Between Washington's Desire for Calm and Netanyahu's Bet on the Continuation of War

The recent developments related to the confrontation with Iran reveal a profound political paradox: a U.S. administration inclined to end the war, versus an Israeli leadership that needs its continuation. This is not merely a gap in assessment, but a difference in the function of war itself within each system. For Donald Trump, war has ceased to be a convenient tool. It is true that he does not hesitate to threaten total destruction, nor does he abandon the "maximum pressure" policy, but there are increasing indications that he seeks a political exit, even if temporary. The war, which has dragged on longer than necessary, is beginning to turn into an internal burden: declining popularity, fractures in conservative rhetoric, and fears of getting entangled in an uncontrollable open scenario.

However, this "fatigue" should not be interpreted as a peaceful inclination. What Trump likely wants is not to end the conflict as much as to redefine his tools: reducing direct costs, intensifying economic pressure, and keeping military threats as a ready option. It is an attempt to shift from a costly war to managing a low-cost, high-impact conflict.

In contrast, Benjamin Netanyahu finds himself in a completely different position. For him, war is not a burden but a political necessity. It is the framework that rearranges domestic priorities, postpones tough questions, and gives him control over the political rhythm. Therefore, any regional calm – whether in Iran or Lebanon – is not seen in Israel as an achievement, but as a potential threat to government cohesion.

But this paradox does not imply a total contradiction as much as reflecting a difference in the level of managing the conflict. The ceasefire that Donald Trump promotes does not express a desire to end the war but is an attempt to recalibrate its rhythm and reduce its costs while maintaining pressure tools. In contrast, Benjamin Netanyahu needs this rhythm to continue or to transfer it to other arenas, because its complete halt opens the door to postponed internal obligations. Thus, the disagreement is not about the war itself, but about its timing, function, and limits.

On the Lebanese front, the gap between discourse and reality becomes clear. Contrary to the image presented to the Israeli public, the talk is not about a large-scale war, but about limited operations, with fewer forces and narrow tactical goals. Ground engagement is limited, with greater reliance on remote fire, and the military avoids expanding the confrontation to an extent it cannot bear.

This pattern reflects a double constraint: a clear depletion of forces, and the realization that any broad escalation could lead to an uncontrollable confrontation. Nevertheless, the official narrative continues to inflate the scale of operations to maintain a deterrent image. The result is a state of managed war: no resolution, no withdrawal, but a fragile balance that allows for continued engagement without a total explosion. However, this type of war does not produce a "victory" that can be marketed internally.

This characterization gains additional credibility when it comes from within the Israeli media itself, where it is acknowledged that the actual fighting in Lebanon is occurring within a limited scope, "with hundreds of fighters, not thousands or tens of thousands as the public may believe," while acknowledging that the combat units are "exhausted, and cannot be tasked with overly ambitious missions." Most importantly, this very assessment indicates that despite the military superiority, "Hezbollah shows no signs of breaking," revealing a complex predicament: significant firepower with no ability to achieve decisive outcomes.

It is at this point that Gaza returns to the center of the scene. Not because the military equation has changed, but because the political need for war remains. The Israeli government, which has not been able to achieve its declared goals, finds itself facing a dilemma: how to justify the continuation of the war without decisive outcomes, and how to end it without appearing defeated? The solution, it seems, is to keep Gaza in a state of "perpetual volatility." Leaks about Hamas's increasing power, strikes exceeding ceasefire lines, and ongoing military preparations – all indicators that the environment is being prepared for a new round.

In this context, with the rising talk about Nikolay Mladenov's movements and his meetings with Hamas within discussions regarding disarmament, there is an increasing focus in the Israeli media on what it describes as the "growing capabilities of Hamas" and the necessity of dismantling its military structure.
And it appears that this renewed focus on what is happening in Gaza cannot be separated from the surrounding political considerations, and may reflect – in part – a preparation for a new phase of pressure on the sector.

This parallel between the political path and the media discourse does not seem coincidental; rather, it reflects an attempt to create a dual pressure environment: negotiating on one hand, and inciting on the other, enhancing the narrative that any future calm must pass through strict conditions, foremost of which is disarmament.

But more dangerously, this policy is inseparable from the catastrophic humanitarian reality in the sector. The continuation of the bombing, the falling of civilians, and the destruction of what remains of the means of life is no longer merely a "side effect" of the war, but part of its equation. In other words: pressure on civil society is turning into a tool within the management of the conflict.

Here, politics intersects with what can clearly be described as a systematic use of starvation and destruction as a means of pressure, as the war on Gaza has become not just a military confrontation, but an integrated structure of control and subjugation managed under a security pretext, but carrying much deeper dimensions.

In this context, the war does not seem like an emergency event, but rather part of a governing pattern that relies on ongoing crises. Washington may succeed in imposing a temporary calm here or there, negotiations with Iran may open, and the Lebanese front may remain within its current limits. But all of that does not change the fundamental truth: there are those who cannot bear the end of the war.

For Netanyahu, the end of the war means returning to the interior: to postponed questions, unresolved failures, and fragile political balances. Therefore, the continuation of war – in any form, on any front – becomes a preferred option.
Hence, the question is no longer whether the war will be renewed, but: where, when, and under what pretext? Under this logic, Gaza appears as the perennial candidate to pay the price. In this sense, the ceasefire is not the opposite of war, but one of its temporary forms.