Located just south of the Temple Mount, the City of David is the oldest part of Jerusalem; its original buildings predated King David’s conquest of the city, described in the book of Samuel, by hundreds of years. The area has yielded countless archaeological discoveries, including most recently the remains of a moat separating the city from the Temple Mount, which dates at least to the 10th century BCE (the putative era of David and Solomon), and possibly as far back as the beginning of the second millennium BCE. Nathan Steinmeyer writes:

The moat would have provided a natural defense against enemies attacking Jerusalem from the north. Notably, the moat’s southern scarp is cut at a vertical angle while its northern scarp was made into a series of rock terraces. Such a defensive structure would have been very important, as the southern ridge (the City of David) sits at a slightly lower elevation than the area of the Temple Mount. . . . It remains unclear, however, where exactly ancient Jerusalem was located and, as such, whether the moat had a defensive function or served some other purpose.

It seems more apparent, however, that by the 9th century BCE, the moat had come to serve as a physical barrier . . . to separate Jerusalem’s acropolis from its lower city. This barrier appears to have remained in place until the late 2nd century BCE, when it was finally filled in and covered over to allow for new construction.

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.