Masada is an ancient mountain fortress in southeastern Israel, overlooking the Dead Sea. It is most famous for the events of the First Jewish–Roman War (66–73 CE), particularly the siege of 72–73 CE.
King Herod the Great (37–4 BCE) had built Masada as an elaborate and nearly impregnable refuge, complete with palaces, storehouses, defensive walls, and advanced water systems. In 66 CE, at the outbreak of revolt against Rome, Jewish rebels — primarily the Sicarii, a radical anti-Roman sect — captured Masada from a Roman garrison. After the fall of Jerusalem and the destruction of the Second Temple in 70 CE, more refugees joined them, making Masada the last Jewish stronghold.
In 72 CE, the Roman governor of Judea, Lucius Flavius Silva, brought the Tenth Legion and auxiliaries — several thousand troops, possibly up to 15,000 — to besiege the fortress. Masada’s natural defences made a direct assault almost impossible. The Romans responded with a circumvallation wall to prevent escape and a vast earthen ramp on the western side, built under constant fire, allowing them to wheel a siege tower and battering ram to the walls.
In 73 CE, the Romans breached Masada. According to the historian Josephus, the rebels’ leader, Eleazar ben Ya’ir, persuaded his followers to choose death over slavery. Men killed their families, then each other, drawing lots until the last man took his own life. Only two women and five children, hiding in a cistern, survived to tell the Romans what had happened.
In modern Israel, Masada has become a defining symbol of heroism and resistance — proof of the moral right to defy an oppressor at any cost. Israeli schoolchildren learn the story; soldiers have sworn oaths on its heights. The rallying cry “Masada shall not fall again” expresses the conviction that oppression must be resisted, even unto death.
And yet, here lies the deep and uncomfortable irony. The very qualities celebrated in the rebels of Masada — armed resistance, refusal to submit, willingness to see one’s family die rather than live under foreign rule — are the same qualities denounced when expressed by Palestinians under Israeli occupation. When the oppressor changes, the moral judgement shifts.
The right to resist occupation is not a cultural relic; it is embedded in both moral principle and international law. The occupier, the invader, the colonial power — regardless of how it governs itself — has no moral right to expect compliance from those it subjugates.
Yet, in recent remarks, Prime Minister Albanese sought to frame resistance in terms of the occupier’s political system:
“We have taken appropriate action ... sanctioning ministers in a democratic government. If you can point to a comparison where that's occurred, I'd be happy to hear it.”
But democracy does not cleanse oppression. Germany was a democracy when Hitler came to power — we fought a war against it. The United States was a democracy when it invaded Vietnam; Britain was a democracy while it looted India; Belgium was a democracy while it brutalised Congo; France was a democracy while it colonised Africa. None of these regimes was spared moral condemnation because of its voting system.
The moral question is not “Is the oppressor a democracy?” but “Is the oppressor an oppressor?” South Africa under apartheid was sanctioned because it oppressed, not because it failed a test of democratic virtue.
If Masada teaches anything, it is that the moral right to resist is not contingent on the identity of the occupier. The ancient Jews understood it. Modern Israel claims to honour it. But when Palestinians invoke the same principle, their resistance is condemned.
That is not moral reasoning — it is selective morality in the service of power.
What's democracy got to do with it?
Albanese revisits a Zionist trope.
The very qualities celebrated in the rebels of Masada — armed resistance, refusal to submit, willingness to see one’s family die rather than live under foreign rule — are the same qualities denounced when expressed by Palestinians under Israeli occupation. When the oppressor changes, the moral judgement shifts.