I Saw Israel as the Aggressor. Then I Forced Myself to Look at the Evidence on Iran.

Let me be clear: for years, my perspective on Israel was set in stone, carved from a mountain of what I considered unimpeachable evidence. I read the reports and I saw the images. My narrative was one of an unrestrained regional power whose claims of morality were rendered hollow by its actions. I saw the relentless, graphic reporting on mass civilian casualties in Gaza, and it became a credibility anchor I couldn't dislodge. I read the Haaretz report alleging a policy of shooting unarmed civilians at aid distribution sites and shared it, horrified. In my mind, this established a clear pattern of brutality that made any Israeli claim to a moral high ground seem like cynical propaganda.

When Israel struck Iran, my initial reaction was one of weary, predictable condemnation. This was aggression. This was Netanyahu, cornered by corruption trials, seeking a desperate political lifeline by dragging the region into war. I saw the images of mass state funerals for slain Iranian commanders, the seas of mourners and flag-draped coffins broadcast by the AP and the BBC, and it confirmed my bias. These were not just 'terrorists' as Israel claimed; they were mourned national figures. Israel, I concluded, was not just an aggressor, but a clumsy one, further isolating itself and neutralizing its own message. I was certain of this. I wrote about it. I argued it with friends. And I was wrong.

My certainty began to fray not with a bang, but with a quiet, nagging inconsistency. It was a single document: the International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA) report. I had read about it in passing, but the catalyst for my change was deciding to read the dry, technical details myself. The report stated, in cold, bureaucratic language, that Iran possessed enough 60% enriched uranium to produce up to 15 nuclear bombs and was a mere technical step from weapons-grade material. It wasn’t a theoretical threat for some distant future. It was a matter of weeks, maybe days.

Suddenly, the narrative of an 'unprovoked attack' felt flimsy. I started pulling on that thread, and the entire tapestry of my beliefs began to unravel. I had accused Israel of escalating, but I was forced to confront the actual timeline. October 7th was not a standalone event; it was a massacre perpetrated by Hamas, a proxy armed, funded, and directed by Tehran. Then came April 14th, when Iran launched its first-ever direct missile attack on Israel. Then October 1st, a second direct missile barrage. This wasn’t a conflict Israel started with its operation; it was a response to a war Iran had been waging for years through its proxies and, finally, under its own flag. The strike wasn't the first shot; it was a response to the hundredth. The 'reluctant heroism' I had once dismissed as a PR line started to look chillingly like a descriptor of a nation that, after years of absorbing blows, finally decided to hit back at the source before a knockout punch could be delivered.

This led to the most difficult part of my reckoning: confronting the narrative of 'Israeli brutality.' My mind was saturated with the images from Gaza. How could a nation responsible for such suffering claim surgical precision anywhere else? The cognitive dissonance was deafening. But my commitment to the facts forced me to look at what was actually targeted in Iran. The targets weren't random apartment blocks. They were the Pilot Fuel Enrichment Plant in Natanz, a critical node in the nuclear program. They were the IRGC airbase in Tabriz. They were the command bunkers of the very men who orchestrate global terror.

I looked at the list of those eliminated: General Hossein Salami, the head of the IRGC; Amir Ali Hajizadeh, the commander who personally oversaw the missile attacks on Israeli cities. These were not 'innocent civilians' or simple 'national figures.' They were the architects of a death cult that stretches from Lebanon to Yemen. In stark contrast, Iran's response was to fire over 200 missiles not at IDF bases, but into the civilian hearts of Tel Aviv and Ramat Gan, murdering a 74-year-old grandmother, Eti Cohen Engel, in her home. The moral chasm I had refused to see was suddenly undeniable. Israel was attacking military sites and senior terrorists; Iran was attacking families. The grim reality is that the Iranian regime, like its proxy Hamas, embeds its military assets and leaders within civilian populations. The death of a general in his home isn't an Israeli war crime; it's evidence of the Iranian regime's war crime of using its own people as human shields.

This reframed my understanding of those state funerals. I had seen them as a genuine outpouring of national grief. But a world without the Iranian regime is a better world, most of all for the Iranian people. The IRGC isn't just an army; it's the regime's iron fist, used to crush dissent, to brutalize women demanding basic rights, and to execute political opponents. The men in those flag-draped coffins were not heroes to the millions of Iranians who yearn for freedom. They were their jailers. The mass gatherings were not spontaneous grief; they were state-mandated political theater. I realized with a sickening certainty that by condemning Israel's strike, I wasn't standing with the people of Iran; I was siding with their oppressors. Weakening the IRGC doesn't just protect Tel Aviv; it creates a flicker of hope for the brave people in Tehran.

Israel did not drag the world into a war. It acted to prevent a far more catastrophic one—a nuclear war. By facing down the 'point of no return' with a genocidal regime that had promised its annihilation, Israel acted as the world's last line of defense. The intricate deception operation that preceded the strike wasn't about aggression; it was about escalation control, designed to paralyze Iran's response and prevent an all-out regional conflagration. They succeeded, reducing Iran's planned missile retaliation by an estimated 80%.

This journey has not been comfortable. It is difficult to admit the foundations of your worldview were built on a partial, and often misleading, narrative. The situation remains immensely complex, and the suffering of all innocents in the region is a profound tragedy. But I can no longer accept the simplistic, one-sided story of Israeli aggression that I once championed. The truth is that in a world that chose to look away, a world where diplomacy with a duplicitous regime had failed, Israel reluctantly shouldered a burden that benefited every nation that values peace over terror. They acted to disarm a fanatic, and in doing so, may have prevented a global nightmare. I used to believe they were the problem. I now understand they were, in this instance, a courageous, necessary, and desperately needed solution.