There are books that analyse history, and there are books that wrestle with it. Omer Bartov’s Israel: What Went Wrong? belongs firmly in the latter category. It is a work of scholarship, but also a work of mourning—an attempt by one of the world’s foremost Holocaust and genocide scholars to understand how the state that emerged from the ruins of Jewish persecution arrived at its current moral and political crisis.
Published at a time when Israel faces intense international scrutiny over its conduct in Gaza and growing questions about the future of its democracy, Bartov’s book asks a deceptively simple question: Where did Israel lose its way?
For Bartov, this is not merely an academic inquiry. It is a deeply personal one.
Born in Israel, raised in a committed Zionist family, and a former officer in the Israel Defense Forces, Bartov has spent much of his professional life studying genocide, memory and violence. That personal connection lends the book a distinctive tone. The author writes neither as an outside critic nor as a defender of the status quo. Instead, he writes as someone grappling with the collapse of ideals he once believed in.
The State That Never Became What It Promised
Bartov begins with the founding moment of modern Israel.
The Declaration of Independence of 1948 envisioned a state that would guarantee equal rights to all its citizens regardless of religion, ethnicity or gender. In Bartov’s telling, this document represented a remarkable attempt to reconcile Jewish self-determination with democratic equality.
Yet that vision, he argues, was never fully realised.
The newly established state failed to adopt a written constitution that could have translated those lofty principles into enforceable rights. Over time, the absence of such constitutional safeguards allowed political realities to eclipse democratic aspirations. Successive governments could shape policy without being constrained by a comprehensive bill of rights, particularly when it came to the treatment of Palestinian citizens and other minorities.
Bartov’s argument is straightforward but powerful: Israel’s democratic deficit was not an accident of recent years but a problem embedded in the state’s institutional foundations.
The Transformation of Zionism
The book’s central theme is the evolution of Zionism itself.
Bartov traces Zionism from its origins as a movement seeking refuge and emancipation for Jews facing persecution in Europe. In its earliest form, he argues, it was driven by the desire for safety, dignity and national renewal.
The tragedy, in his view, is that this project gradually transformed into something very different.
As Israel expanded its control over Palestinian territories and as conflict became a permanent feature of national life, Zionism increasingly took on an exclusionary character. What began as a movement of liberation came to be associated with domination, occupation and unequal citizenship.
Bartov does not suggest that this transformation occurred overnight. Rather, he shows how decades of war, insecurity, settlement expansion and demographic anxiety steadily reshaped Israeli political culture.
His analysis is particularly sharp when examining the rise of ethno-nationalism and the weakening of liberal institutions. The 2018 Nation-State Law, which defined national self-determination as exclusive to the Jewish people, emerges as a key turning point in his narrative—one that symbolised the growing imbalance between Israel’s Jewish identity and its democratic commitments.
Gaza and the Crisis of Conscience
Although the book spans decades of history, its emotional centre lies in the aftermath of the October 7, 2023 Hamas attacks and the devastating war that followed.
For Bartov, Gaza represents more than a military campaign. It is the culmination of long-standing trends that have transformed both Israeli politics and society.
He argues that the scale of destruction and civilian suffering revealed a profound erosion of moral restraints. More troublingly, he suggests that many segments of Israeli society became increasingly indifferent to Palestinian suffering, viewing it through the lens of security and survival rather than shared humanity.
These chapters are among the most unsettling in the book. Bartov is not interested merely in documenting violence. He wants to understand how societies justify violence, how they normalise it, and how entire populations can become desensitised to the suffering of others.
In this sense, the book is as much about collective psychology as it is about politics.
The Cost of Permanent Conflict
One of Bartov’s most compelling observations is that prolonged conflict changes not only the lives of those who are oppressed but also the character of those who wield power.
He repeatedly returns to the idea that occupation and war have left deep scars on Israeli society itself. The militarisation of public life, the narrowing of political debate, and the growing hostility toward dissent have, in his view, weakened the democratic culture that many Israelis once took pride in.
The author writes candidly about his own experiences as a critic of Israeli policy. Long-standing friendships frayed. Colleagues distanced themselves. Public disagreements became personal ruptures.
These reflections give the book a rare intimacy. Behind the historical analysis lies the story of an intellectual struggling to remain faithful to his principles while watching his homeland move in a direction he finds alarming.
Does the Constitution Explain Everything?
The most debated aspect of Bartov’s argument is likely to be his emphasis on constitutional failure.
He suggests that a robust constitution and bill of rights might have constrained discriminatory policies, strengthened judicial oversight and encouraged a more inclusive civic identity.
It is an intriguing proposition, though not entirely convincing.
History offers numerous examples of countries with admirable constitutions that have nevertheless experienced majoritarian politics, discrimination and democratic backsliding. Institutions matter, but they are only as strong as the political culture that sustains them.
Some readers may therefore conclude that Bartov places too much faith in constitutional design and not enough emphasis on the deeper tensions inherent in the Zionist project itself.
Yet even those who disagree with his diagnosis are likely to appreciate the seriousness with which he approaches the question.
Looking Beyond the Present
The book concludes on a cautiously hopeful note.
Bartov argues that any durable future for Israelis and Palestinians will require abandoning the illusion that one side can permanently dominate the other. He imagines a political framework in which both peoples enjoy security, autonomy and equal rights within a shared space.
Whether such a vision is realistic in today’s circumstances is open to debate. The political landscape appears more fractured than ever, and trust between the two communities is at a historic low.
Still, Bartov insists that history is not destiny. Societies can change course. Nations can confront their pasts. Political arrangements once considered impossible can become reality.
That belief in the possibility of transformation runs throughout the book.
A Book That Refuses Easy Answers
What makes Israel: What Went Wrong? so compelling is its refusal to settle for simple explanations.
Bartov does not offer a partisan manifesto. Nor does he attempt to reduce a century of conflict to a single cause. Instead, he explores how ideals, institutions, fears and historical memories combined to produce the present crisis.
The result is a book that is at once scholarly and deeply personal, analytical yet profoundly emotional.
At its core, Israel: What Went Wrong? is an examination of what happens when a nation loses sight of the values it once claimed to embody. It is a meditation on power, memory and responsibility—and a reminder that no society is immune from moral decline.
Whether one agrees with Bartov’s conclusions or challenges them, his book deserves to be read seriously. It raises questions that cannot easily be dismissed and forces readers to confront uncomfortable truths about nationalism, democracy and the consequences of endless conflict.
In a debate often dominated by outrage and slogans, Bartov offers something increasingly rare: a thoughtful, humane and deeply reflective attempt to understand how a dream became a crisis.
