We were betrayed by President Trump
In the aftermath of a ceasefire struck between Washington and Tehran, Israelis across the political spectrum are grappling with a profound sense of strategic abandonment — the feeling that an ally they trusted has redrawn the map without them. Prime Minister Netanyahu, who entered the conflict promising regime change and nuclear disarmament, achieved neither, and now faces October elections with his grand strategy in ruins. The deal has not ended the fighting — warplanes still strike Lebanon, the dead still accumulate — but it has shifted the political ground beneath a society already fractured by years of war, grief, and internal division. What Rehovot's brasseries and Metulla's border restaurants reveal is not merely anger at a diplomat's bargain, but a deeper existential reckoning with the limits of power and the loneliness of small nations in a world shaped by larger interests.
- Israeli warplanes were still striking Lebanon the morning citizens gathered to mourn the deal — eighteen dead, thirty-three wounded — making the ceasefire feel less like peace than abandonment mid-battle.
- The anger cuts across left and right: the fear is not just that Iran survives, but that it emerges stronger, while Israel's ability to strike Hezbollah is now constrained by an agreement it had no hand in writing.
- Netanyahu staked his legacy on regime change and nuclear destruction in Iran — and achieved neither, ending the conflict not as Washington's partner but as a figure Trump criticized publicly and dismissed.
- With corruption trials ongoing and the October 2023 Hamas attack still raw, Netanyahu must now convince voters he alone can protect them — a harder argument when the war he led has left Hamas in Gaza, Hezbollah on the border, and Iran at the table.
- October elections loom as the reckoning: forty-three percent of undecided voters still trust Netanyahu most on Iran, but the gap between his promises and outcomes is now impossible to ignore.
At a brasserie off Herzl Street in Rehovot — a town long used as a barometer of mainstream Israeli sentiment — the mood last week was one of collective dismay. The ceasefire between Iran and the United States, concluded just days earlier, was being discussed as a catastrophe. "We were betrayed by President Trump," said Avi Perez, a fifty-five-year-old engineer. Around him, the consensus held: Israel had been abandoned at a critical moment.
The sense of abandonment ran deeper than diplomatic disappointment. On the very morning these conversations took place, Israeli warplanes were striking targets in Lebanon following a Hezbollah attack that killed four soldiers. Eighteen people died in those retaliatory strikes; thirty-three more were wounded. The fighting had not stopped. Yet the political ground had shifted beneath everyone's feet.
The anger was not confined to one faction. Commentators across the spectrum condemned the deal as a humiliation. The fear was twofold: Iran would emerge stronger, and the agreement would constrain Israel's ability to strike Hezbollah. In Metulla, meters from the Lebanese border, a restaurateur named Daniel Dorfmann put it plainly: "Everyone was very pleased with the war but the US agreement is really not good for Israel. It's a big mistake."
For Netanyahu, the political reckoning was severe. He had entered the conflict promising regime change in Iran, the destruction of its nuclear program, the elimination of its ballistic missiles. He achieved none of them. He had begun the war as Washington's partner and ended it marginalized — receiving not consultation but public criticism from Trump over the civilian toll in Lebanon, where more than thirty-nine hundred had been killed. His credibility had already been damaged by the October 2023 Hamas attack, and the Gaza war that followed had killed over seventy-three thousand and isolated Israel internationally.
Yet the political picture remained complicated. Forty-three percent of undecided voters still named Netanyahu as the leader best suited to stand up to Iran. Tamar Hermann of the Israel Democracy Institute noted that he had shown hubris in defining his aims so clearly — when you fail to achieve them, voters conclude you cannot keep your promises. But she stopped short of writing him off: "He is a political Houdini."
Beyond Netanyahu's fate, the deal had surfaced a deeper fracture. A young doctor named Lee Novick spoke of divisions wider than ever, and of a political class too consumed by conflict to address house prices or inflation. Hermann, however, pushed back: most Jewish voters, she noted, actually share common ground on security, Jewish statehood, and skepticism of a two-state solution. The divisions may be less fundamental than the rhetoric suggests. Still, the immediate mood was one of isolation. "Peace will never come," said Dahlia Perez. "We understand now that we have no friends and we cannot trust anyone."
At a brasserie off Herzl Street in Rehovot, a town twelve miles from Tel Aviv that pollsters have long used as a barometer for mainstream Israeli sentiment, the mood last week was one of collective dismay. The ceasefire agreement between Iran and the United States, concluded just days earlier, was being discussed as a catastrophe. "We were betrayed by President Trump," said Avi Perez, a fifty-five-year-old engineer sitting over his menu. Around him, the consensus held firm: Israel had been abandoned at a critical moment, left to face its adversaries without the backing it had counted on.
The sense of abandonment ran deeper than diplomatic disappointment. Shaham Nowick, thirty-five, captured the disorientation many felt. "One day we were in the bomb shelters with our children," he said. "The next day, everything is supposed to be normal. But nothing has been resolved." The whiplash was real. On the Friday morning when these conversations took place, Israeli warplanes were striking targets in Lebanon in response to a Hezbollah attack that had killed four Israeli soldiers, including a senior officer, in a strike on a tank. Eighteen people died in those retaliatory airstrikes; thirty-three more were wounded. The fighting had not stopped. The threat had not diminished. Yet the political ground had shifted beneath everyone's feet.
Rehovot itself embodied the diversity and contradictions of Israeli society. Israeli flags and pride flags hung from major streets. Orthodox Jewish men gathered on one corner while rave music blasted from another. Construction crews worked on a new bus system. It was a place where "middle Israel"—if such a coherent thing could be said to exist in a fractured country—came to eat and think and process what was happening to them. What they were processing was a sense that their government had failed them and that their most powerful ally had abandoned them in the same breath.
The anger was not confined to one political faction. Commentators across the spectrum condemned the deal as a humiliation worse than anyone had anticipated. The concern was twofold: Iran would emerge from the conflict stronger than before, and the agreement would constrain Israel's ability to strike at Hezbollah, the Iranian-backed militia that posed an ongoing threat to Israel's northern border. In Metulla, a town just meters from Lebanon, a restaurateur named Daniel Dorfmann voiced what many felt: "Everyone was very pleased with the war but the US agreement is really not good for Israel. It's a big mistake."
For Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, the political reckoning was severe. He had entered the conflict with clear, publicly stated objectives: regime change in Iran, the destruction of Iran's nuclear program, the elimination of its ballistic missiles. He had achieved none of them. Worse, he had begun the war as a partner to the United States, coordinating closely with Washington, only to end it marginalized and dismissed by Donald Trump as a minor player. Instead of being summoned to the White House for consultation, Netanyahu had received criticism—harsh and profane—over the civilian toll of Israel's offensive in Lebanon, where more than thirty-nine hundred people had been killed. Nadav Eyal, a columnist at Yedioth Ahronoth, wrote that shock and grief could not adequately describe the feeling among parts of Israel's establishment. "A lot of salt is being poured into their wounds now," he observed.
Netanyahu, seventy-six years old and currently on trial for corruption, now faced the task of convincing voters that only he could keep them safe. This was a harder sell than it might have been. His credibility had already been damaged by the October 2023 Hamas attack, in which twelve hundred people, mostly civilians, were killed and about two hundred fifty abducted. The subsequent war in Gaza, which killed more than seventy-three thousand people, mostly civilians, had isolated Israel internationally. Hamas still controlled most of Gaza's two point three million population, despite Israel now holding seventy percent of the territory. Successive offensives against Hezbollah in Lebanon had produced no decisive outcome. Now, with the Iran deal, Netanyahu's grand strategy lay in ruins.
Yet the political picture remained complicated. When undecided voters were asked who would best stand up to Iran, forty-three percent named Netanyahu. At the brasserie, Perez defended him: "Netanyahu is human, so he makes some mistakes, but he knows how to fix things. He knows what Israel needs. He speaks for his country. Trump speaks for his businesses." Such loyalty, even qualified, suggested the coming October elections would be closely contested. Tamar Hermann, a specialist in public opinion at the Israel Democracy Institute, noted that Netanyahu had shown hubris in defining his aims so clearly. When you fail to achieve them, she said, voters conclude you are incapable of keeping your promises. Yet she also suggested that Netanyahu, a veteran political operator, might still have moves left to make. "I think he is in trouble," she said, "but I'm not sure what he might have up his sleeve. He is a political Houdini."
Beyond Netanyahu's fate, the deal had surfaced a deeper fracture in Israeli society. Lee Novick, a thirty-four-year-old doctor, spoke of divisions wider than ever before. "Netanyahu has been trying to divide us and it has worked," she said. "And in the meantime, no one cares about the basic stuff—house prices, for example, or inflation." Yet Hermann pushed back against the narrative of total polarization, noting that most Jewish voters actually shared common ground: support for a strong security posture, belief in a Jewish state, skepticism about a two-state solution with Palestinians, and opposition to exemptions from military service for Orthodox communities. The divisions, she suggested, might be less fundamental than the rhetoric suggested. Still, the immediate mood was one of isolation and betrayal. Dahlia Perez, fifty-five, summed up what many had concluded: "Peace will never come. We understand now that we have no friends and we cannot trust anyone."
Citas Notables
One day we were in the bomb shelters with our children. The next day, everything is supposed to be normal. But nothing has been resolved.— Shaham Nowick, 35, Israeli citizen in Rehovot
Netanyahu showed a kind of hubris in defining his aims so clearly. When you fail to achieve them, you are thought of as incapable of fulfilling your promises.— Prof Tamar Hermann, Israel Democracy Institute
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
Why does a ceasefire deal between two countries thousands of miles away feel like such a personal betrayal to people in Rehovot?
Because for years, Israelis were told this was their war too—that the US had their back, that together they would reshape the region. Then the deal happened without them at the table, and suddenly they're on their own again.
But Netanyahu started this conflict. Didn't he choose to escalate?
He did. But he also promised specific outcomes—regime change, nuclear disarmament, destroyed missiles. When you make promises that clear and fail to deliver them, people don't forgive the failure just because you made the choice to fight.
The source mentions that most Israelis actually agree on more than they disagree on. So why does it feel so fractured?
Because the things they disagree on—who leads, how to handle the economy, whether this government is exploiting the war—those disagreements are loud and personal. The common ground is quiet. It doesn't make headlines.
What does Netanyahu have left politically?
He's still got forty-three percent of undecided voters saying he's the best on Iran. He's a survivor. But he's also seventy-six, on trial for corruption, and he just failed at the one thing he said he could do better than anyone else.
Is there any scenario where this deal actually works out for Israel in the long run?
Not according to anyone in that brasserie. They see Iran rebuilding, Hezbollah still threatening the north, and Israel having to handle it all alone. Whether that's accurate or just fear talking—that's what October's election will really be about.