The Ancient Jewish Roots of Israel’s Military Doctrine

The Talmudic advice of "rise and kill first" does not glorify violence; it acknowledges evil. It does not desire war; it seeks to prevent death in a world that has rarely cared for Jewish survival.

An Israeli Air Force jet prepares for lift-off. (photo: Israeli Air Force/X)

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Few nations have embodied the imperative of preemptive self-defense more than Israel.

At the heart of its security doctrine lies a brutal but necessary calculus: Kill before being killed.

This approach, colloquially understood through the Talmudic expression “ha-ba lehargekha, hashkem le-hargo” — “If someone comes to kill you, rise early and kill him first.” — is more than just a pithy phrase. It is a survival ethic born from thousands of years of Jewish vulnerability, honed in the crucible of modern antisemitism, and operationalized in the Jewish state’s military and intelligence strategies.

The foundation of Israel’s policy of preemptive defense is deeply embedded in Jewish thought. In the book of Exodus (22:1), we find the principle that if a thief is caught breaking into a home at night, the homeowner is not guilty of bloodshed if he kills the intruder. The rationale? In the dark, one cannot assume the intruder’s intentions are nonlethal.

Later, in the Talmud (Sanhedrin 72a), Jewish sages crystallized this logic into a universal principle: “Ha-ba lehargekha, hashkem le-hargo” — if someone is coming to kill you, it is not only permissible, but obligatory, to strike first. This is not a doctrine of aggression, but one of moral clarity in the face of an existential threat. It does not glorify violence; it acknowledges evil. It does not desire war; it seeks to prevent death in a world that has rarely cared for Jewish survival.

For two millennia of diaspora existence, Jews were often denied the ability to act on this principle. Defenseless in ghettos, Arab lands, pogrom-ridden villages, and concentration camps, the lesson of passivity became one of the most painful inheritances of Jewish history.

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Jews immigrating to pre-state Israel beginning in the 1800s knew that they had to think and operate differently.

They formed Jewish militias that were expressions of a historic shift: from victimhood to agency, from pacifism to resistance, from exile to sovereignty. They embraced the ancient commandment to rise and defend Jewish life not as an abstract moral value, but as a lived, daily necessity in a violent and indifferent world.

Without them, there would likely be no Israel. And without their legacy, Israel would not be able to defend itself today. That legacy, both heroic and controversial, continues to inform the ethos of a state that still lives by the ancient logic: If someone comes to kill you, rise first and make sure they don’t.

Before the founding of the State of Israel in 1948, Jewish self-defense in the Land of Israel (then Mandatory Palestine under British rule) was not a given; it was a desperate necessity. Jews built a series of underground militias that laid the foundation for the future Israel Defense Forces (IDF) in response to repeated violence, pogroms, and the failure of foreign authorities to protect Jewish communities,

Hashomer (“The Watchman”), founded in 1909 as an outgrowth of Bar Giora (1907), took its name and inspiration from Biblical and Talmudic concepts of guardianship. Its goal was to protect isolated Jewish agricultural settlements from Bedouin raids and local Arab attacks. Members of Hashomer often lived spartan lives and adopted Arab dress and customs to blend in, but their ideology was clear: Jewish sovereignty would only come with Jewish self-reliance.

Following the 1920 Arab riots and the massacre of Jews in Jerusalem and other cities, the Jewish leadership in the Yishuv (the pre-state Jewish community) created the Haganah, meaning “The Defense.” It quickly became the main military organization of the Jewish community, operating under the umbrella of the Jewish Agency.

The Haganah was clandestine, disciplined, and politically aligned with the Labor Zionist movement. Its doctrine was defensive, but only to a point. As Arab attacks became more organized in the 1920s and 1930s, and especially during the Arab Revolt from 1936 to 1939, the Haganah developed offensive capabilities. Units began to preemptively strike at Arab militias and sabotage infrastructure used for attacks against Jews.

Haganah operatives worked with the British during World War II, forming special units like the Palmach, an elite strike force that trained under British auspices to fight the Nazis (and later used their training to fight the British themselves).

There was also the Irgun, founded in 1931 by more militant members of the Haganah. Influenced by the Revisionist Zionist movement of Ze’ev Jabotinsky, the Irgun viewed British authorities not as partners, but as colonial occupiers standing in the way of Jewish sovereignty.

The Irgun embraced a more aggressive doctrine of deterrence and retribution. When Arab mobs massacred Jews (as in Hebron in 1929), the Irgun struck back with retaliatory raids. It also carried out high-profile attacks on British military and administrative targets, including the 1946 bombing of the King David Hotel, which housed British administrative offices.

A splinter from the Irgun, Lehi was even more radical. Founded by Avraham “Yair” Stern in 1940, Lehi sought not just to expel the British, but to hasten the re-establishment of a sovereign Jewish kingdom in the biblical homeland. During World War II, Lehi even attempted to negotiate with Nazi Germany to allow Jews to escape to Israel.

When Israel declared independence in May 1948, these disparate militias were merged into a single national force: the Israel Defense Forces (IDF). The process wasn’t smooth; in fact, the Altalena Affair (a violent confrontation between the new Israeli government and Irgun fighters over arms and autonomy) nearly caused a civil war. But ultimately, Israel unified its military command and incorporated all major fighting forces into a single entity.

The legacy of the pre-state militias endures in both culture and policy. The Palmach’s spirit lives on in Israel’s special forces. The Haganah’s focus on infrastructure and defense became the DNA of the IDF. The Irgun helped shape a security ethos that remains unapologetically focused on preemption, deterrence, and unilateral action when necessary. Lehi’s cutthroat M.O. translated into the Mossad’s ruthless precision in eliminating threats to Jewish life.

The creation of the modern State of Israel in 1948 was, in part, the end of powerlessness. And with it came the reactivation — this time with an army, an intelligence apparatus, and political sovereignty — of the ethic to “rise and kill first.”

The modern Israeli embodiment of this doctrine found sharp expression in its intelligence operations. After the Holocaust, the Mossad’s capture of Adolf Eichmann in Argentina and his secret extradition to Israel in 1960 was not just about justice; it was a signal. Jews were no longer going to wait for the world to protect them. They would defend themselves.

In the decades that followed, Israel developed one of the most sophisticated and aggressive counterterrorism strategies in the world, including targeted assassinations. After the 1972 Munich Olympic massacre, in which 11 Israeli athletes were murdered by the Palestinian terrorist group Black September, Israel launched Operation Wrath of God, sending operatives across Europe and the Middle East to hunt down and eliminate the perpetrators. The message was clear: Jewish blood will no longer be cheap.

But the doctrine wasn’t limited to revenge. It evolved into a policy of preemptive neutralization. Hezbollah commanders, Iranian nuclear scientists, and Hamas bomb makers all have been targeted under the logic of “rise and kill first.” This is not because Israel enjoys killing, but because waiting for an attack means funerals. Acting before an attack means funerals for terrorists.

Israel’s preemptive actions are frequently criticized as extrajudicial or in violation of international norms. But under Article 51 of the UN Charter, nations have an inherent right to self-defense. Moreover, the Caroline Doctrine, a 19th-century principle in international law, permits anticipatory self-defense if the threat is “instant, overwhelming, and leaving no choice of means and no moment for deliberation.”

Israel faces precisely such threats on a regular basis, from rocket arsenals in Gaza to uranium enrichment in Natanz. It cannot afford the luxury of deliberation. A single miscalculation — a missed signal, a delayed response — could mean mass casualties. In that context, its actions are not only morally defensible; they are morally imperative.

In the modern era, the “rise and kill first” doctrine has adapted to cyberwarfare, drone technology, and asymmetrical warfare. Israel’s 2020 cyberattack on Iran’s Shahid Rajaee port, allegedly in response to an Iranian cyberattack on Israeli water systems, was a digital manifestation of this principle. So was the 2020 assassination of Iranian nuclear scientist Mohsen Fakhrizadeh, reportedly carried out by a remote-controlled, AI-assisted weapon.

The core doctrine remains unchanged: Neutralize the threat before it becomes a disaster.

Israel also applies this philosophy domestically in its counterterrorism responses, border security, and even in how it deals with terrorists. During the Second Intifada, for instance, this approach saved countless lives by identifying and eliminating would-be suicide bombers before they could strike.

That same “rise and kill first” calculus drove Israel to attack Iran late last week, after the rogue Iranian regime was reportedly just days away from developing nuclear weapons which it could presumably use to fulfill its decades-long, self-proclaimed goal of destroying Israel.

The Israelis could not wait for a mushroom cloud. They could not wait for world condemnation to turn into a eulogy. As in its past operations, from Entebbe to Osirak to Damascus, Israel acted unilaterally, decisively, and without apology. Because, in a region where threats escalate quickly and sympathy comes too late, the choice is glaringly simple: preempt or perish.

Of course, such a policy carries risks and ethical costs: Intelligence can be faulty, collateral damage is not always avoidable, and the use of targeted killings can erode international sympathy or provoke escalation.

But Israel does not operate in a vacuum of theoretical ethics; it operates in a region where genocidal threats are made openly, and where weakness is not punished with criticism, but with death.

For a country 420 kilometers long and 115 wide, surrounded by hostile actors, the decision to strike first is not reckless; it’s rational. It is not about vengeance; it is about survival.

The doctrine of “rise and kill first” may sound brutal to Western ears, trained to think in terms of Geneva Conventions, peace conferences, and “proportionality.” But Jewish history — from Masada to Munich, from dhimmi¹ status to the Holocaust — has taught a different lesson: The world often does not come in time.

Israel is not a nation that celebrates war; it is a nation born of trauma, surrounded by enemies, and committed to preserving life, particularly Jewish life. And sometimes, paradoxically, the way to preserve life is to take it first.

If that offends modern sensibilities, perhaps those sensibilities should spend a little more time studying Jewish history, and a little less time moralizing to the Jews who survived it.

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1. Arabic for a second-class citizen in an Islamic society