Israel as the Holy Land: A Graveyard of Unholy Acts

Once, the word holy was uttered with reverence. It was carved into the stones of ancient temples, illuminated in gold on sacred texts, and spoken softly in sanctuaries across the world. It meant purity and peace. To call something holy was to set it apart, to shelter it from the chaos of everything.

But in the present time, “holy” sounds different.

Now, it echoes through smoke-blackened ruins and over the cries of children. It is scrawled on protest signs and screamed through grief at funerals. It slips bitterly from the tongues of survivors who watched their homes burn while the rest of the world looked away.

In Gaza, where more than 50,000 people—many of them children—has been buried under the weight of war, displaced families are barely surviving with the lack of food and shelter, too scared of the lingering thought of a bomb dropping from above. 

These are not just statistics and numbers. These are lives lost in places considered sacred, constructed in place by what is known as the ‘holy land’. And as bombs fall on cities and bullets tear through places of worship, the meaning of the word demands to be reconsidered.

How do we define the sacred when the sanctity of life itself is so violently disregarded; when “holy” is invoked no longer to heal, but to harm?

Where Holiness Meets Hostility

It is a bitter irony that the most contested spaces on Earth are often those deemed most sacred. Israel has long been called the Holy Land. But in Gaza, just miles from Jerusalem’s ancient walls, the skies thunder not with angelic choirs, but with airstrikes.

Homes, hospitals, and mosques were reduced to ash. What was once a place where refuge was given now induces a time of dispute, producing refugees who struggle to find safety in what was once their home. Critics argue that Israel’s claim to holiness has been weaponized, its moral high ground eroded by the very actions it once condemned. Religious legitimacy is invoked not to uplift but to justify, just as it has been in too many wars before. And in doing so, the line between protector and perpetrator blurs. Among those who struggle at each end of the line, most affected are the people in between. Innocent deaths collateral for a power-raged war in the name of religion and sacred right. 

Religious leaders speak of peace. Politicians speak of security. But the bombs don’t discriminate between temples and tenements, nor between faith and fear. As the line blurs between holiness and hostility, the soil that once bore the prayers of millions now drinks in their grief. 

A Graveyard for the Innocent

When they spoke of holiness, did they mean to be revered as a land of peace? Or a sacred place where one can be closer to God? If they mean the latter, then it is perhaps the reason why innocent lives are taken, after all, what could be more sacred than the fragile breath of a child?

After Israel broke the ceasefire on March 18, at least 500 children were killed. A newborn child, amputated and later on died because of the insufficient support and supplies they received, was mourned as the sixth death that day. Their names won’t be etched into stained glass or carved into marble altars. They would be mourned, quietly, if at all. 

Those who survived are left with nothing.

“It means babies, children are going to bed hungry,” United Nations Reliefs and Works Agency for Palestine Refugees in the Near East (UNRWA) Director of Communications Juliette Touma warned that all basic supplies “are running out” in Gaza. A land that was described as fertile and "flowing with milk and honey," suitable for agriculture and shepherding, is now divided, with one side as perpetrator of the others' suffering and starvation. 

Once again, Israel has made history, but this time—for making a graveyard for innocent children justified by their holy actions and sacred belief.

Worship and Power

Meanwhile, world leaders are caught in a moral storm of their own making. Some call it self-defense. Others call it genocide. But whispers, so blatantly revealed in the midst of it all, call it business and power. 

Former U.S. President Joe Biden, months after the genocide attacks started, stood at a podium half a world away from the rubble of Gaza, voicing concern over the humanitarian crisis—yet signing off on the very aid that fuels it. His words call for restraint, but his government’s actions speak in weapon shipments and vetoes. At the United Nations, his administration has blocked multiple resolutions demanding a ceasefire, drawing a sharp line between diplomacy and complicity. For many watching from afar, the contradiction is staggering: how can one mourn the dead while arming their killers?

Elsewhere, the voices sound different. In the southern hemisphere, where memories of colonial pain still shape national memory, leaders are naming the violence plainly as it is. South Africa, with the shadows of apartheid still fresh in its history, has accused Israel of genocide—bringing the case to the International Court of Justice. Bolivia and Brazil have joined in condemnation, breaking ranks with the silence of more powerful allies. Here, the language is not diluted. Not "conflict," but massacre. Not "self-defense," but systematic annihilation. 

The world still stands at a crossroads, as worship and power contradict or come hand in hand on the stage where innocent lives are lost. In these differing voices, the world seems split—not just by borders, but by its very conscience. As world leaders weigh the cost of alliances over the value of lives, and as bombs fall on cities once deemed sacred, we are left with a gaping hole of what truly is the essence of “holy”?

Redefining the Holy

This war, like so many before it, is waged in the name of sanctity. And yet, it desecrates the very essence of what it claims to protect: life, dignity, and compassion. The prophets did not speak of missiles. The scriptures did not call for a siege. Still, the divine is so shamelessly invoked to justify the inhumane.

The staggering reality is that if holy places can burn, if holy books can be twisted into battle cries—then what, truly, is holy? 

To answer that is not to look back at history, it is not the gold scriptures or the reverence it once held. What is truly holy is not what we fight for—but what we refuse to destroy. It is the quiet defiance of love in a world bent on war. It is the choice to see humanity before ideology, dignity before doctrine. And in a time where holiness is spoken louder in war than in worship, perhaps the only thing left that is truly holy is the compassion of those who seek peace—and the empathy they extend to those who cannot.

Article: Gabrielle Cruz

Graphics: Kent Bicol