The author of several works of fiction and collections of poetry, Michel Houellebecq gained international fame beyond literary circles with his sixth novel, Submission, which imagines France becoming an Islamic country. Recently, he spoke with Tamar Sebok, the French correspondent for the Israeli daily Yedioth Ahronoth, about rising anti-Semitism and the war in Gaza:

Houellebecq’s screensaver displays a powerful image of Ido Shamir from Be’eri, who survived the massacre. In the center of the picture, among the ruins of a kibbutz home, lies [his] book To Stay Alive and Other Essays.

Houellebecq tells Sebok:

I’m supposed to be a depressed, depressing, disillusioned writer. That’s what I’ve read the critics say about me. Eventually I believed it myself. But this time, I was really way off with my illusions. I was certain that even the worst leftists, the ones who unreservedly support the Palestinians and always criticize Israeli politics, would say they can’t stand behind what happened this time. I was sure there’d be a wave of sympathy and solidarity for the Jews. The very opposite happened—anti-Semitic attacks skyrocketed. It’s been two months, and I still find it hard to believe that it’s happened.

We’ve gotten used to terrorist attacks. No one’s surprised anymore [in France] when a priest’s throat is slit. The best metaphor for the Jewish Question—and I don’t know who came up with it—is the canary in the coalmine. When a Jew is persecuted because he’s a Jew, a Christian should worry. He’s next in line.

Recent events in France, across Europe, and in the United States have proven, more than ever, that there needs to be a safe haven for Jews. I ask myself whether, as an exception, I might one day be able to emigrate to Israel.

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.