As Tel Aviv's genocide, occupation and massacre in Gaza ended its second year, the United States – now convinced that this conflict could no longer be sustained – began pressing Israel, and particularly Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, whose behavior had grown erratic and unpredictable, toward peace.
During Joe Biden’s presidency, every time Washington mentioned peace or proposed a truce, Netanyahu escalated instead. When the first call for peace came, he bombed hospitals; after the following request, he targeted churches and schools; later, he struck Lebanon and carried out successive assassinations against the leaders of Hamas and Hezbollah.
When global opposition to Israel reached its peak, Netanyahu tried to divert attention by striking Iran, a country thousands of kilometers away. At that point, no one in the world could predict what Israel would or wouldn’t do. Meanwhile, Israel openly ignored major European powers – including the U.K., Germany and France – showing no respect for their sovereignty or diplomatic influence.
When Netanyahu took the podium at the U.N. and looked out over an almost empty hall – a symbol of a world that had turned against him – it marked, in effect, the moment when this war became unsustainable, not only for Israel but even for the U.S.
In the U.S., voices were growing louder: “Our tax dollars are funding bombs that kill children in Israel. Billions of dollars flow to Tel Aviv. How is it that a nation of 9 million dictates the policy of a nation of 350 million?” Even U.S. President Donald Trump’s own base, the MAGA movement, began asking tough questions. Resources meant to “Make America Great Again” were instead being used to fund a genocidal regime.
To restrain Netanyahu, Trump gathered nine Muslim nations – most notably including President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan – and sat down with Arab and Islamic countries to draft a peace plan.
Hamas’ response to the cease-fire proposal marked a critical turning point for both the battlefield and regional diplomacy. Had Hamas rejected the plan, Israel would have placed the entire blame on it, strengthening the narrative that “Hamas refuses peace” and gaining greater legitimacy for continuing the war. Such a rejection would have relieved domestic pressure on Netanyahu’s coalition and granted him broader freedom to expand military operations. In short, a “no” from Hamas would have politically and militarily played into Israel’s hands.
But Hamas outmaneuvered these expectations with a deft diplomatic move. By agreeing to the cease-fire, it not only eased humanitarian pressure on Gaza but also reshaped international perceptions – presenting itself as a negotiating actor rather than a stubborn one. As Israel’s image hardened as the uncompromising side, Netanyahu’s political room to maneuver narrowed. The cease-fire thus became more than a pause in the fighting; it turned into a test of strength that redefined the political and diplomatic standing of both parties.
Even as messages of congratulations poured in from diplomats and statespersons across the world, there is a shared understanding that the Israeli state recognizes neither limits nor laws – that it abides by no rules of human rights or international conduct.
From Latin America to China, officials, diplomats, and scholars condemning the genocide now echo the same observation: “Hamas has agreed to the first stage of the deal – the release of hostages, the expansion of humanitarian aid, Israel’s withdrawal from Gaza, and the freeing of Palestinian prisoners.”
But no one knows what will happen next, and not even Trump, it seems, truly believes or trusts Israel anymore.
