A century ago, it was commonplace to find Jewish communities in small towns throughout the American Midwest. But since World War II, these communities have dwindled and their synagogues gradually closed. Not so the B’nai Jacob congregation in Ottumwa, Iowa, as Ryan Schuessler writes:

When the temple was founded in 1915, it numbered several hundred people. Today there are just seven members, and they know the inevitable is looming: B’nai Jacob will soon dissolve, joining the list of small-town synagogues that have disappeared, closing a critical chapter of Iowa’s Jewish story. . . .

The decline of Iowa’s small-town synagogues is tied to the decline of small-town Iowa itself. Iowa’s metropolitan areas have grown by more than 60 percent since 1950 and are now home to the majority of Iowa’s population, and the majority of Iowa’s Jews. On the other hand, rural [areas] and smaller towns like Ottumwa—home to the majority of Iowa’s population a century ago—have seen steady decline.

Ottumwa, founded in the mid-1800s, first boomed as a coalmining hub. As the town and region grew, Jews from Central and Eastern Europe arrived as merchants, opening furniture, shoe, and dry-goods stores. Their children and grandchildren went off to college. Few returned, finding better opportunities elsewhere, as small-town Iowa’s economy collapsed.

If Iran succeeds in obtaining nuclear weapons, the war in Gaza, let alone the protests on college campuses, will seem like a minor complication. Jonathan Schachter fears that this danger could be much more imminent than decisionmakers in Jerusalem and Washington believe. In his view, Israel seems to be repeating the mistake that allowed it to be taken by surprise on Simchat Torah of 2023 and Yom Kippur of 1973: putting too much faith in an intelligence concept that could be wrong.

Israel and the United States apparently believe that despite Iran’s well-documented progress in developing capabilities necessary for producing and delivering nuclear weapons, as well as its extensive and ongoing record of violating its international nuclear obligations, there is no acute crisis because building a bomb would take time, would be observable, and could be stopped by force. Taken together, these assumptions and their moderating impact on Israeli and American policy form a new Iran concept reminiscent of its 1973 namesake and of the systemic failures that preceded the October 7 massacre.

Meanwhile, most of the restrictions put in place by the 2015 nuclear deal will expire by the end of next year, rendering the question of Iran’s adherence moot. And the forces that could be taking action aren’t:

The European Union regularly issues boilerplate press releases asserting its members’ “grave concern.” American decisionmakers and spokespeople have created the unmistakable impression that their reservations about the use of force are stronger than their commitment to use force to prevent an Iranian atomic bomb. At the same time, the U.S. refuses to enforce its own sanctions comprehensively: Iranian oil exports (especially to China) and foreign-currency reserves have ballooned since January 2021, when the Biden administration took office.

Israel’s response has also been sluggish and ambiguous. Despite its oft-stated policy of never allowing a nuclear Iran, Israel’s words and deeds have sent mixed messages to allies and adversaries—perhaps inadvertently reinforcing the prevailing sense in Washington and elsewhere that Iran’s nuclear efforts do not present an exigent crisis.