The recent success of Israel’s “Kaplan protest movement,” the large-scale, heavily funded anti-government demonstrations that have dominated Israel’s streets for the past two years, was never really about rescuing the hostages held by Hamas since the terrorist attacks in Israel on Oct. 7, 2023. The movement’s true achievement was far more subtle and far-reaching: the complete redirection of Israel’s political, military and emotional compass from “victory” to “hostages, now!”

Originally born out of opposition to Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s attempt to overhaul the judiciary, the Kaplan movement (named after Kaplan Street in Tel Aviv, which was the epicenter of protests) reinvented itself after the Oct. 7 massacre in the south. Many of its tactics and slogans in opposition to judicial reform were recycled with only minor edits. The old protest chant of until everyone is free in our land became until everyone becomes free again in our land.

Soon, the yellow emblem symbolizing the hostages appeared everywhere: on flags, cars, jewelry, clothing. Wearing the yellow pin became a moral litmus test of: Are you with us?

With immense funding and media reach, activists advanced a simple, emotionally irresistible message: Bringing home the hostages was the only legitimate goal of the Gaza war. Even senior Israeli officers began echoing that narrative.

But this was never the government’s stated policy. The war cabinet’s original objectives were clear: Destroy Hamas’s military and governing capabilities and end the terrorist threat from Gaza. The hostages’ return, while profoundly important, was not part of the war’s strategic purpose.

In the early days after the massacre, Israeli society was consumed by existential fear and raw fury. But as time passed, something in the Kaplan movement’s messaging—its relentless focus, its moral urgency, its emotive symbols—broke through.

And it broke through all the way to the top.

It’s hard to pinpoint the moment when Netanyahu’s war focus shifted. Perhaps it came through his repeated meetings with the hostages’ families. Perhaps it was the emotional exhaustion of leadership under siege. Whatever the cause, the prime minister seemed to internalize the Kaplan protesters’ message that his legacy would rise or fall on the fate of the captives.

In the past year, Netanyahu’s attention has revolved around two grand obsessions: the return of the hostages and the elimination of Iran’s nuclear threat. Increasingly, it seemed the first had eclipsed the second.

When U.S. President Donald Trump unveiled his 20-point plan for the Mideast, observers noted a dramatic shift. A proposal that, back in February, had called for the voluntary relocation of Gaza’s population had morphed, by October, into a plan for rebuilding the Strip and, indirectly, Hamas.

What changed? The answer, again, lies with the hostages.

To his credit, Trump understood Israel’s domestic drama better than most world leaders. He saw Netanyahu’s legal battles, the relentless protests against him, and, most crucially, the savagery of Hamas. He admired Netanyahu’s resilience and sympathized with his political isolation.

Yet Trump, having faced down an equally vicious opposition at home and having pushed through massive reforms in his own country, was baffled by Israel’s apparent paralysis in Gaza.

At some point, Trump realized that for Netanyahu, the hostages had become the story. The war couldn’t end without them. Once he grasped that, their return became the centerpiece of his diplomatic strategy and the mission of the special U.S. negotiating team he appointed.

As Israeli commentator Ran Baratz wrote in Makor Rishon in a mid-October column:

“After two years of tragic indecision, Trump has had enough. He faces far bigger global challenges, especially the China-Russia axis, and the Gaza war distracts from them. Trump saw the influence of the Kaplan movement on Israeli politics and concluded that if he could deliver the hostages’ return, the Israeli government would, in return, end the war. That’s the deal he crafted, which is why his envoy addressed the Kaplan protesters in Hostages Square before heading to the Knesset.”

Indeed, Trump recently posted photos from the Kaplan rallies and from an alternative, unofficial ceremony marking two years since the Oct. 7 attack, an event filled with anti-Netanyahu rhetoric.

When I argued publicly that Trump was “flirting” with the Kaplan camp, echoing its themes and language, many on the Israeli right dismissed the idea. Yet even left-wing commentators who mocked the claim boasted that the Kaplan movement’s pressure had helped persuade Trump to act.

The symbolism was unmistakable: Senior American officials aligning, even indirectly, with a protest movement that represents a deeply divided and polarized small segment of Israeli society.

The hostage campaign represents a rare convergence of emotion and politics. For Netanyahu, the desire to bring home every captive was deeply personal and sincere. For the protest leaders, however, the unspoken assumption has always been that it would never happen and that Netanyahu would bear that stain of failure forever.

Bringing back all of the living hostages really did seem impossible. Hamas was never expected to give up its most valuable bargaining chip. Which leaves a haunting question: What exactly was offered to Hamas to make the impossible possible? Time and blood will tell.

The Kaplan movement did not “win” because their pressure brought home the hostages.

Nor did military pressure bring the hostages home; there was little of that in the past year, and humanitarian aid continued to flow. Unlike the first hostage deal, when intense combat and halted aid led to scenes of surrendering militants, this time, Israel’s leverage was minimal.

The Kaplan movement won because the protesters succeeded in capturing the national imagination twice. First, by uniting millions of Israelis in a single emotional demand of “Bring them home, now!” And second, by redefining victory itself. The hostages’ return became not a goal within the war, but the war’s entire purpose.

Today, roughly 10 million Israelis, including the traumatized residents of the Gaza border communities, share in the overwhelming joy of seeing the return of hostages to their families. Alongside that joy, they watch a parallel, disquieting reality: a brutal enemy rebuilding, regrouping and surviving.

The war’s original goals, to dismantle Hamas and end the terror threat, have been pushed to the footnotes of history. The hostages’ return is, without question, a miracle. But it is not a victory, and it cannot be mistaken for one.

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