The sirens are sounding now in Israel. Iran knows it was beaten. These final missiles are the petty face-saving of a humiliated tyrant. The regime lost its vast, expensive proxy armies, nearly all of its nuclear program, and all of its credibility and capacity to instill fear.
It has been cut down to size by an enemy with one-ninth the population, a pathetic end to a two-generation conflict Iran itself started, gloried in and ultimately spent itself on.
It will take years to rebuild, perhaps decades. The only way to do it faster would be to negotiate an end to sanctions, which means an end to enrichment.
And no one is in a hurry to give Iran that. It’s not terrible for energy-exporting America if Iranian oil stays off the market for a few more years while the regime huffs and puffs.
They couldn’t even block the Straits of Hormuz. China wouldn’t let them.
The ayatollahs’ regime is a shadow of its former self, limping away from an unbroken chain of humiliating defeats.
My children slept tonight in the bomb shelter. The sirens didn’t wake them. They’re used to it. They know we protect our own.
And now the regime’s only available victims are the people of Iran. We Israelis can reach across 1,500 kilometers and break their arsenals and enrichment halls and best-laid plans for our destruction, but we cannot and should not try for more. You can’t build alternatives from afar. A better future will depend on the Iranian people. Notice them, pay attention to them — and to the domestic repression that is sure to escalate now that the regime has lost its great triumphant religious story of itself.
But for now, dear Israel, we rest.
“Shake off the dust, arise,
Put on your garments of splendor,
My people.”