Oct. 7 was the shock—but it wasn’t the beginning.

That day revealed not only the savagery of our enemies, but a blind spot of our own.

Once again—in the media, on campuses, and in courts—we are accused of stealing Arab land. Of being colonizers.

Even more baffling is our collective response.

For over a century, Jewish leaders and diplomats have struggled mightily to present legal arguments: “Remember, there was the Balfour Declaration… the League of Nations… the Peel Commission… the U.N. Partition Plan…”

And yet, year after year, the brutal assault on the Jewish people and their homeland continues relentlessly. Apparently, no stack of resolutions can smother a fire this old.

And so maybe it’s time to confront the uncomfortable truth: If a century of diplomatic appeals hasn’t secured our legitimacy, what will?

The Paradox of Promise

Today, the Jewish people face a profound paradox.

On one hand, our leaders’ achievements over the past 120 years are nothing short of miraculous. Against every imaginable obstacle, they established—built—and defended—a vibrant, dynamic State in the most hostile neighborhood on earth.

And yet, that very State lives every hour of every day on a razor’s edge, staring down annihilation.

How long can we go on living as if every day could be the last?

If the global response to Oct. 7 showed anything, it’s that a major swath of the world’s population doesn’t believe we have a legitimate right to Israel. And an ever-growing number of American Jews seem to agree.

So we tell the world about our startups, our democracy, our LGBTQ rights in Tel Aviv. We trot out our tired legal arguments—and realize none of it amounts to a hill of beans.

Deep down, we all know that if our right comes from Britain, Britain can revoke it.

If it comes from a U.N. vote, another U.N. vote can nullify it.

If we’re occupiers, what difference does it make how many gays are free or how many startups we launch in Haifa?

And if our right rests on guilt-stained concessions of the international community, then we’re forever at the mercy of diplomats.

So, what exactly gives us the right to live there?

What if we could entertain, even if for a minute, the possibility that there might be a card we haven’t yet played?

What if we could reach for a source so ancient it predates Christianity and Islam—and so foundational it not only articulates Israel’s claim, but also underpins the moral framework of Western civilization and the faiths that grew from it?

Then we’re not talking about diplomatic memoranda anymore—we’re dealing with something far more formidable. Something primordial.

An Uncomfortable Conversation

It’s safe to say all our founders, thinkers and leaders knew of the Jewish claim to the Land. The question is: Why didn’t they invoke the Torah?

Maybe they doubted it. Maybe they feared looking like fundamentalists. Maybe they felt Bible stories had no place in serious legal arguments.

At the end of the day, the specific reasons don’t really matter. By discarding the Torah’s account, we’re left with a very fragile claim.

And isn’t it ironic that no one believes our biblical claim more than our adversaries?

Would they have built the Dome of the Rock where they did if they didn’t believe it was the site of our ancient Temples?

Would their mosques and villages ring Hebron, Shechem and Bethlehem if they didn’t believe the Torah’s account?

How do they get away with claiming our ancestral land?

Because we let them.

They know Western Jews recoil from citing Torah as our land deed.

They know American Jewish academics treat the Torah as myth.

They know even Israeli diplomats would rather discuss desalination than Deuteronomy.

Meanwhile, the evidence lies in wait.

The Torah recounts how Abraham purchased the Cave of Machpelah in Hebron for 400 silver shekels. It names the seller: Ephron the Hittite. It documents the transaction with the precision of a modern property contract.

The Torah describes Jacob purchasing land in Shechem from the sons of Chamor. The Arabs later named the town as Nablus.

And Bethlehem, where Rachel is buried. That too is under Arab control.

So one has to ask: Who is really occupying whom?

Mission and Mandate

We’re at a unique stage in our history. We’ve tried peace and we’ve tried war. We’ve tried giving land away and taking it back. We’ve deployed every diplomatic carrot and stick imaginable, and our enemies are no less hostile than they were a century ago.

Well, we’ve tried every strategy, that is, except for one.

Is it really such a crazy idea that there might just be a valid Jewish source for a Jewish State?

What if the stories in the Torah aren’t fairy tales? What if they contain unfathomable depth—and reveal a covenant linking people, purpose and place?

Nine centuries ago, Rashi asked: Why does the Torah begin with the story of Creation?

His answer: Because one day, the nations of the world would accuse the Jews of being bandits, of stealing the Land.

How could he have known this would happen hundreds of years later? He wasn’t a prophet—he didn’t need to be. He understood something timeless: that the Jewish people’s connection to the Land would always be contested.

He goes on to explain that God created the world and gave it to whom He wished. First to others, then to us.

And isn’t that exactly what happened?

We were in the Land from the time of Moses and Joshua—and when we broke our covenant over 2,000 years ago, we were exiled.

Then, in 1948, we returned.

But for what purpose? Was it simply to be a state for Jews—or to be a Jewish State?

The real struggle isn’t over borders.

It’s over mission. And memory.

Over whether we have the courage, the honesty—even the humility—to ask the questions we’ve avoided for too long.

A New Hope

What gives me hope—real hope—is that a new generation of Jews is emerging.

They approach Torah not as a curio, but as living wisdom.

They read Hebrew not as protest, but as birthright.

They refuse artificial labels like Orthodox or Reform. They see themselves simply as Jews.

Our adversaries don’t fear Israeli tech prowess or military might.

They don’t fear pride parades in Tel Aviv or women in the IDF.

What they fear—with existential dread—are Jews who remember.

Jews who know their texts and strive to live their tenets.

They fear Jews who walk their ancestral homeland not as nervous immigrants, but as a people returning home.

I see this firsthand as I travel across the U.S. with my new film, “Tragic Awakening,” which explores the Jewish people’s forgotten mission—and the quiet revolution now unfolding: a generation waking up.

The “new Jews” are not just rabbis and scholars. They’re filmmakers, physicians, journalists, entrepreneurs.

They’re young and old and they share one trait: They are done pretending.

They don’t need validation from Balfour.

They don’t seek the U.N.’s blessing.

They have the deed.

They understand what our enemies always knew: This land belongs to the Jewish people—not because we say so, but because it says so.

The deed didn’t die.

We just stopped reading it.

Wayne Kopping directed and edited “Tragic Awakening,’ a powerful exploration of antisemitism and Jewish identity. He is available for screenings and speaking engagements. Contact Rivka Sonts [email protected]