The question might seem, at first glance, to be a simple one. But the devil— or perhaps, in this case, the God— is buried deep in the details. It would be tempting to answer in haste, to offer platitudes about humanity rising above such quarrels, but that would be a lie. Up until now, I have sat quietly with my thoughts on the Israel-Palestine conflict. I have my own views, of course, but they mean little, for I have no personal stake in it. But now, something has stirred in me, something that compels me to write. I cannot help but see echoes of something similar in the ground I call my own and in the stories that shape my people’s lives. Of course, there is more than one reason why several Western nations choose to support Israel, but I’ll focus on just one in this piece — the religious and cultural one.
Why the West Should Support Israel
Returning to the question — is a fight over land justified? To answer that, one must first reckon with the land in question, for it is not just any plot of earth. This is a land that has woven itself into the fabric of a people’s identity, a land that has, through centuries of bloodshed, faith, and longing, become a symbol, a dream, a promise. To speak of this land is not just to speak of ownership, but of heritage.
When you consider the unbroken thread of the Judeo-Christian tradition, it becomes clear why the West stands with Israel. It’s not just a political alliance, but a continuation of an ancient bond—a shared history of faith that runs through the veins of Western civilization. Israel’s fight, in a sense, is their fight too. Israel represents more than just a nation-state. It is the physical manifestation of the promise etched in sacred texts—one that echoes through the halls of cathedrals, the pages of the Bible, and the ideals upon which the West built its foundations.
The land of Israel is the birthplace of a faith that gave rise to the moral compass by which many of the Western nations today measure their lives. It is the cradle of the very traditions that have defined their understanding of justice, sacrifice, and redemption. So when Israel fights, it is not just a struggle for its own survival—it is a battle to protect a shared legacy, a legacy that the West sees as part of its own soul.
Why It Matters to the Rest of the World
Of course, I have little stake in this matter, given that I do not belong to the Judeo-Christian faith, nor to a nation that is part of the Western civilization. Yet, I cannot casually disregard the values that this civilization has bestowed upon the world. Not forgetting the colonial history of how these values came to be spread, still, it would be dishonest not to acknowledge that the principles of freedom, equality, and individual dignity, values upon which the Western world is founded, are those that we, in the rest of the world, look to the West to safeguard. Even with their imperfections and contradictions, these ideals have become the yardstick by which many other nations measure progress. I do not want to imagine what would happen if the West were to fall—if the moral compass that has steered so much of the modern world were to lose its bearings.
Readers in India might interpret this to mean that I dismiss the values of Indian culture or the rich traditions of the wider Asian world. But nothing could be farther from the truth. I have deep respect for my own culture, for the wisdom and values it has contributed to the ever-expanding repository of human thought and achievement. India’s spiritual depth, its values of balance, duty, discipline, non-violence, pursuit of knowledge and the individual spiritual journey remain invaluable to the human story and will continue to enrich the human experience. But when it comes to the principles of freedom, equality, and justice — those ideals that have shaped the trajectory of modern governance, law, and social equality — it is the West that has gifted them to us. Those in my country familiar with the history of our nation’s constitution will know where the influence of a good part of the legal framework we now live under, can be found.
Why it Matters to Me
Recently, the government of India completed the construction of the Ram Mandir in the city of Ayodhya. For many Hindus, it was a celebration as full of joy as the festival Diwali. The significance of this event goes beyond the physical walls of the temple; it is rooted in the land itself, for the site where this temple now stands is considered to be Ram Janmabhoomi—the birthplace of Lord Rama, the hero of the epic Ramayana. For those who hold this belief, it is not merely a plot of land but a sacred place where the divine first touched the earth. Lord Rama, the ideal of dharma, virtue and righteousness, is a figure whose stature in Hinduism is no less than Jesus in the Christian faith.
The site of the temple has long been a point of communal tensions in India. A slogan that echoed across decades, "Mandir wahin banayenge"—"We will build the temple there (at Rama’s birthplace)"—became a rallying cry for many Hindus. This ground, however, was also the site of the Babri Masjid, a mosque constructed by Mir Baqi, a commander of the emperor Babur, who invaded India in the 16th century and established the Mughal empire. In 1992, this mosque was torn down by activists affiliated with a Hindu nationalist group, who claimed that Babur had built the mosque atop the ruins of a Rama temple, which he had ordered destroyed. The demolition triggered widespread unrest and riots in the country.
An excavation conducted by the Archaeological Survey of India unearthed evidence of a massive, non-Islamic structure beneath the remains of the mosque. (Interesting fact: the said excavation was headed by a Muslim, KK Muhammed.) After years of legal battles, the Supreme Court ruled in favour of the Hindu claim. It directed the disputed land to be handed over to a trust for the construction of a temple dedicated to Lord Rama. To address the communal balance, the court also allotted a larger plot of land, some distance from Ayodhya, for the construction of a mosque.
The story of this temple resonates deeply with the tale of Rama himself. In the Ramayana, Rama, the prince of Ayodhya, was unjustly banished from his kingdom and endured years of exile, only to return triumphantly with his wife, Sita, and his brother, Lakshmana, after vanquishing the demon king, Ravana. That homecoming was celebrated with the lighting of lamps, a tradition that gave birth to the festival of Diwali. In many ways, the completion of the temple and the installation of Lord Rama’s idol felt like another kind of homecoming—a symbolic restoration of a divine figure to the place where, as believers hold, his mortal journey began. For countless Hindus, it was a moment of fulfillment, a belief realized after centuries of waiting and decades of strife. It felt as though the lord himself had come home once again.
Critics may call such devotion misplaced. They argue that land, in the grand scheme of things, should not hold such significance. Why should religion take precedence over the broader ideals of humanity? They question the need to cling to temples and mosques when the same land could serve a more pragmatic purpose—why not build a school or a hospital that would provide tangible benefits to people? These voices also took issue with the Prime Minister’s personal involvement in the rituals of the temple’s inauguration, pointing out that such overt religious participation by the leader of a nation undermines the secular fabric of a society where the separation of church and state is meant to be sacrosanct. There were also accusations of political opportunism. Some claimed that the government’s active role in the temple’s construction was a calculated move to secure the loyalty of millions of Hindu voters, which it may well have been. Others contended that it was not just about faith or history, but also a strategic ploy to boost pilgrimage tourism, turning the sacred into a lucrative enterprise. Again, there is no denying that the temple will boost tourism revenue.
Still, such critiques failed to grasp the depth of what this temple signifies to those who revere it. To dismiss it as merely land, or to reduce it to an economic strategy, risks overlooking the emotional and cultural resonance it holds for millions. For millions of Hindus, Ayodhya is not just a city; it is the birthplace of a god who embodies the ideals of dharma and virtue. To stand in that place is to feel the weight of centuries, the echo of voices that have never stopped calling it sacred.
So even for those of us who stand outside the complexities of the Israel-Palestine conflict, Israel’s fight for its land, for its faith and its legacy is understandable. Just as millions of Hindus see the Ram Mandir as more than a temple, as the reclamation of something intrinsic to their identity, so too does the West see Israel as a kind of affirmation that all that they stand for, has not been extinguished. When these narratives are under siege, the response is often one of solidarity—not merely political, but deeply personal and ideological, rooted in the belief that some stories are worth protecting because they define who we are. We fight not over land. We fight so as not to be erased.
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