For several weeks, the Palestinian press had been predicting that the head of the Palestinian Authority (PA) would make a shocking, “bombshell” announcement in his speech at the UN General Assembly. Yet the speech itself, which he gave on Wednesday, consisted of a litany of familiar slanderous complaints about Israel, followed by a declaration that he would cease to be bound by the Oslo Accords. Elliott Abrams writes:

[W]hat does [this declaration] mean? Most likely, not much. Logically, [Abbas] should have said in the next paragraph that he was resigning as head of the PLO and the Palestinian Authority, disbanding the PA, and closing every Palestinian ministry and government office. He should have announced that all security and economic cooperation with Israel was ending. He did not. Nathan Thrall, a keen observer, . . . told the New York Times that Abbas’s line was “a years-old talking point,” “old, old, old, old news,” and “definitely not a bombshell.” . . .

Why does Abbas talk himself into a corner this way, where any real or rhetorical bombs that go off are likely to injure him and his own people? Frustration, in part; politics, in part, and the desire to say something that sounds “tough.” And in part, sadly, cynicism: he knows as well or better than we—and his Palestinian listeners—do that these are just more words in yet another UN speech.

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.