Photo credit: Nino Orto
Because loneliness, in the end, is not about being alone. It is about not being seen, not being understood. Israel has long demanded recognition-from its enemies, from the world. But now, the time has come for Israel to recognise itself, too
In the turbulent landscape of Middle Eastern politics, Israel has always stood apart -not just for its military might, technological innovation, or complex historical narrative – but increasingly, for its profound political and moral isolation. This loneliness is no longer just diplomatic. It is strategic, existential, and increasingly, self-inflicted.
The sense of solitude was once worn as a badge of honour. Former Prime Minister Ehud Barak famously described Israel as a “villa in the jungle,” a metaphor for a liberal democracy surrounded by chaos and hostility. But the jungle has become more volatile, the villa more barricaded, and more alone.
The 2020 Abraham Accords offered a glimmer of hope: a chance for normalisation with parts of the Arab world, a fragile yet promising sense that Israel might finally become a “nation among the nations.” That hope has all but evaporated.
The October 7th attack by Hamas -unprecedented in its brutality- left Israel wounded, enraged, and politically resolute. But the military campaign that followed in Gaza, combined with a wave of settler violence in the West Bank and regional clashes with Hezbollah, the Houthis, and Iran, has turned regional unease into overt hostility. The normalisation process is in peril. International support is eroding.
Even the once-unshakable relationship with the United States has begun to shift. Military aid and diplomatic cover remain, but the tone is changing. The alliance feels more conditional. Europe, too, once cautious in its criticism, has grown sharper in its disapproval. And beyond governments, in the streets and in digital squares, global public opinion is increasingly turning against Israel.
Inside the country, many Israelis feel abandoned by a world that fails to grasp their reality. The trauma of October 7th rekindled deep fears—fears rooted in Jewish history and identity. “Never Again” was not a slogan for many; it was a doctrine. The massacre reawakened a buried truth: that survival, for Israel, is not merely a policy, it is a necessity. That truth and reality must be understood and recognised.
But even this cannot shield Israel from the moral scrutiny it now faces. The scale of destruction in Gaza, the staggering civilian death toll, the suffering of an entire population—these have left Israel exposed not only militarily, but ethically. The images broadcast around the world depict devastation that even staunch allies find hard to justify. The mantra of “self-defense” has lost persuasive power in the global imagination.
Yet Israel’s isolation is not only international—it is domestic. The country is increasingly divided. Between secular and religious Jews. Between Jewish and Arab citizens. Between moderates and extremists. Between those who see occupation as a moral failing and those who see it as divine mandate.
The protests of 2023 against judicial overhaul, the rifts within the IDF and political class, and the backlash over the intelligence and leadership failures of October 7th revealed a nation deeply fractured. The war may have united the people temporarily, but the deeper wounds of inequality, ideological extremism, and mistrust remain unhealed.
It is here that Israel must begin its reckoning.
If Israel is to emerge from its loneliness, it must look inward while it looks outward. The first step toward any sustainable future lies in silencing the extremists within its own ranks—those who use religion to justify expansionism, those who attack Palestinian communities in the West Bank, and those in power who have allowed settler violence to go unchecked.
The belief that all criticism is hostility, that compromise is weakness, must be abandoned. Israel must reclaim the democratic, pluralistic identity that once formed the moral core of its founding vision.
Simultaneously, a serious new political process must begin with the Palestinian people—not Hamas, not Islamic Jihad—but the more secular, moderate, and pragmatic voices that do exist. They are often silenced, marginalised, or trapped between Israeli occupation and their own extremist factions. These Palestinians—academics, civic leaders, young entrepreneurs, dissidents of both the PA and Hamas—must be empowered, not bypassed. If peace is to be more than rhetoric, these are the people who must sit at the table.
This requires risk. It requires imagination. It requires painful concessions and moral courage — all qualities that are already embedded in the Israeli social fabric. But the alternative — endless war and deeper isolation — poses a far greater threat to Israel’s future than diplomacy ever could.
There is a phrase often heard in Israeli discourse: “We’d rather be right than be loved.” It speaks to the bold and defiant approach that has shaped the national character for decades. But it also reveals a tragic vulnerability. In a world shaped increasingly by alliances, empathy, and perception, isolation is not strength. It is a liability.
Israel now stands at a moral and strategic crossroads. It can continue to fortify its walls, literal and figurative, or it can step down from them and attempt something harder: to engage, to listen, to see. To stop merely surviving, and start connecting.
Because loneliness, in the end, is not about being alone. It is about not being seen, not being understood. Israel has long demanded recognition – from its enemies, from the world. But now, the time has come for Israel to recognise itself, too
That may be Israel’s most difficult battle yet. And its most important.
