A Torah scroll. Photo: RabbiSacks.org.

There are times when mercy and compassion are essential, the very qualities that can help resolve difficult situations. But sometimes, kindness backfires — becoming not just unhelpful, but downright dangerous and counterproductive. The trick is knowing when compassion is misplaced.

One person who understood this very well was Sir Winston Churchill. Faced with the overwhelming belligerence of Nazi Germany’s advance in 1940, he stood before the House of Commons in his first speech as Prime Minister and declared, “You cannot reason with a tiger when your head is in its mouth.”

His strategy was clear: there had to be total, unrelenting resistance if Hitler and his thuggish violence were to be overcome. What Churchill recognized was that compassion for Germans and Germany in the fight against Hitler would be a dreadful mistake, and that the future of the free world hung in the balance.

General William Tecumseh Sherman shared this same insight, as his infamous “scorched earth” march through the South during the American Civil War vividly demonstrated. A pragmatic but devoted unionist, Sherman knew that anything less than decisive, overwhelming action — targeting both military and civilian resources — would likely fail to break the Confederacy’s resolve, prolonging the horrific conflict and deepening the Nation’s rift.

So, he took the hard road, leading a campaign so relentless it crushed the Confederate spirit and ultimately paved the way for the country to reunify.

While Sherman’s methods might seem extreme to modern sensibilities, his choices were grounded in a harsh reality: had he left room for the Confederacy to regroup, rearm, and resist, that would have meant decades of war and suffering that would have been far worse.

As brutal as it was, Sherman’s march was calculated to bring the suffering to a quicker end, because rebuilding could only happen after those intent on destroying peace were decisively defeated.

Similarly, Churchill understood that any attempt to negotiate with Nazi Germany would only prolong the threat, which was why he insisted that peace could only be secured by confronting the enemy head-on, often with military tactics that left devastation in its wake.

The Allied forces targeted strategic cities like Dresden, Rotterdam, and Berlin in overwhelming bombing campaigns that were aimed at breaking Germany’s ability to continue the war. As Churchill put it, there had to be “Victory at all costs, victory in spite of all terror, victory however long and hard the road may be — for without victory, there is no survival.”

In Europe, victory required the calculated use of brutal force to dismantle the infrastructure that supported tyranny, paving the way for a postwar rebuilding grounded in true peace.

Now, let’s fast-forward to the present. The tragic events of last October 7th in Israel showed the world the cruelty that groups like Hamas are willing to inflict on innocent civilians without provocation or any attempt to try peaceful resolution first.

But even as Israel began its justified — and unquestionably harsh — military response, most international leaders could only bring themselves to offer cautious, watered-down support, and very quickly began to call for a ceasefire. The “support” offered was accompanied by the kinds of conditions that would inevitably blunt the effectiveness of what Israel was trying to do — namely, root out Hamas once and for all. Israel’s right to defend itself was affirmed with one breath and curbed with the next.

How can pure evil be defeated if misdirected compassion is continually used to tie the hands of those fighting it? By insisting on half-measures and quick returns to “stability,” the international community has only prolonged the suffering, allowing groups like Hamas to regroup and continue their cycle of terror. True peace demands the courage to confront and dismantle the forces of destruction—not giving them breathing room under the guise of compassion.

One can’t help but wonder how things might look today if, years ago, Israel had acted with Churchillian resolve in the face of Hamas, or had they, like Sherman, decided that the only path to peace was one that left no room for enemies to regroup. Instead, we’ve seen decades of half-measures, ceasefires, and so-called negotiations that have served only to buy time for Hamas to rearm and double down.

And it’s not just Israel. And it’s not just Hamas. For years, the Western world has danced around Iran, tolerating its proxy terrorism through Hezbollah in Lebanon, militias in Iraq, the Houthis in Yemen, and its entrenched role in supporting Hamas — and that’s before you consider their attempts to become a nuclear military power.

Iran’s regime is the most outstanding contemporary example of what happens when the world treats an existential threat with kid gloves. Imagine if decisive action had been taken against Iran when its terror network was still in its infancy. Imagine if the West had backed Israel, not with words, but solid, uncompromising support. Wouldn’t the Middle East be a very different place?

Which brings me to Parshat Vayeira, where we find Abraham pleading with God to spare the city of Sodom, bargaining with Him in the hope that even a small cluster of righteous people might justify saving the entire city. I have always struggled with this story. What is the point of the bible remembering Abraham’s abject failure to negotiate a reprieve for this doomed city?

But perhaps his failure is precisely the point. While Abraham’s compassion is admirable, and his willingness to challenge God heroic, ultimately, God is telling him that Sodom’s sins are so extreme, so corrosive, and so reprehensible that redemption is no longer an option.

God’s response is swift, and the angels sent to dispatch Sodom do what has to be done: they rescue Lot and his family and destroy the city until no trace of it is left.

That is the essential lesson here. Compassion has limits. God’s response to Abraham wasn’t dismissive or cruel. Instead, it was a recognition that certain evils cannot be redeemed, and therefore, no attempt should be made to try and redeem them.

Of course, God allowed Abraham to advocate, to hope, and to express compassion — we are always expected to explore compassion as an option. But in the end, Sodom’s fate was sealed. The destruction of Sodom didn’t mean Abraham had failed; even kindly Abraham had to learn that mercy, too, has boundaries.

As we look at the situation in Israel and the Middle East today, the parallels to Sodom and Gomorrah are impossible to ignore. Groups like Hamas, Hezbollah, the Houthis, and, in particular, their Iranian puppet masters, don’t just oppose Israel; they undermine regional and international stability and twist their own people into tools for a vile nihilistic agenda.

They have proven themselves beyond redemption, operating with methods that prioritize terror over any semblance of peace. And, just as Abraham learned, we too must realize that there are times when standing firm against such forces is not only necessary — it’s moral.

The incoming US administration’s cabinet and diplomatic appointments this week show that this message has finally made it to the highest levels, and the self-destructive mercy of those who advocate for a ceasefire might finally be overruled by those who have the greater good and a strategic vision at the center of their focus.

In Parshat Vayeira, we see that not every plea for mercy is good, nor every act of destruction bad. There is a place for compassion, and there is a place for resolve. And in a world where Sodom still thrives, knowing when to draw the line may be the key to safeguarding what we truly value.

The author is a rabbi in Beverly Hills, California.