Perennial War: A Region on the Edge

Special Issue: The Impact of October 7th on the Israeli-Palestinian Conflict

• Hamas’ assault on Israel on October 7th, 2023, shattered the country’s perceived security, resulting in over 1,200 deaths within hours, including civilians at home and festivalgoers. One year later, the repercussions have redefined alliances and the nature of warfare in the Middle East.

• Gaza now teeters on the brink of humanitarian catastrophe, with over 40,000 lives lost—many of them children—and countless families torn apart. The region is rife with wounded survivors, amputees, and orphans, while humanitarian aid faces political barriers. Gaza risks becoming an unlivable wasteland, a grim reminder of the war's cost.

• Prime Minister Netanyahu's approval ratings have plummeted amid public outcry for his resignation. His coalition's reliance on far-right partners complicates post-war strategies, with military decisions increasingly influenced by political survival rather than national security.

• Israel's economy has significantly weakened, with GDP growth slowing to around 2% for 2023 and projected at 0.5-1% for 2024. War-related expenses are estimated at NIS 180 billion, pushing the budget deficit to 8% of GDP. The shekel has depreciated, and foreign investments have dropped, creating uncertainty about the nation’s economic recovery.

• Israel has unleashed its forward defence strategy with brutal force, expanding military operations to Hezbollah in Beirut and issuing stern warnings to Iran. Domestically, the political landscape has shifted sharply rightward, with hardline factions pushing for territorial expansion. The two-state solution lies in tatters, leaving the region's and its people's future perilously uncertain.

As this article goes to press, the Israeli Defense Forces (IDF) are entrenched in the heart of Beirut, a situation that underscores the seismic shifts in the Middle East over the past year. Just a year ago, on this very date, Israel found itself caught in an ambush orchestrated by a motley crew of Gazans, a coalition that included Hamas, the Palestinian Islamic Jihad, and an assortment of ordinary citizens—those who, perhaps in their fervour, became extraordinary. The ensuing chaos was nothing short of a nightmare; in a matter of hours, 1,200 Israelis were killed—some at music festivals, others in their homes, and many more caught in the merciless spray of gunfire.

The fog of ambush engulfed the narrative, shrouding the truth in a haze of confusion and blame. Accusations of friendly fire flew like shrapnel while Hamas, brazenly flaunting their triumph, posted GoPro footage that served as both a testament and a taunt. The Israeli government, confronted with a stunning humiliation, found itself scrambling to respond, calling up reserves and gearing up for what would inevitably become a war—not just of arms, but of narratives and national identity.

October 7th will be etched into the annals of history as the day when the gloves came off, and basic human decency was tossed aside in a whirlwind of vengeful fury. It marked a watershed moment, revealing the true nature of alliances and enmities; a moment when the world was forced to confront the stark reality of who truly stood with whom, who merely spoke, and who harboured deep-seated animosities. In just one year, this dramatic unravelling has laid bare the complexities of human relationships in a region plagued by discord. With the proverbial genie out of the bottle, there is no putting it back.

This article seeks to explore the ongoing conflict through the eyes of the various players' eyes and examine the profound impact this tumultuous year has had on the world's most volatile and significant region. What has changed since that fateful day, and what lies ahead as the smoke clears and the dust settles? The answers, as ever, are fraught with tension and uncertainty, a fitting reflection of the chaos that has become the hallmark of this beleaguered landscape.

Gaza: A Humanitarian Catastrophe

One year on, it is hardly an exaggeration to claim that the four horsemen of the apocalypse have visited Gaza. The region has borne witness to an endless war, a relentless famine, a ceaseless pestilence, and unspeakable deaths—all crammed into a mere twelve months. The images filtering out of this beleaguered enclave are as close to hell on earth as one could ever imagine: neighbourhoods reduced to rubble, lifeless infants, emaciated children, and the desperate figures of amputees scurrying to salvage their meagre belongings. Desperate crowds besiege aid trucks, the air thick with prayers for the dead, while overworked medical personnel labour under the weight of the human tragedy unfolding before them. The continuous drone of airstrikes punctuates this grim tableau. The only elements missing from this infernal scene are Satan himself and bubbling lava pits to complete the grotesque vision we associate with biblical doom.

The four horsemen have visited Gaza, clockwise from top left, Death, Famine, Pestilence, and War.

These horrifying images are beamed into our living rooms in high-definition, forcing us to confront a reality so brutal that to call it heart-wrenching would be a disservice to the suffering it depicts. Strikingly absent from this gruesome spectacle, however, are the combatants of Hamas—who have seemingly vanished into thin air, leaving the civilian population to absorb the full brunt of the Israel Defense Forces’ unrelenting firepower. It is a grotesque irony that while the innocent suffer, their armed supposed protectors appear to have conveniently slipped away.

Every humanitarian organisation on the planet has labelled the situation in Gaza a catastrophe, extending hands of assistance that have, rather predictably, been rebuffed by Israel. This denial is further complicated by the machinations of regional politics, which only deepen the despair on the ground. The scene is a tragic reminder that in the theatre of human suffering, the innocent often pay the highest price for the sins of the powerful.

The Toll of Loss

The death toll in Gaza, according to the Hamas-run health ministry, has now surpassed 40,000 lives—one-third of them children. The injured stands at ~85,000; these are just the ones reported. Amidst the chaos of war, not all gets accounted for. There are many buried under the rubble, unaccounted for, or just simply missing. These numbers are staggering; they lose all meaning unless you stop for a moment to consider: that’s 40,000 human beings, each with a name, a face, and a family now torn apart. For months now, we have been inundated with footage of the carnage. Bombed schools, bombed hospitals, bombed “safe zones,” bombed ambulances. It’s as if anything that moves—or even remains still—is targeted for destruction. Gaza, that sliver of land already suffocating under the weight of its population, has become an open-air tomb where escape from death is a futile wish.

Accusations of indiscriminate targeting by the Israeli Defense Forces (IDF) are met with fierce denials. Israel insists it targets Hamas, not civilians, though it concedes that some collateral damage is unavoidable in urban warfare. “Collateral damage”—as if such a sterile term could encapsulate the magnitude of what has transpired. Can you neatly file away the lives of 40,000 people under a term so bureaucratically bland? Can the life of a child, blown apart in a strike, be labelled anything less than tragedy?

Mahmoud al-Najjar, a father of four, is one of those left behind to grapple with this unspeakable loss. "I lost my wife and two children," he says, the grief unmistakable in his voice. "How do you rebuild a life after that?" His is not an isolated tragedy but a grief that reverberates across Gaza, a grief too vast to measure. Those fortunate enough to survive are often left disfigured or scarred in ways that no surgeon can mend. Médecins Sans Frontières (MSF) warns of a generation of amputees, of children who may never run, never play, and never live without the memory of bodies torn asunder by war.

And what of the survivors, those children orphaned in an instant? For them, the future is bleak, a road leading nowhere but despair. In a grotesque twist of fate, the relentless bombardment—meant to root out terrorism—has likely sown the seeds for it. Every airstrike, every funeral, and every child left parentless provides the perfect soil for a new generation of radicalisation for groups like Hamas to thrive.

Infrastructure Decimation

Gaza, once a place where life persisted against all odds, now stands on the edge of a humanitarian abyss. The death toll, already staggering, is only the beginning of a tragedy whose true cost will be measured in the years to come, in the lives that are slowly being extinguished not by bombs, but by the suffocating collapse of an entire society. Hospitals, schools, power plants, and water treatment facilities—essential lifelines of any functioning civilisation—lie in ruin, leaving a whole population to face a grim future or none at all.

In the halls of Al-Shifa Hospital, the situation is beyond bleak. Dr. Aya Hamdan, her voice weighed down by exhaustion and despair, speaks of a healthcare system dragged back to the dark ages. "We're operating without basic supplies, often without electricity. It's medieval medicine in the 21st century." This is not hyperbole but a cruel reality for doctors forced to make life-or-death decisions without the most essential tools. What was once a place of healing has become a place where hope itself comes to die.

The destruction is not limited to bodies. The very soul of Gaza is being systematically torn apart. Over 90% of schools have been reduced to rubble, a staggering number that belies the deeper, immeasurable loss. Education—the most fundamental route to a better life—has been stolen from hundreds of thousands of children. These classrooms, now dust and debris, once housed dreams and ambitions. But in a region where education was already a fragile lifeline, its destruction does not just signal the end of schooling; it signals the end of futures, of potential, of what might have been.

As if this weren’t enough, the decimation of water treatment facilities has unleashed another silent killer: disease. With clean water now a rare commodity, the spectre of waterborne illnesses looms large over a community already suffocating under the weight of violence. The basic dignity of health and hygiene has been shattered, leaving survival not just a matter of avoiding bombs but of navigating an existence where each drop of water could bring sickness.

And then there are the homes—or rather, what’s left of them. Over 60% of housing units have been either damaged beyond repair or completely obliterated. Entire families, their lives already shattered, are now displaced, forced into overcrowded UN shelters where privacy, comfort, and even basic human dignity are stripped away. The idea of rebuilding—of creating something new out of the ashes—feels like a distant, almost cruel dream.

Economic Devastation

The latest UNCTAD report presents a chilling account of Gaza's descent into economic and humanitarian ruin, exacerbated by the relentless Israeli military operation. A region already strangled by occupation and blockaded into stagnation has now been thrust to the brink of an all-out catastrophe, where the idea of survival seems tenuous, let alone recovery.

Let us begin with the basics of Gaza's long-standing tragedy. Since 1967, this besieged strip of land has endured Israeli occupation, and while the Israelis may have officially "withdrawn" in 2005, the noose of control never slackened. Gaza’s airspace, borders, and trade routes remain firmly under Israeli dominion, choking its economy and rendering it isolated from the world. In 2007, the blockade turned this isolation into a near-complete economic suffocation. Since then, Gaza’s GDP per capita has plummeted by 27%, and by 2023, a staggering 80% of the population depended on international aid to survive. This was a place already cut off from the global development agenda, a society already on life support—until the bombs fell.

Economically, the word "collapse" barely suffices. Gaza’s economy contracted by a jaw-dropping 24% in 2023 alone. Unemployment has skyrocketed to an unfathomable 79.3%, with 182,000 jobs disappearing overnight, as though sucked into the abyss. Every sector of the economy has ceased functioning, save for the emergency services that cling to life, struggling to hold together the fraying threads of a shattered society. Household welfare has cratered, with families now spending 43% less than before as poverty deepens and hunger gnaws at every corner.

But let us not kid ourselves into believing that once the guns fall silent, all will be well. Even if the bloodshed stops tomorrow, the road to recovery is so long, so arduous, that it is difficult to fathom Gaza ever reclaiming a semblance of normal life. Under the rosiest of scenarios—imagine annual economic growth miraculously reaching 10%—Gaza's GDP per capita would still not return to its pre-2006 levels until 2035. And without substantial international aid, that hope shrivels to nothing more than a pipe dream.

The report is painfully clear on this point: Gaza’s pre-October 2023 existence was already a nightmare of poverty, isolation, and despair. A return to that status quo is nothing to aspire to. What Gaza needs is nothing less than a fundamental reimagining of its future—starting with the lifting of the Israeli blockade that has turned it into the world’s largest open-air prison. Gaza must reconnect with the West Bank, access international markets, and rebuild the infrastructure that might give it a fighting chance at survival. The prospect of restoring its airport and seaport or tapping into its offshore gas reserves seems remote now, but without these, Gaza will remain forever on its knees, begging for the mercy of international handouts.

Psychological Scars

The September 2024 ACAPS report delivers an unflinching account of Gaza’s descent into a psychological abyss—a place where the collective soul of a people, already ravaged by decades of relentless occupation, violence, and degradation, now teeters on the edge of obliteration. The ten months of continuous conflict since October 2023 have wrought devastation not only on the physical landscape but also on the minds and spirits of those who inhabit this forsaken strip of land. It is a catastrophe both human and humanitarian, but with a cruelty that strikes at the very essence of what it means to live, hope, and endure.

At the heart of this report are the broken psyches of a besieged people. Anxiety, depression, and trauma have become the lingua franca of life in Gaza. Such is the horror of daily existence that even the idea of death is no longer a fear but a bitterly welcomed reprieve. Suicide is not an anomaly; it is whispered in the hearts of those who have had enough of the endless, meaningless violence, the forced displacement, and the deprivation that grinds down the human spirit. Children in Crisis hardly begin to describe the nightmare. A million souls too young to bear witness to the hellish landscape they inhabit are being reshaped by the trauma. Regressive behaviors—bedwetting, nightmares, and ceaseless anxiety—are now the norms for Gaza's children. They are children whose innocence has been consumed by the gnashing jaws of war, separated from families, unaccompanied, wandering through the wreckage of a life they may never reclaim. The signs of trauma are so profound that one can hardly imagine how they will grow into anything but scarred adults, haunted by a childhood drenched in blood and loss.

Women Under Strain, too, is a tragic understatement. The burden that Gaza’s women now carry is beyond comprehension—trying to hold together what remains of their families while they themselves are brutalised by the violence, sexual and otherwise, that permeates every crack and crevice of this fractured society. It is not just about survival anymore; it is about enduring under conditions that strip them of dignity, safety, and hope. The men fare no better. Torn apart by their inability to protect or provide, they, too, fall into a despair that is exacerbated by a society that punishes emotional vulnerability, leaving them to drown in their grief and helplessness in silence.

The collapse of healthcare is, in many ways, the final insult in this saga of misery. The infrastructure, pulverized by bombs and blockades, can no longer provide even the most basic of services. Doctors and nurses, themselves victims of the same trauma, battle exhaustion and moral injury, are forced to watch helplessly as their patients slip through their fingers for lack of medicine, equipment, and resources. They are the ones who bear witness to the human wreckage day after day, their psyches eroding under the weight of suffering they can barely alleviate.

And yet, amid this madness, the resources to address the psychological toll are virtually non-existent. Severe shortages of mental health professionals, psychotropic medications, and even basic healthcare make any attempt to heal the wounds of this battered populace almost farcical. Those on the frontlines—the healthcare providers—are crushed under the enormity of the task, stretched to their breaking points by the same traumas their patients endure.

Israel: A Nation Transformed

One year after the catastrophe of October 7th, Israel remains a nation haunted by more than just the rubble of the attacks. The reverberations of that singular day have torn through the very marrow of Israeli society, leaving wounds that refuse to heal. It was an attack not just on people but on the soul of a nation. While the craters in the earth may pale in comparison to the devastation endured by Gaza, the fissures it has carved into Israel’s collective psyche are both profound and unrelenting. The shockwaves have battered its social fabric, shredded economic security, and thrown its political landscape into disarray, leaving Israelis to grapple with a nation transformed—perhaps irrevocably.

The attack was a brutal reminder that no wall is high enough, no defence sophisticated enough, to safeguard against the horrors of war seeping into every corner of daily life. This was not just an assault on buildings or borders—it was an assault on Israel’s sense of itself, its belief in its invincibility, and the very idea of security that once felt so certain. Families now live in fear where they once sought peace. Once fraught but functioning, political discourse has descended into a cacophony of rage, finger-pointing, and disillusionment.

And then there is the economy—a once-robust machine that now sputters under the weight of war’s long shadow. Once buoyed by a sense of regional superiority, investor confidence teeters on the edge of collapse. The flow of tourism—long a lifeblood for the nation—has slowed to a trickle, leaving behind ghost towns where bustling streets once thrived.

However, it is the psychological scars that may prove hardest to mend. The trauma of October 7th has burrowed deep into the national consciousness, manifesting in sleepless nights, distrust among neighbours, and a profound existential question: who are we now? The answer remains elusive, for Israel is a nation forever altered by a single day—a day whose aftershocks continue to ripple across its society and whose toll will be measured not in the number of lives lost but in the depth of its soul forever changed.

The Toll of Loss

The October 7th attack not only claimed over 1,200 Israeli lives, leaving thousands more wounded, but it plunged an entire nation into an abyss of collective trauma. The shockwaves of that day reverberate far beyond the immediate casualties, casting a dark pall over the national psyche. Dr. Sarah Cohen, a leading psychologist in Tel Aviv, observes with grim clarity that Israel's once-steely sense of security has been shattered, replaced by a deep, pervasive fear. This burden now rests on the shoulders of every citizen.

For the survivors, especially those from the border communities like Sderot, the psychological scars run unbearably deep. Eli Moshe, a resident who narrowly escaped the violence, voices a torment that has become all too familiar: "I constantly question why I survived while my neighbours did not—a burden that haunts me daily." His words, raw and harrowing, speak to the suffocating weight of survivor's guilt—a torment that no therapist’s office, no sympathetic ear, can easily absolve.

Yet the psychological toll stretches far beyond those who witnessed the carnage firsthand. Across the country, mental health professionals are struggling to keep pace with a deluge of new cases as post-traumatic stress, anxiety, and depression spread like a contagion through the population. Even children, once insulated by the innocence of youth, are now participants in a national recovery effort. Recognising the crisis, schools have hastily introduced resilience workshops, teaching coping mechanisms to students who have barely learned to read. The trauma of October 7th is not confined to the wounded or the grieving; it has seeped into the very fabric of Israeli life, turning daily existence into a battle for mental survival.

In the aftermath of such unspeakable horror, Israel remains a country at war—not with external enemies, but with the ghosts of its own shattered sense of self. Now, The question is not simply how to rebuild but whether the nation can truly heal.

Infrastructure and Security Challenges

While Israel’s physical infrastructure may have emerged relatively unscathed, the October 7th attack delivered a searing blow to something far more critical: the perception of the nation’s security apparatus as an impenetrable shield. For decades, the Israeli Defense Forces (IDF) and its security services have stood as symbols of near-invulnerability, their efficacy woven into the fabric of national identity. Yet, this assault laid bare vulnerabilities that had long been unthinkable. In many ways, the psychological fallout from this erosion of invincibility is just as profound as the immediate human loss.

This newfound awareness has not gone unnoticed within the IDF’s upper echelons. Former IDF General Yoav Galant grimly observes, "There’s a new understanding that passive defence is insufficient. We’re moving towards actively preventing threats, even if it means taking greater risks." Galant's words signal a tactical pivot and a philosophical reckoning within Israel’s military strategy. Once confident in its defensive postures, the nation is now recalibrating its entire approach, recognising that its literal and metaphorical walls are no longer enough.

In the wake of this strategic shift, Israel has embarked on a multifaceted campaign of innovation and adaptation. Technological advancements have become the cornerstone of its renewed focus, with AI-driven threat detection systems and autonomous defence technologies absorbing unprecedented amounts of state resources. The future of Israeli defence, it seems, will not just be fought with soldiers on the ground but with algorithms and machines in the air.

Simultaneously, the Israeli civilian landscape is transforming in response to the security vacuum. Civil defence initiatives have expanded dramatically, with more citizens stepping into security roles, bridging the gap between military and civilian spheres. Volunteer civil guard numbers have surged, and applications for personal firearm permits have skyrocketed—a tangible manifestation of the nation’s collective will to defend itself, not just from outside threats but from the paralyzing fear that comes when one’s safety is in question.

In this evolving paradigm, Israel’s survival hinges not merely on military might but on a newly forged social contract: a nation where every citizen is both a defender and the defended. The road ahead is perilous, and the risks—once calculated—are now embraced as a necessity. In this unforgiving landscape, Israel is not merely fighting for its borders but for the preservation of its very sense of self.

Economic Devastation

The Israeli economy, once robust and resilient, now finds itself grappling with unprecedented challenges in the aftermath of the October 7th attack and subsequent conflict. To fully appreciate the extent of the economic impact, it's crucial to understand Israel's economic position before the war:

Pre-War Economic Strength

Before October 7th, 2023, Israel’s economy was thriving and positively radiant. With foreign reserves hitting a staggering $200 billion, a balance of payments surplus that outshone its neighbours, and a debt-to-GDP ratio lounging at a comfortable 61%, the country had positioned itself as a net lender to the world. The high-tech sector, that glittering jewel of innovation, churned out foreign currency like a well-oiled machine, further fueling the country's fiscal buoyancy. Total employment had been achieved, and the budget deficit was set to dip below 2% of GDP—a veritable model of modern economic stewardship.

But then came the war, and as history has often and ruthlessly demonstrated, no economy, no matter how robust, is invincible in the face of conflict. The Hamas attack has unleashed not just carnage but an economic backlash that will reverberate far beyond the battlefields. Once forecast at a healthy clip, the GDP growth has ground to an anaemic 2% in 2023, with a 2024 projection looking even grimmer at a meagre 0.5-1%. In real terms, that’s a catastrophic $17 billion GDP loss by the end of next year, dragging down GDP per capita with it—proof, if any were needed, that war has no respect for balance sheets.

The cost to the Israeli state has been staggering: NIS 180 billion in war-related expenses, which is roughly equivalent to 18% of Israel’s annual GDP, a financial burden heavy enough to make even the most stoic of economists break into a sweat. The budget deficit has ballooned to 4.2% in 2023, with projections for 2024 likely to hit a nauseating 8%, driving debt-to-GDP to ~70%. Austerity measures loom ominously on the horizon.

And let’s talk about the markets: the shekel has been hammered, hovering around four shekels per dollar after the attack, and Israel’s risk premium has soared from 50 to 120 points in the eyes of jittery international investors. Foreign capital, particularly in the once-booming high-tech sector, is drying up like a desert well. Meanwhile, tourism—a once-reliable source of revenue—has nosedived, and the construction sector is paralysed by a lack of labour, compounded by the absence of Palestinian workers.

But here’s where the long-term concerns bite: Israel's protracted conflict comes with the relentless call-up of reserves, draining the labour market and disrupting industries. And then there’s the elephant in the room—Israel’s defence systems, which, while advanced, are horrifically expensive when stacked against the cheap munitions of its enemies. Can this financial strain be sustained in the long term? It's a question Israel’s leaders will soon have to reckon with.

Despite this litany of woes, the Israeli economy, resilient as ever, hasn’t buckled. The Bank of Israel has intervened, stabilising the shekel with $8 billion in October alone, and the nation’s financial system remains sturdy thanks to deep capital reserves. But make no mistake: the path ahead is uncertain as the government struggles to balance the urgent need for defence spending with the equally pressing need for growth and social investment. It’s not just an economic test—it’s an existential one. Israel will need every ounce of its famed resilience to navigate these tempestuous waters, all while contending with threats not just to its borders but to the very fabric of its economy.

Political Turmoil and Leadership Crisis

Political chaos often does more than unsettle—it undermines the very foundation upon which a nation’s survival depends. In the case of Israel, the aftermath of October 7th has done more than provoke fresh questions about its security apparatus or economic endurance—it has sent shockwaves through its political landscape, threatening to topple the edifice that Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu has clung to for years.

Once hailed by his admirers as the "King of Israel," Netanyahu’s grip on power was already slipping before the war. The October 7th attacks shattered not only Israel’s illusion of invulnerability but also the public's trust in its leadership. Netanyahu’s approval ratings have plummeted with the same velocity that once kept him aloft. The very people who once hailed him as a protector now demand his resignation in streets filled with righteous anger. What’s worse, the spectre of prior mass protests over his attempts to dismantle judicial independence looms large, serving as a reminder that his troubles are not merely temporary—they are existential.

And yet, he endures, not through public support but through Machiavellian coalition politics. His ultra-Orthodox and far-right partners, always hungry for more influence, remain loyal, if somewhat restive. This loyalty, however, comes at a price—concessions that many see as detrimental to Israel’s long-term interests. Here, in this cynical dance of survival, Netanyahu clings to his throne, staving off internal fractures by giving ground where it should not be given.

But the war has forced his hand in other ways. The formation of a war cabinet, including opposition figures like Benny Gantz, has forced Netanyahu into a balancing act worthy of a Shakespearian tragedy. On one side, the need for unity in the face of external threats; on the other, his ever-present instinct for self-preservation. As the war drags on, there are fears—real and grounded—that decisions on military operations might not be made purely with national security in mind but with Netanyahu’s own political calculus at the forefront.

His motives are being scrutinized with a newfound ferocity. The whispers that Netanyahu might use the ongoing security crisis to delay scheduled elections are growing louder. Critics accuse him of using the war to dodge electoral reckoning, with his popularity in freefall. If Netanyahu’s political survival is influencing war strategy, then Israel’s entire posture becomes suspect, caught in the machinations of one man’s desire to remain in power.

And then, there’s the post-war quagmire. Netanyahu’s far-right coalition complicates any hope of formulating a coherent strategy for Gaza, let alone a credible peace plan. His reliance on these political factions—whose interests lie more in stoking conflict than resolving it—has strained relations with crucial allies, including the United States. How can Israel navigate the treacherous waters of diplomacy when its prime minister is beholden to ideologues?

All the while, the war has temporarily silenced the judicial reform controversy, but it hasn’t buried it. There’s palpable fear that Netanyahu, emboldened or desperate, might seize the chaos to push through reforms that would undermine what remains of Israel’s judicial independence. Such a move would only further polarise a society already stretched to the breaking point.

The long-term implications of this political turmoil are staggering. The fragmentation of Israel’s political landscape is not hypothetical; it’s happening in real time. New parties and movements are already stirring, poised to challenge the old guard and driven by a hunger for systemic change. Calls for electoral reform grow louder, with many Israelis demanding a political system that no longer allows small, extremist factions to wield disproportionate power.

Netanyahu’s dominance over Likud is likewise being tested. The question of succession, long whispered in the corridors of power, is now an open discussion. A new generation of political leaders waits in the wings, eager to break from the past and redefine Israel’s future.

Of course, all of this does not happen in a vacuum. Israel’s international standing is inextricably tied to its domestic stability. Prolonged political chaos could undermine the very alliances Israel depends on, complicating peace negotiations and regional diplomacy at a time when Israel can ill afford to lose strategic friends.

In short, Israel is at a crossroads—politically, militarily, and existentially. Netanyahu’s struggle to maintain his grip on power adds another layer of uncertainty to a nation already besieged by threats from within and without. What was once seen as a stronghold of stability in a volatile region now teeters on edge, its future hanging in the balance as the forces of war, political machination, and public disillusionment converge in a perfect storm.

Psychological Scars

Perhaps the most corrosive consequence of war is not the physical destruction but the transformation it forces upon the human mind. In the case of Israel, the events of October 7th, followed by an unrelenting war, have reshaped the hearts and minds of its populace, leaving psychological wounds that may take generations to heal. More troubling, however, is the hardening of societal attitudes, particularly toward Palestinians, which threatens to complicate any prospects for peace.

A Society Turning Inward

As the bloodshed continues, empathy—the fundamental glue of human coexistence—seems to erode alarmingly. There is an undeniable hardening of attitudes towards Palestinian civilians, a shift so pervasive that it’s now visible in every facet of Israeli society. Politically, the centre has all but vanished as the spectrum lurches rightward, feeding off a growing public appetite for more aggressive, even punitive policies against Palestinians. The ultra-hawkish elements of Israeli politics are no longer fringe; they are, disturbingly, mainstream.

This isn’t just conjecture. Media outlets increasingly sanitise or altogether obscure the suffering on the other side of the border. Stories of Palestinian casualties are often buried deep within news cycles or presented through the lens of military necessity. By excluding these narratives, the media helps feed a cycle of mutual dehumanisation, wherein the "enemy" is not just fought but erased from public consciousness.

Even more chilling is the change among Israel’s youth. A recent survey shows that a staggering 65% of high school students believe peace with Palestinians is an unreachable fantasy. This is not merely a response to present dangers; it is a generation coming of age in a state of siege, their views calcified by a perpetual climate of fear and violence. What does this portend for the future of any peace process when tomorrow’s leaders are so deeply sceptical of its possibility?

Once seen as voices of conscience, peace activists now find themselves on society's margins. Yael Stein, an advocate for dialogue in Jerusalem, captures the frustration: “It’s as though dialogue is becoming a dirty word. People see us not just as naive but as traitors.” Stein’s sentiment echoes a broader truth: the more war disfigures the present, the more distant the notion of a shared future becomes.

The Hostage Crisis: A Nation’s Open Wound

If the violence alone weren’t enough to paralyse a society, the ongoing hostage crisis serves as an unhealed wound in the national psyche. The uncertainty surrounding the hostages—whose fate remains unresolved—has a corrosive effect, keeping the trauma of the October 7th attacks permanently fresh. Their families, voices of pain and desperation, have become haunting symbols of national anguish.

In this cauldron of fear and uncertainty, the crisis is also a political tool, driving government policies and military strategies. Public pressure to rescue the hostages looms over every decision, from ceasefire negotiations to ground operations. This burden sometimes pushes Israel into complex moral dilemmas: ramping up military action may worsen the situation for hostages, while diplomatic negotiations may be seen as capitulation to terrorism. Either choice threatens to fracture an already fragile social consensus.

The divisions cut deeper still. Some argue for all-out military pressure, while others favour diplomacy, including the controversial idea of prisoner swaps. These disagreements strain an already embattled society, creating yet more fault lines that mirror the broader conflicts tearing Israel apart.

The Long Shadow of Trauma

What happens to a society when war and terror are not temporary intrusions but constants? The answer is grim. Mental health professionals are already sounding the alarm: post-traumatic stress disorder, anxiety, and depression are rising, not only among those directly affected but across the broader population. War does not merely claim lives; it warps them. And the youngest Israelis, those now growing up amid sirens and bomb shelters, will carry the scars into adulthood. What kind of leaders, citizens, and soldiers will they become after years of living under such a shadow?

The erosion of hope may be the most insidious result. For many Israelis, peace now feels like an illusory dream. There is a growing sense that perpetual war is simply the status quo and that isolation, militarisation, and fear are the only reliable constants. Such attitudes inevitably reinforce themselves, breeding a society ever more resistant to dialogue and ever more comfortable with the idea that peace is improbable and undesirable.

Social fragmentation has already taken root. Israel’s Jewish and Arab citizens have never been further apart, with trust between the two communities evaporating in the heat of mutual suspicion and violence. But even among Jewish Israelis, divisions are widening. The tension between secular and religious, liberal and conservative, is no longer just an ideological debate; it’s a struggle for the nation's soul.

Resilience or Retreat?

And yet, paradoxically, moments of unity shine through. The immense public support for families of hostages and the grassroots movements dedicated to aiding those affected by the violence—are reminders that, even in the darkest times, solidarity can still thrive. But how long can these moments of collective action last when the fabric of society itself is being stretched so thin?

Israel’s future depends not only on its ability to defend itself militarily but also on its capacity to heal internally. The psychological wounds inflicted by this conflict are deep and will not simply fade with time. The challenge ahead is monumental: Israel must not only rebuild shattered cities but also restore a sense of hope and humanity that has been lost in the fog of war. Failing to do so will mean resigning the nation to an endless cycle of violence, fear, and distrust.

In the end, the greatest battle Israel may face is not on the borders but within its own heart. Can it recover its moral compass and belief in the possibility of peace, or will the scars of October 7th and the following war harden into permanent armour, preventing the healing it so desperately needs?

Moving forward, expectations?

October 7th marked a seismic shift in the political and military landscape of the Middle East, a day that shattered many illusions and laid bare harsh, irrevocable truths. One such illusion, perhaps the most dangerous of all, was the supposed invincibility of Israel’s much-vaunted security apparatus, that omnipotent shield draped over the nation, ensuring its defence with walls, drones, and the unblinking stare of facial recognition software. In an astonishing display of audacity, Hamas breached these defences, pulling down the curtain on decades of meticulous, high-tech containment. They did so not with the elegance of technology but with raw, unyielding violence, putting a sword through the myth that Israel’s enemies were permanently kept at arm’s length.

What followed was predictable, though no less tragic for being so. In response to this humiliation, Israel discarded the cautious, calibrated measures of the past and unleashed what can only be described as generational destruction on Gaza. The gloves have been not merely removed—they’ve been discarded into the dustbin of history. Israel is now embracing a doctrine of forward defence with brutal clarity and unapologetic ferocity, extending its reach beyond the narrow confines of Gaza. As we speak, the skies above Beirut are lit with the fires of Israeli ordnance, and Hezbollah’s leadership, once smug in its defiance, now finds itself decapitated, its infrastructure left in tatters. And what of Iran, the puppeteer behind so much of this theatre of horror? The message to Tehran is unmistakable: intervene at your own peril, and taste the consequences of meddling in Israel’s security.

But let us not be seduced into thinking this is merely another episode of retaliatory violence in an ancient and insoluble conflict. What we are witnessing is nothing less than the attempted neutralisation of Israel’s enemies, an effort to cripple them as swiftly and lethally as possible. Gone are the days of protracted, limited skirmishes. This is total war, fought with the grim resolve of a nation that knows the stakes have risen beyond mere survival. Israel, far from resting on its laurels, now seeks to reshape the battlefield itself—one in which its foes are left not just bruised but broken.

On the other side of the border, the rubble-strewn remains of Gaza tell a story that will reverberate for generations. The destruction, unprecedented in scale and scope, has left the Strip a shattered husk of its former self. Talk of rebuilding feels like a bitter joke. The international community, that much-heralded body of moral conscience, offers little more than the equivalent of platitudes and protein bars. There is no Marshall Plan for Gaza, no concerted effort to resurrect what has been obliterated. In their fury, Israel has reduced Hamas to a spent force—a ragtag assembly of militants that can no longer claim to govern effectively, much less mount any credible military threat. The truth is stark: Hamas’ days of strength are over. Even its ideological appeal is now little more than a flicker amidst the ruins.

So, what of Gaza itself? We might ask ourselves: what future does it face? The grim likelihood is that the Strip could become yet another Somalia, a failed state where chaos reigns supreme, where factions and warlords carve up what remains of a broken land. Or perhaps—and this is no less conceivable—Israel may decide that it has had quite enough of half-measures and simply annex the territory outright. The era of settlements may not be over, but merely entering a new phase, one where the maps are redrawn with brutal finality. The dream of 2005—the disengagement, the hope for Palestinian autonomy—is rapidly becoming a fading memory, replaced with the cold calculus of power and territorial control.

And yet, amid this maelstrom, we hear the distant, futile echoes of the so-called "two-state solution." How quaint it sounds now, like the last gasp of a dying ideal. One wonders how long foreign diplomats will continue to trot out this relic, this well-worn phrase, even as it lies rotting before our eyes. The fact that serious people can still speak of it with a straight face is nothing short of surreal. As anyone paying attention must now admit, the reality is that the two-state solution is not merely on life support—it’s deader than a doornail.

Within Israel itself, the political landscape has shifted decisively, with growing voices calling for the realisation of Eretz Israel, the biblical ideal of a Greater Israel that spans from the Mediterranean to the Jordan River. Settlements, once a point of debate, are now seen by many as the solution, not the problem. On the Palestinian side, the so-called leadership of the Palestinian Authority has been reduced to irrelevance, their words as effective as air rifles on a battlefield. Mahmoud Abbas may as well be giving speeches to the wind; his power to shape events is non-existent. And as for the Palestinians themselves—whether in Gaza, the West Bank, or East Jerusalem—what force, political or military, can they now bring to the table? The October 7th attacks may have been a shocking blow, but it is increasingly clear that it was also the last gasp of a failing strategy.

This brings us to the inescapable conclusion: the Middle East, at least in the foreseeable future, will be locked in a state of permanent conflict. Gone are the days of treaties brokered in the corridors of Washington or Oslo, the hopeful signing ceremonies that promised peace with handshakes and smiles. What remains is a bleak horizon of continual warfare, a region caught in a cycle of violence from which there seems no escape. Israel, hardened by necessity, will live in a state of perpetual alert, its security forces ever vigilant, its military ever ready. And the Palestinians—scattered, divided, broken—will remain caught in the grip of a tragedy that shows no signs of abating.

Perhaps, in the end, this is the most bitter truth of all. The future is not one of reconciliation but of ruin, not one of dialogue but of dominance. And for those who still cling to the faint hope that peace might one day break out amid the rubble and the rocket fire, I can only offer the cold comfort of history: it won’t.