The Middle East's Politics of Denial
In this region, surrender becomes more dangerous than war itself.
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This is a guest essay by Jeffrey Levine, who writes the newsletter, “Soul of Israel.”
You can also listen to the podcast version of this essay on Apple Podcasts, YouTube Music, YouTube, and Spotify.
The Middle East today is once again confronting a difficult reality: Some conflicts do not end simply because one side is losing.
In many wars, defeat eventually leads to surrender. Leaders reassess, governments change course, and societies begin the long process of rebuilding.
But when power becomes tied to ideology — when political authority is built on religious conviction, revolutionary identity, or permanent resistance — surrender can feel impossible. In such systems, admitting defeat does not only mean losing a battle. It can mean admitting that the entire narrative sustaining the regime may have been wrong.
That is why certain conflicts become so destructive. Leaders double down, propaganda intensifies, and societies become trapped in cycles where compromise is portrayed as betrayal.
We see echoes of this dynamic today in the rhetoric and strategy of the Islamic Republic of Iran and the militant movements it supports, where confrontation is often framed not as a political dispute but as a civilizational struggle.
Yet this leadership dilemma is not new.
More than 3,000 years ago, one of the earliest political stories ever written captured the same phenomenon: a powerful ruler who repeatedly refused to change course, even as disaster unfolded around him.
His name was Pharaoh.
As Passover approaches, the ancient story of the Exodus offers a striking lens through which to examine the modern world. It is a story not only about liberation, but also about the dangers of hardened leadership, propaganda, and ideology.
Over time, the Exodus narrative became far more than a Jewish memory. It evolved into one of the foundational freedom stories of human civilisation, inspiring movements for justice and liberation across the world.
The Exodus story reminds us that hardened power eventually collapses, but it also reminds us that freedom alone is not enough. The real challenge for every generation is transforming liberation into a society built on dignity, responsibility, and peace.
In most wars, when defeat becomes inevitable, leaders eventually surrender. Armies collapse, governments negotiate, and the conflict ends. History offers many examples: Germany and Japan in World War II, Egypt after the Yom Kippur War, and numerous conflicts where the losing side accepted reality and moved forward.
But some conflicts are different.
When ideology, religion, and identity become intertwined with political power, surrender becomes far more painful. It is no longer simply about losing a battle. It becomes about admitting that a worldview — a belief system — or a narrative about history may have been wrong.
This helps explain why the Iranian regime, Hamas and Hezbollah are unlikely to surrender easily.
The Islamic Republic of Iran was born from the Iranian Revolution in the late 1970s. It was not merely a change of government; it was a revolutionary religious project. The doctrine of Velayat-e Faqih — the rule of the Islamic jurist — grants clerical authority political legitimacy and frames the state as the defender of Islam and the leader of what it calls the “resistance” against Israel and Western influence.
In such a system, surrender is not simply a strategic decision. It would represent ideological collapse. For the leadership, it could mean the end of the revolution, the loss of power, and perhaps even their personal survival.
But the challenge runs deeper than politics.
For some actors in the region, acknowledging Israel’s permanence means confronting a far more uncomfortable possibility: that the Jewish People have not only survived history, but have returned to their ancient homeland with sovereignty, strength, and resilience.
And here the irony appears.
The sacred texts of the Abrahamic traditions themselves recognize a deep connection between the Jewish people and the land of Israel. In the Qur’an, Moses tells the Children of Israel: “O my people, enter the Holy Land which God has assigned to you” (Qur’an 5:21). Another verse states: “And We said after Pharaoh to the Children of Israel: dwell in the land” (Qur’an 17:104). Early Muslim commentators such as al-Tabari, al-Qurtubi, and Ibn Kathir understood these passages as acknowledging that the land had been granted to the Children of Israel.
The New Testament also affirms the enduring role of the Jewish people. In Romans, the Apostle Paul writes: “God has not rejected His people whom He foreknew” (Romans 11:1–2).
Yet history took a different path. Over centuries, theological interpretations and political realities developed in ways that made Jewish sovereignty difficult for many to accept. The rebirth of Israel challenged these assumptions.
For some, acknowledging Israel’s permanence may feel like admitting not only a military reality but also a deeper historical reversal: that the Jewish People, after centuries of exile, persecution, and even the Holocaust, have returned to rebuild their national home. This is why surrender can feel so painful. It may appear not only as defeat, but as recognition that the Jews have prevailed both physically and ideologically.
Another force also sustains conflict and hardens resistance: propaganda. Throughout history, regimes that rely on ideological struggle have often reinforced their narratives through media campaigns designed to mobilize anger, fear, and grievance. These narratives can distort reality, deepen mistrust, and make compromise politically impossible.
A recent example illustrates the pattern. Official Palestinian Authority television has been accused of broadcasting a dangerous libel alleging that Israeli security measures at the Al-Aqsa compound were a pretext for allowing Jewish extremists to perform a Passover sacrifice. Such claims echo earlier accusations that have historically fueled violence and unrest in the region.
These narratives rarely acknowledge the complex realities on the ground. Instead, they frame events through a simplified lens of religious persecution and conspiracy.
Propaganda does more than misinform; it hardens hearts. When societies are repeatedly exposed to narratives that portray compromise as betrayal and enemies as existential threats, surrender or reconciliation becomes almost unimaginable.
Yet Jewish thought offers a deeper way of understanding the turbulence of history. Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook, the first Ashkenazi Chief Rabbi of the Land of Israel, believed that history — even when turbulent and violent — can be part of a larger process of moral and spiritual development. He wrote that the upheavals of nations often precede renewal and that conflict can sometimes serve as a painful stage in humanity’s ethical growth.
Rabbi Kook did not glorify war, but he understood that history often advances through struggle before societies reach higher moral ground.
Rabbi Jonathan Sacks expressed a similar insight in modern language. Reflecting on the tragedies and conflicts of the twentieth century, he argued that humanity must transform the lessons of war into a commitment to build what he called a “good society” — one based on responsibility, covenant, and moral purpose. For Rabbi Sacks, the challenge of civilization is to move from conflict to cooperation, from power to responsibility.
In this light, the painful history of wars in the Middle East may yet carry the seeds of something better. The Abraham Accords offer a glimpse of that possibility. Nations that once defined themselves through hostility toward Israel have begun exploring cooperation, technology partnerships, and shared prosperity. These agreements suggest that recognising Israel does not require abandoning faith or identity. Instead, it may open the door to a new chapter in the history of the region.
Perhaps the path to a good society is not always straight. Sometimes it is shaped by struggle, by painful realisations, and by the courage to reassess old narratives.
War can reveal the limits of ideology and the cost of hatred, but peace requires wisdom: the willingness to learn from history and choose a different future.
As Passover approaches, the ancient story of Pharaoh reminds us that hardened leadership has appeared before in human history. And that story — of power refusing to surrender until catastrophe forces change — still has much to teach our world today.
 | A guest post by
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Simon Bolivar Buckner "negotiated" with U.S. Grant the surrender of Fort Donelson? The Confederate States of America "negotiated" the end to the U.S. Civil War? Germany and Japan "negotiated" the end of their respective roles in WW2? No, No, and No x 2! As a good friend of mine is fond of saying, "Kill them and kill them dead until there is no one left who will continue their fight." To quote a famous General, "No terms except your unconditional surrender will be accepted. I am prepared to move immediately upon your works." (U.S. Grant to the afore mentioned General Buckner). Press this war to its conclusion.