won, another battle rages within. When one war ends, what has been learned? What has been healed? To defeat terror is to heal the wounds of generations, to rebuild the heart of the people, to guide them from the shadows of suspicion and hatred into the light of understanding.

Rabin, himself, understood this truth well. He, a warrior turned statesman, saw firsthand how the specter of terror could rise again, even after a hard-won victory. In his time, as a soldier who fought in the wars for Israel’s survival, he understood that though the battlefield might be quiet, the work of peace had just begun. He worked tirelessly for peace, knowing that even a treaty, a peace agreement, could not erase the legacy of fear and hatred that had poisoned minds and hearts. The peace that he sought was not just a ceasefire but a transformation, an end to the terror that lay in the soul of his people and his enemies alike.

And here lies the great lesson that Rabin imparts to us: it is not enough to defeat the enemy on the field of war. Terror cannot be eradicated in a single stroke, for it grows from the soil of the human heart. We must be vigilant, not just in times of battle, but in times of peace. We must guard against the seeds of fear and hatred, for they are planted in the quiet moments, in the words that poison the mind, in the prejudices that grow unnoticed until they bloom in violent actions. Just as one cannot heal a wound with a single touch, so too must we address the terror that lies beneath the surface with care, with wisdom, and with love.

The message is clear, my children: do not rest in the belief that war alone will solve the challenges of the soul. The true victory is not in the signing of treaties but in the healing of hearts. It is in the daily work of understanding, of forgiving, of building bridges between those who have long been enemies. It is in the quiet strength to see the humanity in those who have hurt us, to see the common hopes that bind us together. And, just as the wise Rabin taught, it is in the refusal to succumb to the terror within—whether it is fear of the other or fear of the unknown—that we find the true path to peace.

So, my friends, let us take these words to heart: "Terror cannot be finished by one war." Let us remember that the wars of the battlefield may end, but the war for the human spirit rages on. We must be constant in our pursuit of peace, not just through treaties or weapons, but through love, understanding, and the relentless courage to confront our deepest fears. It is through these, and through them alone, that we will conquer terror, not for one generation, but for all time.