Our Ideological Struggle With Islam

The events of October 7 led many to declare a “collapse of preconceptions” – failings that left us open to attack and prevented us from recognizing our enemy’s intentions, resolve, and capacity for unadulterated evil. But what is the “preconception” that led our best minds to ignore clear signs of the enemy’s intentions? On this, there is no consensus. Was it arrogance? An overreliance on military might and technology? Underestimation of enemy capabilities? It seems that all the above are correct. Yet, in this piece, I wish to focus on another dimension of the preconception that has come to light in the days following the massacre – a new prism through which we need to view the reality surrounding us.

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Several days after the massacre, a former senior official in the security establishment was interviewed on one of Israel’s most prominent media channels. After expounding on his views regarding Israel’s false preconceptions and assigning the blame, the interviewer posed a simple question: “Why did Hamas carry out the massacre? What did they seek to achieve?” The senior official didn’t hesitate. Looking directly at the interviewer, he replied authoritatively: “We will never really know.”

The response testifies to a blind spot that characterizes many in Israeli society. Our experts struggle to cope with a situation that goes beyond the limits of conventional real-political logic. Most importantly, they are unable to take the religious-ideological motive of Islam seriously

The response testifies to a blind spot that characterizes many in Israeli society. Our experts struggle to cope with a situation that goes beyond the limits of conventional real-political logic. Most importantly, they are unable to take the religious-ideological motive of Islam seriously. They see it as a form of madness, insanity. This approach leads them to label the enemy with terms drawn from fantasy novels: a primal, demonic evil; a lurking presence lingering, as it were, in the shadows of history, erupting unexpectedly like a volcanic eruption or an earthquake.

Therein lies the problem: if your enemy is a chaotic natural phenomenon, a capricious Loch Ness monster with no rhyme or reason in its actions, you will be entirely unable to anticipate its steps and prepare adequately for the perceived threat. If Hamas is indeed an outbreak of madness by mythical evil forces, it becomes impossible to align blame or accountability for failing to foresee their actions. If what defines your enemy is a deviation from the rules of logic, it is inherently unpredictable.

Instead of characterizing Hamas in fantastical terms, I believe it is appropriate to address the mythical dimension of the enmity between us seriously. Reference to mythology should not be an escape to the realms of imagination. Rather, it ought to open our eyes to reality. The enemy itself speaks to us in mythical symbols, yet we refuse to acknowledge this and continue to communicate in the language of realpolitik. It calls this war Mabul Al-Aqsa, the Al-Aqsa Flood, while we call it “Harvot Barzel” (Swords of Iron). In other words, we insist on continuing to speak in the same language of security and defense that led to the resounding failure.

Of course, understanding the enemy does not mean adopting their fundamental assumptions or approach. We do not need to “speak to them in Arabic,” as some have argued in the wake of October 7. The response to the enemy is not to emulate them; on the contrary, we should speak to them in Hebrew and strive to make them (and others) use our language rather than vice versa. However, fighting them requires us to understand what we’re up against and comprehend the mythical dimension of our struggle. Only thus can we broaden our political-historical horizons beyond the familiar and comfortable, opening our eyes beyond the confines of the seemingly rational realpolitik in which we are often trapped.

Hamas’s struggle against us is deeply rooted in theological-cultural disparities between Jews and Muslims. Beyond the religious leadership of Hamas or today’s broader Israeli-Arab conflict, the conflict of cultures is rooted in the meta-historical clash between Yitzchak and Ishmael. One significant reason to follow this thought pattern is that they, our enemies, also perceive it this way: they see themselves as descendants of Ishmael, and their enmity towards us is embedded in the biblical narrative of Yitzchak and Ishmael.

The Palestinians, to a large extent, are a projection of ourselves, our shadow. They showcase the mythical aspect of our core being that we are reluctant to tackle.

Hamas is presenting a mirror before us, forcing us to examine suppressed sentiments anchored in religious tradition. One indicator is that they consistently build their capabilities around our weak points. The Palestinians, to a large extent, are a projection of ourselves, our shadow. They showcase the mythical aspect of our core being that we are reluctant to tackle. Hamas, specifically, confronts us with the enduring narrative that forces us to embody the core “Israel” engaged in its timeless conflict with “Ishmael.”

Ishmael’s purpose

What is Ishmael’s narrative? The two major religions that emerged from Judaism are traditionally attributed to Edom (Christianity) and Ishmael (Islam), representing two distinct extremes of the Jewish ethos. Judaism embodies the connection between the human and the divine, the earthly and the heavenly. The practical, physical expression of this connection establishing an earthly kingdom founded on a particularistic culture that is distinct from the rest of the world. This earthly polity asserts the presence of Hashem and His glory to the rest of the world (Yeshayahu 43:21); it is God’s “embassy” to the world. Thus, Israel is both a particular nation with a terrestrial existence and the bearer of the Name of Hashem, the God whom the “heavens and the highest heavens cannot contain.”

The major religions that emerged from Judaism adopt the dichotomy of heaven and earth but shape the concept in opposing directions. Christianity separates heaven and earth, the city of God from and the city of man. Rather than joining them together, it proclaims, “Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s and to God the things that are God’s.” Islam, on which I will focus, seeks to entirely subordinate the earth unto heaven, until all things human are entirely nullified before God’s total dominion.

Ishmael, the mythical representation of Islam, does not relinquish the earthly. He does not simply render unto Caesar but also desires the crown of a divine kingdom upon earth. However, this kingdom takes the form of total submission of all things earthly to the divine. Unlike Israel, he does not aspire to cultivate earthly life, including establishing a distinct nation with defined borders and private interests. Instead, he aspires for the entirety of human existence to submit to the heavens. This is the only value he finds in earthly existence. Life reaches its pinnacle in submission, in death. Self-sacrifice is the ultimate testimony, the “Shahada” of total acceptance. Ishmael aspires to be sacrificed in the place of Yitzchak.

Ishmael establishes the covenant of Avraham, the idea that everything can come under Hashem’s protection – a covenant of total grace that includes no elements of judgment. Avraham wished to bring the entire world under the wings of the Shechinah, the Divine Presence, “And all the families of the earth shall be blessed in you” (Bereishis 22:18). However, this grace may turn into a destructive force. Ishmael is a wild man. He has no boundaries and no land. Unlike Yitzchak, whose essence involves judgment and boundaries, Ishmael cannot contain and store the abundance of Hashem’s blessings.

Ishmael lacks the means to express this grand idea. He lacks a homeland, boundaries, and self-control. He can fulfill the covenant only through the dissolution of existence into the divine

Ishmael strives always to be part of the covenant. His voice, which Hashem “hears wherever he is” (Bereishis 21:17), expresses the overwhelming Presence of divine all-embracing grace – the idea that Hashem is everywhere, even in anarchy and barbarism. However, Ishmael lacks the means to express this grand idea. He lacks a homeland, boundaries, and self-control. He can fulfill the covenant only through the dissolution of existence into the divine. Bereft of the means to contain divine abundance, there is no possibility of a harmonious connection between heaven and earth and no way for humanity to stand upright within that covenant.

Ishmael’s path to God must thus deny the world of its value in a statement of total surrender and submission. God prevented Yitzchak from becoming a burnt offering on the altar, ordering him to live rather than die. Ishmael, in contrast, aspires to the binding he never merited.

The War of Ishmael Against Israel

Why does Ishmael fight against the West? The war against Christianity, which has become the war against the Western world, is a war against a material earthliness detached from Divine grace. Islam is threatened by the secularism prevailing in the West. It leaves no space for secular life. The Moslem is the ultimate nomad, a man without land and borders aspiring to entirely dissolve into divine kindness and become a sacrifice. Today’s world, steeped in economic and utilitarian semantic fields that represent independence and boundaries, becomes a strange and alien place.

Today’s West is less identified with Christianity and more with Jahiliyyah – a period of ignorance that preceded the Abrahamic religions. In this era, Avraham’s kindness – the all-embracing connection with the Divine – is absent from the world

Islamic violence is far more than senseless acts of monstrous evil. The descendants of Ishmael react to the Western secularism that threatens their existence. Today’s West is less identified with Christianity and more with Jahiliyyah – a period of ignorance that preceded the Abrahamic religions. In this era, Avraham’s kindness – the all-embracing connection with the Divine – is absent from the world. Vulgar materialism reigns supreme. In response, Ishmael unleashes – in the name of Divine kindness – the fullness of its wild fury.

And what of the Islamic attitude toward Israel? As Uriya Shavit and Ofir Winter demonstrate in “My Enemy, my Teacher,” the answer is complex. On one hand, Islam sees the State of Israel as a realization of religious existence in this world. On the other, we are seen as a Western outpost in the heart of the Muslim empire, demonstrating the primitive irrelevance of Islamic culture in the contemporary global order. Islam prefers the easy route of depicting us as “Little Satan” – an agent of Western heresy in the heart of the Muslim empire – rather than the Jewish people returning to their historical land and renewing their covenant with their God. The religious alternative makes matters far too complex.

Islam is justified in attacking Israel because, like the West, it views us as disbelievers who reject the Covenant of Avraham. Consequently, Islam becomes the sole successor of Avraham, carrying the flag of pure faith in a world filled with heresy and hedonism. They take pride in their readiness to sacrifice everything for their faith. In contrast, we are depicted as weak and lacking conviction – like the rest of the West.

Unapologetic Dialogue With Arabs

The challenge posed by Hamas and other enemy forces requires, above all, a reflection on first principles. Can we build our future here with an awareness of the mythic foundations, some would say messianic, that are deeply embedded in our identity? This topic has become a point of contention in Israeli society. A connection between the struggle for judicial reform and the events of October 7 is more than mere speculation.

In my view, the October 7 massacre and its aftermath demand a renewed infusion of the covenant between Israel and Hashem in Israeli living. Jews living in Israel fulfill a unique religious and historical destiny that makes a universal geopolitical impact. We must find a way to live in harmony while aware of this unique destiny.

This mission is not directed inward alone. It stimulates a religious-political dialogue with Islam. As much as possible, we must convey to Ishmael the message of a national and faith-based existence, an integration of justice and kindness. This message is crucial for them even more than it is for us. Despite the profound social tensions in Israel, it is, after all, a developed and thriving country. The Arab states around us, on the other hand, struggle to establish a functioning national self-government. Therefore, we must guide the way for Ishmael in maintaining an earthly life that does not negate the attribute of kindness, which is Ishmael’s call to the Divine.

Today, Ishmael does not have the blessing of their God. He is not with them. The God of death and murder is not the God of Avraham. Their miserable way of life, oscillating between wretched poverty and hate-filled jihadist passion for death, is in no way related to the blessing of Avraham. However, unlike the idolaters described in the Tanach, their failure draws from a misunderstanding of the covenant between Hashem and humanity. While a grave error that also leads to intense evil, it is not uncorrectable. This rectification is part of our task: to call the name of Hashem and declare that His blessing flows through the channel of Israel, bringing blessing to all who join and follow His call.

It is nothing but submission to a higher power, death being its pinnacle; and if all you have is submission, you ultimately don’t have anything. They have no viable way out

Without Israel’s unifying force, Ishmael’s “total kindness” contradicts life. It is nothing but submission to a higher power, death being its pinnacle; and if all you have is submission, you ultimately don’t have anything. They have no viable way out. Their options are assimilation, giving up their culture and tradition, or radicalization into poverty, hatred, and death. We, however, possess the golden key to uniting life with the God of life – a life of growth and joy, justice and mercy.

They refer to God as “the Merciful One,” but their merciful God is the Lord of the Day of Judgment, as stated in the Quran’s opening Surah of Prayer. Their God’s mercy is distant and foreign to the world. Even His mercies are distant and arbitrary. But our God is truly merciful and close, and His kindness does not humiliate humanity but builds it up, in harmony with the attribute of justice.

The Western world struggles to understand Islamic ethos and discourse. An unbridgeable gap between the Divine and the human underlies the Western ethos, which precludes an understanding of the Islamic approach to politics. Jews, in particular, can appreciate what is lacking and invite them to join the living God, the Source of blessing.

In his article on Judaism and humanity, Martin Buber argues that the crux of the Jewish political vision is the claim that the fracture between good and evil, between order and chaos, is not the true “nature of things” but rather a result of human failure. Therefore, the Jew heralds the message of unity between the living God and the hope for ultimate goodness. After Israel’s return from exile and its renewed presence on the stage of history as a people in their land, we are called to influence global politics once again.

Today, the West firmly holds a high standard of strict justice and demands legal and just rights while rejecting a spiritual ideal that transcends the particular lives of individuals. Islam, on the other hand, represents the polar opposite of the West and seeks only to sacrifice everything on the Divine altar. The power of balance is in our hands, in Jewish life that embraces a Divine presence embedded in deep humanity. It is our task to understand this secret and even teach it to others.