It began when I was a research fellow at Princeton, where I was invited to lecture on contemporary political philosophy in the James Madison Program. I later gave a fuller, deeper version of these ideas at the ASR conference, one of the most serious professional arenas for sociologists of religion. Honestly? I was a little afraid of the reception. I was glad to get through the lecture without anyone reaching for a stone. :-)

What began as a series of articles is, these very days, becoming a book I am writing. In the coming months I will share the work here, the insights, and the attempt to understand the new operating system that is challenging Western civilization.

Follow along.

Why was Cofnas accused of racism? Because Dr Arday served as a moral totem. His career was the proof that the justice of woke works. So the one who exposed literary theft was punished, and after the death the punishment felt like a defense of human dignity. When the sacred order is shaken, a sacrifice is needed.

This is how institutions like a university function as religious institutions. In fact the universities are restoring the role they had in the Middle Ages. I am writing a book these days about this hidden theology.

This week the firm paid $21.5 million to the government to settle the allegations.

The question that interests me is why they kept going. They had signed a prohibition. They kept going because the mechanism felt right. It felt just because behind it stood a wide conception of justice, a metaphysical one: a person is advanced according to skin color and according to gender. To do that was to be good. One could break the signed rule and still feel pure. A unit that promoted by the enlightened criteria was painted green, which is to say it left the month clean.

That is a theology speaking the language of management. I am writing a book about it.

For years, we have been witnessing a growing paradox: Western nations are becoming wealthier than ever before, yet simultaneously collapsing into a demographic winter. Plummeting birth rates are no longer just dry statistics—they are undeniably the greatest and most severe strategic threat currently facing the future of Western civilization.

In this article, I present a new theory that offers a structural and practical solution to this existential problem. The research analyzes how the success of late capitalism inadvertently erodes the mediating institutions—family and community—upon which it relies. From this, I introduce the model of “Neo-Jerusalemite Republican Capitalism” (NJRC): a framework proving that free markets and economic liberty do not have to come at the expense of the family. Instead, they can and must be supported by a robust moral and communal infrastructure that will secure our future.

I invite you to read the full article, which is now completely free to access (via SharedIt), and join the discussion on how to ensure the continuity of the West.

Read the full article here: https://rdcu.be/feoHq

Cite this article: Shoval, R. A New Model of Republican Capitalism: Addressing Capitalism’s Mimetic Contradictions. Soc (2026). https://doi.org/10.1007/s12115-026-01183-3

A New Model of Republican Capitalism: Addressing Capitalism’s Mimetic Contradictions

Abstract
This article analyzes the paradoxical interplay between capitalism, mimetic desire (Girard’s theory), and intermediary insti tutions. It argues that while family and community initially foster capitalism by strengthening social bonds, late capitalism paradoxically erodes them. This dynamic leads to observable social fragmentation and demographic decline, evident in Western fertility rates, undermining capitalism’s long-term success. The article proposes a new theoretical capitalist frame work, “Neo-Jerusalemite Republican Capitalism” (NJRC), a novel model. Using Israel as an illustrative case, the article suggests that sustained economic growth can coexist with resilient mediating institutions, potentially moderating mimetic rivalry and correlating with higher fertility rates. It advocates for strategically limited state intervention to preserve vital institutional frameworks, fostering community cohesion and demographic stability. This model offers a practical middle ground, addressing capitalism’s inherent contradictions and pressing Western demographic challenges.

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Introduction: The Social Morality of Capitalism—Between Success and Alienation Capitalism is generally perceived as an economic system producing remarkable material and scientific achievements, including economic prosperity, technological progress, modern medicine, expanded individual freedoms, and dra matic improvements in the status of women. However, these acknowledged successes frequently attract criticism claim ing that capitalism is fundamentally an immoral mechanism of exploitation. In this article, I seek to examine explicitly the question: What is the relationship between the mediat ing social institutions—family, religion, and community— and the stability and sustainability of capitalism? Further more, how can this relationship be explained through René Girard’s theory of mimetic desire?

The article’s central claim is that there is a two-stage dynamic in the relationship between capitalism and mediating social institutions. Initially, these institutions ena bled the rise and prosperity of capitalism, as illustrated by Max Weber in his discussion of the Protestant Ethic. How ever, in the second stage, capitalism—through economic prosperity, social mobility, and globalization—weakens the institutions that provide the social and moral infrastructure for its initial success. The outcome is an ongoing social cri sis characterized by increasing alienation, loneliness, and demographic crises, such as declining fertility rates in many Western countries. This unraveling became particularly acute during the neoliberal era (1970s–2020s), where the shift toward financial dominance and debt-driven growth accelerated the erosion of these essential social foundations (O’Hara, 2025).

A fundamental principle for understanding the social and cultural dynamics of capitalism lies in René Girard’s con cept of mimetic desire. According to Girard, human beings do not desire objects out of an isolated internal wish but rather covet what others covet (Girard, 1965, 1987). Human desire emerges within a field of imitation. We learn to desire not according to the intrinsic value of things but according to their value in the eyes of others. Initially, this mecha nism fosters a sense of belonging and cohesion. Members of a community desire the same things, value the same achievements, and orient themselves toward shared models of a good life. However, as these desires converge on par ticular objects such as status, prestige, and symbols of suc cess, and as these resources come to be perceived as limited, internal tensions gradually give rise to rivalry. Capitalism, in many respects, effectively channels this dynamic in a pro ductive direction. Instead of allowing competitive desires to escalate into violence, capitalism directs them toward economic competition, entrepreneurship, and innovation. In doing so, capitalism overcomes the logic of a zero-sum game and transforms envy into action. The article will exam ine this dynamic and its broader social consequences in the following sections.

Through the distinctive case study of Israel, this article examines how robust capitalist growth can coexist with stable social institutions and sustained high fertility rates. It introduces an alternative theoretical framework termed Neo-Jerusalemite Republican Capitalism (NJRC), where economic freedom and material prosperity are embedded within resilient social institutions. These institutions foster societal stability, intergenerational continuity, and com munal purpose, thereby alleviating mimetic tensions that might otherwise escalate into social fragmentation. Thus, the author contends that governments and other stakeholders should recognize mediating institutions as fundamental to the long-term, stable sustainability of free-market capitalism rather than simply traditional moral structures.

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Between Envy and Belonging: Contemporary Discussions on Capitalism and Mimetic Desire

René Girard’s mimetic desire concept has recently received much attention from sociologists and economists. For instance, Peter Thiel argues that economic competition often arises not primarily from pure economic rationality or objec tive material interests but predominantly from the dynamics of imitation and replication of the desires and aspirations of competing actors. Thiel holds that various businesses often pursue similar economic goals that produce intense competi tion because others perceive them as desirable and prestig ious despite the fact that they are economically inefficient. Thus, mimetic desire occasionally results in resource waste and social damage rather than genuine and sustained value (Thiel, 2014, pp. 32–37).

Paul Dumouchel expands upon this idea by asserting that resource scarcity itself is not merely an objective fact but largely a consequence of social and economic systems. According to Dumouchel, these systems create or intensify mimetic rivalry through the cultural and political struc tures shaping individual aspirations. In his view, scarcity becomes a driver for endless rivalry precisely due to this social dynamic, wherein identical goals and desires are pre sented to numerous individuals who then compete among themselves (Dumouchel, 2014, pp. 15–48).

Furthermore, Mark Anspach points out that mimetic desire can become destructive when society lacks institu tions that can adequately regulate its dynamics. Moreo ver, he states that societies without such institutions tend to develop scapegoat mechanisms that direct the public’s attention toward external culprits in order to preserve social cohesion. However, despite such mechanisms offering tem porary social stability, they do not provide long-term stabil ity and mask more profound social crises (Anspach, 2017, pp. 9–16).

In a related article, Deirdre McCloskey contends that without a moral foundation, it is impossible to understand capitalism’s historical and economic success. She states that economic prosperity requires moral structures, including trust, equity, and individual responsibility, as well as self interest. However, McCloskey provides limited discussion regarding the specific role played by social institutions like family, community, and religion and how these concretely promote and sustain these values (McCloskey, 2016, pp. 117–129, 172–183, 511–519).

From this arises the distinctive contribution of this article. Unlike Thiel and Dumouchel, who primarily focus on the direct economic impacts generated by mimetic rivalry, and Anspach, who emphasizes the destructive outcomes possible in the absence of stable institutions, this article examines how specific social institutions, such as family, community, and religion, are not merely instruments for mitigating ten sions but essential structural conditions for the long-term viability of capitalism itself. In contrast to McCloskey, who broadly emphasizes moral values in capitalism without extensive elaboration on specific institutions, this article introduces a clear and precise model—Neo-Jerusalemite Republican Capitalism (NJRC)—which positions mediat ing institutions at its core as vital mechanisms for creating a stable and sustainable equilibrium between market dynamics and the need for lasting social and moral cohesion.

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The Moral Foundations of Capitalism

According to Adam Smith (Smith, 1759/1982, 1776/1976), Friedrich Hayek (Hayek, 1944, 1960), and Milton Friedman (Friedman, 1962; Friedman & Friedman, 1980), capitalism is an economic and social system rooted in moral values, including individual freedom, social responsibility, equity, and creating genuine value. For example, Smith saw the market as relying on trust, fairness, and reciprocity because one can only achieve personal gain by generating value for others.

However, this article argues that it is precisely the suc cessful realization of these moral principles that creates an inherent contradiction. The more capitalism becomes suc cessful, the more it creates dynamics that threaten the social institutions upon which it initially prospered: family, reli gion, and community.

Before discussing that contradiction, we will clarify the concept of capitalism used in this article. Liberalism primar ily addresses the relationship between the individual and the state, focusing on civil and political rights. Capitalism, by contrast, centers primarily on economic freedom, production and entrepreneurship, market activities, competition, and economic value creation. Although clearly interrelated, lib eralism and capitalism are not identical (Mises,/19272005, pp. 26–58). For example, some countries, including China and Singapore, have free-market economies but significantly restrict civil liberties.

Moreover, readers should distinguish between the per spectives that have evolved from the initial capitalist idea, many of which make various assumptions about human nature and social order. The libertarian approach assumes the individual as a rational agent and recognizes the neces sity of a minimal external institution, the “night-watchman state,” to manage conflicts and protect property rights (Noz ick, 1974). The anarcho-capitalist approach, even more opti mistic, believes in the possibility of a social order based exclusively on voluntary cooperation without any govern mental authority (Rothbard, 1973).

In this article, however, the focus is on an approach view ing human beings as inherently social creatures who require stable social institutions to actualize economic liberty. Utilizing René Girard’s concept of mimetic desire, I will demonstrate how the economic success and social mobility generated by capitalism systematically undermine precisely those mediating institutions—family, religion, and commu nity—that initially facilitated its flourishing. This inherent tension between capitalism and these institutions exists, in varying degrees, within all capitalist societies. The follow ing sections will show that recognizing the essential role of mediating institutions can form the basis for constructing a new, sustainable model of capitalism.

Mimetic Desire and Capitalism: From Social Cohesion to Internal Rivalry

As previously discussed, René Girard identifies mimetic desire as an essential socio-cultural mechanism underlying human behavior. Here, we examine how this desire oper ates within the capitalist framework and its implications for social institutions.

Mimetic desire emerges within a field of imitation. Ini tially, it fosters a sense of belonging and social cohesion as members of a community aspire toward similar goals, value similar achievements, and orient themselves toward shared models of a good life. However, as more individu als strive for the same objects, such as status, prestige, and symbols of success, and as these resources are increasingly perceived as limited, intense competition, envy, and rivalry begin to emerge. According to Girard’s framework, desire becomes more aggressive as it approaches the object and confronts competitors. In fact, many people see resources such as honor and social status as zero-sum gains. That is to say, when one person wins, another loses. Therefore, we deprive others of the coveted resource we obtain (Girard, 1979, chaps. 1–2; 1987, pp. 7–47). Capitalism channels such mimetic dynamics by redirecting possibly violent rivalries into economic and entrepreneurial competition, and so moderates social pressures. Therefore, mimetic tensions that could manifest as violent or destructive drive economic growth, a capitalist necessity that mitigates the material zero-sum game. However, this author contends that such solutions are incomplete because mimetic activity is part of market activities and extends to social prestige, eroding the mediating institutions that capitalist systems require for long-term sustainability.

In contrast, dissatisfied communities with internal ten sions that lack the means to provide their members with hope and the prospect of growth must find alternative meth ods to provide social cohesion, such as directing ire exter nally in order to restore unity and internal cooperation. A clear example is found in homogeneous communist societies lacking mechanisms for economic growth, such as North Korea, which maintain internal control through oppressive governance while simultaneously unifying their populations against external scapegoats, exemplified by South Korea and American capitalism.

However, paradoxically, even when mimetic systems cre ate economic growth, that growth still undermines the social institutions that initially allowed it to flourish.

Weber’s Paradox: How Collective Ethics Built and Undermined American Capitalism

To fully grasp the roots of this paradox, one must return to the historical and religious origins from which capitalism emerged. According to Max Weber, the advent of modern capitalism is intimately linked to the Protestant ethic. The Calvinist doctrine of predestination holds that everyone has a fate they cannot alter because it was predetermined by God. Such beliefs created existential anxiety that compelled the faithful to seek and display status symbols, such as busi ness success and accumulated wealth, which were later seen as evidence of divine favor.

In that cultural and religious context, the family, commu nity, church, and other social institutions were vital. The fam ily functioned as a moral-social framework that consistently inculcated values of frugality, diligence, and personal respon sibility. Simultaneously, the community became a means of social control because it provided benchmarks for moral behavior, including discouraging waste while promoting thrift and reinforcing trust, self-restraint, and investment of accumu lated wealth. Such robust community structures gave mem bers social stability and psychological security while adding meaning to their lives, all of which are essential for long-term investment and calculated financial risks. That led to a rein forcing cycle that drove economic growth and investment.

Although Calvinist and Puritan ideas emerged in Europe during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, it was spe cifically in the USA—due to the unique historical and social conditions of the Puritan colonies—that mimetic dynamics reached their full potential, catalyzing significant and unprec edented economic growth. Puritan settlements in North Amer ica established small, highly cohesive moral communities, creating ideal conditions for particularly successful models of material prosperity. Unlike Protestant communities in Europe, often entrenched in rigid, hierarchical social structures, eco nomic success in the American colonies was more openly attainable and thus more readily imitable.

The economic success of these early Protestant commu nities in America did not remain isolated. Starting from the nineteenth century, massive waves of immigration to the USA brought diverse ethnic and religious groups: Catholics from Italy and Ireland, Lutherans from Germany and Scan dinavia, Jews from Eastern Europe, and other immigrants without clear religious affiliations. Despite stark differences in religious and ethnic backgrounds, these groups rapidly and mimetically adopted the economic behaviors characteristic of the original Puritan communities (Girard, 1979, chaps. 1–2; 1987, pp. 7–47). Eventually, immigrant families and commu nities themselves became mediating institutions disseminat ing and reinforcing these new behavioral patterns, even in the absence of any clear theological foundation. Thus, the mecha nism of social imitation detached from its original Calvinist theological context, becoming an independent social and eco nomic phenomenon (Veblen, 1899/1994, chaps. 2–4; see also O’Hara, 2000 for an institutional analysis). The model of eco nomic success, initially developed within a narrow Protestant context, transformed into a universally desirable ideal, driving the rapid expansion of capitalism across the entire USA (Som bart,/19131982, chap. 6; McCraw, 1998, chap. 9).

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From the Loss of Theological Context to Moral Detachment: The Transition from Early to Late Capitalism

The insights presented here fit within a broader critical dis course on capitalism, notably identified with Joseph Schum peter and Daniel Bell. Schumpeter argued that capitalism inherently contains seeds of its own dissolution, as its economic successes gradually undermine the cultural and political institutions that initially enabled its rise (Schum peter, 1942). Bell, for his part, emphasized the contradiction between the ascetic Protestant ethos at capitalism’s founda tion and the hedonistic consumer culture that emerged from it, a contradiction he believed threatened social stability (Bell, 1976). This article expands Schumpeter and Bell’s idea using René Girard’s theory of how imitation and rivalry stem from the success of capitalism and erode the social institutions that formed its economic basis.

The process of capitalism’s detachment from its religious moral context did not halt at the boundaries of Protestant ethos. It continued to expand, eventually eroding even the broader humanistic moral foundation articulated by Adam Smith. After the mimetic diffusion of the American eco nomic model became an independent social phenomenon, late capitalism progressively shed not only the Calvinist Protestant religious framework but also the broader moral structure elaborated by Smith. In The Theory of Moral Senti ments, Smith argued that the free market is not an isolated mechanism disconnected from human and social contexts but rather is deeply grounded in moral foundations shared universally by humanity. Central to these foundations is the human capacity for empathy (“sympathy” in Smith’s termi nology), the ability to recognize and resonate emotionally with the circumstances and feelings of others. According to Smith, this empathetic mechanism underpins trust, coopera tion, social responsibility, and fair commerce, all essential for the sustained, effective functioning of a free economy (Smith, 1759/1982, Part I, secs. I–III; Part III, chaps. 1–2).

However, as capitalism expanded, such moral principles were supplanted by a narrower perspective in which growth, capital accumulation, and consumption were ends in them selves divorced from moral and social contexts. Smith’s principles, which assumed the market functions effectively precisely because of a moral and empathetic human founda tion, gradually gave way to a narrower interpretation of capi talism. Within this narrower vision, material growth, wealth accumulation, and individualistic consumerism became independent objectives, relegating the broader moral-social context to the margins of economic discourse.

The Detachment from Realism

Consequently, the NJRC’s critique of the financialized neo liberalism described by O’Hara (2025) extends beyond eco nomic instability to a fundamental detachment from realism. This shift, dominant from the 1970 s onwards, replaced pro ductive growth with cyclical bubbles and crashes. Economi cally, a system reliant on debt and speculation replaces a real productive basis with abstract future obligations. Socially, it severs the market from the concrete reality of the mediating institutions that enabled its rise. The NJRC challenges the implicit neoliberal assumption that the market is a value neutral or “amoral” sphere. Every praxis embodies a theory, and the neoliberal attempt to empty the public sphere of shared moral content is, in itself, a distinct moral claim. The model proposed here seeks to ground the economy back in the real—in actual production, tangible community, and concrete responsibility—rather than in the nominalism of debt and atomization.

The Dissolution of Mediating Institutions: Family, Community, and Meaning in Late Capitalism

An inevitable consequence of this process has been a fun damental shift in the significance of economic success for individuals. Whereas previously material success was per ceived as a sign of divine blessing and an expression of belonging to a cohesive moral community, in late capitalism it has become an autonomous goal, detached from broader community or moral contexts. The original conception of spiritual redemption has given way to an individual aspira tion for material prosperity and social status.

In this contemporary reality, when individuals are offered job opportunities requiring relocation to distant parts of the country for better economic prospects, they frequently accept such offers. Those people often regard such moves as necessary for economic success and prioritize them over maintaining family and community relationships, making Christmas and Thanksgiving visits mere symbolic actions rather than integral components of communal and familial life. Unfortunately, such physical distance frequently leads to emotional, social, and cultural separations that weaken the bonds providing identity and meaning.

Therefore, the movement of labor that modern capital ism requires gradually unravels our shared social fabric. As economic success becomes increasingly individualized, the institutional connections supporting it erode. The heightened focus on personal growth, material wealth, and social mobil ity weakens the stability and strength of social institutions. The extended family diminishes to the nuclear family, and eventually, even the nuclear family itself begins to lose its strength and stability. In a similar vein, such geographical mobility in the name of economic advancement dissolves the community structures that previously supported families and our cultural heritage, leading to the loss of social cohesion provided by family, community, and religion. Late capital ism, which originally depended upon these very institutions for its flourishing, thus finds itself undermining the socio cultural foundations that were essential to its own existence and success. The modern phenomenon of the “lonely crowd” (Ries man, 1950; Slater, 1970; Ortega y Gasset, 1994) has intensi f ied with the spread of late capitalist logic. A new ideal type has emerged: not the hero, the wise person, or the saint, but rather the affluent individual. Material success has become the ultimate measure of value. To compensate for the loss of shared identity resulting from this shift, alternative spaces of identity have emerged. For example, labor unions now pro vide members with a sense of shared class consciously, and some corporations have incorporated HR positions to help employees identify with their workplaces. However, these attempts to create authentic social identity have remained limited, as they rely on contractual and utilitarian connec tions rather than genuine ties of belonging. These structures reflect what Ferdinand Tönnies calls “Gesellschaft” (society) rather than “Gemeinschaft” (community) (Tönnies, 1957, pp. 33–37). According to Tönnies, society is contractual, utilitarian, and regulated, whereas community involves unconditional, emotional, and deeply rooted connections. This distinction closely parallels Friedrich Hayek’s differ entiation between a “small order” and an “extended order” (Hayek, 1988, pp. 11–28).

A small order is characterized by close, personal rela tionships within a community, providing individuals with a sense of identity, belonging, and meaning. In contrast, the extended order, characteristic of modern capitalist societies, depends on abstract, contractual, and anonymous relation ships, where social coordination and order are achieved primarily through market mechanisms, exchange, and indi vidualistic competition. The gradual shift from the small order to the extended order has indeed been vital to capital ism’s economic success but simultaneously planted the seeds of the social and existential crises characteristic of the late capitalist era.

Before industrialization, the “small order” gave workers identity, contextual meaning, and a shared cultural identity. However, the modern “extended order” has weakened such connections, leading many to view society as an anonymous, bureaucratic entity that makes it challenging for members to establish a sense of personal significance and identity. For example, traditionally, women gave birth in the company of their mothers, grandmothers, and other senior matriarchs. Today, birth occurs in institutional settings. Subsequently, caring for a newborn has become a procedure learned via apps or manuals. Without traditional community support, young parents must rely on electronic guides to learn basic tasks such as feeding or soothing their infant. Yet no manual can replace the aunt who patiently demonstrates how to hold the baby or the genuine emotional support provided by a community rooted in deep human ties.

This process of losing communal cohesion and transition ing to purely bureaucratic and contractual relations has been effectively described by Max Scheler. He sharply contrasts the natural community (Gemeinschaft), which is founded upon deep personal and organic ties among its members, with the modern social formation he calls “Masse” (mass society). Mass society is characterized by an absence of a clear internal center and relies on temporary, superficial rela tionships based on momentary emotional enthusiasm and shallow emotional contagion (Ansteckung). Unlike the com munity, in which individuals experience a stable identity, responsibility, and meaningful belonging, the social mass fails to offer members authentic value-based meaning or a deep sense of connectedness (Scheler, 1994, p. 84).

Social media emerged within this context of social ten sion, explicitly promising to “connect people.” In reality, social media represents the clearest expression of the habi tus (Bourdieu, 1984, pp. 169–175) of late capitalism and is the arena where mimetic dynamics are exhibited with exceptional intensity. These platforms function not merely as communication tools but as infinite spaces of imitation, competition, and constant comparison, where users continu ally strive for social status, recognition, and attention. Thus, mimetic dynamics create the habitus that effectively struc tures the social order in the postmodern capitalist era. The result is paradoxical: The explicit promise of community and unlimited social connection instead deepens isolation and alienation. As users compete for imagined social rec ognition, their actual social ties weaken, leading to a reality in which individuals are seemingly surrounded by others yet remain profoundly isolated (Turkle, 2011, pp. 188–190, 299–300). This loneliness, directly generated by intense mimetic dynamics, intensifies feelings of rivalry and pro motes recurrent patterns of social denunciation and scape goating, wherein the public condemnation of others becomes a substitute for authentic social connections.

The Mimetic‑Capitalist Paradox: Material Success and the Fertility Crisis in Western Society

As modern Western societies become wealthier and social mobility and consumption increase, many people feel pres sured to imitate those at the top of their social and economic hierarchies. This mimetic pressure translates into a sustained erosion of mediating institutions, namely the family, reli gion, and community, which come to be perceived as con straints upon personal freedom and individual success. Con sequently, the individual appears liberated from traditional social bonds, yet the cost manifests in mounting alienation, loss of shared identity, and, ultimately, severe social crises.

The collapse of communal bonds and the transforma tion of modern individuals into isolated units within con sumerist spaces are not merely a psychological or moral phenomenon; these are also clearly evident in concrete social indicators (Putnam, 2000; Wilkinson & Pickett, 2010; Twenge, 2017, pp. 93–118). Although there has been a dramatic improvement in material economic met rics, exemplified by a substantial rise in GDP per capita in the USA between 1960 and 2020, several indicators of psychological distress and social fragmentation have dete riorated sharply: fertility rates have declined by more than half since the mid-twentieth century, suicide rates have increased by approximately 33% between 1960 and 2023, and drug overdose mortality has surged to unprecedented levels compared to the negligible numbers recorded in the 1960 s (Massey, 1967; National Center for Health Statis tics, 2025a, 2025b; The World Bank, 2025; USAFacts, 2024). Such figures indicate an increasing gap between our technical success and moral meaning or our freedom and responsibility.

Meanwhile, Western academia has produced three pri mary discussions that have undermined how we perceive the meaning of our human existence. First, positivism has portrayed humans as entities governed by mechanistic laws, negating the concept of freedom and rendering all human actions devoid of intrinsic meaning (Husserl, 1970, pp. 3–10). Second, postmodern perspectives portray human beings as trapped inside a web of conflicting interpreta tions, unable to discern an objective truth and, thus, lacking the ability to determine our existential meaning (Lyotard, 1984, pp. xxiv–xxv, 37–41). Concurrently, certain perspec tives highlight how familial and social relationships can act as deterministic forces that shape consciousness and chal lenge notions of freedom and responsibility, while others emphasize the enduring human capacity to find meaning and agency within these constraints (Frankl, 2006, pp. 130–140; Fromm, 1941, pp. 66–105). Those three perspec tives, compounded by late capitalism’s atomized logic, have contributed to contemporary humanity’s existential crisis. In the face of this crisis, existentialist thinkers like Albert Camus paradoxically conclude that even in the face of life’s absurdity, happiness is possible through awareness and rebellion—arguing, as Camus did, that Sisyphus is happy (Camus, 2005, p. 111).

This process has led to a significant decline in birth rates within Western societies. As family and community frame works lose their stability and centrality, and as individuals become increasingly focused on their personal success and accumulation of wealth and social status, investing in rais ing children and creating large, stable families becomes less appealing and economically feasible. Therefore, Western ers are forming smaller families later in life, if at all, creat ing aging demographics that struggle to sustain themselves and their cultures, economies, and social fabrics. Thus, the very process that began as unprecedented economic growth ultimately leads, in the long run, to a profound social and demographic crisis undermining the stability and future of capitalist society itself (Kaufmann, 2010, Introduction & chaps. 1–2; Stone, 2020).

These processes operate through a mechanism of “cir cular and cumulative causation” (CCC), as articulated by Myrdal (1957) and Kaldor (1972), which emphasizes how initial economic successes trigger self-reinforcing cycles that interact across social, economic, and environmental domains. As mediating institutions weaken, the resulting decline in social trust and human capital formation feeds back into the economy, contributing to the stagnation of productivity and long-term growth, as evidenced by the halving of growth rates in advanced economies over the past 50 years (O’Hara, 2009; 2025, Ch. 11; see also Gor don & Sayed, 2024, for US productivity slowdowns from 1950 to 2023). In the context of late capitalism, the forward thrust of creative destruction—driving growth and produc tivity—initially channels mimetic rivalry productively, but cumulatively erodes mediating institutions, leading to social fragmentation and declining fertility. These negative effects, in turn, exacerbate social and ecological polycrises, where a market order oriented toward short-term expansion exter nalizes environmental costs, increasing climate risks that subsequently intensify economic volatility and social con f lict. Consequently, the crisis of late capitalism reveals itself as a structural disembedding of the market from the social economy: the very mechanisms intended to drive expan sion paradoxically generate a self-reinforcing cycle of social fragmentation, ecological strain, and economic deceleration, perpetuating a downward spiral unless balanced by institu tional interventions like those proposed in NJRC.

What emerges clearly from this analysis is that the suc cess of late capitalism creates a fundamental structural problem: the economic growth that effectively channels mimetic rivalry away from violence and toward productive competition relies heavily on social mobility. Yet, this very social mobility systematically weakens mediating institu tions, dismantling family and community ties. This phe nomenon breeds growing feelings of alienation, loneliness, and a relentless pursuit of individual success, within which family formation and expansion are viewed as conflicting with self-realization or at least as low-priority goals. Conse quently, a profound fertility crisis has emerged, as evidenced today in most of the Western world. Thus, we witness the deep paradox at the heart of late capitalism’s success: late capitalism has triumphed economically but, in doing so, has fundamentally destabilized the social conditions that made its success possible.

Given the mimetic tensions permeating late capital ism, a continuous impulse arises to relieve these tensions through the identification of economic scapegoats. The mimetic dynamic, which favors competition more than prestige, social status, or recognition, also creates a need to relieve such tensions by blaming those responsible for monopolizing power and increasing inequality. Often, such sentiments are directed toward corporations, wealthy indi viduals, or successful business leaders, transforming them into targets of intense public hostility. Such mimetic logic often leads the public to interpret financial success as a sig nal of exploitation or injustice; i.e., those who are wealthy create impoverishment for others, an emotional zero-sum construct. Hence, those who achieve economic success are perceived as oppressors, while those who do not succeed are viewed as oppressed, thus morally justified in their hos tility. This tension demands an outlet. It dehumanizes the “economic other”—the bourgeoisie, the tycoon, the Jew, the system—transforming them into targets of moral condemna tion. Communities may seek meaning for their internal cri ses by symbolically condemning an external entity perceived as an abstract “enemy.” In a distinctly Girardian manner, a free market stripped of institutions capable of moderat ing desire also becomes vulnerable to symbolic scapegoat ing dynamics. This phenomenon is particularly evident in populist rhetoric—on both the radical left and nationalist right—which frames “upper classes” or “economic elites” as unifying targets of resentment, promising emotional release and a righteous self-image for the allegedly oppressed.

When faced with a society where the capitalist paradox creates scapegoat politics, we must ask ourselves how to create a socio-economic model that relies on moderating and guiding institutions instead of allowing the entire capitalist system to collapse. Israel provides an example of such a model, albeit on a smaller scale than many other Western societies.

Case Study: Israel as a Model of Republican Capitalism—Growth with Mediating Institutions

While many capitalist societies in the West are experienc ing the weakening of mediating institutions such as family, community, and national identity—processes accompanied by declining fertility rates and increasing feelings of aliena tion—Israel offers a distinct structure: a growing economy sustained by a vibrant network of institutions that nurture belonging, tradition, and civic obligation (Guttman Center for Surveys & Avi Chai Foundation, 2009; Israel Democracy Institute, 2023; OECD, 2025). I do not intend to argue that these institutions fully explain Israel’s economic success or its unique demographic profile. Nonetheless, as of 2025, the fertility rate among Jewish women in Israel is approximately 3.1 children per woman, while GDP per capita is estimated at around $58,474 (International Monetary Fund, 2023; Weinreb, 2024).

This correlation between economic prosperity, fertility rates, and the existence of institutions promoting belonging, culture, and identity is noteworthy in itself, even if it merely indicates correlation rather than establishing causation—an observation supported by broader literature on Israeli soci ety and demographic trends, rather than by a single source that directly links these factors (Fig. 1) (The World Bank, 2020a; Weinreb, 2024; Guttman Center for Surveys & Avi Chai Foundation, 2009; Israel Democracy Institute, 2023). (Similar to the comparative trends noted earlier, between 1960 and 2020 Israel’s GDP per capita increased sharply by approximately 480%, while the fertility rate among the Jewish population remained nearly stable, the suicide rate declined by 60%, drug use rose dra matically, and mortality from drug use increased tenfold (The World Bank, 2020a; Federal Reserve Bank of St. Louis, 2025; The World Bank, 2020b; World Life Expectancy, 2025).

Social institutions in Israel embody a distinctive heritage, rich with religious, historical, and cultural layers that shape public life, in contrast to some Western societies where tra dition has become a private matter.

Thus, Israel provides an environment that preserves a constant cultural bond, creating a framework that situates its citizens within a historical, cultural framework.

For example, Shabbat, the Jewish Sabbath, provides a recurring social time unit that creates a break from economic activity while creating a communal life axis. Approximately 70% of the Jewish population in Israel regularly share tra ditional family meals on Friday nights, meaning millions of citizens engage weekly in a collective event infused with values of belonging (Senor & Singer, 2024), closeness, and living cultural memory. Therefore, the Sabbath anchors communities in stable, intergenerational, and cultural rela tionships that are independent of market dynamics, allowing the family to remain an active support network from the cradle to the grave.

A similar function is fulfilled by additional collective commemorative days in Israel, such as national memo rial days, which serve as collective sites of consciousness. These days are not perceived merely as leisure or consump tion opportunities but rather as structured cultural cycles of memory and identification, actively participated in by large segments of the public. That public participation creates a shared moral awareness, which deepens the sense of belong ing and reinforces the bond between people and their soci ety’s history (Gur et al., 2024; Tixell, 2025).

While considering societal measures that help sustain capitalism, let us direct our attention toward living spaces. Israel has diverse settlements, frequently organized to pro mote a sense of community. Moshavim, kibbutzim, commu nity villages, and settlements serve not merely as residential units but as social collectives defined by shared identities, mutual commitments, and enduring interpersonal networks (Letzter, 2023; Schwake, 2020). Even within major cities, thousands of small communities maintain local and coopera tive lifestyles. Furthermore, Israel is a relatively small coun try, allowing families to remain connected despite members living in separate communities, which creates a sense of belonging, continuity, and social memory.

Moreover, Israel’s compulsory military service is cul turally significant. The Israel Defense Forces (IDF), which recruits the majority of the Jewish population at age 18, play a social role that extends far beyond security. Military ser vice places individuals within a broader national framework, offering opportunities to participate in collective efforts alongside peers from diverse backgrounds, positions, and identities. Therefore, Israel’s military creates a sense of civil responsibility and national solidarity by creating connec tions regardless of class and a selfless shared consciousness. Finally, many Israeli civic societies are volunteer organi zations. Recent studies show that over 45% of Israeli adults take part in nonprofit work, community initiatives, and mutual assistance programs, one of the highest levels in the world (Hebrew University Center for the Study of Civil Society and Philanthropy, 2023).

This phenomenon is prominently exemplified in the extensive network of charitable institutions known as “Gemachim” (acts of loving kindness), non-governmental organizations providing interest-free loans, medical equip ment, clothing, food, supplies for family events, and various additional services, often operating out of private homes or community buildings. These institutions rely primarily on social capital rather than economic incentives. One distinct example of institutionalizing this model on a large scale is Yad Sarah, an organization providing medical equipment and rehabilitation services throughout Israel via thousands of volunteers operating dozens of branches (Pietrokovski & Zini, 2006). Such organizations fulfill a stable and produc tive social function independent of both state intervention and market pressures, rooted instead in shared values of trust, partnership, and civic solidarity.

Within this context, mimetic desire in Israel takes on dis tinctive characteristics. Israelis often channel their desires beyond individual recognition and power toward societal belonging, human closeness, and historical and relational continuity. Indeed, most Israelis think of human loss, such as abortion, as sorrowful rather than a display of female empowerment. Stillbirth is treated as a tragedy rather than a status; abortion is experienced as a painful decision rather than a statement of independence. The emotional experi ence is embedded within a narrative framework where human worth is not defined solely by individual choices or material achievements but emerges fundamentally from the social and cultural contexts within which individuals are anchored.

Thus, mimetic dynamics in Israel differ markedly from those prevalent in many Western societies. Mediating institu tions offer individuals structures of belonging, cultural direc tion, and moral clarity. Unlike contexts where institutional disintegration leaves desire unanchored, in Israel, desire does not necessarily feed into competition and material attainment but often manifests itself through relationships of mutual belonging, partnership, and collective meaning.

For instance, groups that elsewhere in the West define their identity in opposition to societal norms instead seek integration in Israel. The central public struggle of the LGBT community in Israel did not center primarily on privatizing their identity or on claiming the right to difference but rather on the right to establish families and adopt children, aiming thus to be integrated within existing normative structures rather than challenging them fundamentally. The desire for recognition has operated through identification with existing institutions rather than through their rejection. This illus trates how even mimetic desires initially positioned outside the mainstream operate within a cultural framework in which collective belonging is central (Ilany & Ilany, 2021).

From this institutional structure emerges a distinctive demographic phenomenon. Israelis perceive the desire to create a family as a cultural response to the need to belong rather than a personal choice. They see it as a profound personal and familial achievement rather than a risk or limitation. Thus, the Israeli institutional structure funda mentally reshapes mimetic dynamics, transforming compe tition into a sense of belonging and enabling the desire to generate life in biological, cultural, and communal senses simultaneously.

This system of living institutions, distinctive cultural networks, and common moral consciousness makes Israel a valid case study of how social desire can structurally sup port capitalism through community commitment, historical and cultural continuity, and a profound sense of belonging.

Toward a New Form of Neo‑republicanism
Economics, like any field of human activity, is not neutral. It is embedded within a network of moral-human connec tions and thus inherently bound to questions of purpose and responsibility. Political and ethical thought, therefore, is incomplete without addressing the socio-economic model it engenders. In recent years, two primary neorepublican para digms have emerged (Pettit, 1997; Skinner, 1998; Maynor, 2003).

On the one hand, the neo-Roman model views the citizen primarily as a rational, autonomous individual who must be protected from arbitrary governmental power, thus favor ing a model of institutional, formal capitalism. Therefore, systems that follow this model regulate their markets, prop erty rights, and financial mechanisms with clearly defined laws and see freedom as an absence of coercion instead of a binding set of morals. In consequence, they lack internal moral structures that guide individual behavior. Within this paradigm, individuals stand before the law as isolated enti ties needing protection from tyranny; hence, freedom is con strued as legal protection, a negative right, often culminating in a libertarian orientation in which property rights, the free market, and minimal government intervention become pre conditions for a moral life.

In contrast, Athenian republicanism encourages pub lic participation as the driving force of politics and places political life above individual life. Athenians shaped city life collectively and considered political engagement as a form of freedom. Public discourse and collective decision making are the backbone of government legitimacy. Those ideals created a communitarian approach to economics in which shared civic responsibility is integrated with the free market. Thus, the Athenian model may sometimes seem like a social-democratic structure where state involvement cre ates civil solidarity.

However, the Israeli case does not align neatly with either of these models, presenting an opportunity to conceive of a third approach: Neo-Jerusalemite Republican Capitalism (NJRC). According to NJRC, individuals are fundamentally shaped by networks of connection. In Jerusalem, the com munity constitutes the individual, and freedom emerges from covenantal bonds rooted in loyalty to shared moral frame works. Consequently, this produces a distinct economic model, not grounded in an opposition between market and society but rather in moral responsibility embedded within an integrated social space. Thus, the NJRC model is an example of humanity’s quest to realize its purpose instead of an external mechanism for resource distribution, and freedom becomes a mission. That freedom is more than a removal of constraints. It becomes a commitment to a col lective ethical framework nourished by national, familial, and historical connections.

In this sense, NJRC is not merely a system of free enterprise but rather a moral and economic foundation for structured freedom. It rejects the libertarian tempta tion to conceive of the individual as an isolated entity, detached from natural communal bonds. At the same time, it rejects the social-democratic tendency to delegate moral and social responsibilities entirely to the state. Instead, it positions individuals at its center as citizens and cov enantal partners who operate within frameworks of law, community, and shared meaning—not merely as recipients of bureaucratic mechanisms or isolated consumers but as active participants shaping a moral space. The NJRC’s principles extend to helping human beings flourish crea tively, responsibly, and consistently while cultivating a dignified living environment.

Furthermore, the NJRC concept does not conform to the idea that freedom is an absence of limitations. Instead, it asserts that freedom is the result of supportive moral and institutional frameworks that enable, guide, and safeguard it. Consequently, Neo-Jerusalemite Republi can Capitalism requires a lean yet actively engaged state, a vibrant living tradition, a dynamic community, and an open market governed by standards of moderation, responsibility, and justice.

In many ways, NJRC shares foundational principles with the ordoliberalism (or “ordo-capitalism”) that emerged in post-World War II Germany, where it was similarly recog nized that a free market could not sustainably operate with out a clearly defined moral and legal framework (Eucken, 1950; Goldschmidt & Wohlgemuth, 2017). Ordoliberalism advocates limiting monopolies, promoting competition, ensuring stable currency, protecting property rights, struc turing market institutions, and guaranteeing equal entry conditions for all market participants. In this view, the state shapes the economic order but does not intervene directly in market processes themselves—economic freedom thus requires structure rather than anarchy.

However, NJRC extends beyond traditional ordoliberal ism by assigning central importance to mediating institu tions, particularly the family and community. In Hayekian terms, it posits that the success of the extended order funda mentally relies upon the health of the smaller, intimate order. When necessary, the principles of the intimate order must limit those of the extended order.

Many connect capitalism with expanded individual freedom and reduced governmental oversight. Therefore, they might perceive it requiring institutional boundaries as paradoxical. However, such restrictions, far from being arbi trary limits, are essential for economic and social liberty. To clarify this idea, one might compare it to the way defined constraints enable artistic creativity in music. A harmoni ous musical composition does not arise from absolute free dom but from adherence to strict rules governing scales, rhythms, and precise notes. If each musician were to play purely according to individual preference without shared guidelines, the result would be a cacophony. However, when musicians accept the rules, they cease to be restric tive and instead create harmony, leading them toward their full, collective musical potential. Just as musical creativ ity depends on clearly defined frameworks, a stable and healthy economy requires a well-defined institutional and moral structure.

Similarly, within the socio-economic framework of the NJRC model, setting institutional boundaries—manifested in the preservation and nurturing of mediating institutions such as family, community, and tradition—is precisely what enables the system’s stability and prosperity over the long term. According to the NJRC model, the free market does not rely merely on abstract universal principles but draws its strength from a living tradition, shared history, and cul tural identity, anchoring the market in a concrete human and moral foundation.

A distinctive contribution of the NJRC model lies, among other things, in clearly outlining to policymakers the crucial role of mediating institutions and demonstrating precisely how essential they are for ensuring the long-term stability and sustainability of free-market capitalism itself.

A. Knowledge Constraints and Epistemic Humility
The NJRC model is founded on acknowledging the inher ent limitations of human knowledge and governmental insti tutions. Just as market failures exist, governmental failures also occur, and often with greater severity. Public policy fre quently suffers from political biases, reliance on incomplete information, problematic incentives, and a tendency to per petuate ineffective institutional structures. Thus, a reliable economic system does not require us to move power from the market to the state, but instead, we must recognize the limitations inherent in state interventions. As exemplified by the USSR, attempts to centralize knowledge, markets, and outcomes are doomed. Therefore, the state should establish equitable rules instead of attempting to dictate specific out comes. Thus, policymakers must maintain epistemic humil ity and recognize that economic coordination comes from free interactions between individuals rather than central mandates because that is the only way to sustain economic freedom.

B. The State’s Role and Its Limits
The NJRC framework clearly defines and limits the state’s role. Thus, the state has a monopoly over the legiti mate use of force and is responsible for internal and exter nal security. Its primary function is to ensure fundamental conditions necessary for the free market to operate: protec tion of property rights, enforcement of contracts, preserva tion of fair competition, maintenance of the rule of law, and delivery of impartial justice. The state must guarantee equality before the law—in both rights and obligations— ensuring no individual is favored or discriminated against due to their origin, social status, or political connections. The state thus provides a neutral and universally applicable legal framework.

Therefore, the state’s responsibilities are limited to pro viding targeted, temporary assistance to citizens facing gen uine hardship, aligning with Ze’ev Jabotinsky’s foundational principle of guaranteeing food, housing, clothing, education, and healthcare. The state should, therefore, offer generous but temporary unemployment assistance, basic healthcare services, and foundational education. The purpose of this support is not to encourage dependence but rather to enable individuals to regain self-sufficiency and participate actively and freely in an open society (Jabotinsky, 1934/1949, pp. 295–302).

Moreover, state investment in public infrastructure is jus tified solely when indispensable for the efficient functioning of the free market and when competitive private solutions are unavailable. Such investments must be goal-oriented, limited in duration, and evaluated based on their contribu tion to liberating rather than constraining the market. Even then, direct state management or operational centralization should be avoided in favor of regulations promoting compe tition, outsourcing, and innovation.

It is explicitly not the state’s role to manage the economy, dictate wages or prices, or direct private investment. Nor is it the state’s role to redistribute wealth or guarantee equality of outcomes. Attempts at ensuring substantive equality of opportunity exceed state authority, require intrusive control over individual circumstances, and risk undermining per sonal freedom itself. Therefore, the state should refrain from central economic planning and instead establish stable con ditions that allow economic participation while guaranteeing minimal ethical standards that prevent societal degradation without imposing predetermined outcomes.

C. Fiscal Justice and Freedom from Forced Association
The NJRC proposes a simple, uniform, and equitable tax system. The purpose of taxation is to finance essential institutions—such as law enforcement, national security, and fundamental infrastructure—not to engineer equal out comes. As the market grows freer, more accessible, and more competitive, tax rates can be reduced, thereby expand ing individual liberty. Income tax should be as low as pos sible, uniform, and independent of the taxpayer’s identity or social status. Tax burdens should be based on the principle of personal responsibility rather than ambitions of “social correction.”

As markets become deeper and more sophisticated, it becomes feasible to replace universal welfare systems with targeted support for those genuinely in need. Effective taxa tion policy does not attempt to control the market but rather funds the conditions that allow the market’s free functioning.

Alongside the protection of property and occupational freedoms, contractual freedom must also be ensured. No individual should be compelled to adhere to collective agreements to which they have not consented, nor should employers be forced into negotiations with unions not chosen by their employees. Legislation granting pref erential or exclusive legal status to unions undermines free choice, harms productivity, and may disrupt public institutions.

The right to freedom of association does not extend to coercing membership. A republican state must protect both the freedom to associate voluntarily and the right not to be forced into association.

D. Mediating Institutions, Communal Time, and Liberty Supporting Constraints Economic freedom cannot exist sustainably without a supportive moral, cultural, and institutional framework. Therefore, the NJRC advocates for specific public policies that limit capitalism, such as constraints sometimes seen as regulatory burdens, in order to ensure its long-term, stable sustainability. Examples include the following:

1. A Weekly Day of Rest and Regulated Business Hours
A day off from work each week. The Sabbath and lim ited daily trading hours may appear to restrict economic activity. However, that time free from work or consump tion creates the ideal conditions for family and communal relationships to thrive while allowing individuals to recu perate psychological and physical robustness, preventing burnout.

2. The Right to Disconnect
Policies clearly separating work and personal time—such as restricting professional communication outside official work hours—might initially appear to hinder organiza tional efficiency. However, in the long term, such meas ures reduce employee burnout, strengthen family stability, and mitigate social alienation resulting from continuous professional availability.

3. Encouraging Long-Term Savings and Limiting Con sumer Credit Policies regulating and restricting the availability of easy consumer credit, combined with the active encourage ment of long-term savings and investment mechanisms, are sometimes viewed as constraints on short-term eco nomic freedom. Nevertheless, encouraging financial liquidity for citizens prevents consumer bubbles and debt crises, creating a more responsible economic, family, and community environment, which helps to prevent social disintegration.

4. Urban Planning Emphasizing Community Spaces

Prioritizing public spaces over commercial ones in urban planning might limit short-term profitability but creates social environments that enhance the public’s sense of belonging, reduces social isolation, and supports long term prosperity.

5. Public Support for Community Centers and Cultural Institutions

Giving public funding to cultural institutions, and thus cultivating a shared ethos, creates a stable cultural space that reinforces community cohesion and collective iden tity. Far from restricting free-market activity, this type of state intervention provides the conditions necessary for a healthy, efficient, and sustainable market.

Discussion The Unique Contribution of the Neo‑Jerusalemite Model

This author believes that establishing clear limits for capi talism will resolve its internal contradictions. Such limits should not be arbitrary but provide the essential conditions for the stable and full realization of the economic and social system. The NJRC model emphasizes a state that assumes limited yet consistent responsibility, carefully cultivating institutions of virtue such as family, religion, tradition, and community, thereby providing fertile ground for sustainable economic growth. Traffic lights might seem to restrict move ment. However, they actually regulate it so that individual vehicles may flow freely. In a similar vein, mediating insti tutions in capitalist economies create a framework for free markets to flourish without eroding the foundations that sup port them. Therefore, the NJRC is ideally suited to revital izing capitalist economies while maintaining the liberty that is inseparable from responsibility and the sense of belonging that prevents us from falling into the ruthless individualism that would destroy both our economic freedom and social fabric.

Shared Diagnosis, Divergent Institutional Remedies

It is pertinent to acknowledge that the diagnosis of these “poly crises” aligns with critical perspectives often associated with the “New Left” (O’Hara, 2022, 2025). Both approaches iden tify the commodification of social life as a destructive force. However, the NJRC diverges fundamentally on the institutional remedy. Rather than seeking a solution through expanded state intervention or the dismantling of market mechanisms, the NJRC posits that the necessary counter-balance to atomiza tion is the revitalization of civil society’s pre-political institu tions. The goal is a “re-embedded” market, constrained not by bureaucracy, but by a robust ethical culture.

The NJRC model does not claim to offer a singular, defini tive solution to the social crises of late capitalism. Instead, it provides a critical and theoretical middle path between lib ertarian and social-democratic approaches. Its strength lies in rethinking the relationship between mediating institutions, free markets, and long-term social stability, avoiding both extreme individualism and excessive state centralization. Con sequently, the NJRC is a potential solution to the acute fertility crisis in Western countries by providing a socio-economic framework where family and community are not perceived as burdens but as sources of personal and collective meaning and stability. Therefore, the NJRC is a significant contribution to the present discourse concerning the failings of contemporary capitalism and offers a foundation upon which to reconsider the relationships between economic freedom, social respon sibility, and mediating societal institutions.

Ecological Sustainability and Intergenerational Stewardship

Furthermore, the NJRC framework addresses what O’Hara (2025) identifies as the ecological dimension of capitalism’s “polycrises.” The logic of unchecked mimetic desire, which treats social capital as a resource for immediate extraction, applies equally to natural capital. A market disembedded from moral constraints tends to exhaust environmental resources just as it exhausts communal bonds, prioritizing short-term consumption over long-term viability.

In this context, the NJRC’s emphasis on mediating institu tions fosters an ethos of stewardship essential for ecological sustainability. Practices such as the Sabbath—a mandated cessation of production and consumption—and the republi can commitment to intergenerational continuity train citizens to act as guardians of their inheritance. By placing limits on the “extended order” of the market, the NJRC model suggests that sustainable capitalism requires preserving not only the social ecology of the family but also the physical ecology upon which all economic activity ultimately depends.

Limitations of Generalization and the Israeli Uniqueness

It is essential to clarify the scope of this analysis. The empirical discussion in this section focuses primarily on mediating institutions that are especially salient within Jewish Israeli society. A further limitation concerns civic inclusion and republican legitimacy. Many readers will view Israel as an incomplete or contested case of good governance because Palestinians are not meaningfully included within the broader system of governance. This article does not resolve that normative and political prob lem. The Israeli case is therefore used in a narrow, descrip tive sense to illustrate how certain mediating institutions can coexist with economic growth and high fertility, not to offer a general endorsement of the Israeli polity as a fully inclusive republican model.

A separate explanatory question concerns the sources of social cohesion. Some accounts attribute Israeli cohe sion primarily to external threat or conflict. To distinguish cohesion produced by external pressure from cohesion sustained by internally chosen commitments, I draw on J. B. Soloveitchik’s distinction between a Covenant of Fate, imposed by external threats, and a Covenant of Destiny, chosen through shared values (Soloveitchik, 2000). This conceptual distinction does not settle the inclusion prob lem noted above. It is used here only to clarify the mecha nism of cohesion relevant to the case study.

While the geopolitical conflict indeed imposes a Cov enant of Fate, the NJRC model is rooted in the Covenant of Destiny—the active choice of a life of meaning and community. Empirical evidence reinforces this: high fer tility rates and robust community bonds are observed not only in Israel but also among Orthodox Jewish commu nities in the Diaspora. For instance, Orthodox Jews in the USA average 3.3 children per adult compared to 1.5 among non-Orthodox Jews (Pew Research Center, 2021), and Haredi women in the UK have a total fertility rate of 6.04 children (Staetsky & Boyd, 2015). Since these communities share the “Covenant of Destiny” but do not participate in the state’s geopolitical control, it suggests that the drivers of social resilience are cultural (internal) rather than political (external). Thus, the model stands as an analysis of civic republicanism within the citizenry, distinct from the broader geopolitical disputes surround ing the region.

Risks of Excessive Communitarianism
Excessive communitarianism could become socially restrictive, diminishing personal freedoms, increasing social pressures, and producing excessively rigid cul tural controls that limit human creativity. Therefore, despite the importance of mediating institutions, imple menting a version of the NJRC model would require specific measures that protect individual autonomy and prevent market alienation from being replaced by com munal tyranny.

Limitations of Mimetic Desire Theory
Despite René Girard’s mimetic desire theory making a sig nificant contribution to our understanding of economic and cultural systems, it may oversimplify some social phenom ena. Numerous psychological, biological, and structural fac tors influence human behavior. Therefore, over-relying on a single theory might limit our understanding of economic and social mechanisms. Therefore, future research should combine mimetic desire theory with other perspectives to create a more comprehensive understanding of how to over come the social factors undermining the sustainability of late capitalism.

Open Questions for Practical Implementation
There are many unresolved questions surrounding the ideal nature of state interventions required for the practi cal implementation of the NJRC model. For example, what state interventions should we use to balance social stability with private initiatives and economic freedoms? Future stud ies should clarify theoretical and empirical research to help comprehend and effectively implement the NJRC model.

Practical Challenges in Implementing the Model
Implementing the NJRC model will probably provoke sev eral challenges. The public may resist new restrictions on economic activity and personal freedom. That would require robust political leadership that could withstand pressure from civil society and commercial interests advocating for deregulation. Furthermore, increasingly globalized and digi talized economies could make implementing national insti tutions that protect communal and cultural cohesion chal lenging. Thus, those wishing to implement the NJRC model must adapt to both domestic and international conditions.

In conclusion, the NJRC model significantly contributes to scholarly discourse by offering an open, constructive, and balanced framework for reconsidering the interac tions between free markets, social stability, and mediating institutions.


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The revolution in Iran functions like a magnet near a compass. Suddenly, all the emotional, linguistic, and identity tools into which the student was socialized, and which previously enabled him to act, cease to function.

The subject is never the source of his own sovereignty. He is formed within language, within a symbolic order, and he acts in anticipation of recognition from the Other. This Other is not a particular individual, but a system of authorities, values, norms, and modes of discourse. For the student, this Other is embodied in academia, in critical theory, in the progressive collective.

When this Other provides a clear framework, the subject operates with relative ease. He knows how to speak, how to protest, how to position himself on the moral side. Action is not experienced as an existential effort but as alignment. It provides a sense of belonging and stability.

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The situation in Iran, however, produces a failure in this mechanism. A moral intuition that cannot be denied collides with a progressive conceptual world incapable of containing the situation. The oppressed Orientalist subject turns out to be the oppressor.

Conceptual dogmatism encounters a reality that exceeds it. Suddenly there is no established language that situates the event within the familiar dialectic of oppressor and oppressed. The subject discovers that the authority on which he relied is incomplete.

This encounter with absence generates anxiety. Not anxiety in the face of violence in Iran, but identity anxiety arising from the need to articulate a moral position without symbolic backing. Taking a position under such conditions requires assuming subjective responsibility, that is, acting without full reliance on a ready-made discourse. For progressives, this is a threatening step.

The false self that developed as an adaptation to the expectations of the environment, and that enables smooth functioning within existing frameworks, becomes unsettled when it is forced to think independently. In Winnicott’s terms, this is the point at which the true self appears, when there is no clear script within which one is meant to act.

The student operates through a well-functioning false self. He knows what to say and how to appear moral.

But the events in Iran shatter the familiar script. There are no stable slogans through which reality can be grasped. In such a situation, contact with the true self is required, with a position that is not rewarded as enlightened by the surrounding environment. Moral paralysis and silence function as defense mechanisms of the false self against total collapse.

Within the ideology the student has internalized, the human being does not appear as a concrete and real individual, but as a theoretical representation bearing an identity he did not choose. He is always defined a priori through the group to which he belongs. When reality exceeds theory, it becomes unclear how to relate to the concrete person fighting for freedom. As a result, the Iranian victim does not appear as a living moral figure, but as an unresolved conceptual problem.

Silence on campus is therefore not merely a descriptive failure but a moral one. It testifies to a form of consciousness that has lost its capacity for judgment once the organizing discourse disappears. A position that speaks in the name of morality yet can act only when supported by a closed ideological lexicon is not a moral position. It is a technique of belonging and loyalty. When a direct human response to a concrete individual struggling for freedom is required, such consciousness becomes paralyzed. This is not because reality is unclear, but because morality has been replaced by loyalty to a distorted discourse.

Iran thus reveals not a practical error but the limitation of progressive ideological discourse itself, a discourse that does not merely fail in this case, but proves incapable of serving as a foundation for moral consciousness in general.

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My family and I have spent a wonderful period among you.
I suppose some of you remember how, in the middle of the Simchat Torah service two years ago, I went out to defend the Jewish people.

Since then, I have been through four rounds of fighting, and these days I have been called for a fifth, another fifty days near the Syrian border.

I am 45 years old, a professor of philosophy, a father of five daughters. Believe me, this is not how I imagined I would spend the past two years.

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The events in the United States trouble me deeply. I think of you constantly.
Every week, as we sing Lecha Dodi at the Kabbalat Shabbat service, we say:
“סוף מעשה במחשבה תחילה” (The end of an act is first conceived in thought).
Another version of this idea distinguishes between a wise person and a discerning one:
The discerning person avoids a trouble that the merely wise person would not have entered in the first place.

I write all this because I care about you deeply.
I see the forces shaping today’s discourse, on the American left with Zohran Mamdani, and on the American right with Tucker Carlson, pulling public life toward extremes that leave Jews exposed.

This is no longer fringe: rising hostility on campuses, open harassment at marches, and the mainstreaming of eliminationist rhetoric. It is hard to imagine a positive scenario for American Jews after the next elections. That means you have roughly two years to prepare for the end of the golden age of the American diaspora.

When the time comes, we will not be able to help you. The IDF will not come to assist you in the United States.

I implore you, out of sincere concern, to come home, to make Aliyah. Human nature tends to repress; nevertheless, this is the time to awaken and to act. This is the time to be courageous. The courage it takes to immigrate is a small price compared with the alternative.

History teaches that wherever we have lived, sooner or later we were hunted. Come home.

It is not perfect here, but here we take our destiny into our own hands. Here we are not only surviving; we are fulfilling what the Torah promised. The prophecies of comfort speak of the return to Zion, the ingathering of exiles, the rebuilding of our cities, the renewal of our language and life in our land. One by one, they are unfolding before our eyes.

“לשנה הבאה בירושלים הבנויה.”

Yours,

Dr. Ronen Shoval

Thus, for example, Rousseau describes the human being as good in the state of nature. He opens The Social Contract with the assertion: “Man is born free, and everywhere he is in chains.” Corruption does not stem from human nature itself, but from historical arrangements that created dependency and inequality. Hence a critical stance toward institutions as they actually are, when they distort liberty. Rousseau’s solution is not dismantling for its own sake, but the remaking of institutions on the basis of the general will, so that the person’s inner freedom will once again shape the law. The general will is not the sum of private desires, but a striving for a common good that grants the law its force.

Hobbes, by contrast, begins from a suspicious anthropology. Imagine a reality without a common sovereign and without law. The state of nature is a “war of all against all,” and human life is “solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short.” Without the awe of kingship, in the Sages’ phrase, “each would swallow his fellow alive.” Therefore ordered coercion is required: the Leviathan, a strong sovereign who unifies authority in order to enforce civil peace. Human beings transfer to the sovereign many rights to ensure security, but they do not surrender the right to preserve their lives. The authorization is given among themselves, and the sovereign is not a party to the contract; law is born from the unified authority they agreed to vest in order to end the war.

The Torah offers a third direction. It does not decide whether a person is “born” good or evil, but points to dynamism and potential. Before the Flood it is said: “And every inclination of the thoughts of his heart was only evil all the day.” After the Flood, when Noah offers a sacrifice, it is said: “The LORD smelled the pleasing aroma, and the LORD said to His heart: I will not again curse the ground because of man, for the inclination of man’s heart is evil from his youth; nor will I again strike down every living thing.” The precision matters: “every” and “only” have been removed, and “from his youth” has been added. This is not despair of the human being, but a sober recognition of a certain stage in his development. Immediately thereafter new arrangements are given: a blessing to be fruitful and multiply; permission to eat meat alongside a prohibition of blood; the law of the sanctity of human life—“for in the image of God He made the human being”; and finally the covenant of the rainbow. The recognition of the complexity of the inclination gives birth to covenant and to institutions.

What human structure is implied here? The human being possesses choice. In childhood, foundational traits of character take shape, for good and for ill. In adolescence, forces awaken before responsibility has matured: sexuality, physical strength, and the drive to influence. Boundaries are loose and temptation is swift. Therefore “the inclination of the human heart is evil from his youth”—not because the essence of the human being is evil, but because at this stage power precedes responsibility. Yet a person need not remain an adolescent. He can overcome, and therefore he can mature, restrain, and refine himself. He can channel impulse into creativity. This is the meaning of sublimation: placing the inclination in the service of the common good.

From this also follows the Torah’s view of the role of social institutions. They are not meant to crush human freedom, nor to abandon a person to his impulses. The family, the community, and tradition are mediating institutions between the individual and the state. They set living boundaries, cultivate good habits, and teach the responsible use of power. They do not abolish the inclination but raise it a degree. Civic education binds freedom to responsibility, and teaches that choice is not license but the willing acceptance of public obligation.

Thus the logic of the portion of Noah is built. Recognizing the storm of youth does not negate hope; it establishes a covenant. Not the dismantling of chains for its own sake, and not the cult of an absolute sovereign. An order in which law and lovingkindness go together. A covenant that invites the person to grow, to use his freedom for the common good, and to show that even after a flood one can begin anew. At the point where power halts before the image of God in the other, a shared morality begins to be born.

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Twentieth-century philosophy came to celebrate this phenomenon.
If Kant still recognized that human knowledge is bound by the mode through which phenomena appear to us, his successors eliminated the very notion of the thing-in-itself. What we call “reality” gradually became nothing more than representations that refer to no substance — only to the power structures that sustain them.

Consider the evolution of the idea of the nation.
At first stood the classical current (primordialism), which viewed the nation as a natural phenomenon rooted in blood, descent, language, religion, and culture.
Nationalism, in this view, is the direct continuation of ancient affinities among ethnic groups.
Later came another current — epitomized by Benedict Anderson — which held that the nation is the product of a shared imagination: not something that pre-existed, but rather the outcome of modern conditions that gave rise to it.
This imagination, however, rests upon a real substratum — a living language, folklore, institutional traditions, a stable memory, patterns of life.
Here, the nation’s name reveals its body.

Yet cultural constructivism does not stop there.
For it, political imagination itself is a fiction — an attempt to fill an absolute void, to substitute declaration for being.
A declaration may act, but its efficacy depends upon the continual affirmation of a believing gaze.
Faith becomes the substitute for truth. Imagination must fabricate a foundation retroactively; hence it relies on the ceaseless validation of external discourse.

And as if to prove the thesis, the anti-essentialist turn coincided with an invention ex nihilo: the perfect test case — the Palestinian “people.”
Here, instead of the realization of a right to self-determination, we encounter the invention of a right that never existed, whose purpose is to negate one that does.
A play of signifiers at the expense of reality.
Every presentation of Palestinian nationhood rests upon the negation of Jewish nationhood — a cultural plagiarism of name, flag, map, and history.
This ontological theft, buttressed by legal declarations and the sanction of international institutions, serves to conjure ex nihilo a national framework whose sole function is the erasure of Jewish collective existence.
Thus a performative existence takes shape: it acts because it is being enacted — written, spoken, and endlessly reiterated.

The Western fascination with “Palestinianism” embodies a collective fetish.
It is a mechanism that endows the object (the Palestinian) with surplus power, as a defense against an anxiety rooted in the unbearable real — Israel.
A man who develops desire toward a woman’s shoe does not confuse the shoe with the woman; his psychic structure transfers desire onto a substitute object that replaces the real.
The shoe becomes the locus of release, a means of controlling a symbolic fragment of femininity.
So too with European Palestinianization: signs, names, and rituals function as substitute objects charged with moral and political desire.
The third term — “the Palestinian” — appears, enabling the negation of the Jewish collective.
This negation no longer requires Auschwitz; it fulfills itself through appeals to justice and human rights, invoked in the name of national liberation.

Hence the symbolic order keeps accumulating layers of fictive rituality meant to confirm the existence of what does not exist.
Grandiose declarations, international resolutions, conferences, ceremonies, and now flotillas — all operate as fetishistic rites reinforcing the substitute object.
This is not a crude falsehood but a mechanism of belief that seeks to convert absence into the semblance of a concrete Palestinian reality through the repetition of an invented sign.
In Baudrillard’s terms, it is a simulacrum — a copy that moves and multiplies without an original.
Yet what must be added here is the logic of desire: the endless proliferation of signs is not merely propaganda but a means of channeling European guilt — the repressed desire to kill the Jew — toward an object that offers catharsis.

Man was created with the capacity to endow the nonexistent with reality.
This is an inherent element of culture — its source of power and its temptation.
Philosophy’s task is not to wage war on the imaginary, but to discern when it discloses being and when it conceals its absence.
When the bond between name and body is preserved, culture is born; when it is severed, a fetishistic mechanism of political desire emerges to fill the void.
When imagination detaches from being, delusion is born: gods without divinity, a high-heeled shoe instead of a woman, and a people without existence.
Philosophy does not judge the act of creation, but the integrity of its creator — for even the imaginary bears responsibility.
One may look upon the imagined and say it “exists,” but only he who sustains a living relation between idea and reality touches truth.

In the early Republic, a long struggle was waged between the patricians, the old aristocracy, and the plebeians, the majority of citizens. This conflict lasted for generations until a compromise was reached. The plebeians received representation in the institutions, were admitted to the consulship and the higher magistracies, and the office of the tribunes with veto power was established.

This partnership between aristocracy and commoners created a political balance that enabled Rome to consolidate its power and grow into an imperial force. Rome’s greatness was born not from exclusion, but from inclusion.

In the later Republic, however, a new elite emerged once again, the Optimates, opposed by the Populares who claimed to represent the people. This time no compromise was reached. The elite blocked reforms, rejected demands for participation, and resorted to violence.

The defining event was the murder of the Gracchus brothers, Tiberius and Gaius, who sought to pass land reforms for soldiers and the poor. The Senate perceived their initiatives as a threat and sanctioned their killings, along with hundreds and later thousands of their supporters. From that moment onward, the barrier was broken: the elite was willing to use political murder to preserve its privileges.

From then on, violence became a norm. Sulla, a general and consul aligned with the Optimates, took an unprecedented step. When the Senate denied him command in a war, he marched his legions on Rome itself. For the first time in history, a Roman army was turned against Roman citizens. Sulla seized the city, eliminated his opponents, and published lists of proscription that condemned thousands to death. In the name of “defending the old order,” Sulla turned the Republic into a blood-soaked arena.

Thus the elite emptied the very idea of liberty of its meaning. Liberty became a privilege of the few, a justification for oligarchic supremacy. Other factors certainly contributed to the collapse of the Republic, including the ambition of charismatic generals and the deepening of social polarization, but the persistent obstruction and violence of the elite stood at the center. It pushed the people to seek protection in Julius Caesar and in his heir Augustus, who in the name of “the people” and in the name of “liberty” constructed one-man rule.

Cicero, one of the leading intellectuals of the age, understood the danger clearly. In his view, neither the authority of a single ruler nor the closed monopoly of the Senate could guarantee liberty. Only a republic in which law and tradition created a shared framework between aristocracy and commoners could endure.

He emphasized that true liberty depends on virtue — the capacity of both citizens and elites to restrain themselves, to respect institutions, and to act for the common good.

Cicero’s proposal did not save Rome, but it remains both a warning and a vision: liberty that does not rest on partnership and on virtue cannot endure. It is not only Rome’s story, but the perennial danger of every republic.

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Throughout the twentieth century, we saw time and again how intellectuals from the Left, dazzled and enthralled, were drawn to the worst tyrants—to the most totalitarian and violent movements. Sartre supported Mao, Castro, and the Soviet Union; Foucault praised Khomeini; Hobsbawm remained loyal to Stalin until his dying day; Chomsky stood by the Khmer Rouge and Hezbollah.

But how can this be? Are they not supposed to advance equality, liberty, and love? The truth is that equality and liberty contradict each other. Love, by its nature, is partial—we love our children more than our neighbor’s. And liberty means the freedom to love in this partial way. To reconcile the contradiction, they seek to impose power in the name of “justice.”

The historian Jacob Talmon traced this dynamic—from Plato through Robespierre and Rousseau—and wrote: “Totalitarian messianism crystallized into an exclusive system whose pioneering exponents considered themselves the enlightened of society, entitled, and even obligated, to impose upon the recalcitrant the proper virtues of liberty.”

Robespierre himself put it this way: “The purity of the principles of the French Revolution... is our strength as well as our weakness. Our strength, for it gives us the advantage of truth... our weakness, for it unites against us all the villains... The force of the Revolution is virtue; terror is no more than swift justice, an emanation of virtue itself.”

This principle reappears in Marx’s Communist Manifesto. The world is divided into oppressors and oppressed. The oppressed must wield power against their oppressors. Thus will the dictatorship of the proletariat be established. Marx himself declared that the proletariat would establish its rule by overthrowing the bourgeoisie through sheer force.

At the dawn of the twentieth century, Georges Sorel published Reflections on Violence. For him, violence was not merely a legitimate political tool but a myth that bound the masses together and gave them meaning. The violence embodied in a general strike—in blocking roads and halting the economy—was not only tactical but a means to set society as a whole in motion.

In the 1960s, anti-colonial theorist Frantz Fanon argued that revolutionary violence was not only legitimate but necessary for full psychological and political liberation. Colonialism, he held, disfigured the personality of the oppressed and degraded their humanity; only through violence and bloodshed could the oppressed regain dignity and be reborn.

Herbert Marcuse, in One-Dimensional Man and other political essays, insisted that liberty in America was an illusion: consumer society generated false consciousness, and the social order stifled any true alternative. Hence, he argued, intolerance—and even violence—from the margins was necessary to rupture the oppression embedded in the existing system.

Similarly, feminist activist Carol Hanisch wrote in her famous essay “The Personal Is Political” that there is no “private” sphere untouched by power relations. Domestic life and the division of labor themselves embodied oppressive patriarchal structures. By erasing the boundary between the personal and the political, she opened the door to aggressive regulation of every sphere of thought and behavior.

Later, Marxist theorist Louis Althusser (who, incidentally, strangled his wife to death) developed the idea of the “ideological state apparatuses.” He argued that oppression operates not only through physical force but also through education, religion, culture, and media, which shape people to willingly enslave themselves. Thus, in his view, only revolutionary violence could shatter these structures.

Even today, Slavoj Žižek, one of the Left’s most prominent thinkers, defends revolutionary violence. For him, poverty and capitalist exploitation are violence disguised as the “natural order.” Against this he celebrates “divine violence” (drawing on Walter Benjamin), not as another political tool but as a means of utterly erasing the existing order, both physically and symbolically.

This line of thought continues in our own time. Cancel culture and identity politics generate violence in the name of equality. In their world, the other side is not merely mistaken—they are impure. They are the very agents of oppression. Hence violence is deployed against them in countless forms: humiliation, boycotts, mockery, slander, academic and media suppression, economic sanctions, obstacles to career advancement. Any differing opinion is recast as illegitimate “hate speech,” transforming those who hold it into immoral beings.

Thus, they consciously and systematically suppress others in the name of producing “justice.” Their goal is not the pursuit of truth but the imposition of outcomes. In this way, those who see the world solely through the lens of power and oppression wield power and oppression to achieve yet more of it. The circle closes: falsehood becomes legitimate. In the name of “justice,” they perpetrate injustice; in the name of “freedom,” they impose bondage.

And here we return to Charlie Kirk, of blessed memory. He bore no sword but only words. He believed in free debate, in the courage to speak truth against a culture of fear. In his life he sanctified Voltaire’s idea: the right of the other to disagree with us as the path to discovering truth. This struggle is a struggle for the image of man and the soul of society. Why do totalitarians seek to destroy debate rather than join it? What are their intellectual roots? And how is it that the Left, waving the banners of equality and love, so often breeds violence, demonization, incitement, and even celebrates murder online?

Throughout the twentieth century, we saw time and again how intellectuals from the Left, dazzled and enthralled, were drawn to the worst tyrants—to the most totalitarian and violent movements. Sartre supported Mao, Castro, and the Soviet Union; Foucault praised Khomeini; Hobsbawm remained loyal to Stalin until his dying day; Chomsky stood by the Khmer Rouge and Hezbollah.

But how can this be? Are they not supposed to advance equality, liberty, and love? The truth is that equality and liberty contradict each other. Love, by its nature, is partial—we love our children more than our neighbor’s. And liberty means the freedom to love in this partial way. To reconcile the contradiction, they seek to impose power in the name of “justice.”

The historian Jacob Talmon traced this dynamic—from Plato through Robespierre and Rousseau—and wrote: “Totalitarian messianism crystallized into an exclusive system whose pioneering exponents considered themselves the enlightened of society, entitled, and even obligated, to impose upon the recalcitrant the proper virtues of liberty.”

Robespierre himself put it this way: “The purity of the principles of the French Revolution... is our strength as well as our weakness. Our strength, for it gives us the advantage of truth... our weakness, for it unites against us all the villains... The force of the Revolution is virtue; terror is no more than swift justice, an emanation of virtue itself.”

This principle reappears in Marx’s Communist Manifesto. The world is divided into oppressors and oppressed. The oppressed must wield power against their oppressors. Thus will the dictatorship of the proletariat be established. Marx himself declared that the proletariat would establish its rule by overthrowing the bourgeoisie through sheer force.

At the dawn of the twentieth century, Georges Sorel published Reflections on Violence. For him, violence was not merely a legitimate political tool but a myth that bound the masses together and gave them meaning. The violence embodied in a general strike—in blocking roads and halting the economy—was not only tactical but a means to set society as a whole in motion.

In the 1960s, anti-colonial theorist Frantz Fanon argued that revolutionary violence was not only legitimate but necessary for full psychological and political liberation. Colonialism, he held, disfigured the personality of the oppressed and degraded their humanity; only through violence and bloodshed could the oppressed regain dignity and be reborn.

Herbert Marcuse, in One-Dimensional Man and other political essays, insisted that liberty in America was an illusion: consumer society generated false consciousness, and the social order stifled any true alternative. Hence, he argued, intolerance—and even violence—from the margins was necessary to rupture the oppression embedded in the existing system.

Similarly, feminist activist Carol Hanisch wrote in her famous essay “The Personal Is Political” that there is no “private” sphere untouched by power relations. Domestic life and the division of labor themselves embodied oppressive patriarchal structures. By erasing the boundary between the personal and the political, she opened the door to aggressive regulation of every sphere of thought and behavior.

Later, Marxist theorist Louis Althusser (who, incidentally, strangled his wife to death) developed the idea of the “ideological state apparatuses.” He argued that oppression operates not only through physical force but also through education, religion, culture, and media, which shape people to willingly enslave themselves. Thus, in his view, only revolutionary violence could shatter these structures.

Even today, Slavoj Žižek, one of the Left’s most prominent thinkers, defends revolutionary violence. For him, poverty and capitalist exploitation are violence disguised as the “natural order.” Against this he celebrates “divine violence” (drawing on Walter Benjamin), not as another political tool but as a means of utterly erasing the existing order, both physically and symbolically.

This line of thought continues in our own time. Cancel culture and identity politics generate violence in the name of equality. In their world, the other side is not merely mistaken—they are impure. They are the very agents of oppression. Hence violence is deployed against them in countless forms: humiliation, boycotts, mockery, slander, academic and media suppression, economic sanctions, obstacles to career advancement. Any differing opinion is recast as illegitimate “hate speech,” transforming those who hold it into immoral beings.

Thus, they consciously and systematically suppress others in the name of producing “justice.” Their goal is not the pursuit of truth but the imposition of outcomes. In this way, those who see the world solely through the lens of power and oppression wield power and oppression to achieve yet more of it. The circle closes: falsehood becomes legitimate. In the name of “justice,” they perpetrate injustice; in the name of “freedom,” they impose bondage.

And here we return to Charlie Kirk, of blessed memory. He bore no sword but only words. He believed in free debate, in the courage to speak truth against a culture of fear. In his life he sanctified Voltaire’s idea: the right of the other to disagree with us as the path to discovering truth. This struggle is a struggle for the image of man and the soul of society. Kirk gave his life for his faith in freedom. May his memory endure as a blessing.

Nearby, a small farm bustled with the simple life of goats and chickens. When invited to milk a goat, only my youngest daughter, just six years old, stepped forward with the innocent curiosity that once defined our species. The others hesitated, shrinking back as if confronted by something wholly unnatural. The udder, an eternal symbol of sustenance and life, had become a source of discomfort and aversion. The natural world, which once shaped us, now feels like a forgotten language, one we no longer speak with ease or understanding.

This moment sharpened my awareness of a deep and growing rift, a chasm not only between us and the natural world, but within us. What was once as familiar as the sky and the earth now seems distant, even threatening. Our gradual journey from living with nature to alienation has felt almost imperceptible, like a 25-minute drive that transports us to an entirely different emotional galaxy. The distance is undeniable. We have grown wary of the very sights and sounds that once grounded us, highlighting a discomfort that is as much internal as it is external. We have grown accustomed to not seeing the stars and the lights of the sky. As we forget the sky, we lose a piece of ourselves. The natural, which shaped the contours of everyday life, has become something alien, an anxiety that lacks all proportion.

The Alienation Within: Estrangement from Self

But this alienation is not confined to forests and fields; it mirrors our inner lives. We are beings of the earth, yet our detachment from nature reflects a deeper disconnection from our bodies, from our essence. When we turn away from the natural, we also turn away from ourselves. Our bodies, once celebrated in their natural form, have become battlegrounds of discontent.

Modern society, in its relentless pursuit of control and perfection, has deepened this divide. The comforts of progress have distanced us from the rawness of being human. The imperfections that once marked the passage of life are now seen as defects to be corrected, not as truths to be embraced. In our search for an idealized version of ourselves, smooth, flawless, eternally youthful, we lose sight of the deeper beauty of imperfection. Our dissatisfaction grows, fed by the impossible standards we set against a world we no longer touch.

The Crisis of Modernity: The Loss of Natural Rhythm

Our carefully controlled environments, air conditioned homes, manicured lawns, endless rows of concrete, offer safety but sever us from the rhythms that once guided human life. Food, once grown with our own hands, now arrives in neat, sterile packages, detached from the soil that gave it life. The seasons change, yet our lives remain constant, bathed in the artificial light of screens and the predictable hum of technology. Our bodies, designed to move and stretch in response to nature’s demands, now sit idle, detached from the call of the earth. We have gained security but sacrificed the comfort of belonging.

This disconnection resonates beyond the physical. It shapes our consciousness, our emotions, our sense of belonging. Children, once natural explorers, now roam digital landscapes, disconnected from the tactile world that nourished generations before them. Try convincing a child to lift their eyes from a screen and look out at the horizon. The rise in mental and emotional struggles, anxiety, depression, a pervasive sense of emptiness, reflects not just a personal crisis but a cultural one. We are strangers in our own lives, swept up in the world we created, cut off from the earth that once held us together.

The Philosophical Roots of Alienation: From Rousseau to Marx

Our detachment from nature has deep philosophical roots that stretch back centuries. Rousseau lamented the loss of humanity’s “natural state,” a pure existence corrupted by the trappings of civilization. Marx, in turn, saw alienation as the inevitable consequence of a system that reduces human labor to a mere commodity. Both perspectives echo a profound sense of loss, a disconnection not just from nature but from ourselves.

These ideas, while rich in insight, often leave us mourning rather than mending. The task before us is not to wallow in the critique of modernity but to envision a path forward that bridges the gap between the world we have built and the one we have forgotten. It is a call to reimagine our place in the world, not as conquerors, but as stewards, reclaiming the wisdom of the past in the face of present challenges.

Rediscovering Ancient Wisdom: To Work It and To Keep It

The Torah offers us guiding light through its simple yet profound commandment: "to work it and to keep it"—לעבדה ולשמרה. These words capture a delicate balance between nurturing and preserving, control and humility. We are called to cultivate the land, to draw sustenance from its depths, but also to preserve its sanctity, to tread lightly, recognizing that it is not ours alone.

This command is more than ecological stewardship; it is a call to reconnect with a way of being that honors both our power and our limits. In a world obsessed with productivity, the simple act of being, observing without altering, nurturing without exploiting, feels almost revolutionary. To “work it” is not merely about extraction; it is about engaging in a relationship with the land that recognizes our shared fate. To “keep it” means remembering that we are not merely users of the earth, but its caretakers, bound to its rhythms and responsible for its future.

Tu Bishvat and Shabbat: Sowing the Seeds of Connection

The Jewish tradition of Tu Bishvat, the New Year for Trees, embodies this connection. Each year, Israeli children take to the fields, planting saplings that will grow alongside them. This ritual, rooted in centuries-old tradition, is more than a celebration of nature’s renewal; it is a deliberate act of connection. Over the past 120 years, the Jewish National Fund (KKL) has planted more than 260 million trees across Israel, weaving a green carpet that covers over 250,000 dunams. These efforts are not just about restoring land; they are about restoring a relationship.

This connection to the land is not utilitarian; it is existential. The trees planted on Tu Bishvat are symbols of life that lives not only on the land but also with it. The campaigns that have inspired generations to plant and care for trees are not just environmental; they are deeply spiritual. They remind us that we are not separate from the earth, but are nourished by it in every sense, physically, emotionally, spiritually.

Equally powerful is the tradition of Shabbat, a weekly pause that asks us to step back from the relentless pace of life. On Shabbat, we are called to disconnect from technology, from work, from the constant demands of modern existence. It is a day that invites us to be present, with our families, our communities, and the natural world. In the silence of Shabbat, we find a fleeting but profound return to a simpler state, where the world’s value is measured not by utility but by quiet presence.

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Shabbat is more than rest; it is resistance. It is a deliberate refusal to be imprisoned by the world’s endless appetite for more. It teaches us to value not what we produce but who we are, to be together, and to find joy not in acquisition but in shared moments. It is a celebration of our participation in a grand and enduring symphony.

Reclaiming Our Connection: Practical Steps Toward Renewal

To rebuild our connection with nature, we can start with simple and deliberate actions. Planting a garden, taking a walk, or sitting in quiet contemplation can reconnect us to the natural world and to ourselves. Schools and communities can prioritize outdoor education, teaching children not just to observe but to engage with the environment. City planners can design cities that invite nature in, creating spaces where green is not an afterthought but a central and vivid part of the urban landscape.

We need not abandon the comforts of modernity, but we should blend them with a renewed respect for the land and, by extension, for ourselves. It is not about turning back time, but about moving forward with an awareness that honors our roots. If we reimagine our relationship with nature, we can begin to mend the rift that separates us from the land and from each other.

Our alienation from nature is, in many ways, a reflection of a broader disconnection that pervades our relationships, our work, and our sense of self. Yet within this alienation lies the potential for rediscovery. If we can learn to balance the benefits of progress with a reverence for the natural world, we may find a way to live that is both prosperous and profound.

By paving a new path, one that leads us back to ourselves, we can find value not in what is profitable or efficient, but in what is enduring. The rustling leaves, the flowing streams, the quiet moments of presence, they are not just remnants of a lost world; they are echoes of a truth we are called to remember. A truth that tells us that we are not merely inhabitants of the earth, but part of its living, breathing soul.

It's been a long while since I've had the privilege of sharing my thoughts with you here. The recent war and its accompanying challenges have deeply disrupted my routines and responsibilities, making it difficult, almost impossible, for me to give this Substack the thoughtful attention it deserves. For that, I sincerely apologize.

If any of you feel that you have not received the value you expected, please feel free to cancel your subscription. Simply let me know, and I will personally arrange a refund for anyone who requests one. Your trust matters greatly to me.

In the meantime, I’d like to share something meaningful with you: a short lecture I was invited to deliver at an important gathering hosted by The Russell Kirk Center’s School of Conservative Studies. The conference, cohosted by the Gerald R. Ford Presidential Foundation, took place on June 27 and 28, 2025, bringing together scholars from around the globe to reflect upon the contemporary prospects of the Anglo-American intellectual conservative tradition, inspired by the complementary visions of Russell Kirk and Roger Scruton.

Unfortunately, the war led to the closure of the airport, making it impossible for me to attend in person. Instead, I recorded my lecture, titled “Before Burke: The Mosaic Origins of Conservative Tradition.”

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Conservatism is often seen as an English or classical inheritance, with Edmund Burke hailed as its foundational thinker. Yet this view contains a paradox. While Burke may be regarded as the father of modern conservatism, by definition, he could not have been the first conservative. Conservatism is a disposition of preservation. It must be rooted in an existing tradition that precedes the one who seeks to conserve it.

If we seek to understand what Burke and his intellectual heirs were truly conserving, we must look beyond England, Athens, and Rome, and turn our attention to Sinai. A close examination of Burke’s intellectual lineage through figures like John Selden and Sir John Fortescue reveals that the foundational ideas of conservatism are profoundly shaped by biblical, Mosaic principles: ordered liberty, covenantal community, moral limits on power, and reverence for the sacred. Indeed, as John Winthrop and the American Founding Fathers spoke of a “city upon a hill,” they pointed not to Athens or Rome, but to Jerusalem, to a vision rooted in the Mosaic tradition of covenant, moral limits, and sacred community.

You can watch the lecture here:

Thank you for your patience, understanding, and friendship.

Warmly,
Ronen

The Realist Tradition: From Classical to Structural and Constructivist

Since Thucydides, realism has been the dominant paradigm for understanding international relations. It assumes that states operate in an anarchic world, where power and survival dictate behavior. Classical realists like Hans Morgenthau and Niccolò Machiavelli argue that humans—and by extension, states—are driven by an insatiable quest for power. Foreign policy, they contend, is dictated by interests, not morality, and the international arena is a relentless struggle for influence and dominance.

Expanding on this tradition, structural realists (or neorealists) such as Kenneth Waltz and John Mearsheimer shift the focus from human nature to the structure of the international system itself. They argue that international anarchy compels states to compete, not because of innate aggression, but because survival demands it. In this view, alliances and cooperation are temporary and fragile, as each state ultimately prioritizes its own security.

Yet, realism has evolved further. Constructivist realists like Randall Schweller and Ted Hopf contend that power is not merely material—measured in tanks, GDP, or nuclear arsenals—but also socially constructed, shaped by identity, perception, and historical narratives. States do not respond only to objective threats; they respond to how they perceive those threats.

For example, Britain possesses nuclear weapons, yet Israel does not see it as a threat. Iran, on the other hand, is viewed as an existential danger. This difference is not dictated by military capability alone but by the way each actor constructs its national identity and strategic worldview. The implication is clear: understanding foreign policy requires not just analyzing power balances but also the cultural, ideological, and psychological frameworks through which states interpret the world.

The Liberal Response: Institutions, Norms, and Democratic Alliances

Opposing realism, liberal internationalism, as articulated by John Locke, Immanuel Kant, and Woodrow Wilson, suggests that the global order is not condemned to perpetual power struggles. Instead, institutions, economic integration, and democratic norms can foster stability and cooperation. Wilson’s League of Nations embodied this vision, promoting the idea that international institutions could restrain military aggression and create a more rules-based global system.

This philosophy underpins organizations such as the EU, NATO, and the UN, which operate on the assumption that security is best preserved not through sheer force but through collective governance, diplomatic engagement, and shared economic interests. According to liberal thought, democracies are less likely to wage war against each other (Democratic Peace Theory), and fostering international norms can reduce the likelihood of conflict.

Zelensky subscribes to this worldview. For him, Ukraine’s war is not just about territorial integrity but about preserving democracy itself. He does not frame the conflict in terms of power politics alone but as a moral struggle between autocracy and liberal values. He rejects the classical realist notion that every state must ultimately fend for itself, insisting instead that the West has a moral duty to stand with Ukraine, not because it is convenient, but because it is right.

From this perspective, an American withdrawal would be a betrayal of the fundamental principles that bind the liberal world order. For Zelensky, the battle for Ukraine is not just a national struggle—it is a test of whether the Western alliance still upholds its founding ideals.

Trump’s Foreign Policy: A Fusion of Realist Approaches

In stark contrast, Trump operates within a framework that blends classical, structural, and constructivist realism, while simultaneously demanding greater European responsibility.

From a structural realist perspective, Trump sees international anarchy as an unavoidable force that compels states to fend for themselves. For him, Ukraine is not a core American interest, but a European issue, and as such, it is Europe that should bear the security burden, rather than relying on U.S. funding.

Yet his approach goes beyond structural realism. From a constructivist realist perspective, Trump understands that power is not just about military might but also about perception and status. He believes that if America continues to finance Ukraine’s war, it undermines its ability to serve as a neutral mediator. In this view, American influence is best preserved not by entangling itself in endless wars but by shaping the international system through economic leverage, diplomatic maneuvering, and controlled strategic ambiguity.

Thus, Trump’s strategy aligns with his broader vision of American foreign policy: securing dominance while minimizing direct costs. He does not outright reject values, but he prioritizes America’s role as an independent power over its role as a patron of a liberal world order. His goal is to maintain U.S. hegemony, but on terms that do not require Washington to bankroll the security of others indefinitely.

The Paradox of Trump's Approach

This strategy, however, presents an inherent paradox. Trump envisions the U.S. as the global leader but refuses to bear the financial burden of that leadership. He seeks to reduce military commitments while maintaining diplomatic leverage and credible deterrence. And ultimately, to be seen as a neutral negotiator and uphold his self-image as a master dealmaker, he must cut U.S. financial support for Ukraine—otherwise, he cannot claim to be an impartial mediator.

Why the Meeting Was Doomed to Fail

Given these dynamics, the meeting between Trump and Zelensky was destined for failure. Trump sought to halt American aid and force Europe to take financial responsibility for the war, while Zelensky saw this as not just an abandonment of Ukraine but of democracy itself. Trump’s objective was to prevent escalation into a larger global conflict, whereas Zelensky’s priority was to ensure continued Western commitment to the Ukrainian cause.

At its core, this conflict was not merely about geopolitics but about competing visions of the world order. Zelensky represents a belief in a rules-based system of collective security, while Trump sees a world governed by raw interests, shifting alliances, and calculated leverage.

Whether Trump’s approach represents a necessary recalibration of American foreign policy or a dangerous retreat from global responsibility remains an open question. But one thing is certain: as long as these two worldviews collide, the fate of Ukraine—and the broader international order—will remain uncertain.

Herbert Marcuse, one of the fathers of the neo-Marxist movement and a key thinker of the Frankfurt School, presented in An Essay on Liberation a radical vision for liberating individuals from the chains imposed by the oppressive capitalist Western society. For Marcuse, the existing order controls not only through economic mechanisms but also through cultural dominance, which instills in individuals a false consciousness—a system of values and desires that leads them to accept the existing structure without truly questioning it.

Marcuse, Free University of Berlin, May 13, 1968

Marcuse expanded Marxist critique, which had traditionally focused on economic structures, into the realm of culture. He argued that capitalism had neutralized the revolutionary potential of the working class by creating a consumer culture that fosters comfort and suppresses any real possibility of change. Society constructs the individual's desires so that they identify with mechanisms of oppression rather than resisting them.

Influenced by the Frankfurt School's research on social psychology, Marcuse analyzed the concept of the totalitarian personality—those who internalize mechanisms of oppression and propagate them as part of their identity. Ironically, his followers recognized that this mechanism could also serve as a tool for change. They transformed his ideas into an operational system for new mechanisms of power, maneuvering the dynamics he sought to expose and dismantle. Instead of opposing systems of power, they preferred to exploit their internal logic to subvert them from within.

Thus, Marcuse’s doctrine extended beyond academic discourse and was adopted and repeatedly replicated in the elite universities of the U.S., particularly in gender studies, postcolonial studies, and critical studies departments. It became an integral part of progressive discourse, which not only interprets reality through the lens of the struggle between oppressors and the oppressed and the false consciousness but also seeks to implement these principles in reality.

Marcuse’s students turned his theory into a practical tool. They realized that the way to influence society was not through direct opposition to the government but by using institutions themselves to create a new reality. Their sophistication lay in recognizing how to appropriate forces traditionally defined as oppressive and transform them into means of control wielded by new groups. Thus, an ideology born out of the critique of power structures became a power mechanism in itself.

The recent USAID controversy exemplifies how Marcusean principles have transitioned from academic theory to institutionalized political practice. As revealed, the U.S. Agency for International Development (USAID) deliberately promoted a progressive ideology under the guise of humanitarian aid and economic development. Supporting radical left-wing ideas worldwide, and within the U.S. itself, it engaged in dismantling society and the liberal-capitalist ethos using taxpayers’ own money.

To understand the genius of this maneuver, one must turn to Foucault. Unlike the classical Marxist view of power as a resource held by a particular group, Foucault saw power as a decentralized force that exists everywhere. Power is not only repressive—it also creates and shapes identities, social structures, and perceptions of reality.

Marcuse’s followers operate from this understanding: they no longer merely seek to overthrow old structures but to build an entirely new field of power in their place. They aim to control and generate false consciousness through dominance over language, law, education, and resources. In doing so, they construct a new global order designed, precisely as Marcuse proposed, to bring about human liberation by dismantling the social order they associate with the oppressive "white man." In other words, they have skillfully created a new power structure that engages in oppression while utilizing the internal logic of capitalism itself.

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The transition from critical theory to an institutionalized program is one of the most significant developments in contemporary politics. While Marcuse saw power structures as a source of oppression to be dismantled, his successors took his ideas and transformed them into tools for governing power.

This is no longer a struggle of the margins against the center but a deliberate creation of new power nodes by an unelected elite, leveraging state resources and authoritarian psychological structures for social engineering.

Israel, Philosophy, and the Jewish Future – My Conversation on IsraelCast 🎙️

I recently had the privilege of joining Steven Shalowitz on IsraelCast, the podcast of Jewish National Fund-USA (@jnfusa), for a deep and thought-provoking conversation about Israel, philosophy, and the challenges facing the Jewish world today.

We discussed the interplay between tradition and modernity, the role of Jewish identity in shaping our future, and why intellectual discourse is more crucial than ever in an era of polarization. From the Hebrew Bible to contemporary political philosophy, we explored ideas that connect past, present, and future.

You can listen to the full episode on all podcast platforms or directly at jnf.org/israelcast.

Thanks to Steven Shalowitz for the engaging discussion. His curiosity and depth make him a genuinely outstanding host. I look forward to continuing the conversation in future forums in NYC, Israel, or beyond.

I’d love to hear your thoughts! What resonated with you most? Let me know in the comments.

#Israel #JewishIdentity #Philosophy #IsraelCast

But our most profound lessons came from a series of encounters that peeled back the layers of the American dream, revealing a nation at odds with its founding ideals.

One sunny afternoon, we pulled off the road to enjoy a simple picnic by a tranquil creek. As our daughters played by the water, the moment seemed idyllic—a snapshot of natural freedom. But this peace was quickly interrupted when a man approached us from a distance, assertively declaring the land as his. We apologized and left, but the experience lingered. Here in America, even a quiet stretch of nature, which might be considered public space in Europe, often belongs to someone. This pervasive sense of private ownership transforms landscapes into territories, fostering not hospitality, but estrangement. It was a small yet telling reflection of the broader American ethos: a land of fences, both literal and metaphorical, where the space for the other is always secondary to the sovereignty of the self.

Streets of Philadelphia

In the heart of Philadelphia, a city that proclaims the ideals of brotherhood and liberty, I experienced another dissonant note. During an academic conference, my daughter realized she had forgotten her toothbrush, so we ventured a short distance to a CVS. But this simple errand turned into a shocking encounter with a side of America that rarely graces its postcards: The streets were filled with individuals collapsed on sidewalks, their bodies and minds ravaged by drugs. The stench of urine and marijuana hung in the air, and inside the store, even the most basic items were locked behind glass. This wasn't just urban decay—it was the collapse of a promise. In a place that stands as a monument to freedom, I saw the consequences of liberty unmoored from responsibility. What was meant to be a safeguard for individual rights had degenerated into a chilling form of neglect. Returning to the secured confines of our hotel, I told my daughter I would never let her walk these streets alone. The irony of the “City of Freedom” was stark, underscoring how far ideals can fall from reality.

In the suburban park near our Springfield home, a stately church stood—a testament to centuries-old faith. But its grand façade was overshadowed by a large pride flag draped over its entrance, obscuring the Christian cross behind it. This church, like many others we encountered, seemed to have rebranded itself, aligning more with contemporary social movements than with its traditional doctrines. This house of worship, which once echoed with the moral certainties of old, was now a center for a new kind of faith, built on the fluctuating dogmas of the present. It was as if the altar had shifted, and the question lingered: To which god are these prayers now offered?

This transformation is not limited to the churches; it reflects a broader void in American life where the role of moral institutions has diminished. Into this void, “woke” ideology steps confidently, offering a new set of rituals and a new pantheon of virtues. It seeks to replace the cohesive moral vision that once unified communities with a fractured collection of identities and causes. This isn't merely a new expression of values—it's an attempt to rebuild the sacred around the self, often at the expense of shared history and collective purpose.

This ethos of individualism also permeates American education. In Israel, students belong to a class that serves as their social anchor, with a homeroom teacher who oversees their well-being. The class is a community, a stable environment where relationships are formed and nurtured. In stark contrast, American students arrive at school as individuals. There is no fixed class; instead, they are equipped with a locker—a solitary constant amidst a whirlwind of movement from room to room. Teachers stay put while students shuttle through hallways, each following his or her own path. This structure mirrors a broader cultural norm: Independence is paramount, and the individual must navigate his or her own way through the labyrinth of life.

This sense of individualism, celebrated as a virtue, often leads to a disconnect not just from community, but from nature itself. In Israel, school trips are journeys into the wilderness—multi-day hikes that immerse students in the landscape. I remember my own tenth-grade trip, where we walked miles each day, slept under the stars, and felt a visceral connection to the land. In contrast, American school trips often lead to cities and hotels, where the natural world is a backdrop rather than a companion. It’s not a question of resources; it’s a reflection of values. The connection to the earth, the sense of being part of something larger, is lost amidst the urban sprawl.

The American relationship with firearms reflects this same ethos of isolation and self-reliance. In a country so vast that people often find themselves far from immediate help, the desire for personal protection is understandable. A gun becomes a tool of survival, not just against intruders but against the lurking fear of being alone and vulnerable. Yet, the foundational belief surrounding firearms in America goes beyond self-defense; it is rooted in a deep-seated mistrust of authority—a libertarian ideal that posits the gun as a bulwark against government overreach. This ethos is misguided. It imagines a lone citizen standing against the might of the state, a notion that is both futile and dangerous. Rather than being a tool granted by society to protect its members, the gun in America symbolizes a defiance against society itself—a tragic inversion of what freedom was meant to achieve.

Despite these dissonances, I found myself continually captivated by the breathtaking landscapes and, more importantly, by the people. There are still those who embody the vision of the founding fathers—people of kindness and truth, of wisdom and virtue. They are the quiet custodians of a legacy that values community, responsibility, and the common good. Yet, their influence on public life seems limited, often drowned out by the louder, more fragmented voices of contemporary discourse. They are the remnants of a time when freedom was seen not as an end in itself, but as a means to serve something greater.

Thomas Cole, Detail of  View from Mount Holyoke, Northampton, Massachusetts, after a Thunderstorm – The Oxbow, 1836.

These reflections conjure images of the Hudson River School, the great American landscape painters like Thomas Cole, who captured a vision of man in harmony with a moral and natural order. Their works depicted a nation not just of rugged individuals, but of citizens who saw themselves as part of a grand, collective purpose. The dream of a “city on a hill” was not merely about shining above others, but about being a beacon of virtue and unity. Today, that vision seems dimmed, replaced by the flickering lights of a thousand isolated souls, each carrying a torch but lacking the collective flame that once illuminated the path forward.

Toward the end of our time in the U.S., I thought often of Alexis de Tocqueville, who marveled at the American capacity for self-improvement and community. He saw in America not just a land of the free, but a land of the responsible—a place where liberty was always tethered to the common good. The founders understood that true freedom is not the absence of restraint, but the presence of purpose. As I reflect on our time here, I am left with a question that Tocqueville himself might have asked: Can America rediscover its moral compass and reclaim its vision of shared destiny, or will it continue to drift into the fragmented wilderness of its own making?

But a question looms larger than ever: Are we setting our children up for an impossible challenge by sending them to these elite institutions?

As someone who has spent time in these environments and been invited to offer guidance to Jewish students heading to them, I’ve come to believe that the answer might be more complicated—and more troubling—than we care to admit.

Recently, I addressed a group of Jewish students preparing for their college journey. I began with some easy questions: “Who here likes chocolate?” Every hand went up. “Who hopes to get married and have children one day?” Again, unanimous agreement. But when I asked, “Who knows a Jew who has married a non-Jew?” the hands remained raised.

This was no surprise, and it perfectly illustrates the broader dilemma. If these same questions were posed to a group of Jewish students in Israel, the answers would be similar, except for one crucial difference: Intermarriage is almost nonexistent in Israel.

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Israel is the only place in the world where secular Jews can effortlessly maintain their Jewish identity, free from the pressures of assimilation. When we send our children to elite universities, expecting them to hold on to a strong Jewish identity, we are setting a bar that is often impossibly high. The social environment at most of these institutions is not conducive to meeting and marrying other Jews; in fact, the statistical likelihood of this happening is remarkably low. In today’s cultural climate, urging young people to prioritize their traditions over their personal feelings is often dismissed as out-of-touch or even bigoted.

It’s not just about intermarriage. If your child is pursuing studies in the social sciences or humanities, they are likely to encounter worldviews that are often hostile towards Israel and, by extension, Jewish values. When young students, away from home and facing the world for the first time, encounter professors and peers who are critical of Israel, they often lack the tools to defend their heritage, let alone themselves. It is far easier for them to go with the flow than to stand against the current.

The drive among American Jews to send their children to Ivy League schools is often about more than just receiving a quality education. It’s about seeking acceptance and validation within American society, but recent events have shown that this pursuit may be futile.

One only needs to look at the recent congressional hearings featuring the presidents of prestigious institutions like MIT and Harvard. Their statements made it abundantly clear: These schools do not particularly want us. It’s not a bug; it’s a feature. Statistics and actions bear this out repeatedly.

Perhaps it’s time to take a page from Groucho Marx, who quipped that he wouldn’t want to be part of any club that would accept him as a member. If these universities are not eager to embrace Jewish students—and if the price of admission includes the erosion of our identity—it’s time to rethink our strategy.

If we care about the next generation, and if we want to offer them a genuine chance to be proud Jews, then our choices are straightforward: Either send them to Israel, where their identity is naturally reinforced, or establish our own elite institutions that reflect our values and heritage. Imagine a Princeton or Harvard built on Jewish ideals; one in which our children can thrive without compromising who they are. In time, perhaps it will be these institutions that others seek to join.

In my own experience teaching political philosophy at Princeton, I’ve seen firsthand the challenges Jewish students face in these prestigious environments. I’ve watched students struggle to reconcile their Jewish identity with the ideologies prevalent on campus. It is a battle that many are not prepared for and too often results in a loss of connection to their heritage.

It’s time to question our unexamined assumptions: Are we truly providing our children with the best opportunities by sending them to institutions that do not align with their values or support their identities? Or are we, in our pursuit of prestige, pushing them into environments that compromise their sense of self?

As we navigate these complex questions, it’s essential to remember what’s truly at stake: the future of Jewish identity in America. If we continue down the current path without rethinking our approach, we risk losing more than just cultural connection. We risk losing a generation.

The time has come to chart a new course; one that prioritizes the enduring strength of Jewish identity over the fleeting allure of elite acceptance.

More than 1,000 people have been arrested in the last few days during the riots across England. Even Indonesia has issued travel warnings for England—a troubling sign that something is profoundly amiss in Europe. 

The migration crisis, particularly the influx of Muslim immigrants who often resist assimilation, is unraveling the very fabric of European society. This deep rift has exposed the inherent weaknesses in the postwar European project, prompting urgent questions about the continent's future. Europe, once a bastion of stability, now finds itself in a state of disarray, with parallels to the fall of another great civilization, the Roman Empire.

For centuries, the Roman Empire was the world's most formidable power – but it began to disintegrate when it could no longer defend its borders against the influx of barbarian tribes. These tribes, lured by the promise of prosperity within the empire, gradually eroded Rome’s power from within. 

Many of these tribes were allowed to settle as allies in exchange for military service. However, they often retained their own leadership and loyalties, undermining the cohesion of the Roman army. Over time, these groups, such as the Visigoths, began to exert significant influence, even pressuring the Empire for better land and resources. This collapse of military integrity led to critical defeats, culminating in the Visigoths' sacking of Rome in 410 AD. By 476 AD, the once-mighty Western Roman Empire had collapsed entirely.

Thomas Cole, The Consummation of Empire. 1836,

History, it seems, has a way of repeating itself. Just as the Roman Empire struggled to maintain unity in the face of internal divisions and external pressures, so too did Europe in the aftermath of two world wars. Recognizing the dangers of division, Europe’s leaders envisioned a new political order to prevent internal conflicts. Much like royal marriages in the Middle Ages, the idea was to lower the walls of enmity by fostering closeness.

The European Union, with its supranational governance, common currency, and open borders, was designed to transcend the perilous nationalism that had torn Europe apart in the first half of the 20th century. This vision was anchored in a deep commitment to liberal values—democracy, human rights, and the rule of law—while simultaneously rejecting the destructive nationalisms of the past. The belief was that by blurring national lines and promoting diversity, Europe could forge a more inclusive and harmonious society.

However, this grand vision contained the seeds of its own downfall, much like the Tower of Babel. Europe’s attempt to build a unified political and economic entity devoid of a shared moral foundation has led to confusion and fragmentation, rather than unity. The postmodern rejection of absolute truths, which underpinned the European project, has fostered moral relativism and eroded the sense of justice and the willingness to defend the future. 

Europe's economic and cultural prosperity has made it a magnet for immigrants. The European ideals of inclusivity and diversity are noble and form the foundation of the Pax Europa that followed World War II. However, the European Union's pacifist vision, which nurtures a life of comfort, takes the achievements of the past for granted. As a result, Europe not only fails to recognize that there are those who seek to exploit its values to advance totalitarian agendas, but it also refuses to use military force to maintain its place in the world. 

Thomas Cole, Destruction. 1836

Moreover, the prosperity that Europe enjoyed attracted those who sought to benefit from its advantages without integrating into its social fabric. These migrants, instead of assimilating, have often sought to transform Europe from within. Unlike previous waves of immigrants, many among the recent Muslim influx have shown little interest in integrating into the European vision. Instead, they often seek to impose their own values on their host countries, leading to escalating friction and, in some instances, outright violence. The rise of Islamist extremism in Europe is not merely a security threat; it is the symptom of a deeper cultural crisis. Europe, having lost confidence in its own identity, is now struggling to defend the very values it professes to uphold.

For instance, the 2015 Paris attacks highlighted the dangers of homegrown radicalization, with most of the attackers being European citizens radicalized within their own communities. The ongoing challenges in regions like Molenbeek, Belgium, where jihadist networks have thrived, reveal how certain areas have become breeding grounds for extremism due to failed integration policies. Additionally, France’s struggle with Islamist radicalization is a stark example of how deeply entrenched this issue has become, with socio-economic and identity challenges exacerbating the situation.

Muslim thinkers refer to the penetration into Europe using the terms "Hijra" and "Taqiyya." "Hijra" describes strategic migration aimed at spreading Islam and gaining religious and political influence, while "Taqiyya" involves concealing true intentions until a position of strength is achieved. Together, these concepts enable Muslims to integrate into European society while gradually increasing their influence. Meanwhile, the European system of individual and human rights remains powerless in the face of this phenomenon. It finds it easier to act against Europeans defending their identity than against those who seek to dismantle Europe. This reflects an autoimmune failure, where the very principles meant to protect European society are instead contributing to its decline. 

The recent riots in England, following a tragic stabbing incident, illustrate the complexity of this issue. While the far-right's reaction was misdirected in blaming Muslims for the attack, the underlying tension stems from a broader unease about the influence of Islam in Europe. The concern is not merely about isolated acts of violence but about the long-term impact of Islamic values on European culture and identity. As certain segments of the Muslim population in Europe push for changes that align more with Islamic principles, the reaction from native Europeans, whether misguided or not, becomes more predictable. This cyclical dynamic, where attempts to defend European identity clash with efforts to promote Islamic values, is at the heart of the current cultural and social tensions.

As Sheikh Abdullah bin Zayed bin Sultan Al Nahyan, the Minister of Foreign Affairs and a Deputy Prime Minister of the United Arab Emirates explains, "There will come a day that we will see far more radical extremists and terrorists coming out of Europe because of the lack of decision-making, trying to be politically correct, or assuming that they know the Middle East and Islam far better than we do. And I’m sorry, but that is pure ignorance."

Just as Rome's expansion ultimately led to its downfall, the very post-national ideals designed to unify Europe are now contributing to its fragmentation. The Bible, particularly the vision of Jeremiah, offers a profound counterpoint to this dilemma. Jeremiah's prophecy envisions a time when the Mount of the Lord's House shall stand firm above the mountains, and all nations shall stream to it, not to forge political unity, but to seek moral guidance. "Come, let us go up to the Mount of the Lord, to the House of the God of Jacob," say the nations, "that God may instruct us in God's ways, and that we may walk in God's paths."

This vision recognizes the enduring existence of different nations, each maintaining its identity, yet united by a shared commitment to moral principles. Peace is achieved not through political homogenization, but through moral unity. The nations remain distinct, yet they come together in Jerusalem, not to conquer, but to learn and to be guided by shared ethical values.

This stands in stark contrast to the postmodern, post-national project of the European Union, which seeks unity through political and economic integration. The biblical vision, as articulated by Jeremiah, offers a model of unity based on a shared commitment to moral and spiritual values, where peace is born from ethical solidarity rather than political centralization.

The failure of  Europe is not inevitable. However, to avert the fate of the Roman Empire and the collapse of the Tower of Babel, Europe must rediscover the moral and spiritual foundations that once underpinned its greatness. This necessitates a rejection of the postmodern relativism that has corroded its cultural identity and the adoption of a vision of unity rooted in shared ethical principles.

Pueter Bruegel, The Tower of Babel, 1568.

Europe is confronted with a stark choice. It can persist on its current path of post-nationalism and multiculturalism, thereby risking further fragmentation and decline, or it can endeavor to rebuild its identity on the basis of shared values that honor both the diversity of its nations and the imperative for a common moral foundation. The lessons of history are unequivocal: without a robust sense of identity and purpose, even the most powerful empires will crumble. Europe must choose wisely.

Ronen Shoval, an Israeli philosopher and dean of the Argaman Institute for Advanced Studies, is the author of, “Holiness and Society: A Socio-Political Exploration of the Mosaic Tradition” (Routledge Press), which explores the subtle political philosophy within the Biblical narrative.

I recently had the privilege of joining Josh Hammer on his podcast to discuss the lessons of political philosophy from the Hebrew Bible and the key ideas from my new book, Holiness and Society: A Socio-Political Exploration of the Mosaic Tradition.

You can listen to our conversation here:

You can also read the latest review of the book here:

https://europeanconservative.com/articles/reviews/the-commandments-and-the-constitution/

More details about the book, as well as the option to purchase it, can be found here:

https://www.ronenshoval.com/en/book

The destruction of the Jerusalem temple, Francesco Hayez, 1867

A famous anecdote illustrates this historical consciousness. It is said that on Tisha B'Av, Napoleon passed by a Jewish synagogue where he observed the congregants sitting on the floor in darkness, lit by candles, weeping and reciting lamentations. Curious, he inquired about their mourning. Upon learning that they were lamenting the destruction of the Temple, he asked how long ago this had occurred. When informed it had been over two thousand years, Napoleon remarked, "A people that remembers its past with such fervor will endure any future trials. A nation that continually mourns its homeland's destruction will surely see its hope fulfilled."

The Emperor Napoleon in His Study at the TuiJacques-Louis David, 1812

Despite its modern façade, Israel is perceived by its citizens as the third significant attempt to establish a sovereign state in the historical Land of Israel. This perspective is essential for understanding Israel's current strategic behavior. For Israelis, their state is not merely a recent establishment but a continuation of a millennia-old historical endeavor. This long-term view shapes their approach to security and diplomacy, particularly concerning existential threats.

In this context, Israel's relationship with major powers, especially the United States, and its stance towards Iran are deeply influenced by historical consciousness. Israel recognizes its dependence on powerful allies but is simultaneously wary of the reliability of such alliances. This apprehension stems from historical precedents where Jewish communities have been abandoned or sacrificed in broader geopolitical schemes.

Drawing parallels with World War II, Israel fears becoming a pawn in global appeasement policies. The memory of Czechoslovakia, sacrificed in the Munich Agreement to appease Nazi Germany, looms large. Israel is determined not to meet a similar fate, even if it means contemplating extreme measures, such as the use of nuclear weapons.

Munich Agreement 1938

Until recently, Israel's strategy towards the Iranian threat was relatively restrained. The underlying assumption was that former President Trump’s potential return to power would create a more favorable international environment for Israel. Trump’s policies were seen as supportive, providing Israel with the leeway to manage threats through conventional means.

However, the impending U.S. elections have introduced significant uncertainty. The prospect of a Harris administration is perceived in Israel as potentially hostile. There is a widespread belief that such an administration might be willing to sacrifice Israeli existential interests for broader diplomatic gains, similar to historical precedents.

Given this scenario, the U.S. faces right now two stark choices: it can either provide the necessary military support to Israel to address the Iranian threat through conventional means immediately , or it must understand that Israel will act unilaterally and potentially desperately to ensure its survival. The latter scenario, driven by an acute sense of historical urgency and existential threat, could lead to unpredictable and possibly catastrophic outcomes.

The U.S. elections have thus become a critical juncture for Israel. The tranquility of a foreseeable Trump victory has given way to a strategic crisis. Israel’s current strategic behavior, marked by heightened anxiety, reflects a deep-seated fear of being left to fend for itself against formidable adversaries.

Israel’s actions on the global stage cannot be fully understood without acknowledging its historical consciousness. The state’s long memory informs its perception of threats and alliances, driving a policy that is both defensive and preemptively aggressive. As the U.S. political landscape shifts, so too does Israel's strategic calculus, rooted in the long arc of its history. This perspective not only shapes its present but also its approach to an uncertain future.