General Discussion

In Washington, the whispers about Benjamin Netanyahu are no longer whispers—they have become sharper, heavier, more deliberate. The man once treated as an untouchable ally, a constant in the choreography of American politics, has turned into a source of embarrassment for the White House and a liability to its already faltering Middle East policy. Behind closed doors, even the language of diplomacy has fallen away. One senior U.S. official put it bluntly: “He’s a madman. He bombs everything all the time.”

It was more than a casual complaint. It was the kind of raw, unfiltered assessment that signals a deeper shift—not just in tone, but in the very fabric of a relationship. It was a moment of recognition that the problem was no longer tactical or episodic, but fundamental. This was not about one errant missile or one controversial strike. It was about a man who sees the region as a chessboard where only his pieces matter, where every move is about his own survival, and everyone else is expendable.

For years, Netanyahu thrived on this dynamic. He portrayed himself as the irreplaceable partner, the lone actor who could hold the line in a chaotic region. Successive American presidents indulged him, even when privately exasperated. But the myth is fraying. Behind the scripted remarks at press briefings, there is growing unease—an unspoken realization that Netanyahu has become not just difficult, but unpredictable in ways that undermine what little the United States is trying to build.

Gaza today is more than a battlefield. It is a living indictment. There, people die even before death reaches them—starvation claims them silently before the bombs arrive. You see it in the endless queues for bread, in the hollowed faces of children clutching scraps of food, in the eerie quiet that settles over streets waiting for aid that never comes. And when the aid does not come, the missiles do.