When the killers feel too much

​By Dyab Abou Jahjah
Today, we filed a criminal complaint in Greece against Naor Shlomo Dadon, an Israeli soldier from the Givati Brigade’s 432nd Battalion. He documented his role in the destruction of Gaza — torching schools, posing proudly on ruins, grilling meat amid starvation. Now he’s enjoying a “healing retreat” in the Greek mountains.
Let that sink in.

While survivors in Gaza sift through rubble to find the remains of their families, the man who helped bury them is meditating under the pines. This is the world we live in: killers get therapy; victims get silence.
But it’s not just silence. It’s erasure. Because the story is never really about Palestinians. It’s always about the Israeli conscience.
I remember being invited on a Dutch talk show where each guest chooses video clips to discuss. But one clip was practically imposed on me: a scene from Waltz with Bashir, the film about Israeli soldiers soul-searching after the Sabra and Shatila massacre — which, coincidentally, was commemorated this week.
I was disgusted.
That clip, like so much of the Western gaze on Palestine, wasn’t about the thousands of Palestinians slaughtered — it was about the psychological anguish of the killers. Their dreams, their regrets, their broken innocence. The only grief that matters is the grief of the perpetrator. The only pain worth filming is the pain of those who still hold the gun.
Even when we tell the story of a massacre, it has to be about them.
That’s what these healing retreats are for. Not repentance. Not reckoning. But emotional hygiene for men who want to return to war with a clearer head. Resilience without responsibility.
We’re always encouraged to look for the “good Israeli.” The one who hesitates. The one who says “maybe this is too much.” But what does it say when rejecting genocide is treated as heroism? It means genocide has become the baseline. And the ones who carry it out aren’t monsters — they’re victims of their own trauma.
But the real victims are gone, and the survivors are buried in the footnotes.
I believe in healing. But healing without justice is impunity. If Dadon wants to heal, let him face the law. Let him hear the names of those he helped erase.
We don’t need another Israeli soldier crying on camera.
We need indictments.
We need trials.
We need justice — and memory that belongs to the victims.