The Israeli Project's Predicament: Between the Identity of Fear and the Illusion of Power

From its inception, the Israeli project has not been based on natural foundations resembling the emergence of states, but rather on a psychological and political structure that made fear a foundational material before strength, and militarization shaped society before the state. The Israeli does not arise within a civil state, but rather within an extended state of emergency that grows with them and shapes their consciousness. The entity conditions them to a constant feeling that the world pursues them, that the enemy is lurking, and that survival can only be achieved through military might. Over time, fear has transformed from a security condition into a political doctrine that oversees the formation of the Israeli character and directs its collective decision-making.

Thus, Israeli society finds itself in a striking paradox: it is told that danger comes from the "wolf" surrounding it, represented by the Palestinians, Lebanese, and Syrians, yet it slowly discovers that the deeper danger comes from the "shepherd" itself—from a project that keeps it within a constant state of mobilization, preventing it from living normally. The Israeli is besieged not by its neighbors, but by a project that drags it from war to war and frightens it from its surroundings to remain dependent on the state, which justifies its existence through the continuation of conflict.

If the official narrative claims that external "threats" are behind Israel's predicament, reality reveals that the roots of the crisis lie in the structure of the project itself. Occupation breeds resistance, settlement generates anger and reactions, and repeated wars do not create security but deepen its fragility. Therefore, the entity possesses excessive military power but is incapable of providing a sense of life's security, for security based solely on weapons remains an anxious security.

However, the crisis does not stop here; the Israeli project heavily relies on exploiting the Holocaust—the heinous crime committed by Europeans against the Jews—to justify the violence practiced against Palestinians, as if criticizing the occupation extends from the hatred practiced by the Nazis. Here, genuine Jewish pain transforms into a political tool, and the tragedy of victims becomes a means to justify practices that have nothing to do with them. The Jews who were killed in Europe have no connection to the policies executed by the occupation since 1948, but the Israeli project conflates the moral memory with its utilitarian usage in front of the world.

What makes the paradox clearer is that the Zionist project itself did not originally emerge to protect the Jews; rather, it was part of a colonial vision that viewed the "national home" as an opportunity to rid Europe of European Jews and push them away from Europe by directing them to Palestine. The West, which had persecuted the Jews for centuries, was the same that embraced the Zionist idea because it achieved two objectives: to eliminate the "Jewish question" in Europe and to plant an entity that serves its strategic interests in the Orient. Thus, a project based on an unachievable biblical narrative met with a Western will seeking to rearrange its inhabitants at the expense of another people. In the end, the Jews found themselves being led to a homeland they were promised while being forcibly taken from its true owners. Thus, the Jews, who were hated in Europe, became despised by those who embraced them among Arabs and Muslims.

This truth is not merely an Arab discovery but has been confirmed by several prominent Israeli thinkers. Avi Shlaim believes that the state founded on power has become its captive and that occupation was not a security option but a political necessity to complete a narrative that had no natural roots. Yuval Noah Harari warns against a society raised on fear until it becomes incapable of building trust with itself—a society with a bloated military institution at the expense of civility. As for Aharon Hameir, he recognized early on that ignoring the Palestinian native population nullifies the moral foundation of the project and transforms it into an anxious entity, however strong it may be.

Additionally, millions of Jews who came from Europe, Russia, Latin America, and Africa found themselves losing their real homelands in favor of a "replacement homeland" constructed on a biblical promise rather than a viable political project. The irony is that this homeland, presented to them as salvation, made them live in a constant state of fear in a land that has become a battleground of unending conflict. Thus, the existential question is posed before every Israeli: Is it worth losing one's true roots to live in a place that promises only more anxiety? Can a homeland based on the denial of the other turn into a safe homeland?

Today, the Israeli project's predicament deepens with the continuation of occupation, settlement, and blockade, and the refusal to recognize legitimate Palestinian rights. These policies make the entity a force without legitimacy and an army without stability, pushing it toward a moral and political isolation that widens day after day until this entity has become reviled.

It will only emerge from its crisis when it acknowledges that security is not achieved through oppression, and that fear, wars, and crimes are not the foundation for building societies. The future of the region will not stabilize as long as the Palestinian is viewed as a threat, not as a human. History teaches that homelands are not built on myths, nor on emergencies, nor on fear, and that the shepherd who frightens his flock to rule it is the greatest danger—not the wolf whose name they invoke to justify their existence.