In his inaugural speech on Wednesday, the new president alluded to the book of Exodus, and quoted a verse from Psalm 30: “Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.” This psalm—read in full in the traditional Jewish morning liturgy—is one Joe Biden has cited in other speeches as well. Tevi Troy and Stuart Halpern commend such use of the Bible as “part of a welcome, long-running trend toward more religious language in public life”:

[All told], 27 out of 45 presidents have cited the Bible in their inaugural addresses, making a total of 64 biblical references. Forty-four came from the Hebrew Bible and twenty from the New Testament. . . . The tradition of biblical allusions in inaugural addresses dates back to the beginning of the republic, when George Washington made an argument for them. In his first inaugural, Washington referred to Psalm 82. “It would be peculiarly improper,” he said, “to omit in this official act my fervent supplications to that Almighty Being who rules over the universe, who presides in the councils of the nations.”

Although the U.S. has grown increasingly secular and religiously diverse, biblical references were less common earlier in American history. . . . The increased tone of religiosity may reflect a greater comfort with religion in the public square, as Americans have become less concerned over the prospect of state-established religions the likes of which the Pilgrims and other migrants fled.

In citing the Bible in his inaugural address, President Biden has continued a venerable and valuable presidential tradition, one that shaped the country’s cultural vocabulary for more than two centuries. Even in an ever more secular world, there’s still value in referencing such timeless words.

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.