From Security to Geopolitical Hybris: Strategic Imperatives and External Conflicts

1. The Gaza War and its origin

The idea that Israel is fighting in Gaza “only” to free the hostages or to “destroy Hamas” is, at this stage of the conflict, a framework far too narrow to grasp the full significance of Israel’s military and diplomatic actions. Viewed within the long historical cycle that begins in 1948, solidifies in 1967, and is reshaped after 1973, the Gaza war becomes the latest chapter in a deeper process: Israel’s decades-long effort to shape a regional order that supports its own survival and prosperity in a fragmented Middle East. The key question is: what kind of Middle East is Israel trying to create through a seven-front war and its decisions over the past decades? What regional order is it aiming to establish to survive and thrive in a shattered Asia Minor, which the Jewish state itself contributes to fragmenting?

This essay deliberately takes a provocative and controversial analytical stance: what we see today is not merely a response to a terrorist attack but a conscious or emerging effort to pursue four key long-term strategic objectives, rooted in both the history of Zionism and its security doctrine. The first objective involves demographics: significantly reducing, if not eliminating, the Palestinian presence in areas Israel considers essential —Gaza, the West Bank, Jerusalem — in order to maintain a substantial Jewish majority of at least 80 percent. The second objective pertains to territorial control: increasing the strategic depth of the Jewish state by consolidating and expanding authority over disputed regions, from the Golan Heights to the hills of the West Bank, reaching Lebanon’s borders and deep into Syria. The third objective aims to weaken potentially hostile neighboring countries — Iran, Syria, Lebanon, Iraq, Egypt, Jordan, along with the West Bank and Gaza — by fragmenting and exhausting them or preventing them from uniting in a way that threatens Israel. The fourth objective centers on maintaining and strengthening dependency on the United States, ensuring a continuous flow of military aid, diplomatic support, and strategic alignment, even if this causes friction with parts of the American establishment or broader U.S. global interests.

These four objectives do not appear in any official document, nor could they, as they result from geopolitical imperatives and constraints at the intersection of military practice, strategic doctrine, internal political and religious change, and managing the special relationship with Washington. A historical review of policies from the past seventy-five years reveals a consistent pattern: every major war, diplomatic agreement, and domestic reform has been understood and adapted within this framework. The Gaza war, with its extended duration and intense nature, is the clearest and most violent example of this pattern, but it is not an exception.

From this perspective, what follows is neither a straightforward history nor a moral judgment, but an attempt to view Israel as a complex geopolitical actor shaped by structural forces, material limitations, and internal tensions that influence how it conducts war and perceives territory. Israeli “security” — a term heavily present in the country’s public dialogue — is thus not just a neutral goal but a strategic concept filled with interests, fears, ambitions, and varying worldviews. To understand it is to enter the most intense geopolitical laboratory in the Middle East.

2. From the Nakba to Gaza: Demography, War, and the Logic of the “Ethnic Solution”

Since the founding of the state in 1948, the demographic issue has become the central focus of the entire Zionist project. Israel was established as a Jewish state in a territory largely inhabited by Palestinian Arabs, and its political and military leadership recognized early on that population balance was even more important than borders for the country’s survival. The 1948 war led to what Palestinians call the Nakba, the “catastrophe”: between 700,000 and 800,000 Palestinians were killed, expelled, or fled from towns and villages that later became part of the Jewish state. Historians like Ilan Pappé openly refer to a plan of ethnic cleansing; others, such as Benny Morris, while challenging this view, still acknowledge that the expulsions and systematic destruction of villages were efforts to establish a state with a strong Jewish majority.

The 1967 war finalized the strategic situation: Israel took control of the West Bank, East Jerusalem, Gaza, the Sinai, and the Golan Heights, suddenly finding itself governing areas heavily populated by Palestinians. Despite the 200,000–300,000 additional Palestinian deaths, expulsions, and departures, the country faced a lasting dilemma: either incorporate these territories without granting Palestinians full political rights and risk turning the Jewish state into an apartheid regime, or annex these areas and grant their residents citizenship, which threatened the Jewish majority. This stalemate led to a long period of “transitional solutions,” which ultimately became permanent: military occupation, hybrid administration, settlements, limited autonomies, and a Palestinian Authority lacking real sovereignty and constantly under Israeli control.

The war that started after October 7, 2023, pushes this logic to its most extreme. Estimates suggest that over 100,000 Palestinians have been killed, expelled, or displaced from Gaza. Neighborhoods inside have been destroyed, civilian infrastructure damaged, and the population is slowly being pushed south into the Strip and into Sinai. Meanwhile, classified documents and public statements by Israeli government officials openly consider the possibility of “relocating” some of the Gazawi abroad, whether to Egypt, the West Bank, or even Africa.

The demographic logic that emerges is brutally clear: fewer Palestinians in the territories under Israeli control means less risk of losing the majority, more room for future annexations, and easier domination of the physical space. In the past, parts of the Israeli elite hoped for a mass exodus to Egypt and Jordan, but this option has always faced rejection from neighboring Arab countries — afraid of being accused of abandoning the Palestinian cause — and the firm stance of the Palestinians themselves not to abandon their land for good.

From this perspective, the war over Gaza acts as the third major effort —after 1948 and 1967 — to shift the region’s demographic makeup in Israel’s favor. Not through an open, centralized plan of extermination — which no government could openly admit — but through a combination of intensive bombings, sieges, destruction of civilian infrastructure, and living conditions so harsh that they force as many Palestinians as possible to flee permanently. Hunger itself becomes a strategic weapon: according to the UN and the IPC (Integrated Food Security Phase Classification), the entire population of the Strip faces conditions of severe crisis or mere survival, with localized famines.

The underlying calculation is cynical but aligns with decades of strategic thinking: if, over the long term, the Palestinian population between the Mediterranean and the Jordan River declines — through deaths, exodus, and the lack of return — then the demographic issue that has haunted Israel since its founding is effectively “resolved.” Gaza becomes not only a battleground but also the stage where the deep logic that has shaped the history of the Jewish state for seventy-five years is most clearly revealed.

3. Greater Israel and Strategic Depth

The second major strategic focus concerns the physical space of the Jewish state, especially its ability to defend itself within a highly compact and vulnerable territory. Before 1967, Israel was a small, narrow country, almost impossible to defend in conventional military terms: in some parts, the distance between the Mediterranean and the Green Line is about 15 km. The straight-line distance from the Mediterranean to the Jordan River is less than 100 kilometers. This limited strategic depth is so small that a penetration from the West Bank could, in theory, split the country in two. As a result, the lack of territorial depth has been a major concern for Israel’s military leadership since the country’s founding.

The wars of 1967 and 1973 initially seem to offer a solution to this vulnerability: occupying the Sinai creates a large buffer zone against Egypt, seizing the Golan Heights provides a natural barrier against Syria, and capturing the West Bank pushes the front line beyond the ridges overlooking the Jordan Valley. The Camp David Accords and returning Sinai to Egypt in exchange for peace once again reduce strategic depth on the southern front and leave the issues to the north and east unresolved, where disputed territories increasingly become the battleground of a political, ideological, and demographic struggle likely to last for decades.

Over time, part of the Israeli establishment — especially the national-religious right and its more radical factions — develops a territorial vision that goes beyond the 1967 lines and is based on the concept of Eretz Israel HaShlema, “Greater Israel.” It is a vision that combines biblical references, historical memory, and strategic thinking, viewing Gaza, the West Bank, the Golan Heights, parts of southern Lebanon, and, in its broader scenarios, stretches of Syrian territory all the way to Damascus as vital areas for maintaining “defensible” borders.

In recent decades, this territorial approach has manifested in several concrete forms. The de facto annexation of the West Bank through the growth and expansion of settlements — supported by an infrastructure network that increasingly links the occupied territories to Israel’s economic and civic systems — stands as the most apparent step. Additionally, there is the de jure annexation of the Golan Heights, enacted in 1981 and unilaterally recognized by the United States in 2019, an act that, although challenged by the international community, effectively reinforces Israeli control over the plateau.

Meanwhile, successive Israeli governments have regularly proposed establishing permanent buffer zones in southern Lebanon and southern Syria, citing the need to keep Hezbollah and pro-Iranian militias at a safe distance from the border. They explicitly refer to the historical-political idea of Lebensraum, “living space.” The use of this term is far from neutral and, in Israel’s case, highlights a significant claim: protecting the national community involves expanding territorial control beyond the state’s original borders.

Even so, a Greater Israel scenario does not completely remove the country’s strategic vulnerabilities. While increased territorial depth lowers the risk of a large-scale conventional invasion, it cannot solve the threats from asymmetric conflicts, rockets, drones, and non-state militias operating along or within contested areas. Furthermore, it cannot settle the core political dilemma: territorial expansion naturally involves managing a large, hostile Palestinian population that lacks political rights, with economic, moral, and diplomatic costs that are difficult to sustain over time.

It is within this tension between expansionist goals and structural vulnerabilities that the heart of Israel’s second strategic aim exists. Pursuing strategic depth is more than just a military matter: it reflects a historical fear, a response to a deeply rooted sense of identity insecurity, and at the same time, it’s the most visible sign of the geopolitical overconfidence that has characterized the Israeli national project for decades.

4. Breaking the Neighbors: From the “Periphery Doctrine” to a War in Pieces

Since the 1950s, Israel’s leadership has realized that the country’s survival depends not only on maintaining a direct power balance with its Arab neighbors but also on building a network of alliances that breaks regional encirclement. This is the context in which the so-called “periphery doctrine” emerges: a strategic plan aimed at bypassing the Sunni Arab front by forming understandings with non-Arab powers — such as Turkey, pre-revolutionary Iran, and Ethiopia — and with ethnic and religious minorities — from the Kurds to the Lebanese Maronites and the Druze — hoping to weaken hostile states from outside. This approach, often associated with Ben-Gurion, is more than just a diplomatic tactic; it’s a move to fracture Arab unity over the Palestinian issue and turn the Middle East into a system of multiple balances where no hostile coalition can dominate Israel.

With the dawn of the twenty-first century and the collapse of several Middle Eastern states, this logic has taken on a more cynical, riskier form. It is no longer just about aligning with the “peripheries” to contain the Arab core but about actively or passively contributing to the disintegration of potentially dangerous neighbors, especially Syria and Iran. It also involves keeping other actors like Iraq, Lebanon, Egypt, Jordan, and the West Bank and Gaza in a state of chronic weakness. The war in Syria, which began in 2011, serves as a clear example of this approach: Israel conducts a low-intensity air campaign against Iranian bases, weapons depots, military infrastructure, and convoys heading to Hezbollah, with two seemingly conflicting goals. First, it aims to stop Tehran from establishing a continuous land corridor to the Mediterranean; second, it seeks to weaken the Assad regime without causing its total collapse, which could trigger uncontrolled scenarios or a hostile process of state reorganization.

In the case of Iran, the reasoning is even clearer. The Islamic Republic is viewed as the ultimate existential threat: its nuclear program, its network of allied militias — including Hezbollah, Hamas, Islamic Jihad, Shiite groups in Iraq, and the Houthis in Yemen — and its official rhetoric delegitimizing Israel are all seen as parts of a long-term systemic danger. That’s why Israel influences and supports the US “maximum pressure” campaign, which involves sanctions, sabotage, cyberattacks, targeted killings of scientists and commanders, and ongoing diplomatic efforts to prevent a return to the JCPOA or any nuclear deal that could ease Tehran’s pressure. In this context, “breaking the neighbors” means not only destroying conventional military capabilities but also hindering economic and technological growth, fostering internal divisions, and supporting — either directly or indirectly — sub-state actors that weaken the unity of neighboring countries.

The result is a more fractured Middle East, composed of weak, semi-Balkanized states: a divided Syria surrounded by militias and foreign influences; an unstable Iraq torn between ethno-sectarian divisions and reliance on foreign powers; a Lebanon held hostage by ongoing competition among Hezbollah, domestic factions, and regional players; and a Gaza Strip transformed into a devastated, nearly uninhabitable land. From the Israeli establishment’s perspective, this unstable situation seems preferable to a strong, unified Arab or Islamic front: a patchwork of fragile states and non-state actors, although it poses ongoing risks, reduces the chances of a large-scale conventional war against Israel.

The clear downside is obvious. A consistently destabilized Middle East results in refugee flows, jihadist radicalization, failing economies, transnational crime, and, over time, strengthens the cycle of hostility and unconventional violence that the Jewish state seeks to contain. The “war in pieces” against its neighbors thus ends up turning the region into a place of constant instability, where no one — Israel included — can truly feel safe.

5. The Structural Alliance with the United States and the Lobby

The fourth objective, arguably the most crucial in the medium and long term, involves the deepening of the structural bond between Israel and the United States. Beginning with the 1967 war and more clearly after the 1973 airlift, Washington increasingly viewed the Jewish state as a strategic asset in the global rivalry with the Soviet Union and its Arab allies. Over time, this favored relationship transitioned from a flexible partnership to a near-unconditional alliance, where Israel’s interests heavily influence America’s domestic debates and the formulation of U.S. foreign policy priorities.

Today, this alliance is reflected in tangible figures and mechanisms. The ten-year 2019–2028 Memorandum of Understanding allocates $3.8 billion in U.S. military aid to Israel, the largest package of its kind ever given to a single country. Additionally, there are advanced technological cooperation programs, intelligence sharing, financial and operational support for missile-defense systems like Iron Dome and David’s Sling, and almost constant diplomatic protection at the UN, often using the American veto to block resolutions critical of Israel.

Within this framework, the Trump presidency marks an unprecedented acceleration of a process that had been ongoing for decades. Recognizing Jerusalem as Israel’s capital and moving the U.S. embassy from Tel Aviv in 2018 broke with decades of U.S. diplomatic tradition and international consensus. The following year, Washington acknowledged Israeli sovereignty over the Golan Heights, thereby legitimizing a de facto annexation contested under international law. At the same time, the United States withdrew from the JCPOA, reinstated sanctions on Iran, and promoted the Abraham Accords, normalizing Israel’s relations with the United Arab Emirates, Bahrain, and Morocco, and establishing a channel with Sudan. The clear message is that the security needs and regional influence of the Jewish state have become a central focus of American strategy in the Middle East.

This support does not come solely from aligned strategic interests. It also results from the actions of a group of actors commonly called the “Israel lobby”: organizations such as AIPAC, Zionist evangelical groups, think tanks, donor networks, and opinion leaders who work to promote a pro-Israel stance across both major U.S. parties. The issue is controversial, but several undeniable signs show it clearly: Congress nearly always passes resolutions supporting Israel, even during times of intense international criticism; any effort by an administration to condition military aid on specific political demands (like settlement expansion or resuming peace talks) faces strong opposition in Congress and the media; key foreign-policy figures in both parties stay closely connected with pro-Israel groups and donors for whom defending the Jewish state is a top priority.

From the Israeli viewpoint, the goal is clear: to ensure that, regardless of what happens locally or in international discussions, the United States never truly distances itself from Israel. Even when U.S. public opinion shifts — for example, among younger and progressive voters who are increasingly critical of the war in Gaza and occupation policies — the official stance remains firmly supportive of Israel. This disconnect between public opinion and ongoing strategic decisions raises an important question, often discussed by John Mearsheimer and other “realist” political scientists, about whether the alliance with Israel remains compatible with American national interests in the long run. A U.S. engaged in competition with China, focusing resources on the Indo-Pacific and the global tech race, still prioritizes political and military support for Israel, risking reputational damage and escalation, which many analysts see as becoming more difficult to sustain.

In this way, the alliance with the United States serves as both shield and constraint for Israel: it ensures survival in a hostile world but also tempts the Jewish state to push beyond the limits set by the international system, trusting that Washington will handle the fallout. This is one of the core issues of its geopolitical hybris.

6. Trump, Biden, and the Underlying Continuity

The Trump–Biden sequence clearly highlights a key aspect of the U.S.–Israeli relationship: despite differences in style, language, and stated priorities, the core alliance remains notably stable. The first Trump administration pushed this consistency to the limit, offering nearly unconditional support and symbolically redefining the entire diplomatic framework.

The recognition of Jerusalem as Israel’s undivided capital, the relocation of the U.S. embassy from Tel Aviv, the recognition of Israeli sovereignty over the Golan Heights, withdrawal from the JCPOA, the “maximum pressure” campaign against Iran, and the Abraham Accords, all these actions indicate shifts in previous rhetoric but do not change the fundamental U.S. strategy in the Middle East, which continues to see Israel as a vital pillar of regional stability and a proxy for the United States.

The Biden administration takes office promising a rebalancing: a return to multilateral language, an attempt to reopen the Iranian nuclear file, greater formal focus on the “two-state solution” and human rights. On a symbolic level, the White House aims to restore some distance from the unilateral excesses of the Trump era. There is talk of “measures to contain settlement expansion,” of “conditioning aid” on respect for certain red lines, and of repairing relations with the Palestinian National Authority.

In practice, however, the gaps remain unfilled. The strategic goals — including containing Iran, maintaining Israel’s qualitative military edge, preserving the Abraham Accords as the foundation of the new regional coalition, ensuring energy security, and safeguarding freedom of navigation — are rarely genuinely challenged. The very idea of “two states” exists more as a rhetorical device than as a practical political plan: no major initiatives are revived, and no irreversible steps are taken regarding settlements, borders, or the status of Jerusalem.

The conflict that started after October 7, 2023, clearly shows this ambivalence. On one hand, Washington expresses “concern” over excessive use of force, urges Israel to follow international humanitarian law, and supports temporary ceasefire efforts. On the other hand, it keeps supplying arms, provides diplomatic cover at the UN, and coordinates military and intelligence activities, while consistently refusing to genuinely link aid to specific actions on the ground, especially regarding Gaza’s management and settlement expansion in the West Bank.

The main difference between Trump and Biden is their tone and approach, not their core strategies. Trump demonstrates a clear, persistent long-term logic, while Biden often uses liberal-internationalist language that provides oversight and conditions that rarely lead to decisive decisions. From Israel’s perspective, this consistency is extremely valuable: it ensures that, regardless of the outcome of U.S. elections, the support system — political, military, and economic — remains stable. Israeli leaders should focus on capitalizing on periods of strong alignment (such as during the Trump years) to bolster their position, and on managing more cautious times (such as during the Biden years) to prevent them from turning into genuine American disengagement.

7. The Arab States: Between the Palestinian Cause and the Reason of State

To understand Israel’s current position in the regional system, it is important to examine the trajectory of the Arab states. From Nasser’s pan-Arabist era to the neoliberal, security-driven shift of the 1980s and 1990s, Arab governments gradually changed the Palestinian question from a core basis of political legitimacy into a factor to be managed based on domestic priorities: regime stability, economic growth, relations with Washington, and the containment of Iran and Islamist movements.

The 1973 Yom Kippur War marks a turning point. Sadat’s Egypt used the conflict to strengthen its negotiating position and, a few years later, signed a separate peace treaty at Camp David, gaining the return of Sinai and a steady stream of American aid. In the following decades, official support for the Palestinian cause remained, but diplomatic efforts focused on regime survival and alignment with the Western bloc. The Iran–Iraq War, the invasion of Kuwait, the Gulf Wars, and the Arab Spring dramatically transformed the regional landscape: the main perceived threat shifted from Israel to internal instability, popular protests, jihadist terrorism, and Iran’s regional influence.

The 2020 Abraham Accords clarified this divergence. The United Arab Emirates, Bahrain, Morocco, and Sudan normalized relations with Israel without achieving any substantial resolution to the Palestinian issue, opting instead for vague references to future negotiations. In return, they gained economic, technological, and military advantages, as well as a deeper strengthening of their ties with Washington. Saudi Arabia, while officially maintaining its traditional stance on the 2002 Arab Peace Initiative (reaffirmed in 2007 and 2017), has also explored a conditional normalization, linking the Palestinian issue to a broader agreement that includes security guarantees and civilian nuclear cooperation with the United States.

The Gaza war that began after October 7, 2023, reopened a dangerous fault line between Arab regimes and public opinion. Images of widespread destruction, thousands of civilian casualties, and accusations of war crimes and ethnic cleansing have sparked protests across Jordan, Egypt, Morocco, Tunisia, and the Gulf monarchies. Governments have been compelled to adopt a firmer rhetorical stance — calling for ceasefires, condemning Israeli operations, and issuing more or less credible threats to suspend cooperation — without, however, questioning the core principles of their security policies or their alliance with the United States.

For Israel, this dual Arab layer — a reason of state emphasizing regime stability and security cooperation, along with a social base that is deeply hostile — is both a benefit and a risk. It is a benefit because it reduces the likelihood of a unified Arab military coalition like those of 1948, 1967, or 1973; it is a risk because the widening gap between governments and their populations weakens internal regime stability, increasing the chances of sudden explosions, uprisings, and radicalization that could lead to far less manageable conflicts.

In the medium term, Israel’s fate is also connected to this tension. The more Arab regimes are seen as silent partners in Gaza’s destruction and maintaining the status quo, the more likely it is that Islamist movements, anti-system groups, or new post-authoritarian leaders will emerge as the main champions of a radical change, with unpredictable effects on the entire regional order.

8. Gaza, the West Bank, and Trump’s “Peace Plan”: Neocolonialism and Sidelining

The so-called Deal of the Century, unveiled by the Trump administration in 2020, was the most explicit attempt in decades to establish, on a legal and diplomatic level, an arrangement that had already effectively taken shape on the ground. Behind the language of “peace” and “prosperity” lies a deeply neocolonial logic: further fragmenting Palestinian territories, reducing their geographic continuity, turning the Palestinian National Authority into a subordinate administrative structure, and ensuring Israel’s permanent control over borders, airspace, water resources, and key infrastructure hubs.

The plan’s maps — with the West Bank reduced to a patchwork of cantons connected by corridors under Israeli control, and Gaza faced with unrealistic demilitarization demands — expose this logic clearly. The “two-state solution” is hollowed out: the Palestinian state described in the plan lacks real sovereignty, does not control its own borders, has no military, does not fully manage strategic resources, and depends for its existence on a mix of international aid, conditional investment, and Israeli goodwill.

Paradoxically, the Deal of the Century does not fully align with the preferences of Israel’s national-religious right, which would have favored an even broader annexation of the West Bank without any recognition — not even symbolic — of a Palestinian state. Politically, however, the plan effectively serves its interests: it legitimizes the annexation of major settlement blocs, consolidates Israeli control over the Jordan Valley, and shifts the focus of international debate from ending the occupation to managing a form of Palestinian semi-autonomy. In this way, Trump’s 2020 plan functions less as a detailed blueprint meant to be executed literally than as a discursive tool designed to permanently dismantle the Oslo paradigm and normalize a regime of occupation disguised as a peace process.

The Palestinian reaction is, as expected, complete rejection. For the Palestinian National Authority, accepting the plan would mean openly transforming itself into an extension of the occupation; for Hamas, outright rejection becomes an opportunity to position itself as the only true defender of the Palestinian cause. Arab states, on their part, swing between rhetorical condemnation and pragmatism: they avoid a direct confrontation with Washington but refuse to give the plan the legitimacy that would have facilitated its implementation.

After October 7, 2023, and the devastation in Gaza, the Deal of the Century now feels like a relic from another era, yet its legacy remains evident: it has contributed to shifting the focus of international discussion away from constructing a fully sovereign Palestinian state toward managing weakened Palestinian political entities within a regional order that considers Israeli dominance a given.

9. Trump’s New 2025 Plan: A Post-Oslo Order Based on Israeli Supremacy

When Donald Trump returns to the White House in January 2025, the Middle East has undergone a profound transformation since 2020: Gaza has been ravaged by months of total war, the Palestinian National Authority has further lost legitimacy, Iran faces new rounds of sanctions and sabotage, the Abraham Accords have withstood the Gaza crisis but have become politically weakened, and global public opinion is now much more polarized on the Israeli-Palestinian issue.

In this context, Trump’s new plan for the Middle East — presented as an update of the Deal of the Century tailored to the “new post-Gaza reality” — also removes the last remaining traces of a mediation approach. The goal is no longer to suggest a compromise, even if imperfect; it is to establish a regional order based on Israel’s structural dominance, forcing Palestinians and Arab states to accept a fait accompli.

At the core of the plan is the replacement of the Palestinian National Authority with a new entity, the Palestinian Governance Authority (PGA), which is officially autonomous but in practice subordinate to Israel and a group of sponsoring powers (the United States, several Gulf monarchies, Turkey, and possibly the European Union). The PGA does not arise from a fully free electoral process but from a controlled selection process that favors “responsible” and “cooperative” elites. Its mandate is to handle civilian services, oversee daily life, and ensure internal security, while strategic issues — borders, defense, resources — remain under Israel and its allies’ control.

Meanwhile, the plan formalizes what is already a de facto situation: the annexation of key settlement blocks in the West Bank, ongoing control of the Jordan Valley, and a structural separation between Gaza and the West Bank. For Gaza, it proposes “conditional reconstruction” overseen by an international coalition, with major roles for Egypt and Qatar, but it does not end Israeli control over airspace, territorial waters, or external borders.

Another pillar of the plan involves trying to secure a mega-regional agreement that revives Arab normalization with Israel in return for a package of economic incentives, extended U.S. security guarantees (especially for Saudi Arabia), and a vague roadmap for further symbolic concessions to the Palestinians. The goal is clear: to integrate the Jewish state into the political and economic fabric of the Middle East, to strengthen its position as a technological and military power, and to limit the Palestinian issue to a controlled administrative process.

Israel’s reaction to the plan is mixed. Netanyahu and much of the right support it for strategic reasons — it gives more international legitimacy to their stance — while part of the ultranationalist group sees it as still too lenient toward the Palestinians because it keeps, at least on paper, a Palestinian political entity. Within the centrist and moderate groups, some see the plan as a chance to stabilize the regional order and gain Arab concessions; others worry that formalizing a regime of permanent dominance will entrench Israel’s internal anti-democratic shift and isolate the country internationally.

On a broader geopolitical level, Trump’s new plan effectively marks the end of the Oslo paradigm and establishes a post-Oslo order defined by four elements: Palestinian political fragmentation, Israeli military dominance, selective economic ties with the Arab world, and reliance on the United States. This order is inherently unstable and designed to be very difficult to undo.

10. Four Objectives, One Single Matrix

If we revisit the analysis through the lens of the four initial guiding principles — demography, territory, fragmentation of neighboring states, and a structural alliance with the United States — Israel’s trajectory over the past decades becomes more clearly coherent. What initially seems like a series of wars, agreements, diplomatic crises, and government changes reveals, over the long term, as the consistent application of the same strategic framework, adapted to changing circumstances but maintaining its core assumptions. The incidents in Gaza, Lebanon, Syria, or the West Bank no longer seem like isolated events but as variations of a single pattern.

The first axis, demographic, aims to reduce the Palestinian presence in Israel and considers these areas vital. Over the long term, it seeks to establish a strong Jewish majority between the Mediterranean and the Jordan. The wars of 1948 and 1967, managing refugees, movement restrictions, urban planning limits, the Gaza siege, blocking the right of return, and pressures encouraging emigration, all contribute, with varying levels of intensity and visibility, to the same core goal: maintaining a smaller Palestinian population and keeping it politically divided.

The second axis focuses on the project of a Greater Israel and the pursuit of strategic depth. The occupation and settlement of the West Bank, the annexation of the Golan Heights, debates over permanent security zones in southern Lebanon or Syria, and the insistence on “defensible” borders along natural barriers all stem from the same logic: expanding the territory under Jewish state control, pushing front lines outward, and securing national safety by dominating key ridges, valleys, and corridors. Territory isn’t just a place to live; it’s a military asset to be shaped to reduce vulnerability.

The third axis involves creating a fragmented, unstable regional environment where no neighboring state can enforce its own strategic agenda on Israel. Support — whether direct or indirect — for actions that weaken Syria, Iraq, Iran, or Lebanon; accepting — or even encouraging — civil wars, Balkanization, and failing states; and deliberately betting on a persistent “arc of crisis” that keeps potential rivals busy, all of these reduce the chances of a large-scale conventional war. At the same time, they fuel the very “war in pieces” that increases Israel’s own security risks.

The fourth axis is the strategic alliance with the United States, seen not just as a privileged bilateral relationship but as a true fusion of strategic agendas. The goal is to anchor Israel’s security in American global power, making military aid and diplomatic support inviolable parts of Washington’s political consensus and making any break with Israel extremely costly for any administration. The influence of lobbies, donor networks, think tanks, and pro-Israel evangelical groups is an integral part of this long-term protective structure.

This matrix does not cover all aspects of Israel’s internal debate — which is shaped by liberal, pacifist, national-religious, security-focused, and technocratic currents — but it provides the framework within which these currents operate. Disagreements revolve around timing, methods, and the level of brutality or caution, not over the core goals. Controlling demography, expanding territory, keeping neighbors weak, and maintaining strong ties with the United States: these are the four pillars on which Israeli policy has been built, both in its positive and negative aspects, since 1948.

11. Scenarios: What Kind of Israel Ahead?

Based on this matrix, we can outline at least three medium-to long-term scenarios for Israel. These are not predictions and do not cover every possibility, but they help organize the analysis, identify potential tipping points, and evaluate the costs and benefits of ongoing strategic decisions. Each scenario combines domestic factors — such as the balance among the “several Israels,” relations between institutions and “deep states,” and societal evolution — with external variables — the U.S. stance, shifts in the regional system, and the trajectory of the global order.

The first scenario is a straightforward Israeli strategic victory: establishing military dominance, permanently dividing Palestinian groups, gradually normalizing relations with Arab states, and fully integrating into regional and global economic and technological networks. In this scenario, Gaza becomes a demilitarized and subordinate enclave, the West Bank is split into cantons under de facto Israeli control, and the Palestinian cause is reduced to a humanitarian and administrative issue. Israel strengthens its role as a high-tech middle power, aligned with the United States and gaining more influence in Asia. However, the cost of this scenario is very high: it institutionalizes structural inequality between Jews and Palestinians, weakens internal liberal democracy, heightens its isolation from large parts of global public opinion, and in the long run, risks drifting toward an openly apartheid-like system.

The second scenario involves uncontrolled escalation into a regional war that exceeds the original intentions of the involved parties. An expanded conflict with Hezbollah, tit-for-tat strikes with Iran, destabilization of Jordan or Egypt, or a sudden collapse of the Palestinian National Authority could trigger a cycle of violence that is hard to stop. Even while maintaining military superiority, Israel would need to manage multiple fronts at once, facing increasing human, economic, and political costs. Meanwhile, the United States would be caught between supporting its ally and the risk of becoming directly involved in another Middle Eastern war. The outcome could be an Israel that is officially victorious on the battlefield but more dependent on Washington, weaker economically, internally divided, and more vulnerable to global criticism.

The third scenario, though still a minority view, involves a gradual shift toward more egalitarian forms of political coexistence. This would not necessarily mean simply returning to the classic “two-state solution,” which has been overtaken by current realities, but rather adopting hybrid models — such as binational, confederal, or shared-citizenship approaches — in which Jews and Palestinians would have equal political rights within a complex institutional framework. Achieving this would require major changes within Israel — overcoming the current balance between liberal and religious-nationalist groups, redefining the relationship between the state and religion, and accepting a redefinition of the Zionist project. On the Palestinian side, it would imply political reunification and an explicit renunciation of the goal to dismantle the Jewish state.

In all three scenarios, Israel’s future seems tied to both domestic stability and shifts in the global order. A more divided international system, marked by increasing U.S.–China rivalry, restricts the ability to organize coordinated pressure and negotiate large multilateral agreements. However, it also raises the reputational risk of ongoing conflicts and long-term occupation regimes. The Israel that emerges over the next decade will depend on how — or if — its leadership manages the tension between geopolitical hybris and structural constraints, between the desire to remain dominant and the need for a new framework of coexistence.

12. Conclusion: Israel Between Survival and Hybris

From the very beginning, Israel’s history has been marked by both survival fears and impressive initiatives. As a small nation surrounded by enemies, born from the ashes of the Holocaust, Israel has managed to develop an advanced economy, a top-tier military, and regional influence far beyond its size in just a few decades. This journey reflects a dual and conflicting self-image: on one side, the belief that it is always on the brink of destruction; on the other, the confidence that it is a power capable of shaping its strategic environment in a lasting way according to its own interests.

The interpretive lens used in this essay argues that, in recent decades, the balance has increasingly shifted from a focus on mere survival to one of geopolitical pride. The pursuit of security is no longer just about preventing another 1948 or 1973; it involves territorial expansion, efforts to reshape the regional landscape, and systematic attempts to alter the demographic balance between the Mediterranean and the Jordan River. Gaza exemplifies this logic in its most brutal form: the total war against Hamas overlaps with an effort to fundamentally alter Palestinian presence, to diminish it, fragment it, and keep it under constant control.

This does not mean denying the reality of threats or Israel’s right to exist and defend itself. Instead, it involves recognizing that security concerns, territorial goals, demographic shifts, and reliance on the United States have created a system where the security of some depends on the ongoing insecurity of others. The regional environment that has developed from recent wars is both a result and a context of Israeli policies: a space characterized by fragile states, ongoing conflicts, traumatized societies, and widespread hostility that heightens Israel’s perception of a permanent siege. At the same time, it is also shaped by its own strategic decisions.

The critical issue ultimately involves Israel’s relationship with its main ally. For large parts of the U.S. elite, support for the Jewish state has become an almost unquestioned part of American national interest. However, great-power competition with China, fatigue from Middle Eastern interventions, domestic polarization, and generational shifts may, over time, weaken this automatic alignment. Supporting Israel is not without cost: it risks damaging reputation, complicating relations with the Arab-Muslim world and the Global South, and making it harder to form broader coalitions on major global issues, from climate change to economic governance.

It is within this tension between survival and hybris that the future of the Jewish state will be determined. As long as the strategic framework outlined in these pages — demographic control, territorial expansion, fragmentation of neighboring states, dependence on the United States — remains unquestioned, the system will tend to reproduce the same patterns of conflict, occupation, and instability. Even when it produces seemingly favorable results in the short term, Israel’s elites will find it difficult to challenge a model that guarantees military superiority and diplomatic support but simultaneously prevents any meaningful political solution and makes dependence on an external ally a dead end. The fundamental question, which no peace plan has yet convincingly addressed, is whether a national project based on the dominance of a single community can coexist, in a stable manner and within the same space, with another people claiming similar rights to belonging, autonomy, and recognition.