Last week, I recommended Gershon Hacohen’s exploration of the theology behind Hamas’s strategy, and how the IDF can fight against such a holy war. In a follow-up piece, he turns to the question of the Jewish state’s own sense of purpose. “Nation of Israel,” asks Hacohen, paraphrasing the late novelist A.B. Yehoshua, “for what purpose do you fight, and how do you fight?” Such a question cannot be answered by a committee of inquiry like the one the ministry of defense is forming to investigate the failures of October 7. But it is one that matters:

Hamas and Hizballah fight out of religious belief. By contrast, we are not clear on our reasons for uniting to fight wars beyond our desire to safeguard our existence and survival.

Hacohen also raises a disturbing possibility. The creation of a Jewish state has not, as Theodor Herzl hoped, brought an end to anti-Semitism by transforming the Jews into a normal people. Instead, as Natan Sharansky has pointed out, Israel has simply become the world’s Jew. Nor has Zionism succeeded in guaranteeing the security of Jews in their homeland, as evidenced by October 7. Could Zionism be a failure? Hacohen answers with an unequivocal “no,” even as he cautions against any sort of utopianism:

[T]o those who witness the combat spirit of the IDF soldiers and the full support of their parents, the Zionist narrative manifests itself in all its practical simplicity by demonstrating a readiness to fight without hesitation to defend the people and the country. This is a major historical achievement. . . .

On Saturday, October 7, the dream of an Israeli paradise collapsed. With the war in Ukraine and even in Western Europe, it has become clear that despite hopes for peace everywhere, there is no paradise on earth. As expressed in the Negev lullaby my mother sang to me in my childhood, “There is no deep silence without a weapon. . . . Sleep, son.”

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.