The Ghetto with an Atom Bomb

On Orbán, the Israeli Right, and the Failure of Zionism

I. The Litmus Test

The recent elections in Hungary, which ended in a decisive defeat for Viktor Orbán and his party, have significant implications for Hungary, Europe, and the future of the political right across the continent.

That is not my concern here.

What struck me most was the response to Orbán’s defeat, particularly among many on the Israeli right. The sense of alarm was widespread. A man whose record is, if we are to put it mildly, deeply problematic, was treated not as a liability but as a loss.

My reaction was different. When the results came in, I wrote that this was a good day for Hungary and that I was happy for the Hungarian people.

If one takes seriously the idea that we have allies, then their well-being, not merely their short-term usefulness, should matter. Hungary is a historically and culturally rich nation, and there is no reason it should not be freer and more prosperous than it has been. If political change offers even the possibility of a more Western-leaning, more economically and politically free direction, that is something to welcome, not only because it benefits Hungarians, but because stronger, more stable nations make better allies.

Yet this was not the dominant reaction. Among many on the Israeli right, the primary concern was not Hungary’s future, but the loss of a leader perceived as advantageous to Israel. The country’s internal condition, its economy, its political direction, and the well-being of its citizens barely entered the discussion. That is revealing. If we claim to have allies, yet care for them only insofar as they serve us, then what we call friendship is something else entirely.

Orbán is not a marginal figure. Over the course of his long rule, he aligned Hungary with Russia, encouraged authoritarian tendencies at home, and presided over a deeply corrupt political order. Most horrifically, he positioned himself as a consistent obstacle to Western unity in the face of Russian aggression. In Ukraine, he worked to delay, dilute, or block support. More broadly, he maintained a friendly posture toward Russia, an evil regime that not only has been waging a horrible, aggressive war against Ukraine but has long armed and supported many of Israel’s enemies.

Nor is his influence confined to Hungary. Orbán has become a model for a broader set of political movements across the West, particularly within what is often called the “new right.” In the United States, especially, some of the ugliest elements of this emerging right have openly embraced him. That is not incidental. It tells us something about the current he represents.

And yet, many in Israel treated him as an ally.

It is true, and must be acknowledged, that Hungary under Orbán often acted in Israel’s favour within the European Union. It blocked hostile resolutions and resisted diplomatic pressure. Compared to much of Western Europe, its stance was relatively supportive. But this is precisely where the confusion begins. A state acting in one’s favour at a given moment does not make it an ally in any deeper sense. A useful act is not the same thing as a shared principle.

In 1948, the Soviet Union recognised Israel and, through Czechoslovakia, enabled the transfer of arms critical to the War of Independence. In the immediate aftermath of the Holocaust, under a severe embargo, it would have been suicidal to refuse such assistance. But none of this made the Soviet Union an ally in any meaningful sense. Its support was strategic, not principled, and it proved brief. The lesson is simple: one may accept help, even be grateful for it, without confusing necessity for friendship or alignment.

That distinction, however clear in retrospect, is precisely what is being lost today. The logic repeated itself in countless variations: Orbán supports Israel, Orbán resists destructive trends in Europe, therefore Orbán must be supported, whatever his faults. His broader alignment, his character, and the kind of political order he represents are all treated as secondary.

This is not a misunderstanding. It is a standard.

And it raises a deeper question. Israel is not merely a state that exists to survive. It is a modern nation built on law, individual rights, political freedom, and a broadly secular public order, principles that place it firmly within the world of modern Western civilisation. If that is true, then the question of who we align ourselves with cannot be reduced to short-term usefulness. It is a question of principle.

The reaction to Orbán suggests that for many, that question is no longer being asked. And that is what makes it so troubling.

II. The Ghetto with an Atom Bomb

The fairest defence of this attitude, and the one I encountered most often, did not come from fools. It came from serious people on the Israeli right who understood perfectly well what Orbán is and supported him anyway.

Israeli commentator Senia Waldberg, a generally perceptive and influential voice on the Israeli right, put the logic plainly in a post on his Telegram channel. Orbán, he wrote, is corrupt, aligned with Putin, and disgraceful in parts of his domestic policy. And yet, he concluded that he hoped Orbán would win because he was good for Israel and the United States. Then came the decisive phrase: “But… Israel first.”

This is the strongest version of the case, and it deserves to be taken seriously. It does not deny Orbán’s flaws. It does not romanticise him. It simply says: Jewish national interest comes first, and a small embattled nation cannot afford to be too selective about who helps it.

If Israel were truly helpless, that argument would carry real force. A nation facing annihilation does not choose its suppliers and supporters with moral fastidiousness. It takes help where it can get it.

But that is not the condition of Israel.

Israel is not a remnant waiting for the favour of princes. It is not a frightened minority trying to survive at the mercy of stronger nations. It is a sovereign state, militarily formidable, technologically advanced, economically resilient, and by every historical Jewish standard astonishingly strong. Relative to its size, it is among the most powerful nations on earth. It is a leading force in science, medicine, research, and military technology. It is overwhelmingly stronger than the failed and disordered states that surround it.

We are a nuclear power that thinks of itself as a shtetl.

That is the contradiction. We have acquired the instruments of sovereignty without fully acquiring the mentality of sovereignty. We continue to think not as a nation among nations, but as a vulnerable community trying to preserve itself among enemies by attaching itself, whenever possible, to a useful strongman. We do not judge him. We ask only whether he is, for the moment, good for us.

That instinct is understandable. But it is deeply flawed. And its deeper source is not strength, but dependence.

For all the rhetoric of toughness and self-reliance, this mentality is still shaped by the assumption that Jewish survival depends, ultimately, on the approval, tolerance, or support of others. It is a politics of anxious adaptation. It says: take what you can get, suspend judgment, do not demand too much of the world, and do not imagine that you can afford standards.

But that was not the promise of Zionism.

The promise of Israel was not only to save Jews from physical helplessness. It was to end Jewish political dependence. It was to restore the capacity for self-government, self-respect, and independent judgment. It was meant to create not merely a refuge, but a free people capable of shaping its own destiny.

That is the failure of Zionism. Not in its material ambitions, which it exceeded, but in its deepest one: to free the Jewish mind from the ghetto, not merely the Jewish body.

One sees this mentality even in the gratitude shown toward figures like Orbán for refusing to comply with the Hague’s decrees against Israeli leaders. This, we are told, proves that he is our ally. But that is already the language of dependence. A genuinely sovereign nation would not respond to such a decree by clinging gratefully to the foreign ruler who, for reasons of his own, declines to enforce it. It would reject the premise altogether. The attempt by foreign states or international bodies to criminalise the leadership of a sovereign nation defending its citizens is not a normal legal disagreement. It is a direct assault on that nation’s sovereignty and should be treated as such.

The proper response of a self-respecting country is not to beg for exceptions nor to rush into court to prove its innocence according to corrupt standards. It is to deny the legitimacy of the standard itself. Yet this is precisely what much of the Israeli right fails to do. Instead of asserting sovereignty, it celebrates those who shield us from hostile decrees, as though the highest expression of independence were to find a powerful patron willing to ignore the rule. That is not independence. It is the old ghetto instinct in modern clothes.

The same mentality appears more broadly in Israel’s strategic conduct. One could argue, and I would, that much of Israel’s paralysis in recent decades stems from this refusal to act as a truly sovereign power. It is part of why Gaza was allowed to become what it became. It is part of why decisive victory after October 7th was again deferred, diluted, moralised, and subordinated to the opinions of others. The same pattern appears in Lebanon, in Syria, in Judea and Samaria, and in the long hesitation over Iran. Again and again, Israel behaves not like a nation secure in its right to shape its own future, but like a nation still asking what it can get away with.

That is not morality. It is dependence disguised as caution.

And it is not even realistic. A state that refuses to exercise moral judgment does not become more independent. It becomes less so. To participate in civilisation as a sovereign force requires more than military power. It requires the confidence to say: this is who we are, this is what we stand for, and this is where we draw the line.

Other nations do this constantly, even when their standards are corrupt. Spain can say it stands against Israel in the name of its moral vision, however bankrupt that vision may be. Why should Israel not be able to say, with equal clarity, that it stands with freedom, with the West, with Ukraine against Russia, and against the various forms of collectivism and barbarism that dominate the Arab world? Why should Israel not judge?

The answer, too often, is that we still do not fully believe we can afford to.

That is why I call Israel the ghetto with an atom bomb. We have immense power, but we have not fully internalised what that power was meant to free us from. We left the ghetto geographically. We have not fully left it spiritually.

A nation that speaks and acts with genuine independence earns more respect, not less. It attracts better allies, not worse ones. Real sovereignty is not noisy defiance for its own sake. It is the quiet confidence to reject hostile standards, judge the world clearly, and stand on one’s own principles without pleading for permission. That posture commands esteem. The needy one does not.

Until Israel fully internalises that, it will continue to make the kind of judgments that lead it into admiration for men like Orbán.

The reaction to Orbán is a symptom, not the disease. The disease is a confusion about what Israel is and what it was built to be, not a community that survives by reading the room and attaching itself to whoever will tolerate it, but a sovereign nation, free to judge the world by its own standards and act accordingly. Until that distinction is felt as deeply as it is understood, no accumulation of military power, no nuclear deterrent, and no favourable vote in Brussels or the Hague will amount to genuine independence. The ghetto is not a place. It is a moral posture. And we have not yet fully abandoned it.

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