Finding Truth at the Extremes

In, But Not Of: A column examining conservatism in the era of the New Right

Credit: Jaber Jehad Badwan via Wikimedia Commons

When ideological forces collide, most retreat to the comfortable territory between opposing views. But what if this supposed safe harbor is an intellectual mirage—a convenient fiction that betrays both sides of the truth?

This is the provocative insight of G.W.F. Hegel, whose dialectical philosophy offers conservatives a radical lens for viewing the Gaza war. Hegel recognized something critical: that in our most divisive conflicts, truth doesn't reside in tepid compromise but in the explosive tension between opposing poles. The rational mind, he argued, contains “both of the opposites as ideal moments within itself”—a framework that demands we hold contradictions not as problems to be resolved but as essential tensions to be navigated.¹

Though the Gaza conflict is often portrayed as demanding a binary choice—where one must be either entirely pro-Israel or pro-Palestinian—Hegel's approach is intellectual dynamite. It suggests that the conservative position of integrity isn't found in splitting differences but in the courageous capacity to simultaneously embrace seemingly irreconcilable truths, in this case, to stand firmly for Israel's right to exist in security while unflinchingly acknowledging Palestinian suffering. We can condemn Hamas's atrocities without sanitizing the failures that created the conditions for extremism: namely, dysfunctional governance on both sides, with a Netanyahu administration that has prioritized political survival over hostage recovery and security and a Palestinian Authority crippled by corruption and incapable of providing a viable alternative to Hamas's extremism.

Americans especially tend to frame many of their conflicts in strict binaries: oppressor versus oppressed, Black versus white, Republican versus Democrat, Christian versus Muslim, etc. These simplistic frameworks, while comfortingly familiar, ultimately fail when applied to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, where history, identity, power, and vulnerability intertwine in ways that defy such neat categorization. This isn't to discredit asymmetries—if the Gaza Ministry of Health figures are to be believed, Palestinian casualties far outpace Israeli ones—but reducing complex geopolitical realities to familiar American political binaries misses the fundamental nature of this conflict.

I recently spent ten days in Israel. While I was there, the ceasefire ended, and I witnessed 200,000 Israelis gather in Tel Aviv's Habima Square—not chanting for territorial expansion or greater military action, but protesting Netanyahu's unprecedented firing of the Shin Bet security chief and expressing fears that the government was threatening democracy itself. The vibrancy of Israeli civil society, even in wartime, finds echoes in similar aspirations just miles across the border. As recent protests in northern Gaza demonstrate, Palestinians likewise are desperate for an end to the violence, with demonstrations spreading from Beit Lahiya to Khan Younis, Shuja'iyya, Nuseirat, and Deir Al-Balah demanding 'Hamas out' and carrying signs reading 'Enough displacement and homelessness,' 'Stop the war' and 'We refuse to die.' Protesters called not just for Hamas to step aside but also for new elections and an immediate end to Israel's military campaign. As one protester from Khan Younis expressed, “We want a complete and final end to the war, and for elections to be held so we can choose a party other than Hamas to govern us.” Another in Beit Lahiya insisted, “The world thinks that all of Gaza is Hamas, which is false. Hamas is part of Gaza; some of us agree with it and some disagree with it — this is normal.” These protests reveal a critical reality that's often lost in this debate: in both societies, ordinary people are pushing back against their own leadership while outsiders try to force everyone into neat “pro” and “anti” camps. This is precisely what we can draw from Hegel—real understanding doesn't come from picking one side or finding some lukewarm middle ground. It comes from seeing the full picture with all its messy contradictions.

Life in Gaza is hell. Even before October 7, Palestinians consumed on average only 73 liters of water daily—well below the World Health Organization's recommended minimum—while Israelis consumed at least four times that amount. The water crisis manifests as children developing kidney problems from drinking contaminated water, hospitals unable to properly sterilize equipment, and families spending up to a third of their income just to purchase drinking water from private vendors. Additionally, for the past decade, Gaza has suffered from a chronic electricity deficit with power available for only 4-12 hours per day. Hospitals must ration power, often forcing doctors to finish surgeries by cell phone flashlights when generators fail. Medication requiring refrigeration spoils. Students study by candlelight, if they study at all.

After October 7, this humanitarian situation deteriorated even further, as Israel cut off water, electricity, and fuel. By December, 90% of Gaza's 2.3 million people had been displaced at least once. Many slept in makeshift tents during winter rains, and there were reports of children dying from hypothermia. Bread lines still stretch for hours. Clean water is so scarce that families drink from contaminated sources, triggering outbreaks of hepatitis A and diarrheal diseases that overwhelm a healthcare system in which 70% of facilities have been damaged or destroyed.

No child chooses to be born into these circumstances. For many young Gazans, this crushing deprivation is all they have ever known. The word that repeatedly came to mind when I met both Christian Palestinians from the West Bank and Palestinian activists is hopelessness. When a 10-year-old has lived through four major bombing campaigns and has never had consistent electricity or clean water, anger becomes habitual. These people are trapped between decades of Israeli settlements, checkpoints, and barriers across the West Bank that severely restrict their movement, and a militant group that does not represent their aspirations for dignity. They endure a crushing system of restrictions that makes normal life impossible, while also being subjected to military actions that have resulted in massive civilian casualties.

Even if Israel could somehow eliminate every Hamas member while sparing civilians and children (a goal made even more difficult by Hamas’s use of human shields), would the idea of “from the river to the sea”—the demolition of the Jewish state—die with them? Can you kill an idea? The cycle fuels a deepening hopelessness, leaving us to question whether this conflict can ever truly end or if it's destined to remain a battle without victors—only survivors.

Some might then argue that the persistence of that murderous sentiment, even if Hamas were eliminated, contradicts this portrayal of Palestinians as primarily peace-seeking. But this dialectical approach doesn't require uniformity of thought among Palestinians any more than it assumes that all Israelis think alike. Just as we distinguish between Netanyahu's government and Israeli protestors demanding hostage recovery and democratic accountability, we must recognize the diversity within Palestinian society. The demonstrations in northern Gaza against Hamas reveal this complexity. The challenge isn't to find a narrative where everyone fits neatly into "peace-loving" or "extremist" categories, but to acknowledge that extremist ideas will continue to find fertile ground as long as the conditions of hopelessness, deprivation, and lack of dignity remain. Military solutions alone cannot resolve ideological conflicts when the underlying grievances persist unaddressed.

Standing at the edge of the Israel-Gaza border in the kibbutz Netiv HaAsara, the closest Israeli community to the border, I could see the rubble and cityscape with a layer of smoke hovering above it—yet I felt no fear for my safety. I trusted that Iron Dome and the Israeli military would protect me if necessary. Then came the jarring realization: if I were on the other side, I would have no such security. Gaza is a warzone where I might well die. Meanwhile, in Israel, I could enjoy a beer or two in a Tel Aviv bar that same evening. This stark disparity in security and daily life illustrates the fundamental power imbalance in the conflict—a reality that can be acknowledged through objective measures without excusing or minimizing the terrorism and trauma Israel has endured.

I am unapologetically supportive of Western democracy and Israel's right to exist as a state. I stand firmly against terrorism anywhere—especially against terrorist groups that hold American citizens hostage. Hamas reportedly still holds one of them alive and the remains of four others. But what I am not is anti-Palestinian. Being pro-Israel does not require being anti-Palestinian, just as acknowledging the horrific suffering of Palestinians does not diminish Israeli trauma.

During my visit, I had the opportunity to meet with prominent Israeli journalist Ilana Dayan, who offered a perspective that crystallized this dialectical approach. “We,” she said, referring to the Israeli people, “experienced a trauma like no other.” “Many of us are still hostages physically and mentally.” Yet she acknowledged the danger of exclusive victimhood: “Many Israelis have Jewish tragedy in the family photos, but we cannot say we are the only victims in this war—there are other victims as well.” What struck me most was her insistence that Israelis must resist the pull of endless grievance. Dayan emphasized that “we still believe in the possibility of the future of peace. Living together, not dying together.”

This vision was evident in the streets of Tel Aviv, where Israelis marched not for more land or continued war, but for democracy and the lives of hostages—for a future brighter than the present conflict. As Dayan urged, people should “come and see for themselves” what's happening in Israel beyond the headlines: not just the devastation in the south, but the vibrant civil society that continues to function even under threat, with citizens demanding accountability from their government and advocating for hostages whose plight risks being overshadowed by geopolitical machinations. Yet, it must too be acknowledged that we cannot “go and see” what is occurring in the Gaza strip, where access for journalists, aid workers, and international observers remains severely limited, creating an information gap that threatens our ability to comprehend the full humanitarian reality and complicates efforts toward a truly balanced understanding of this complex conflict.

The mélange of emotion, confusion, and geopolitical complexity in this conflict demands more from us than facile slogans or reflexive partisanship. It demands the moral courage to hold multiple truths simultaneously: that Israel has the right to defend itself from terrorism, that Palestinian civilians deserve protection from indiscriminate bombing, that Hamas is not the Palestinian people, and that Netanyahu's government is not Israel itself.

This intellectual honesty must be the foundation of any conservative engagement with the world as it is, rather than as we wish it to be. It's what Dayan means when she speaks of the necessity to “reckon with the paradox, [and] contain the clash” of competing narratives rather than trying to simplify them into digestible sound bites. It doesn't mean equating Hamas’s terrorism with Israeli defense. It doesn't mean abandoning our support for Israel's right to exist securely. It means acknowledging that the path to that security cannot be paved solely with military might—and that while civilian casualties are a tragic reality in war, we must never become numb to Palestinian suffering.

When we remember the Holocaust, we are called to ‘never forget’—not only the specific atrocities committed against the Jewish people, but also humanity's remarkable capacity to ignore suffering happening right before our eyes. This unconscious reflex—to look away from uncomfortable truths—is precisely what we must now resist.

The Gaza conflict confronts us with a fundamental test of moral courage. Will we acknowledge the full humanity of all involved, or will we selectively blind ourselves to the suffering that complicates our preferred narratives? True conservatism doesn't flinch from this challenge. It recognizes that the path forward requires reconciling the narratives presented to us as diametrically opposed: supporting Israel's right to security while demanding accountability for Palestinian suffering; condemning Hamas's terrorism while creating conditions where extremism cannot flourish; remembering past traumas while refusing to let them dictate future possibilities.

CINCINNATUS

1. Hegel, G.W.F. "The Encyclopaedia Logic." Translated by T.F. Geraets, W.A. Suchting, and H.S. Harris. Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Company, 1991, 133.