OPINION:
Part of my job as a researcher and teacher entails traveling to various parts of the world to ensure that my sense of reality gained from reading about the world matches one’s view informed by seeing it. I returned just a few days ago, having spent a week in Israel with a group of academics hoping to better understand Middle Eastern political and security dynamics.
The energy of Tel Aviv’s bustling streets and the timeless beauty of Jerusalem’s ancient stones couldn’t mask the palpable unease that permeated my trip. Conversations with Israelis across the political and professional spectrum painted a disconcerting picture — one of a nation grappling with an existential crisis deeper than any I’ve witnessed in previous visits.
It’s a sentiment reminiscent of the aftermath of the Second Intifada, where the collective psyche reeled from the violence and the shattered illusion of peace. But this time, the angst felt different, more pervasive, echoing the disquiet felt in the wake of the 1973 Yom Kippur War when Israel’s sense of invincibility was deeply shaken.
Though everyday life hummed along, a sense of foreboding hung in the air. Having recently returned from Ukraine, two of my colleagues found chilling parallels — the dissonance of normalcy against a backdrop of looming threat. This parallel spoke volumes about the fragility of peace and the ever-present potential for conflict to upend even the most seemingly stable societies.
The political left, particularly the progressive left, expressed profound despair, their voices starkly contrasting to the vibrant peace movements of the past. The political landscape feels barren, mirroring the period following the 1982 Lebanon War when the left’s influence waned amid calls for more hawkish policies. Once a space for intense yet nuanced dialogue, the current political center has seemingly dissolved, leaving a chasm between increasingly polarized viewpoints.
Adding to the internal pressure cooker is a pervasive anxiety about Israel’s long-term security. This isn’t merely the familiar unease that has always been a part of Israeli life, but a deeper, more profound fear. What’s striking is that this fear persists even in the face of tactical successes, such as the impressive defense against the April barrage of over 300 missiles and drones launched from Iran. Historically, such a profound success would have elicited national pride and a surge of confidence in Israel’s military prowess.
Instead, it has been met with a weary acknowledgment of a Pyrrhic victory. There is a growing awareness that while Israel may be able to repel individual attacks, it cannot win a war of attrition against an enemy with seemingly endless resources and unwavering commitment. The threat, many fear, is not of a single, decisive defeat but of a slow, grinding erosion of Israel’s security, economy and international standing.
The situation evokes the anxieties of the post-1973 war era, where the initial shock gave way to the sobering realization that even victories came at a heavy price, and that the future held the potential for even greater existential threats. This time, however, there is a palpable sense that the old formulas — military superiority, international alliances and technological innovation — may not be enough to guarantee survival in a rapidly changing geopolitical landscape.
Conversations inevitably circled back to the root of this crisis. Was it internal, fueled by political polarization and societal fissures? Or was it a reaction to external threats and the intractable Israeli-Palestinian conflict? The consensus pointed toward a toxic cocktail of both, each factor feeding and amplifying the other, leading to a sense of paralysis and fear of an inescapable spiral.
The shadow of Oct. 7 loomed large over our meetings. The attack and its aftermath have seemingly shattered any remaining trust between Israelis and Palestinians, erasing the hard-won progress made since the Oslo Accords. It felt like witnessing the collapse of the peace process during the Second Intifada all over again, leaving many feeling that coexistence is an increasingly distant dream.
Meanwhile, the Palestinian Authority finds itself trapped in a cruel paradox. While lacking even a whiff of popular support and struggling with internal divisions and appalling corruption, it remains the international community’s — including the United States’ — key partner for any potential peace process. This reliance on a weakened and seemingly unsustainable entity underscores the situation’s complexities and the lack of viable alternatives.
Perhaps the most disheartening takeaway from my trip was the pervasive belief that a two-state solution, once the beacon of hope, is dead. The reasons cited were tragically familiar: deep mistrust, the expansion of settlements, and the rise of political factions vehemently opposed to territorial compromise on both sides. This sense of hopelessness, starkly contrasting with the optimism that followed the Oslo Accords, painted a grim picture of the future.
Israel stands at a crossroads. While the nation’s resilience and the indomitable spirit of its people offer a glimmer of hope, confronting the current crisis will require more than just fortitude. It demands honest introspection, a willingness to bridge seemingly insurmountable divides, and a return to the negotiating table with a renewed commitment to finding a just and lasting peace. Without such efforts, the echoes of past traumas will reverberate endlessly, consuming the dream of a secure and prosperous future for all.
• Allan C. Stam is a professor of public policy and politics at the University of Virginia.
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