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With his New York restaurant, Shmoné, Israeli chef Eyal Shani earns his first Michelin nod
(New York Jewish Week) — Israeli celebrity chef Eyal Shani, who currently boasts 40 restaurants worldwide, became a sensation on these shores when he opened Miznon in 2018 at Chelsea Market. There, he introduced New Yorkers to a new style of Mediterranean street food that eclipsed the usual falafel, hummus and shawarma offerings. Locals and tourists alike lined up to devour Shani’s smashed potatoes, inventive pita creations and now-iconic whole roasted cauliflower heads.
Last May, Shani opened the latest addition to his NYC restaurant group: The aptly named Shmoné, which is located on West Eighth St. — “shmoné” is eight in Hebrew. The restaurant’s fresh approach — it features a new menu daily — landed Shani in the Michelin guide for the first time ever earlier this year, nominated for coveted star status. According to Michelin, “this small, sleek space punches way above its weight with dazzling Neo-Levantine cuisine.”
“I’m very, very happy for that, [but] I’m not focusing on getting Michelin stars,” Shani told the New York Jewish Week.
In fact, though he takes pride in all his restaurants — and voices enthusiasm for every culinary feat — Shani doesn’t believe Shmoné is “his most creative spot.” And yet, he said Shmoné is a very personal place to him, one of his most beloved restaurants. Ever the raconteur, he spoke about the energy that he puts into his food there and the harmony that results. “You need the magic,” he said. “I cannot explain it.”
As with all his restaurants, Shmoné has an open kitchen, which allows diners to observe the “food choreography,” as he called it. “I’m not cooking without a precise address,” he said. “I will cook for you when I see you. I am cooking for your eyes. If I cannot see you, I’m not cooking for you.”
Local sourcing and farm-fresh ingredients play a key role, too — something that Shani sees as very Israeli. “[Our ancestors] used to eat very pure, very close to the earth,” he said. “When you serve pure food to people it reminds them of something that’s exciting them.” The staff at Shmoné comb the Union Square Greenmarket for fresh produce, while their chicken is sourced from a small farm in Pennsylvania.
Shmoné’s menu is divided into categories by “creature” — though Shani utilizes an unconventionally broad definition of the word, including not only animal life but produce, breads and desserts. A “wheat creature” could be focaccia with sour cream; an “earth creature” could be tomato ovaries and green chili or a “stretchy stracciatella lasagna” served in a pyrex tray. Shani’s distinctive sense of humor is evident throughout the menu; for example, Shmoné previously served a dish called “I think I’ve managed to make a better mashed potato than [renowned French Chef Joel] Robuchon and it’s vegan.”
Like Shani’s other restaurants, Shmoné has an open kitchen and focuses on fresh produce. (Max Flatow)
Shani, 64, was born in Jerusalem and now lives in Tel Aviv. A self-trained chef who had studied cinematography, he cited a few inspirations for his career, though a major one was his vegan grandfather, who lived upstairs. Shani’s grandfather served him raw food, juices and salads and, in taking Shani to vineyards and markets, taught him to appreciate the purity of vegetables and fruit.
After his army service, Shani traveled for two years in Europe. But when a girl broke his heart, he returned to Israel and lived on a friend’s farm in the north. It was there that he decided to become a chef. “I lived there for a year like a priest — I ate from the fields and drank the water that I took from the ground,” he said. “One day, there were some hunters who were my friends and they came to bring me four porcupines. I lit the fire and ate [them], drank two bottles of wine and fell asleep in the middle of the field. I woke up in the morning and decided that all I wanted to do was cook.”
After painting houses for a while, Shani got a job in 1988 at Hotel HaSharon’s restaurant in the Herzylia Pituah neighborhood of Tel Aviv. He admitted he did not know how to cook but promised to work hard. Once he advanced to sous chef, the future restaurateur could be found racing to the parking lot to refer to the Julia Child cookbook he had tucked away in his car.
In 1989, Shani opened his first restaurant, Oceanus, in Jerusalem. A small, 24-seat space, it offered bouillabaisse, focaccia, fish and salad, and it was there that Shani began to really hone his skills. It closed after 11 years and was followed by Ocean in Tel Aviv, open for two years. Then, in 2008 he and his partner, Shahar Segal, opened the trendy, high-end HaSalon in Tel Aviv, serving up modern takes on Israeli cuisine with some Italian influences. This was the start of his restaurant empire in Israel; soon HaSalon was followed by the casual Miznon and seven others.
After he established himself solidly as a force in Israel, Shani expanded the Miznon chain to Paris in 2013, then Vienna in 2016, followed by Singapore, Melbourne and, eventually, New York, where Shani said he was seduced by the city’s exciting, vast and diverse food scene, calling it “the essence of American culture.”
At the same time, Shani said he feels challenged to upend New Yorkers’ culinary expectations. “When they are putting walls around me it’s seducing me, it’s seducing me to break them,” he said. “It’s my nature.”
From that first Miznon outpost at Chelsea Market, Shani expanded to eight restaurants across Manhattan, including a two-story Miznon North sit-down restaurant on the Upper West Side in 2019. (One Miznon branch has since closed.) That same year he opened HaSalon on Tenth Ave., where he serves dishes like “Hell’s Chicken” (a play on the neighborhood, Hell’s Kitchen), and a hand-rolled 12-foot pici pasta noodle, inspired by the notion that everything in New York is big and presented on a large scale.
Shani opened Naked Tomato, a skewer restaurant with generous salad accompaniments, in Hudson Yards during the pandemic. There, he became notorious for serving a single tomato on a plate for $24, inspired by a “perfect tomato” that he came across in an upstate New York greenhouse. “If a dish is a sentence, my culinary sentence is one word and that is the subject,” he said. “If I’m doing something with tomato, it will only be tomato: no sauces to warp it, cover it or mask it. You have to serve it completely naked. You are standing completely naked in front of your plate, in front of your audience.”
Shani explained that, with each new restaurant he opens, he visits each location and tries “to get some signals.”
“I can feel the environment, I see my team, I’m looking at the architecture, absorbing the atmosphere, the energy, the vibe of the place,” he told the New York Jewish Week. “It’s like a new ingredient coming to me and something inside myself assembling [assembles] them into the shape of a new restaurant.”
Shani says he immerses himself fully into the process of opening a new place. “I’m there and all the outer world disappears, all the noises are cut and I’m completely focused on one thing, and that is the only thing that exists in my life.”
And the new places keep coming: Since 2021, Shani has opened restaurants in Toronto, London, Miami and Boston, and, most recently, Dubai. Currently in the works are expansions to Amsterdam, Mexico City, Barcelona and Zurich, and two more New York eateries are also coming soon: a Miznon outpost uptown at 2895 Broadway, near Columbia University, as well as a “gastro bar” called Port Said, which is slated to open at 350 Hudson St. this summer.
“When you are establishing a restaurant you cannot change it anymore — it’s got its own character,” he said. “Because I’m changing all the time, I’m opening restaurants all the time.”
As for the recent Michelin nod, even though it was for a New York-based restaurant, Shani said it was “one of the most wonderful things that can happen for Israel,” as it will continue to enhance the country’s reputation as a culinary destination.
“Israeli cuisine started 70 years ago — it began without roots in any tradition,” he said. “Nothing is shaping them besides their ideas and imagination. Israelis are importing ideas and then shaping them in their own way, and that makes the cuisine so special.”
Shani is not shy about the impact he has made when it comes to introducing Israeli food to the world. “I’m the godfather of Israeli cuisine,” he said. “The main structure of Israeli food was built by me.”
Ultimately, no matter the price point or location of his various restaurants, Shani believes his food brings people joy. “I think it’s about giving happiness to people, he said. “That is my cuisine.”
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The post With his New York restaurant, Shmoné, Israeli chef Eyal Shani earns his first Michelin nod appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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What sort of Yiddish do Yiddishists speak today?
Ask the question: “What sort of Yiddish do Yiddishists speak?” and a jokester might respond: “Well, these days they speak English.”
But let’s consider the Yiddishists who really do speak it in order to preserve it as a living language, because they see it as a treasured part of the Ashkenazi cultural heritage.
Their purpose is different than the Hasidim who speak the language as a way of preserving their religious lifestyle and traditional Jewish values.
Linguist Emma Breslow recently defended her dissertation about the way that Yiddishists speak the language. She interviewed 30 Yiddish speakers at the annual week-long Yiddish immersion retreat Yiddish Vokh and also met with Yiddish speakers from New York, Boston and Montreal.
When she asked people whether they considered themselves Yiddishists, most said no. Perhaps the words Yiddishism and Yiddishist sound rather old-fashioned today. Since Breslow couldn’t find a label that speakers could agree on, she uses the phrase “minority-context Yiddish community” in her study. This category, she writes, also includes former Hasidim who occasionally participate in Yiddishist gatherings.
One surprise in her dissertation is the diversity in this community’s Yiddish. An outsider might assume that all Yiddishists speak the same but that isn’t so: some adhere to Standard Yiddish — the literary standard established by the YIVO Institute for Jewish Research and used in most Yiddish language courses today. Others use the Polish or Ukrainian Yiddish dialect or switch dialects. Sometimes they would say gut (good) and other times — git; sometimes zogn (to say) and other times — zugn.
When Breslow asked people their opinion of Standard Yiddish she mainly received negative answers, although some acknowledged that Standard Yiddish could be useful for learning the language, since the spelling closely matches the pronunciation.
Some interviewees made unexpected comments about Standard Yiddish, as in “Nobody speaks that,” even if, being at the Yiddish Vokh, they might have earlier chatted with Standard Yiddish speakers, and even heard children speak it as a native language. Her dissertation discusses this feeling they have that Standard Yiddish lacks authenticity — maybe precisely because so few people speak it from birth.
The minority-context Yiddish community consists of several groups: a) native speakers — those who speak Yiddish well from home; b) heritage speakers — those who heard it as children, but don’t speak it well; c) students and others who studied the language as adults, and d) former Hasidim, who now live in the larger secular world. Each group speaks differently, but there are interesting points of comparison.
Among her subjects, the former Hasidim speak so-called Hasidic Yiddish — a dialect that linguists have been researching intensely in recent years. Students mostly speak a sort of Standard Yiddish, which they learned from their teachers. All of the Yiddish speakers often exhibited a certain influence or interference from English; no surprise, considering that Hasidim — the largest group of Yiddish speakers today by far — mix English words into their Yiddish too.
Breslow’s quotations include interesting examples of code-switching — when speakers go back and forth between languages. Some of the younger speakers use the word like as a discourse marker in their Yiddish just as in their English.
A second topic of Breslow’s investigation is the articulation of the Yiddish letter reysh, which is similar to the R sound. In the older dialects there were two sorts of reysh: the throat (uvular) reysh, like in French or Modern Hebrew, and the tongue-tip (apical) reysh, as in Russian or Spanish. In addition to those two pronunciations, today’s Yiddishists also use the English-style (retroflex) reysh. Interestingly, linguist Uriel Weinreich, who authored the textbook, cautioned in the preface that students should not use the American reysh.
The grammar of the Yiddishists is also worth examining. Although many have taken courses teaching the grammar of Standard Yiddish, they don’t necessarily follow the rules. That shouldn’t come as a surprise, since even authentic Yiddish speakers of previous generations spoke in dialects that differed considerably from the way Yiddish was written in books and in the press. That’s why there’s no reason to criticize Hasidim for “ruining the grammar,” as many non-Hasidic Yiddish speakers do, since Yiddish speakers have been “ruining” the proper grammar for centuries.
The post What sort of Yiddish do Yiddishists speak today? appeared first on The Forward.
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Argentina rabbi: What can can learn from losing the World Cup?
דעם פֿאַרגאַנגענעם זונטיק, גלײַך נאָכן סוף פֿונעם וועלט־בעכער טורניי 2026 האָב איך אָנגערופֿן אַ גוטן פֿרײַנד אין אַרגענטינע, כּדי צו הערן ווי עס גייט אים.
איך בין ממש צעבראָכן — האָט ער געזאָגט — פֿאַרוואָס האָט דער אויבערשטער דאָס געטאָן?!
האָב איך אים געענטפֿערט: — איך בין נישט דעם אויבערשטנס בוכהאַלטער, און זיכער נישט זײַן אַדוואָקאַט. איך ווייס נישט פֿאַרוואָס ער טוט וואָס ער טוט, און פֿאַרוואָס ער טוט נישט וואָס ער טוט נישט. איך מיין אַז די וויכטיקסטע פֿראַגע איז נישט: „פֿאַרוואָס איז דאָס געשען“? נאָר גיכער: „וואָס איצט? וואָס קענען מיר זיך דערפֿון לערנען?“
האָט ער מיך געפֿרעגט, וואָס איך האַלט איז דער מוסה־השׂכּל. האָב איך אים געפֿרעגט צי ער געדענקט די מעשׂה פֿון יונה.
— אַוודאי. דער פֿיש האָט אים אײַנגעשלונגען.
ריכטיק — האָב איך געזאָגט — אָבער דאָס איז בלויז דער ערשטער טייל פֿון דער מעשׂה. נאָך דעם וואָס יונה האָט אין נינווה איבערגעגעבן די נבֿואה, מיט וועלכער דער אויבערשטער האָט אים געשיקט, איז ער אַרויס פֿון שטאָט און זיך אַוועקגעזעצט צו זען וואָס עס וועט ווערן.
דער אויבערשטער האָט דעמאָלט געמאַכט אויפֿוואַקסן אַ קיקיון, וואָס האָט אים געגעבן שאָטן, און יונה האָט זיך זייער געפֿרייט. אָבער אויף מאָרגן האָט דער אויבערשטער געשיקט אַ וואָרעם, וואָס האָט פֿאַרדאָרבן דעם קיקיון, און דער בוים איז פֿאַרטריקנט געוואָרן.
ווען די זון האָט שטאַרק געברענט, האָט יונה געליטן פֿון דער היץ און איז געוואָרן גאָר פֿאַרצווייפֿלט. האָט אים דער אויבערשטער געפֿרעגט: טרויערסטו איבערן קיקיון?
און יונה האָט געענטפֿערט: יאָ, ביז צום טויט.
האָט דער אויבערשטער געזאָגט: דו באַדויערסט אַ קיקיון, וואָס דו האָסט נישט פֿאַרפֿלאַנצט און נישט אויפֿגעהאָדעוועט. אין איין נאַכט איז ער אויפֿגעקומען, און אין איין נאַכט איז ער פֿאַרגאַנגען.
און זאָל איך דען נישט רחמנות האָבן אויף דער גרויסער שטאָט נינווה, וווּ עס וווינען מער פֿון צוועלף טויזנט מענטשן?“…
די מעשׂה שטעלט אונדז פֿאָר אַ פּשוטע אָבער טיפֿע פֿראַגע: וואָס פֿאַרדינט טאַקע אונדזער גרעסטע זאָרג?
און דאָ קומען מיר צוריק צום וועלט־בעכער. עס איז גאָר פֿאַרשטענדלעך, אַז אַן אַרגענטינער זאָל זײַן אַנטוישט ווען זײַן מאַנשאַפֿט פֿאַרשפּילט. ספּאָרט רופֿט אַרויס שטאַרקע געפֿילן, און דאָס איז דווקא איינע פֿון די סיבות, פֿאַרוואָס מענטשן האָבן עס אַזוי ליב.
— דײַן טרויער איז נישט קיין חסרון — האָב איך אים געזאָגט — פֿאַרקערט. עס ווײַזט, אַז דו ביסט אַ מענטש מיט געפֿיל. און געפֿיל איז אַ טײַערע מידה.
אָבער ווען די ערשטע אַנטוישונג הייבט שוין אָן זיך אָפּצושוואַכן, איז כּדאַי זיך צו פֿרעגן: וואָס נאָך אין לעבן פֿאַרדינט אַזאַ מאָס פֿון דײַן איבערגעגעבנקייט?
באַטראַכט נאָר אַ מאָמענט. דו האָסט נישט געקענט ברענגען דעם נצחון, און דו האָסט אויך נישט גורם געווען די מפּלה. און דאָך האָט דער רעזולטאַט, וואָס איז בכלל נישט געווען אין דײַנע הענט, אַזוי שטאַרק באַווירקט דײַנע געפֿילן.
אפֿשר וואָלט זיך געלוינט אַרײַנצולייגן די זעלבע עמאָציאָנעלע ענערגיע אין אַן אַנדער מין „פֿאַרמעסט“ — אין אַזאַ, וווּ דײַנע באַשלוסן און דײַנע מעשׂים קענען טאַקע מאַכן אַן אמתן חילוק.
וואָס פֿאַר אַ פֿאַרמעסט מיין איך? דאָ קומט אַרײַן אַן אויסערגעוויינטלעכע הוראה פֿונעם רמב״ם.
דער רמב״ם שרײַבט, אַז יעדער מענטש דאַרף שטענדיק זען זיך אַליין און די גאַנצע וועלט ווי פּונקט באַלאַנצירט צווישן זכות און חובֿה.
איין מצווה. איין גוט וואָרט. איין מעשׂה פֿון חסד. אַפֿילו איין גוטער געדאַנק.
יעדער איינער פֿון זיי קען איבערוועגן די גאַנצע וואָג לטובֿה — נישט נאָר פֿאַר זיך אַליין, נאָר פֿאַר דער גאַנצער וועלט.
מיר טראַכטן אָפֿט: וואָס מאַכט אויס וואָס איך׳ל טאָן? איך בין דאָך בלויז איין מענטש צווישן אַכט ביליאָן? דער רמב״ם בעט אונדז צו קוקן אויף דער וועלט מיט אַנדערע אויגן:
שטעל זיך פֿאָר אַ וואָג. אויף איין זײַט שטייען פֿיר ביליאָן מענטשן. אויף דער צווייטער זײַט — נאָך פֿיר ביליאָן. די וואָג איז פּונקט באַלאַנצירט. איצט שטעל זיך פֿאָר, אַז דו טרעטסט צו און באַשליסט אויף וועלכער זײַט זיך צו שטעלן. אין יענער רגע ווערט דײַן באַשלוס דער באַשליסנדיקער. דו ביסט דער וואָס האָט איבערגעוואָגן די גאַנצע וואָג.
אויב דאָס קלינגט צו אַבסטראַקט, לאָמיר זיך אומקערן צום וועלט־בעכער.
דער גאַנצער טורניר — נאָך וואָכן פֿון שפּילן, צענדליקער נאַציאָנאַלע מאַנשפֿאַטן און הונדערטער שפּילער — איז דער סוף באַשלאָסן געוואָרן דורך איין איינציקן מאָמענט.
איין שפּילער. איין גאָל. אַזוי איז אויך אין דער רוחניותדיקער וועלט.
דער גרויסער געראַנגל צווישן גוטס און שלעכטס, וואָס באַגלייט די גאַנצע געשיכטע פֿון דער מענטשהייט, קען אויסזען ווי עפּעס צו גרויס, כּדי אַ יחיד זאָל קענען אײַנווירקן דערויף.
אָבער אויב די וואָג איז טאַקע באַלאַנצירט, ווי דער רמב״ם באַשרײַבט, קען דער גאַנצער סוף־רעזולטאַט אָפּהענגען פֿון איין מענטש. פֿון איין מצווה. פֿון איין גוט וואָרט. פֿון איין גוטן געדאַנק.
און יענער מענטש קען זײַן דווקא דו אַליין. מיט דעם באַשלוס וואָס ליגט הײַנט אין דײַנע הענט.
עס איז דאָ נאָך אַן ענין, וואָס דער וועלט־בעכער קען אונדז לערנען. די נבֿיאים באַשרײַבן אַ צײַט, ווען די וועלט וועט דערגרייכן איר אמתן ציל. דעמאָלט וועט דער משיח קומען און ברענגען אַן עפּאָכע פֿון שלום, גערעכטיקייט און אַלגעמיינער דערקענונג פֿון גאָט.
קען מען זיך פֿרעגן: ווי אַזוי איז עס מעגלעך, אַז איין מענטש זאָל אינספּירירן די גאַנצע וועלט?
אָבער טראַכט צוריק וועגן דעם וואָס מיר האָבן פּונקט איצט מיטגעזען. ביליאָנען מענטשן האָבן אין איין אויגנבליק זיך צוגעקוקט אויף איין מענטש: ליאָנעל מעסי.
פֿאַר אַ קורצן מאָמענט איז ער געוואָרן דער צענטער פֿונעם אויפֿמערק פֿון ביליאָנען מענטשן!
אויב דאָס איז מעגלעך אין דער וועלט פֿון ספּאָרט, איז עס נאָך מער פֿאַרשטענדלעך, אַז עס וועט קומען אַ טאָג, ווען די גאַנצע מענטשהייט וועט זיך ווענדן צו אַ פֿירער, וועמענס כּוח וועט נישט ליגן אין זײַנע פֿיס, נאָר אין זײַן רוח.
משיח וועט נישט פֿאַראייניקן מענטשן אַרום אַ פּילקע. ער וועט פֿאַראייניקן זיי אַרום אמת. אַרום גוטסקייט. אַרום גערעכטיקייט. אַרום שלום. און אַרום דער ידיעה פֿון ג-טליכקייט.
איך האָב דעמאָלט צוגעגעבן מיט ַא שמייכל: „ס׳איז דאָ אַ טשיקאַווער צופֿאַל. דער נאָמען Messi קלינגט ַא ביסל ענלעך צו Messiah.
אַוודאי איז דאָס בלויז אַ לשון־צופֿאַל. אָבער אַ מאָל קען אַ קליינע צופֿעליקייט דינען ווי אַ בריק צו אַ גרעסערן געדאַנק. און דער געדאַנק איז פּשוט:
אויב די גאַנצע וועלט קען זיך פֿאַראייניקן אַרום אַ פֿוסבאָל־פֿינאַל, אויב ביליאָנען מענטשן קענען זיך טיילן די זעלבע האָפֿענונג, די זעלבע שפּאַנונג און די זעלבע באַגײַסטערונג, דערמאָנט דאָס אונדז, אַז די מענטשהייט איז פֿעיִק זיך צו פֿאַראייניקן.
די פֿראַגע איז נאָר: אַרום וואָס?
די נבֿיאים זעען פֿאָרויס א טאָג, ווען די וועלט וועט זיך פֿאַראייניקן נישט אַרום קיין שפּיל, נאָר אַרום אַ ציל. נישט אַרום אַ געווינער, נאָר אַרום אמת. נישט אַרום אַ גאָל, נאָר אַרום דעם אויבערשטן.
און ביז עס קומט יענער טאָג, האָט יעדער איינער פֿון אונדז זײַן אייגענע ראָלע. מיר דאַרפֿן נישט וואַרטן אויף אַ פֿולן סטאַדיאָן. מיר דאַרפֿן נישט וואַרטן אויף אַ וועלט־פֿינאַל. און מיר דאַרפֿן זיכער נישט וואַרטן ביז אַלע אַנדערע וועלן טאָן וואָס זיי דאַרפֿן טאָן.
די געלעגנהייט ליגט פֿאַר אונדז יעדן טאָג. יעדער באַשלוס. יעדער גוט וואָרט. יעדע מצוה. יעדער אַקט פֿון חסד. זיי אַלע זײַנען מער באַטײַטנדיק, ווי מיר שטעלן זיך פֿאָר.
אפֿשר וועלן מיר קיינמאָל נישט וויסן, ווי ווײַט די השפּעה פֿון אַן איינציקער מעשׂה האָט זיך פֿאַרשפּרייט. אָבער לויט דעם רמב״ם דאַרפֿן מיר לעבן מיט דעם באַוווּסטזײַן, אַז עס איז זייער מעגלעך, אַז דווקא יענע מעשׂה האָט איבערגעווויגן די גאַנצע וואָג.
מיר קענען אפֿשר נישט באַשליסן ווער עס זאָל געווינען דעם וועלט־בעכער. אָבער מיר קענען יעדן טאָג באַשליסן וואָס פֿאַר אַ וועלט מיר העלפֿן בויען.
אויב יעדער פֿון אונדז וועט טאָן זײַן טייל, וועלן מיר אַלע צוזאַמען העלפֿן ברענגען דעם טאָג, ווען די וועלט וועט דערגרייכן איר אמתן נצחון — די גאולה האמתית והשלימה, מיט ביאת משיח צדקנו במהרה בימינו, ממש.
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Trump’s messy new deal with Saudi Arabia shows how far Israel has fallen
The American decision to sign a deal granting Saudi Arabia a pathway toward a civilian nuclear program is a terrible development for Israel — not just because Riyadh could one day turn nuclear infrastructure developed with the United States into a weapons capability.
The agreement reflects the collapse of Israeli strategy under Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu since the Hamas attack of Oct. 7, 2023; the erosion of Israel’s influence in the U.S.; and Israel’s descent toward the status of a pariah state.
A day after the deal was announced, Trump — seemingly rattled by the flood of criticism that ensued — said it was dependent on Saudi Arabia joining the Abraham Accords. But he did not clarify what aspect of the Accords he meant; there’s no indication that such a requirement is included in the already-signed deal; and Riyadh has made clear that it will do no such thing until there is concrete progress toward a Palestinian state, which is a fantastical notion under the current Israeli government.
For years, nuclear cooperation represented one of Washington’s greatest sources of leverage over Saudi Arabia. It was long believed that prospect would be used to anchor some kind of pact involving normalization with Israel, binding nuclear safeguards, a regional defense architecture and a united front against Iran. Under such an arrangement, Israel would have established formal relations with the Arab world’s most influential power, and gained both a central role in a new regional security system and enforceable Saudi commitments against pursuit of nuclear weapons.
Washington has now at least begun giving Riyadh the prize — no matter what Trump says, amending the deal post-facto will be at best extraordinarily difficult — without Israel receiving any of the benefits.
That dire truth is the outcome of nearly three years in which Israel has confused military brilliance with strategy, and abandoned almost all public diplomacy as its status in the world plummeted.
No one can deny the extraordinary capabilities displayed by Israel’s armed forces and intelligence services since the Oct. 7 massacre. Hezbollah absorbed devastating blows. Iranian military assets suffered setbacks. Hamas lost thousands of fighters and much of its military infrastructure.
But a sense of true strategy is needed to convert military achievement to political outcomes. Strategy can strengthen alliances, expand legitimacy and leave a country in a stronger geopolitical position than the one in which it entered a conflict.
That seems to be completely beyond Netanyahu’s ability.
In the months immediately following Oct. 7, Israel possessed something extraordinarily rare: overwhelming international legitimacy. Hamas had committed an atrocity that horrified much of the democratic world. Moderate Arab governments viewed Hamas as a dangerous extension of the same Islamist forces that threatened their own stability. Former President Joe Biden’s administration recognized that extraordinary alignment, and sought to build upon it, working toward an ambitious regional framework.
In the early months of war, Hamas faced near-unanimous global pressure to hand over Gaza to a reformed Palestinian Authority, backed by moderate Arab governments. Arab states appeared ready to help marginalize Hamas politically and financially, and make life uncomfortable for its leaders.
For a moment, it was easy to see a path forward in which Saudi Arabia would normalize relations with Israel, with other countries following. A U.S.-led regional alliance facing Iran might integrate Israel into the Middle East more deeply than was ever previously imaginable.
That framework offered Israel the chance to translate the trauma of Oct. 7 into a strategic transformation of the region. Instead, Netanyahu chose an open-ended war whose nebulously defined goals were not achievable by military means alone, amid a reasonable and growing suspicion in the public and around the world that he was doing so to preserve his hold on power.
Every few weeks Israelis heard that Hamas stood on the verge of collapse. Each extension of the war was presented as the last before “complete victory” — which Netanyahu kept claiming was “a step” away. Victory remained perpetually on the horizon as Israel’s international standing collapsed.
Now, Netanyahu is wanted at the Hague. Diplomatic isolation has deepened and economic pressure mounted as boycott movements — including many informal ones — expanded.
And critically, American public opinion has shifted sharply, particularly among younger Americans, threatening the bipartisan foundation upon which Israel’s relationship with Washington has rested for generations.
Recent credible polls show that more Americans now sympathize with Palestinians than with Israelis.
Israelis think this happened because of a propaganda campaign against them on social media, because of antisemitism in Europe, or because of hostile journalists. That is partly true but mostly wrong. These shifts are mostly a result of the posture of the Israeli government.
The reality is that Israel killed tens of thousands of Palestinian civilians, accepted that toll with remarkably little public reflection or regret, and relied on the trauma of Oct. 7 to justify it. Around the world, that proved politically devastating. It is especially absurd considering that Israel paid this extraordinary price without achieving its central objective of removing Hamas from Gaza — which was foreseeable and infuriating.
Things might change if the opposition comes to power in October. The idiotic demonization of the Palestinian Authority might end. Jewish terrorism in the West Bank might be stamped out. Settlement construction beyond the fence line, and certainly illegal outposts, might stop.
Israel might again at least be trying to find a solution to the festering Palestinian issue — or at least prefer to lower the flames. That might, in the long term, bring Saudi Arabia back to the table.
But the U.S, has stopped waiting. That the Saudi deal was signed at all, no matter what Trump says now, suggests that Washington is now basically indifferent to the loss of leverage for a deal favoring Israel.
How to resolve the muddle Trump has made? The key: the agreement appears to not include the possibility of enrichment on Saudi soil, but just general assistance to create a program for nuclear energy. So Trump will be able to say that enrichment must await Saudi normalization with Israel. But Saudi Arabia will still be able to claim the symbolic victory of entering into nuclear collaboration with the U.S.
And so, the regional architecture envisioned in the first months after Oct. 7 has vanished because of the forever-wars Netanyahu has pursued — which also resulted in the deaths of dozens of hostages and more than 1,000 soldiers, badly damaged Israel’s economy, and left the country’s international standing in shambles.
And the strategic alliance between Israel and the U.S. — without which Israel’s very existence will be in danger — is falling apart in front of our eyes, not because of Trump but because we are losing the American people.
This is what you get when you are all brawn and no brain, and all tactics and no strategy.
That realization should define Israel’s coming election far more even than arguments over judicial reform or the Haredi draft. Those who have led Israel into this disaster deserve to be punished. Not just removed from power, but decisively repudiated. They have become a danger to the Zionist project itself.
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