Jewish towns (or settlements) in Judea and Samaria stand as the forward positions of the pioneering spirit of Zionism, of the Jewish people’s return to sovereignty over our ancestral land.
They embody the Divine command to settle every hill and valley of Israel. They also serve as a vital shield of safety, keeping Palestinian terrorists at a distance from the heart of our country.
In a world quick to condemn every Jewish home built beyond the Green Line, it is time to speak this truth plainly: these communities are not obstacles to peace but the very bulwark of our survival and our destiny.
Rabbi Yoni Rosensweig recently captured the moral complexity of life in this land through a powerful analogy from the film A Few Good Men. In the climactic courtroom scene, Colonel Nathan Jessup thunders at his accusers: “You can’t handle the truth! Son, we live in a world that has walls, and those walls have to be guarded by men with guns.”
Rosensweig noted that while the movie wants us to side with the idealistic prosecutors, Jessup’s words ring with uncomfortable reality for Israelis. We inhabit a dangerous neighborhood. The settlers on the hilltops, even those whose actions sometimes shock us, create layers of defense.
Without Gush Etzion, life in Beit Shemesh would be far more precarious. Without the smaller outposts, Gush Etzion itself would be vulnerable. And without the determined few in rickety caravans holding remote hilltops, much of the land would simply be lost to those who seek to overrun it.
Rosensweig does not shy from condemning settler violence. He calls it abhorrent, a desecration of God’s name, and politically disastrous. Yet he refuses the luxury of easy judgment from the sidelines. Those living shoulder-to-shoulder with hostile populations face daily friction that distant critics rarely encounter.
The hilltop youth, grotesque as some of their methods may appear, are in essence standing the post so the rest of us can sleep under the blanket of relative security.
Rosensweig’s closing challenge lands heavily: if we believe in higher ideals, are we willing to pick up a weapon and stand that post ourselves? Or will we demand perfection from those on the front lines while enjoying the safety they provide?
This perspective demands intellectual honesty. Living in Judea and Samaria is not a suburban idyll. It requires resolve, faith, and yes, at times, the willingness to confront hostility. The pioneering spirit that built Tel Aviv and the kibbutzim of the Galilee did not evaporate. It moved eastward, to the stony hills where Abraham walked and where King David established his kingdom.
Every new caravan, every modular home on a windswept ridge, echoes the Zionist ethos of draining swamps and making the desert bloom, only this time the challenge is both physical and spiritual.
The Torah’s command is even clearer: “And you shall possess the land and dwell in it,” God instructs repeatedly. This is no mere suggestion but a mitzvah binding across generations. To treat Judea and Samaria as negotiable real estate is to ignore the covenant that has sustained us through exile and return.
The settlers who plant vineyards on these hills, send their children to schools named for biblical figures, and defend every inch with their bodies are living that covenant daily. Their presence is an act of faith as much as strategy.
Renewal, not retreat
Security, too, is not abstract. October 7 taught us, if we needed reminding, what happens when barriers erode and terrorists gain proximity. The Jewish communities in Judea and Samaria create strategic, demographic, and psychological depth. They prevent the Palestinian Authority from turning the West Bank into a launchpad like Gaza.
Every outpost pushes the front line eastward, away from Kfar Saba, Petah Tikva, and Jerusalem’s western neighborhoods. Critics who call for retreat never explain how ceding territory has ever brought peace.
History shows the opposite: vacated areas become terror incubators. The settlers’ stubborn presence is the wall Jessup spoke of, imperfect, sometimes ugly in its friction, but indispensable.
Yet nuance matters, and Rosensweig’s analogy invites it. The greater danger arises when those who see themselves as guardians begin to view the state’s institutions as obstacles rather than partners. Colonel Jessup’s error was not his recognition of hard truths but his belief that he stood above the system he claimed to serve.
Some recent incidents – attacks on fellow Jews, targeting of judicial figures, or unchecked vigilantism – suggest this same drift. The hilltop youth are not disciplined soldiers under clear command; they are often young idealists operating in gray zones. Their violence does not always enhance security.
At times it endangers the broader settlement enterprise, hands propaganda victories to our enemies, and erodes the moral foundation upon which our claim to the land ultimately rests.
We must reject the notion that noble ends justify every means. Torah demands justice even toward the stranger in our midst. Prophets thundered against corruption and mistreatment of the vulnerable precisely because ethical failure threatens our hold on the land more surely than any external foe.
Teenagers destroying olive trees or harassing civilians are not the “sword” this nation needs. We can name evil when we see it while still recognizing the context that breeds desperation and confrontation.
The solution lies not in retreat but in renewal. We need more families moving to Judea and Samaria. We need educational frameworks that instill both fierce love of the land and rigorous ethical standards. We need leaders who support the settlers as pioneers while insisting on accountability.
Those willing to stand the post deserve our gratitude, not reflexive condemnation. But they, in turn, must remember they defend a Jewish state governed by law, not a personal fiefdom of ideology.
Israel’s story has always required balancing competing imperatives: security and morality, pioneering zeal and institutional order, Divine promise and human responsibility. The settlements force us to confront these tensions daily. They are messy precisely because they are real.
But without them, the Jewish people would be smaller, more vulnerable, and less sovereign in our land.
Settlements in Judea and Samaria deserve Israel’s and Zionists’ support. Let us strengthen them, perfect what needs perfecting within them, and recognize that in guarding these outposts, we guard the future of the entire Jewish state.
The writer is a certified interfaith hospice chaplain in Jerusalem and the mayor of Mitzpe Yeriho.