The Shattered Home Front: Society, Institutions, and the Struggle for Power

1. Prologue: The Home Front as the Real Battlefield

If the first part examined Israel as a regional power focused on shaping its strategic environment, the second part shifts to the system’s core: the home front. It is here that the country’s future is determined, whether it will be able to sustain its national project over time or whether its social, institutional, and identity fractures will eventually weaken its foundations.

The Gaza war sped up existing dynamics and exposed a key truth: Israel is not a unified society that reacts to crises in a cohesive way. Instead, it is a patchwork of different groups that experience war, security, democracy, and relations with Palestinians and the West in very different — and sometimes openly conflicting — ways.

On the surface, the October 7, 2023, attack sparked a visible wave of national unity: sirens sounded, hundreds of thousands mobilized, reserve units were called up, and the rhetoric of a “war of necessity” temporarily eased some internal conflicts. Yet beneath this surface, the trauma was not absorbed into a single shared narrative; instead, it fractured into multiple parallel memories, often incompatible with one another. Each “Israel” has created its own interpretation of October 7 — its causes and consequences — and has projected onto that day its fears, resentments, and expectations for the future.

To truly understand Israel today, we need to look inward at this home front. Who are the social and ideological groups that make it up? How are power and resources shared among them, and how do they see the war and the country’s future? This is where the key battle is happening because it will decide which vision for Israel — secular-republican, national-religious, Haredi, or Arab — will dominate and define the meaning of the Jewish state in the twenty-first century.

It is this intertwining of external war and internal conflict that makes the Israeli case a unique laboratory: a state attempting to project strength outward while, internally, national cohesion is fraying and the very idea of “us” is becoming more contested and fragile.

2. One State, Many Israels: The Deep Sociology of Internal Fracture

To understand the nature of Israel’s internal conflict, we need to go beyond the idea of a homogeneous nation-state united by a shared identity and a single historical narrative. Instead, Israel results from multiple overlapping groups that speak the same official language, recognize the same state, and share some symbols, but do not share the same vision of what that state should be. Behind the institutional label of a “Jewish and democratic state,” there are different interpretations of what “Jewish,” “democratic,” and “state” mean.

Beneath the current war, at least four different “Israels” are openly or implicitly competing: secular-republican Israel, national-religious Israel, Haredi-orthodox Israel, and Arab-Palestinian Israel. Each of these worlds has its own sociology, geography, a unique relationship to the state and to war, and a distinct memory of the country’s past and future. The tension among these worlds is not new — it has existed since 1948 — but in this current phase, it has reached an unprecedented level.

Secular-Republican Israel

Secular-republican Israel is the direct descendant of the founding generation and its elites, but over time it has developed into a diverse network of urban middle and upper classes, skilled professionals, administrative staff, academics, high-tech experts, and significant parts of the cultural and media sectors.

On the ethnic level, it maintained a clear Ashkenazi majority for decades: descendants of Jews from Central and Eastern Europe, as well as Western Europe — Poland, Germany, Hungary, Romania, Tsarist Russia, and the pre-1989 USSR, France, and the United Kingdom — to which, over time, waves of migration from North America and Latin America were added. Today, however, this group is much more diverse: a significant portion of Jews of North African and Middle Eastern origin (Mizrahim) — Moroccan, Tunisian, Iraqi, Yemeni, Iranian — has joined the urban middle class and identifies with distinctly secular and globalized lifestyles, consumption habits, and cultural references.

The secular-republican bloc — which includes most secular Jews and a significant portion of “moderate traditional” Zionists — accounts for roughly 40% of the population. Alongside it, there is a small residual share, composed of a few percentage points, made up of small groups who are neither Arab nor Jewish — immigrants from the former USSR, foreign workers, religious minorities — who, in sociocultural terms, tend to gravitate toward this same segment.

In terms of values, it combines elements of historical Zionism — the centrality of the State, defense of national security, the bond with the diaspora — with a strong liberal and cosmopolitan influence: prioritizing the rule of law, a somewhat separate relationship between religion and politics, openness to the West, and a strong focus on individual rights.

Geographically, secular-republican Israel is centered around the major coastal cities — Tel Aviv and its metropolitan area, Haifa, and parts of West Jerusalem — and several inland urban centers where advanced services and universities are located.

From a socioeconomic perspective, this is the group that holds a decisive share of the country’s economic, cultural, and institutional power: it occupies the top levels of the civil service, leads major corporations and tech startups, controls key media outlets, and dominates much of the academic system.

Its cultural references are mainly secular and worldwide; its identity narrative centers on the idea of “normalizing” Israel as a modern Western democracy.

Meanwhile, this world experiences a growing sense of internal siege: it sees the expansion of the national-religious and Haredi blocs as a threat to the state’s liberal character and watches with increasing concern the illiberal shift in Netanyahu’s recent governments, especially the efforts to weaken the independence of the judiciary.

The war in Gaza heightens this ambivalence: on one hand, increased vulnerability encourages many to unite; on the other, awareness of the moral and political costs of a prolonged conflict raises deep questions about the country’s direction.

National-Religious Israel

Alongside the secular-republican world, a national-religious Israel has emerged, reflecting how traditional religious Zionism has evolved into a strict identity project centered on the idea of a historical mission for the Jewish people over the land of Israel.

This world combines religiosity, ethnic nationalism, and a strong sense of collective sacrifice. Biblical and messianic references blend with a securitized, geopolitical language: the colonization of Judea and Samaria is portrayed not only as a security issue but also as the fulfillment of an ancestral promise.

Ethnically, it is a diverse landscape, increasingly shaped by the rising presence of Mizrahi Jews from Arab and Muslim countries, who have found a way to gain recognition within the national-religious movement in response to the historic dominance of Ashkenazi elites. Historically, the core of religious Zionism was mainly Ashkenazi, rooted in rabbinical academies and youth movements of Eastern and Central Europe; however, over time, the national-religious camp has greatly expanded to include parts of Mizrahi working-class neighborhoods in major cities and from the peripheral “development towns,” which are descendants of immigrants from Morocco, Tunisia, Libya, Iraq, Yemen, and Iran. Additionally, new waves of religious immigration from Western Europe, especially France, have bolstered the most ideologically radical faction based in the West Bank.

National-religious Israel includes settlers in Judea and Samaria, the military rabbinate, religious nationalist schools, and a growing ideologically driven right-wing electorate. These schools train generations of ideological leaders and military officers who believe they are fighting for the territorial and spiritual redemption of the Jewish people.  In this universe, the State is no longer just a security tool but a means of national and religious salvation; war and occupation often serve as ways to achieve a collective destiny.

It is a world characterized by large families, high birth rates, deep roots in settlements and “mixed” or peripheral cities, and an increasing ability to influence politics within state institutions.

Geographically, this bloc includes West Bank settlements, certain neighborhoods in Jerusalem, and inland areas where religiosity, national identity, and militarization are especially strong. It roughly accounts for one-fifth of Israeli Jews — about 20% of the entire population — considering not only strict practitioners but also those who identify culturally and politically with the religious Zionist camp.

Its relationship with the State is ambivalent: on one hand, it seeks to control and redirect it toward an explicitly Jewish project rather than a “Jewish and democratic” one; on the other hand, it is willing to challenge institutions whenever it feels betrayed, as happened after the Oslo Accords or the 2005 Gaza disengagement. For this Israel, the current war confirms the validity of its worldview: any territorial concession is seen as weakness, and any internal criticism as a lack of loyalty.

Haredi-Orthodox Israel

Haredi-Orthodox, Israel functions according to its own internal logic and follows a demographic trend separate from the rest of the country. It is marked by very high birth rates, strong community cohesion, the central role of religious institutions (yeshivot, synagogues, rabbinical courts), and a relationship with the state that is built on negotiation and exchange. Unlike national-religious Israel, which aims to govern the state, the Haredi community mainly focuses on maintaining its normative autonomy and way of life while also securing public resources to support its educational and welfare networks.

Today, Haredim make up about 15% of the total population, but their proportion is much higher among children and teenagers. Their growth is driven by fertility rates of around 6 children per woman, compared to 2–4 in other population groups.

Here, too, the ethnic makeup is mixed but sharply divided. On one side, there are large Ashkenazi Haredi communities rooted in Lithuanian and Hasidic traditions, with origins in Central and Eastern Europe (Poland, Lithuania, Hungary, Galicia, etc.), mostly centered in Jerusalem and Bnei Brak. On the other side, there are Sephardi/Mizrahi communities connected to North African and Middle Eastern regions (Morocco, Iraq, Yemen, Syria, Persia), organized through their own rabbinical networks and political systems, and primarily represented by the Shas movement. These differences reflect separate political parties, independent rabbinical leadership, and cultural practices that are not always compatible.

The balance between these two groups is changing significantly: the historical dominance of Ashkenazi Jews is increasingly being complemented by a rising Sephardi presence, partly organized through specific political channels. This creates an internally diverse community, united by high levels of endogamy, separate educational systems, and distinct languages and cultural practices (rabbinic Hebrew, Yiddish, Sephardi traditions).

This world’s relationship with the state is both contractual and ambivalent. It relies heavily on public financing, especially in education and welfare, and in return, it offers parliamentary support to governments that protect its interests (budgets, exemptions from military service, preservation of the religious status quo). At the same time, it does not fully identify with the Zionist state, rejects many aspects of modernity, and maintains a high level of cultural separation from the rest of Israeli society. Some of the Haredi leadership views secular society with suspicion and fears that economic and cultural integration will undermine the foundations of its way of life.

War worsens these tensions: the push to extend conscription to the Haredim sharpens the debate over who bears the real human cost of national security, and whether, given their increasing demographic influence, the Israeli model can remain economically and institutionally sustainable.Top of Form

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Arab-Palestinian Israel

Finally, there is Arab-Palestinian Israel, which makes up about one-fifth of the total population. It consists mainly of Palestinian citizens with Israeli nationality — Muslims, Christians, and Druze — living within the 1948 borders and participating, to varying degrees, in the country’s political, economic, and social life. Most are Sunni Muslims; alongside them are a Druze minority with a unique status and a higher level of integration into the armed forces, as well as small Circassian groups and other minorities.

In ethnic terms, Arab Israel is made up almost entirely of Palestinian Arabs, organized into several regional subgroups: Palestinian from the Galilee and the so-called “Triangle” east of Tel Aviv, Bedouin populations in the Negev, residents of East Jerusalem — whose status varies between permanent residency and citizenship — and the Druze of the Carmel, Galilee, and Golan villages, whose political-military paths are also influenced by mandatory conscription into the armed forces.

Their historical memory is shaped by the Nakba, systemic discrimination in access to land, housing, and resources, and decades of mutual distrust with the Jewish establishment. The Druze community is somewhat of an exception: it maintains a distinct identity closely linked to mandatory military service and enjoys a higher level of institutional integration than the rest of the Arab population.

Arab Israel lives in a structurally hybrid state: they formally belong to the Israeli demos — they vote, have representatives in the Knesset, and participate in the economy — yet at the same time, they see themselves, and are seen, as “other,” a liminal group whose loyalty is never fully accepted. This ambivalence shows in fragmented political representation, deep distrust of institutions, and ongoing tension between integration, protest, and, in some cases, overt disaffection.

In practice, Arab Israelis are often marginalized from decision-making centers and face disadvantages in accessing resources such as infrastructure, services, security, and urban planning. The Gaza war and the Palestinian issue are experienced with a level of emotional and identity-based involvement that is inevitably different from that of the Jewish population. This makes this community, within the context of the conflict, both a barometer of the nation’s internal legitimacy, a potential bridge to the Palestinian and Arab world, and simultaneously a possible source of internal division.

Final considerations

These four Israels are not isolated areas; they overlap, interact, and influence each other. Some secular Mizrahi Jews are part of the economic elites, some young religious Ashkenazim live in the settlements, some Arabs are integrated into university and high-tech networks, and some Haredim are gradually entering the global job market. Still, they remain as identity centers around which media, political parties, educational institutions, civic groups, and power structures at both local and national levels form.

The current crisis is simply the political reflection of deep sociological divisions: a sign that there is no longer an implicit consensus on what it means to “be Israel.” Percentages and ethnic origins do not explain everything, but they do indicate a clear trend: a society where no single bloc dominates, where these communities develop at different rates, and where every strategic decision — from war to judicial reform, from economic policy to the Palestinian matter — results from ongoing negotiation among these four competing Israels.

3. The Political System Under Stress: Institutions, Executive Power, and a Crisis of Legitimacy

The division among the different “Israels” directly causes a crisis in the political and institutional system. The main issue isn’t just the weakness of individual governments but also the challenge of balancing the three pillars of the state — the Knesset, the executive, and the judiciary — to make decisions seen as legitimate by an increasingly divided society.

To this, we must add a key feature of Israel: the lack of a single, rigid constitution. Instead, the system is based on a mosaic of Basic Laws passed at different times by shifting majorities, which together form a kind of “constitution in the making.” There is no single document that binds the branches of government, defines fundamental rights, or establishes the very nature of the state. As a result, Israel has a fluid constitutional order in which relatively narrow parliamentary majorities can significantly shift the balance of powers. The controversy is not only about how power is distributed among the four Israels but also about the broader question of what kind of state Israel is meant to be: a liberal democracy with strong individual guarantees or an ethno-national state where the political majority can redraw the rules of the game.

The Knesset is, in theory, the embodiment of popular sovereignty. In reality, the combination of pure proportional representation, a relatively low electoral threshold, and deep societal divisions has led to a parliament made up of a mosaic of small sectoral parties. Each represents a fragment of one of the “four Israels”: Haredi parties that focus almost exclusively on communal interests; national-religious parties that mainly address settlers and the ideological right; Arab parties divided between more integrationist and protest platforms; and centrist and secular-republican forces that seek to unite urban middle classes, economic elites, and peripheral communities. Instead of serving as a forum for the common good, the Knesset tends to mirror the country’s fragmentation almost perfectly.

This fragmentation makes governments inherently unstable. Relying on diverse coalitions grants small parties disproportionate leverage and leads leaders to focus more on maintaining their social base than on gaining broad public support. Benjamin Netanyahu exemplifies this pattern. Once a pragmatic leader in the 1990s and 2000s, he has gradually become the central figure in a coalition that includes religious nationalists, ultra-Orthodox parties, security-focused right-wingers, and socio-economically vulnerable voters on the fringe. His long tenure has highlighted the personalization of politics: each crisis often becomes a de facto referendum on his leadership, and the government’s survival is frequently seen as crucial to the prime minister’s personal longevity.

Within this context, the role of the Supreme Court — and, more broadly, the judiciary — becomes especially significant. For decades, without a rigid constitution and with parliament controlled by shifting majorities, the Court has served as the main institutional counterbalance to the executive and the Knesset, acting in a quasi-constituent capacity to interpret the Basic Laws. For secular-liberal Israel, it has been the last stronghold of a rule-of-law ideal that aligns with Western standards; for much of the national-religious right and the Haredim, however, it has appeared as an elitist fortress, representing a secularized Ashkenazi establishment that blocks the “true will of the people.”

The controversial judicial reform reached a peak of tension in this triangle. By attempting to limit the Supreme Court’s powers, weaken its ability to strike down laws, and restrict its role in appointments, Netanyahu’s coalition ignited a conflict that is not only legal but also deeply tied to identity: for some, a democratic correction; for others, an outright attack on the very idea of separation of powers. The large protests that swept the country before October 7 were the clearest sign of that portion of Israel that views the politicization of the executive and the assault on the judiciary as a threat to the nation’s fundamental agreement.

The Gaza war has temporarily paused this conflict, but hasn’t ended it. The “state of emergency” has allowed the government to expand executive powers, control information, restrict protests, and briefly unite the Knesset with messages of national unity. However, criticism of how intelligence was handled before October 7, of the political accountability for the failure of deterrence, and of the conduct of the war continues to emerge. Public trust in political leaders is falling on both the right and the left, and the view of a ruling class more focused on its own survival than on reforming the system has become deeply ingrained.

Meanwhile, the traditional dominance of historic parties has diminished. Spontaneous protest movements, civic organizations, and informal leaders — especially in the tech and academic sectors — are increasingly shaping the public agenda. Institutional politics struggles to manage this discontent: the gap between the Knesset, the government, and large segments of society is growing, fueling mutual delegitimization that, in a prolonged war, could become explosive. The result is a system where the three branches of government no longer balance each other in a healthy way but face off in an almost zero-sum game, each trying to defend its own space for maneuver at the expense of the others.

4. The Army as a Mirror of the Nation: Deterrence Crisis, Internal Fractures, and the Redefinition of Military Power

The Israeli army has traditionally been a central force for national socialization and interaction among different ethnic groups, social classes, and generations. Conscription and the symbolic significance of the Israel Defense Forces (IDF) have made the uniform a key aspect of citizenship: for many Jewish Israelis, serving in the military symbolizes reaching adulthood, gaining access to networks, and engaging with the “real nation.” Alongside internal and external security agencies — Shin Bet and Mossad — IDF forms the second major pillar of Israel, representing the part of the state tasked with managing threats, terrorism, wars, and covert operations. The military–security complex functions both as a defense tool and a collective identity builder, and today it also reflects the nation’s crisis.

October 7 marked a historic breach in this system. Hamas’s attack, the breach of Gaza’s barriers, and the massacres in kibbutz and southern towns significantly undermined the sense of invincibility that had been built over the years. It was not merely an intelligence failure; it also revealed the collapse of a particular strategic and technological mindset that believed electronic fences, remote surveillance, and cyber capabilities could replace constant vigilance, quick interpretation of warning signs, and human presence on the ground. The “deterrence crisis” impacts not only Israel’s enemies but also erodes domestic confidence in the military system’s ability to safeguard the country’s core.

Inside the army, the conflict has intensified existing divisions. Among some officers and soldiers from secular-republican Israel, the shock of October 7 has triggered open criticism of the political management of the conflict and the absence of a clear political objective for the war. In contrast, units closely linked to the settler movement and the national-religious community see the trauma as evidence of the need for an even harsher stance toward the Palestinians and for maintaining a constant military presence in the West Bank and Gaza. The IDF is no longer just “everyone’s army”: it now mirrors society’s polarization, with tensions between ranks and units, different generations, and conflicting ideological views.

The relationship between the military and the government has become more complex. Retired generals, former chiefs of staff, and senior officers have publicly criticized the lack of readiness, the political management of the war, and the temptation to extend the operation for reasons related to the government’s own survival. Resignations, dismissals, covert refusals to accept responsibility, and leaks to the press all reveal a level of mutual distrust that can no longer be ignored: the military and security “deep state” no longer seem united in defending the executive, and political leaders can no longer rely on the unconditional support of the generals.

Within this framework, the role of Shin Bet — the internal security service responsible for counterterrorism, monitoring the occupied territories, and protecting critical infrastructure — is especially important. For years, in official discourse, Shin Bet has been portrayed as the organization that “knows everything” about the territories, Islamist movements, and underground networks. The collapse of the fence system around Gaza and the failure to foresee the scale of the attack have cast doubt on that image of all-knowingness. The service now faces a dual challenge: on one hand, it must answer for the failures of October; on the other, it faces increasing political pressure to strengthen internal repression in an environment where the very idea of an “internal enemy” is becoming more contested and, in some areas, is expanded beyond armed militants to include Israeli dissenters, activists, and Arab minorities.

Mossad, the foreign intelligence agency, holds a unique role within the security community. Its high-profile operations — from targeted killings to sabotaging nuclear programs and enemy infrastructure — have reinforced the organization’s reputation for effectiveness and daring. Mossad collaborates closely with foreign intelligence agencies and manages key strategic issues like Iran, normalization with Arab states, monitoring diasporas, and financial networks linked to hostile actors. Simultaneously, it must oversee an increasingly diverse range of theaters — including Lebanon, Syria, Iran, Iraq, Yemen, and the cyber domain — often with limited resources and under political decisions that sometimes overlook operational limits and the risk of unintended escalation.

Taken together, the IDF, Shin Bet, and Mossad — Israel’s “military–security complex” — remain the core of the state and the main protectors of its survival in a hostile environment. However, they have also become the central point where the tensions of a nation facing increasing external and internal pressures converge: a country involved in a decades-long conflict with the Palestinians while also under constant international scrutiny, in a society that is already polarized, and in a world where the use of force is increasingly questioned.

The October 7 deterrence crisis, tensions between the security agencies and political leaders, internal divisions within the armed forces, and criticism from former pillars of the system all indicate that even the strongest core of the Israeli state is entering a phase of doubt. Where, for decades, the army and intelligence agencies were the glue holding national unity and the foundation of a sense of strategic dominance, they now show the same fractures and uncertainties as a country that can no longer clearly distinguish its external war from its internal conflict.

5. War Economy, Inequality, and the Sustainability of the Israeli Model

Israel is often called a “start-up nation,” and the story of a thriving, innovative economy connected to global markets has supported the image of a successful model for years. However, beneath this surface lie structural weaknesses that the war has made much more clear. The combination of ongoing conflict, internal division, and technological change raises an uncomfortable question: how sustainable is the Israeli model when the economy is operating under a nearly constant state of war?

The first factor is the direct cost of the conflict. Mobilizing hundreds of thousands of reservists pulls skilled workers away from the productive sector, disrupts activities in key industries — from high-tech to tourism, including advanced services and trade — and shifts a growing part of the budget to military expenses. Infrastructure damage, lost workdays, rising security costs, and the need to support evacuated or affected communities strain public finances and the economy, diverting resources from other sectors like healthcare and education, and increasing social tensions.

The second element is the highly unequal distribution of the model’s costs and benefits. The prosperity of the “start-up nation” is concentrated in specific sectors and areas — the Tel Aviv–Haifa corridor, high-tech districts, wealthy neighborhoods — while social outskirts, Arab Israel, parts of the Negev and Galilee, and large sections of the Jewish working and lower-middle classes bear a disproportionate share of the burdens of war and targeted austerity: job insecurity, low wages, rising living costs, and shrinking public services. The rhetoric of national unity conflicts with a reality where the costs of the conflict are not shared equally.

War also accelerates the outflow of capital and talent. Some international investors delay projects or move them to other tech hubs; some highly skilled entrepreneurs and professionals choose remote work to temporarily relocate to environments perceived as more stable. This trend weakens one of the key strengths of the Israeli model: its ability to attract talent and capital, innovate rapidly, and stay connected to global production and research networks. Over time, an advanced economy that loses part of its human capital risks having its core techno-military power diminish.

Finally, the sustainability of the model is in doubt due to a mix of high military spending, an aging working population segment, demographic pressures from groups with low labor participation — especially in the Haredi community — internal inequalities, and an international environment marked by increased competition, recurring crises, and less predictable global growth. What has long appeared to be a successful formula — high technology, financial integration, U.S. support — risks turning into a trap: a country forced to keep allocating more resources to security and control, while its social cohesion weakens and its economy becomes more vulnerable to external shocks.

From this perspective, the economy is not just the background to the conflict; it is a key arena where the outcome will be determined whether Israel can, over time, sustain a strategy based on permanent occupation, hyper-militarization, and reliance on external support.

6. Media, Public Opinion, and the Narrative Battle: War as a Symbolic Construction

In Israel, war is not fought only with tanks, drones, missiles, and covert operations. It is also fought with words, images, and narratives that determine who is right and who is wrong, who is a victim and who is a perpetrator, and what kind of future is even imaginable. The symbolic battlefield exists across newspapers, TV channels, social networks, and digital platforms; it is there that the meaning of October 7 is shaped, that the devastation of Gaza is embedded in the collective memory, and that the level of legitimacy granted — or denied — to the use of force is established.

The first element is the growing gap between the traditional media — major newspapers, public television, and the main private channels — and the new, fragmented media landscape: niche websites, Telegram and WhatsApp channels, political influencers, religious or sectoral community outlets. Each of the “four Israels” tends to get its information through its own media filter, reinforcing its perceptions and fears. The result is that there is no longer a shared national narrative: no account of events manages to establish itself as the dominant version nationwide.

Simultaneously, the war has sped up the segmentation. Secular-Republican Israel mostly consumes mainstream press, commercial channels, and international media; national-religious Israel relies on settler networks, influential rabbis, and ideological outlets; the Haredi community has its own system of newspapers, radio stations, and community bulletins; Arab Israel blends Israeli media in Hebrew and Arabic with regional satellite channels. Each of these groups perceives different images of the war, focuses on different victims, and interprets episodes that often go unnoticed by others. As a result, Israelis experience multiple conflicts rather than a single shared war.

Government communication attempts to unify these diverse groups through a central narrative that emphasizes the necessity of the war, the unity of the home front, and the full legitimacy of Israel’s response. However, the credibility of this narrative is steadily shrinking: among the families of October 7 victims, reservists returning from the front, and those who watch Gaza’s destruction with growing unease, the space for accepting the official story without reservations is very limited. The narrative struggle thus becomes an ongoing internal conflict, where the risk is not only damaging the country’s image abroad but also deepening internal polarization, making it harder to rebuild a shared sense of “we” after the war.

This media battle, therefore, is not a secondary element; it is one of the key arenas where the country’s political future is being decided. The ability or failure to create a shared narrative of the war, its mistakes, and its consequences will determine whether it is possible to rebuild even minimal internal cohesion or whether the country will fall into irreversible polarization.

7. Trauma, Memory, and Identity: The Psychological Weight of October 7 and the Transformation of Israeli Society

No event since the 1973 war and Rabin’s assassination in 1995 has impacted Israel’s collective consciousness as profoundly as October 7, 2023. The combination of civilian massacres, kidnappings, sexual violence, widespread panic, and feelings of abandonment by the state has created a trauma that goes beyond the military realm.

The first impact has been the deterioration of an unspoken agreement between citizens and security forces: the belief that, even in dangerous situations, the government could provide a basic level of protection to its people. Images of entire rural communities left isolated for hours while military units responded slowly have broken some people’s trust in the government’s ability to fulfill its primary role.

However, the trauma has impacted the four Israeli communities in different ways. For secular-republican Israel, October 7 has become evidence of reckless leadership decisions, accused of neglecting security to pursue ideological goals. In national-religious Israel, the trauma is often seen through a theological and security lens: it confirms that “there is no one to talk to” on the other side and that the only response is force. In Haredi Israel, the event is understood within its religious narratives as a form of punishment, with a more detached view of the territorial aspect of the conflict. For Arab Israelis, October 7 represents a highly sensitive break: many Arab Israelis feel horror at the massacres but also share solidarity with the suffering of Palestinians in Gaza and the West Bank.

The management of the October 7 memory has become a battleground. Monuments, ceremonies, school curricula, documentaries, and judicial investigations: each can be used to support conflicting interpretations, whether it’s the story of a “just war,” a “political mistake,” a “necessary revenge,” or a “moral failure.” In a society that is already divided, memory risks reinforcing opposing identities rather than encouraging shared reflection.

In the long term, the most profound change involves identity. A society that, for decades, has built an image of itself as a “resilient fortress” now finds itself forced to confront its own vulnerability. The question that arises is not only how to defend itself more effectively but also what it means to live in a nation that, despite being very militarily strong, failed to prevent the deadliest massacre of Jewish civilians since the Shoah.

8. Diaspora, Global Perceptions, and New International Pressures: Israel Facing a Changing World

The 2023–2025 war has not only transformed Israel internally but also altered how the country is viewed by the diaspora and the international community. The conflict is no longer seen only through the traditional lenses of security and the “fight against terrorism,” but is now understood within a different global context, characterized by great-power competition, the crisis of the liberal order, and a heightened awareness of human rights violations.

In the Jewish diaspora, especially in the United States and Western Europe, the war has intensified existing generational and political divides. Some parts of the organized Jewish community continue to see the conflict mainly through the lens of Israeli security and the memory of the Shoah; other segments — particularly young people, university students, intellectuals, and activists — are increasingly uncomfortable with the images of destruction in Gaza and with accusations of war crimes. This tension affects families, communities, and organizations, fueling a vigorous debate about what it truly means to “support Israel” today and where the line is between legitimate defense and excessive violence.

This fracture has political and cultural implications. Organizations traditionally rooted in the liberal-Zionist camp find themselves under pressure from a younger, more critical base; certain cultural and academic elites, which for a long time had shown near-automatic support for the Jewish state, are now expressing more nuanced or openly distant positions. In Western universities, media, and cultural spaces, support for Israel is no longer an almost automatic reflex, and this shift concerns Israeli elites, who see one of their strategic assets at risk: the near-unconditional backing of a large segment of Western public opinion and elites.

On the global stage, the war has sped up a process of losing legitimacy for Israel in many parts of the Global South. In Africa, Latin America, the Arab-Muslim world, and parts of Asia, the conflict is often seen as a new chapter in a larger history of colonial control and systemic violence by the West — or by a close ally of the West — against a people denied rights. The Palestinian cause is thus tied to a range of anti-colonial and anti-racism struggles and becomes a symbol of resistance against an international system seen as unfair and inconsistent in how it enforces its rules and principles.

In this context, the international judicial aspect becomes particularly significant. Investigations by the International Criminal Court, cases brought before the International Court of Justice, pressure to impose limits or conditions on arms exports to Israel, and debates on sanctions, boycotts, and investment decisions all contribute to a new, more hostile legal and political environment. Although the room for maneuver of these institutions remains limited, the fact that Israel — and, by extension, its main allies — are subjects of proceedings and investigations helps erode their symbolic capital and increases the reputational costs of large-scale use of force.

The diaspora, global reputation, and legal pressure are not just external factors; they are integral parts of Israel’s strategic considerations. These elements compel the country’s leadership to weigh not only the balance of military and regional power but also the impact of each decision on the nation’s international legitimacy. Over time, these factors help reshape both Israel’s self-perception and the world’s view of it, adding a new layer of vulnerability to a state that for decades had relied mainly on hard power.

9. The Four Israels and the Matrix of Internal Fracture: Converging Crises and a National Identity in Transformation

After examining the various layers of the crisis — social, political, military, economic, psychological, and international — we can refer back to the four identity worlds described in chapter 2 and consider how they interact in the current phase.

Secular-republican Israel experiences a dual feeling. On one hand, it still considers itself essential to the country’s functioning in the high-tech sector, institutions, and the military; on the other, it feels like it is losing control over the national project. The judicial overhaul, the prominence of settlers, and the increasing influence of the Haredim foster a sense of alienation that the war has temporarily paused but not fully eliminated.

National-religious Israel, which has become a key political player, views the crisis as confirmation of its own Weltanschauung: the world is hostile, the Palestinians are unchangeable enemies, and the solution is full control of the territory and strengthening Jewish identity. The war in Gaza and the confrontation with Iran and pro-Iranian militias are seen as parts of a long conflict rather than isolated emergencies.

Haredi Israel, amidst demographic growth, continues to have a contractual relationship with the state: political support in return for resources and autonomy. However, economic pressure and increasing criticism over its limited contributions to defense and the economy generate mutual resentment. Some secular members view the Haredim as “parasites,” while many Haredim see the rest of society as an environment hostile to their identity.

Arab Israelis are perhaps the group most exposed to the tension between formal membership and real exclusion. The war in Gaza worsens their situation: accused of “disloyalty” by part of Jewish public opinion and simultaneously kept at the margins of political representation, Arab citizens face a double dilemma that can easily lead to radicalization or withdrawal from public life.

The main point is that these fractures extend beyond the domestic sphere: they directly impact Israel’s foreign policy. If national-religious Israel leads the agenda, the logic will favor maximum territorial expansion and minimal concessions to the Palestinians; if secular-republican Israel regains prominence, opportunities for compromise could arise. Meanwhile, the convergence of institutional, military, economic, and international crises makes purely technocratic management of tensions increasingly difficult.

The structure of the internal fracture is therefore clear: four Israels, each sharing the same state but holding different ideas of nation, are forced to coexist in a state of nearly constant conflict. Until a new internal agreement is reached, any foreign strategy will remain on an unstable balance.

10. A Provisional Conclusion: Internal Crisis as a Mirror of Israeli Fragility

By the end of this journey, it becomes clearer that Israel’s military and technological strength coexists with significant internal fragility. Israeli society isn’t on the brink of collapse, but its cohesion can no longer be taken for granted. The cycle of wars, ongoing occupation, political and social polarization, and international pressure all converge to challenge the state’s ability to serve as a “common home” for all its citizens.

Part II showed that the internal dynamics — the four Israels, the evolution of the political system, the transformation of the army, the war economy, the narrative battle, the trauma of October 7, the rift with the diaspora, and international pressure — are not just a backdrop to foreign strategy but its foundation. Without grasping these factors, any analysis of Israeli policy risks being incomplete or superficial.

In Part III, Israel will once again be viewed “from the outside”: as a laboratory of the twenty-first century, a barometer of the tensions between the liberal order and emerging powers, and a key node in the transition of U.S. hegemony. Yet, it will be the internal crisis described in this section that provides the crucial insight into which paths the country will actually be able to pursue.