To some analysts, Israel’s current and intense political divisions come down to a conflict between those who view themselves primarily as Israelis, and those who see themselves primarily as Jews. Inspired by a conversation with a secular compatriot, Yehoshua Pfeffer argues that the country’s Ḥaredim—if they can overcome decades of ambivalence toward Zionism and the Jewish state—can point to a way forward:

While in Mandatory Palestine sometime in 1929, Ze’ev Jabotinsky once visited one of the newly established Hebrew schools. The teacher prepared her students ahead of time, and when the dignified visitor asked the children what was “the most important thing,” they immediately knew the answer: the Land of Israel! But Jabotinsky was not entirely satisfied: “And what other thing is of great importance, no less than the Land of Israel?” Neither children nor teacher were ready for this question, and Jabotinsky himself answered: am Yisra’el, the Jewish people. . . . The nation.

David Ben-Gurion, Jabotinsky’s great rival, acknowledged this unequivocally: “First of all, I am a Jew,” he declared in a 1963 speech (delivered in Yiddish), “and only then am I an Israeli.”

Ḥaredi society is set to experience (with the assistance of some brave leadership) a similar transition from a focus on local and community responsibilities to extensive civic engagement, all this while preserving its fundamental principles. Among those fundamental principles is maintaining an unshakable sense of aḥva [literally, brotherhood], love of all Jews, even in a democracy that rightly treats all its citizens as equals. In this sense, ḥaredi society is positioned to be a tremendous positive force for the Jewish state. Indeed, for Zionism. . . .

In many ways, the transition is already happening. While significant challenges remain, it is a great hope.

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.