The trauma of the Holocaust shaped Israel’s enduring security-first worldview.

The Holocaust did more than destroy millions of lives. For many Jews, it also shattered the belief that history possessed a moral structure safeguarded by divine justice or international conscience. The question that haunted the aftermath of Auschwitz—where God had been during the extermination of European Jewry—became one of the defining theological and political crises of the modern era.

Thinkers such as Richard Rubenstein, in After Auschwitz, and Elie Wiesel, in Night, wrestled with the collapse of inherited certainties. The old assumption that suffering contained some larger redemptive meaning no longer felt sustainable after industrialized genocide. In the years that followed, many Jewish intellectuals and political leaders concluded that survival could never again depend on providence, goodwill, or the promises of foreign powers.

Out of that trauma emerged a hardened philosophy of self-preservation.

The creation of Israel was shaped not only by nationalism, but by the memory of catastrophic abandonment. The lesson many drew from the Holocaust was stark: weakness invited annihilation. Security therefore had to become absolute, permanent, and self-reliant. Military strength was no longer viewed merely as a tool of statecraft, but as the final guarantee against historical repetition.

This mindset found expression in the thinking of Revisionist Zionist leader Ze’ev Jabotinsky, whose “Iron Wall” doctrine argued that adversaries would only accept Israel’s existence when confronted with overwhelming and undeniable force. Over time, elements of that worldview became deeply embedded within Israeli strategic culture. Surrounded by hostile neighbors and shaped by repeated wars, Israeli governments often embraced a security posture rooted in deterrence, preemption, and skepticism toward diplomacy.

Yet the psychology of perpetual insecurity carries risks of its own.

Political theorist Hannah Arendt warned that societies formed in the shadow of existential trauma can become trapped within it. States that define themselves primarily through survival may begin to interpret external criticism, demographic change, or shifting geopolitical realities as existential threats. Under such conditions, fear can become institutionalized. Security concerns expand beyond borders and battlefields into politics, culture, media, and diplomacy.

Critics of Israeli policy have long argued that this siege mentality has contributed to increasingly aggressive intelligence practices and an expansive conception of national defense. Israel’s intelligence services, particularly Mossad, have acquired a reputation—part mythic, part documented—for operating with extraordinary reach and pragmatism in pursuit of state interests. Like all intelligence agencies, their activities have generated speculation, controversy, and conspiracy theories in equal measure.

The Jeffrey Epstein scandal has intensified many of those suspicions, particularly because of Epstein’s relationships with powerful political, financial, and academic figures. Various commentators and former intelligence-linked individuals, including Ari Ben-Menashe, have suggested that intelligence services may have exploited compromising information for influence or leverage. However, many of these allegations remain unverified, disputed, or speculative, and should be approached cautiously.

Still, the broader question raised by such controversies is worth considering: what happens when national security cultures become so consumed by fear and survival that ethical boundaries begin to blur?

History offers many examples—not only in Israel, but across great powers—of governments justifying extraordinary actions in the name of existential necessity. The United States after 9/11, the Soviet Union during the Cold War, and numerous authoritarian regimes have all demonstrated how states under perceived siege can normalize secrecy, coercion, and moral compromise.

The danger is not unique to any one nation. It is a recurring feature of political systems shaped by unresolved trauma and permanent insecurity.

In Israel’s case, decades of conflict, terrorism, regional hostility, and historical memory have produced a political culture in which security often eclipses nearly every other consideration. Critics argue that this dynamic has encouraged increasingly maximalist policies, while supporters insist such measures are necessary in a region where threats remain real and persistent.

But when fear becomes the organizing principle of national life, rational statecraft can begin to erode. Democracies risk slipping into permanent emergency mode. Leaders become incentivized to frame every confrontation as existential. Political moderation weakens, while paranoia and escalation become normalized.

There is an old Persian proverb: “A madman throws a stone into a well that a hundred wise men cannot pull out.” Its warning feels especially relevant in moments of geopolitical crisis. Nations acting from fear, humiliation, or unresolved trauma can set forces into motion that later generations struggle to contain.

The tragedy of modern politics is that societies forged in suffering can, over time, become imprisoned by the very fears they were trying to escape. And when survival becomes the highest moral principle, the line between necessary defense and destructive excess grows dangerously thin.