Israel’s Critics Are Helping to Create the Government They Fear

Israel’s rightward shift did not happen in a vacuum. Refusing to understand it will only accelerate it.

Peter Lerner argues that Israel is currently governed by the most extreme coalition in its history. He is well within his rights to question this government’s conduct. Supporting Israel does not require supporting every decision made by its government. Israelis themselves criticise government policies daily, loudly and across the political spectrum.

But criticism must still represent the facts fairly.

Take E1. Lerner presents the government’s decision to move it towards construction as evidence of a coalition intent on creating irreversible realities. But E1 is not a policy invented by Bezalel Smotrich or by this government. Its origins stretch back to the Shamir government in 1991, while the planning basis for the present development was advanced under Rabin in 1994. Several subsequent Israeli governments retained, supported or advanced the proposal, although they repeatedly stopped short of residential construction amid international pressure and diplomatic concerns.

The present government has undoubtedly taken the plan further. E1 received final statutory approval in August 2025, tenders for 3,401 homes were issued that December, and further tenders were announced in August 2026. Lerner is therefore entitled to argue that moving from planning towards construction represents a significant change.

But it is misleading to discuss E1 primarily as evidence of this government’s uniquely extreme ideology without giving equal weight to its decades long history and the support its underlying strategic objective has received across Israeli politics.

There is another piece of context often absent from discussions of E1: the framework created by the Oslo Accords. Under Oslo II, Israel retained overall security authority and the planning and zoning powers that had not been transferred in Area C, while the Palestinian Authority assumed certain limited functional responsibilities. The agreement did not award Area C to a future Palestinian state, expressly prohibit Israeli construction there or predetermine the territory’s final sovereignty. Settlements, borders and Jerusalem were among the issues deliberately reserved for permanent status negotiations.

This does not settle the legal or political argument. Oslo envisaged further Israeli redeployments and stated that neither party should change the status of the West Bank and Gaza before permanent status negotiations were completed. Critics therefore argue that large scale settlement construction prejudices the agreed process.

Lerner does not acknowledge, however, the extensive Palestinian construction taking place in Area C without Israeli issued permits. Israeli officials contend that at least some of this construction is strategically directed towards establishing Palestinian facts on the ground before the territory’s final status is negotiated. Palestinian and international organisations dispute that characterisation, arguing that Israel’s restrictive permitting system leaves many communities with little practical route to build legally.

Whatever view one takes of those competing claims, the debate cannot honestly examine how Israeli construction may influence future negotiations while ignoring unauthorised Palestinian construction that can also alter the physical reality on the ground. The two have different legal and administrative statuses, but both are relevant to the territory future negotiators will inherit.

More broadly, the word “extreme” is now applied so readily that it often prevents us from understanding why Israeli politics has moved to the right and why the next government may move further still.

The Ben Gvirs of Israeli politics did not emerge from nowhere. They were shaped, in part, by the consequences of choices made by leaders such as Ariel Sharon. In 2005, Israel withdrew its soldiers and uprooted every Israeli community from Gaza. Hamas seized control of the territory two years later. Rocket attacks continued and, on 7 October 2023, Hamas launched the deadliest attack in Israel’s history from Gaza.

That sequence of events profoundly changed how many Israelis view territorial withdrawal. It does not justify every policy or statement made by today’s politicians on the right. But it explains why promises of withdrawal, international guarantees and diplomatic restraint have lost credibility with so many Israelis.

Yet many Israelis feel they are still being asked to make tangible and potentially irreversible concessions in return for assurances about what might follow. The risks include relinquished territory, reduced military freedom and increased vulnerability. Israelis would bear those risks immediately. The promised benefits depend upon the future conduct of Palestinian leaders and international guarantors whom Israel cannot control.

The Gaza disengagement was not a negotiated exchange, so it did not involve a Palestinian promise that was subsequently broken. Its aftermath nevertheless demonstrated what can happen when Israel gives up something concrete while lacking an enforceable guarantee about what will follow.

The history of negotiated commitments has also damaged trust. In 1993, the PLO recognised Israel’s right to exist in peace and security, renounced terrorism and committed itself to resolving outstanding issues through negotiation. Hamas rejected the Oslo process and has never accepted those commitments. The peace process failed to produce a permanent settlement, violence continued and both Israelis and Palestinians have accused the other side of violating its obligations.

This does not mean Israel should reject diplomacy. It means Israelis are unlikely to accept another arrangement based primarily on aspirations and assurances. Any future concession will need to be reciprocal, enforceable and supported by security mechanisms capable of surviving the failure or deliberate violation of political commitments.

That loss of trust has only deepened since 7 October. Israelis have endured massacre, hostage taking, displacement and a prolonged war on several fronts. Yet much of the international conversation, sometimes even among those who purport to support Israel, has focused primarily on Palestinian rights and on demanding responsibilities from Israel that appear to go beyond what the law requires.

Palestinian civilians have rights. Israel has legal and moral obligations towards them. But an Israeli government’s first responsibility is to protect Israelis. Saying that Israel’s security and the lives of its citizens must take priority is not inherently extreme. It is what citizens should expect from any government.

Too often, anyone who places Israeli security first is described as an extremist, while the trauma shaping Israeli society is treated as an inconvenience to overcome. This erases the distinction between genuine extremism and the legitimate belief that Israel cannot continue gambling with its citizens’ lives to satisfy people who will bear none of the consequences.

People outside Israel may believe that condemnation, sanctions and demands for further restraint will pull the country towards moderation. Many Israelis hear a different message. The world will condemn Israel regardless of what it does, and nobody is listening to those who experienced 7 October and its aftermath.

Fear does not usually produce moderate politics. Neither does isolation. When traumatised voters believe their security concerns are being ignored, they will support politicians who promise never to repeat the decisions that left them vulnerable.

The Ben Gvirs of this world were not produced only by ideology. They were also produced by failed withdrawals, broken trust and the graves left behind when assurances of peace proved worthless.

If Israel’s supporters continue lecturing Israelis instead of listening to them, the next government may be further to the right still.

Not because Israelis have suddenly become extremists, but because they no longer trust anyone else to put their lives first.