Yemen’s government announces all-out war to reclaim land from Houthis as reflected on by Rabbi Miriam Levin
In the quiet morning hours at Congregation Kol Shalom, I sat with the news from Yemen. The headline carried a grim declaration. The government has announced Yemen’s all-out war to reclaim territory from Houthi forces. Across thousands of miles, those words land with a heavy thud in our quiet suburb of Highland Woods. For nearly a decade, Yemen’s people have endured relentless bombardment, famine, and displacement. An escalation into total warfare is not a new strategic dawn; it merely deepens an already catastrophic human nightmare.
Political leaders often speak broadly of strategic deterrence, borders, and national reclamation. Our tradition, however, reminds us that such rhetoric easily blinds us to human suffering. The Mishnah in Tractate Sanhedrin teaches a profound lesson. Whoever destroys a single life is considered as if they destroyed an entire world. Conversely, whoever saves a single life saves an entire world. When governments speak of total war, we must ask what becomes of those individual worlds. We consider the shopkeepers, the parents carrying sick children to depleted clinics, and the families who have already lost everything.
Ethical Fences Around Conflict in Yemen’s All-Out War
Jewish law has never been naive about conflict. It acknowledges that defense can be necessary. Yet our sages placed profound ethical fences around warfare. In the Torah, for instance, our ancestors were commanded to offer terms of peace before laying siege to an enemy city. Furthermore, in the Mishneh Torah, Maimonides taught a vital principle. An army must leave a side open during a siege so noncombatants might flee and preserve their lives. Our legal heritage insists on this. Even in battle, the preservation of innocent life, the principle of pikuach nefesh, must restrain impulses toward total destruction.
In Highland Woods, we are insulated from falling missiles. We cannot, however, be insulated from moral responsibility. In our suburban interfaith council, I sit with local pastors, imams, and civic leaders. We know that global violence touches our neighbors directly. When strikes exchange across Yemen, families in our own communities hold their breath. Their loved ones’ survival hangs by a thread. Ultimately, to recognize that every civilian is fashioned b’tzelem Elohim, in the divine image, is to reject the cold detachment that geographic distance often invites.
Pursuing Peace, Rejecting Numbness
Perhaps the greatest spiritual hazard we face when reading of another military offensive is numbness. Compassion fatigue is a pervasive affliction. When a crisis drags on for years, public conscience begins to accept catastrophe as ordinary. Nevertheless, our prophets constantly rebuked the temptation to look away from the vulnerable. Despair is an abdication of covenantal duty. We cannot allow ourselves to normalize starvation as a weapon. We also cannot accept the destruction of civil infrastructure as mere background noise.
The work of Tikkun Olam, repairing our fractured world, cannot be confined to local kindness. We cannot remain indifferent to international catastrophe. It demands that we hold our leaders accountable for the weapons they supply. It also demands diplomatic pressure they fail to exert. Furthermore, it calls upon us to support humanitarian agencies providing sustenance to the desperate. Genuine repair requires insisting that international law and civilian safety are not optional courtesies. We must not discard them when conflict escalates. As war drums beat louder in Yemen, our prayers must be accompanied by moral vigilance. We must pray for the innocent, demand de-escalation from those who wield power, and refuse to let our suburban peace blind us to the cries of the afflicted.
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