Posted on June 11, 2025
“People always say we’re living through the most polarized moment in American politics—but this time, I think it’s true.”
I’m David Adesnik. I was a Bronfman Fellow in ’94. I’m the VP of Research at the Foundation for Defense of Democracies—a national security think tank—with an expertise in Iran’s global threat network and Middle East conflicts. We have one of the strongest concentrations of Iran expertise in D.C., including colleagues who have firsthand experience—one spent time in Evin prison, and another, an Iranian Jew, participated in the Green Movement protests. I grew up in the heart of NYC in what you might call a scholarly, Conservadox home. My mother was the first woman to receive a Ph.D. in Talmud and later became ordained, so we were raised at the intersection of traditional practice and progressive values, with academia in our DNA. Today, I live in Washington D.C. with my wife and our two kids.
I had worked with Yaron Lischinsky z”l, who was murdered a few weeks ago outside the Capital Jewish Museum. He was part of the team handling the Middle East Affairs portfolio, and I’d see him during meetings, where he always made thoughtful contributions to our conversations. What I still can’t reconcile is the duality between Yaron as the person I knew and Yaron as a name in the news. It doesn’t add up. We weren’t close—we were professional colleagues—but the fact that this young, decent person I worked with isn’t coming back is both surreal and enraging. It also feels different, somehow, from attacks like the Tree of Life shooting in Pittsburgh, where Jews were targeted at prayer, simply for being Jewish. This was an attack on Jews engaged in diplomacy and policy—a message that those of us working in public life, particularly around Israel, are now targets not just for who we are, but for what we do.
Iran has been pursuing nuclear weapons for more than 20 years, repeatedly building secret facilities in violation of treaty commitments while claiming peaceful purposes. You don’t build an enrichment facility under a mountain just to produce electricity—you do that because you’re doing something you think someone might want to bomb. But the nuclear program is only part of the threat. Iran gives about $100 million annually to Hamas and Islamic Jihad, and around $700 million to Hezbollah. It effectively runs militia networks across Iraq and had turned Syria into a client state under Assad. This represents a fairly advanced agenda of regional control.
The Iranian regime’s hostility toward Israel isn’t rooted in territorial disputes but in a deeper doctrine, and their ideology about destroying the Jewish state isn’t just domestic rhetoric. Ayatollah Khomeini, who later became Iran’s first Supreme Leader, was teaching conspiracy theories about Jewish power to his students long before 1967—before any occupation or dispute over the West Bank and Gaza. He believed the only way to run politics was through theocratic rule. This kind of theocracy was a new idea, even for Shiites. When he succeeded in the 1979 revolution, though it brought together parties from across the Iranian spectrum, the Islamists dominated, and this ideology became state policy. Under Khomeini and his successor and current Supreme Leader Khamenei, this anti-Israeli stance has remained central to Iranian policy. So when they talk about wiping Israel off the map, it’s very literal.
Ironically, when I interviewed people in Israel in July 2023, there was much greater fear of Hezbollah than Hamas. The thinking was: Hamas is manageable, but the real threats are Iran’s nuclear program and Hezbollah’s estimated 150,000 rockets. October 7 upended that calculation entirely.
When it comes to Iran, there is a fundamental policy debate in the U.S. The hawkish view sees an enduring threat from a regime that has antagonized its own people—Iranians regularly protest chanting, “Down with the regime!” and “My life for Iran, not for Gaza!” The dovish perspective, which drove the 2015 nuclear deal, argues that if we address past grievances—like America’s role in the 1953 coup in Iran—we can gradually build cooperation through diplomacy.
It was surprising to see Israel launch the strikes inside Iran that began the night of June 12-13—especially after the failed Iranian barrages in April and October 2024. The near-total failure of those attacks to inflict damage suggested that the threat Israeli security analysts had long feared might not be as dangerous as believed. It’s true that Iran did more damage during the conflict this June, but if the latest missile strikes represent the full extent of Tehran’s capabilities, then its ability to deter Israel is now much, much weaker.
Following Iran’s October 2024 attack, Israel sent jets deep into Iranian airspace, operating effectively and with impunity. It marked a major shift in Iran’s vulnerability. We now know it was a preview of the conflict this June, where Israel conducted extensive operations over Iran without encountering any serious defense. But the fact remains: Israel lacks the strategic depth and heavy air power of the United States. That is why the U.S. decision to bomb Iranian nuclear sites was so significant. Israel has neither the aircraft nor the munitions that Washington used to execute the mission. No nation can be truly autarkic—certainly not one of just 10 million. Even the U.S. relies on allies. That’s why preserving the alliance is not just important—it’s essential.
To understand whether the U.S. is being “dragged into” this conflict, it’s important to recognize that we’re not dealing with isolated regional flare-ups, but with a growing alliance of authoritarian powers that view the U.S. as their common enemy. America’s main adversaries—what we call the “axis of aggressors”—are increasingly working together. This includes China, by far the most powerful; Russia; nuclear-armed North Korea; and Iran. While Iran may have the least raw power of the four, it engages in constant, dangerous provocations and plays a uniquely destabilizing role in the Middle East. Iran doesn’t hate America because of its support for Israel—it hates America because it’s America. Khomeini’s ideology long predates the Six-Day War or the occupation of Palestinian territories. He spoke of a 300-year Anglo-American conspiracy to destroy Islam. That hostility isn’t reactionary or tactical; it’s foundational. For a long time, some hoped that U.S. relations with the Middle East would improve if we weren’t burdened with defending Israel—whether diplomatically, militarily, or symbolically. But repeated events have shown that Israel is not what drives conflict in the region. The Syrian civil war made that clear. For those who believed antagonism toward Israel or the Palestinians was the main source of violence, Syria revealed otherwise: Sunni and Shiite factions were willing to slaughter each other, and Israel had nothing to do with it.
One of the most troubling developments now is the growing partisanship around Israel. For decades, strong bipartisan support was one of Israel’s greatest strengths. But that consensus has begun to fracture. The risk is that Israel becomes a wedge issue in U.S. politics—something it never was before. While it’s clear the Democratic Party is engaged in an internal debate about Israel, Donald Trump’s decision to bomb Iran showed that there is also a divide on the Republican side of the aisle. Very strong GOP majorities still support Israel, but the debate over Iran showed that some of Trump’s most fervent supporters, especially in media and social media, see Israel as a manipulative force that exploits America to serve its own interests. Some of this commentary crossed the line into conspiratorial antisemitism, but there are those who believe America has no business in the Middle East, so an alliance with Israel is a burden.
Socially and geographically, I live in a blue bubble—mostly among highly educated, liberal professionals. But I work at a think tank often described as “hawkish” that takes strong positions on national security, attracting a more mixed or right-leaning crowd professionally. Personally, I’m on the record as a “Never Trump” Republican who signed a letter in 2016 saying I wouldn’t support him in the election. So I don’t even really have a side to root for.
People always say we’re living through the most polarized moment in American politics—but this time, I think it’s true. Having worked in this field for 25 years and studied political history, I’ve never seen this level of mutual fear and resentment. What we’re seeing under Trump feels entirely different: the contempt for the rule of law, the January 6th riots, the tribalism and erosion of norms. And I think Democrats have given themselves a license to break norms because they believe the country is facing an unprecedented threat. The talk of “fascism” is blown completely out of proportion. And the party knew better, but kept telling voters Biden was ready for another four years—anything to beat Trump.
I saw a similar kind of polarization in Israel when I was there in July 2023. I landed on Shabbat afternoon and despite being exhausted was determined not to fall asleep, which I knew would make my jet lag even worse. Walking near my hotel by the beach, I began to see people streaming toward central Tel Aviv and realized they were headed to protest. It was the perfect way to keep myself awake. That night, I observed the crowds on Kaplan Street, where people had been demonstrating every Saturday for months against the judicial overhaul. The same fear was in the air: that democracy itself was under siege. I know there are two sides to the story in Israel, too, and I hesitate to make any firm assertions about Israeli domestic politics. Yet even from a distance, the depth of the division is deeply concerning.
While both America and Israel are wrestling with deep internal divisions and mistrust in our leadership, these existential domestic struggles unfold against a broader question: where the democratic world is heading in its confrontation with authoritarian powers.
Growing up in very Jewish environments, I didn’t fully appreciate how deeply the Palestinian narrative—and much of the Arab world—rejects the very idea of Israel as the Jewish homeland. There is deep and pervasive antisemitism across the region, which continually threatens to regenerate hostility toward Israel. Interestingly, though, the Iranian people—though it’s hard to gauge sentiment under such an oppressive regime—don’t necessarily share their government’s animosity. If that regime were to fall, there’s real hope for a better outcome, even potential partnership.
The Abraham Accords, signed in 2020, showed that authoritarian governments can choose to end official conflict with Israel and with the Jewish people, breaking a stance that dates back to before 1948. Now, rather than hoping peace will start with the Palestinians and ripple outward, many look to others in the region who are less invested in the idea that not an inch of land can be surrendered—especially Saudi Arabia, with its symbolic role as custodian of Mecca and Medina, which gives it unique weight in the Muslim world. If the Saudis were to cross that threshold, others might follow and there could be a real possibility of lasting peace—rather than just a lull before the next round of conflict.
