The title characters of the biblical book of Judges are not so much jurists but chieftains and military leaders, who serially unite some or all of the Israelite tribes to fight against various foreign oppressors. Between judges, there are often interregna during which Israel’s fortunes deteriorate. Some, like Gideon and Deborah, are the subjects of long narratives; others, like Tola ben Puah, merit only two verses. What is unique about Tola, Ami Hordes observes, is that these verses state that he “saved Israel” but do not say from whom.

Hordes makes the case, based on an ambiguous word, that Tola was a cousin of his predecessor as judge, Abimelech—who in turn was the son and successor of Gideon. With this in mind, Hordes employs a careful reading of the text of Judges to present a novel understanding of this obscure character:

Lack of leadership continuity plagued the nation for hundreds of years following Joshua’s death [at the beginning of Judges]. Judges came and went, but the people never knew when or whether another would follow. Gideon’s formidable, if not perfect, leadership qualities, coupled with Divinely-inspired military success, produced 40 years of quiet—and led the populace to offer him a dynasty, perhaps in part in hopes of ending the cycle of uncertainty. After initially dismissing the idea, Gideon gave more than mixed messages about endorsing it. . . .

“After Abimelech [son of Gideon], Tola . . . arose to deliver Israel.” Again, no subjugator appears here; Tola apparently stepped up to save the people before another foe emerged. From what did he save them then? Perhaps from their anxiety regarding leadership. This may be implied by the only meaningful actions he takes in the story: by simply (1) standing up (vayakom) and (2) leading [literally, “judging”]—thereby filling the governance vacuum—he rescued them.

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.