Netanyahu Draws a Line: Israel Won't Wait for U.S. Approval

Paul Riverbank, 1/31/2026As U.S.-Israel defense ties evolve, both nations debate aid, autonomy, and alliance in a shifting global order. The world watches as old certainties fade, and new models of partnership—and power—emerge.

What exactly does it mean? Well, the new wording leaves no doubts: Israel’s proven it can look after its own backyard—America just supplies some well-chosen tools. Gone is the script that assumed U.S. aid as an immutable fact, unquestioned and untouchable. “Israel has long demonstrated that it is both willing and able to defend itself,” reads the section quietly at the heart of the debate. There’s a nod to President Trump’s earlier attempts to recast Middle East diplomacy (remember the Abraham Accords and all the bluster), but the real focus is unmistakably forward-looking.

For the record, Israel still banks $3.3 billion in annual U.S. military assistance, plus another half billion for missile defense—numbers set down in a 2016 memorandum due for renegotiation. The sums are significant, sure, but the real dispute isn’t about decimals and dollar figures. At its core, the two capitals are wrestling with a simple question: Should this funding go unchanged into the next decade? Or has the time finally come for each side to rethink their priorities?

Arguments swirl in the corridors of Congress and across the lush lawns of D.C. think tanks. Some—often from the hawkish end of the spectrum—insist it’s time to wield that aid as leverage, pulling back unless Israeli leaders heed Washington’s preferences. The counterpoint, though, is less dramatic but every bit as pragmatic. As Jonathan Ruhe, policy director at the Jewish Institute for National Security of America, reminded me recently, “The bulk of that so-called assistance actually circulates back into the U.S. defense sector.” It’s true: contracts for aircraft, missile components, and cybersecurity projects are inked with American firms, keeping assembly lines humming from St. Louis to El Segundo.

If anything, the conversation isn’t really about generosity or dependency—it’s morphing into a debate over what modern partnership should look like. There’s growing appetite, especially among Israeli officials, for more joint research, shared technology, and deeper intelligence ties. Avner Golov, a rising voice among Israeli analysts, cuts to the chase: “We’re not asking for charity. We’re front-line actors—what we need are the tools and the freedom to adapt.” In other words, Israel doesn’t want simply to cash checks. It wants a voice, and a stake, in shaping tomorrow’s defense strategies.

But friction is never far from the surface. Only two months ago, the Biden administration briefly paused a shipment of precision bombs bound for Israel—ostensibly to make a point about restraint in military operations. Prime Minister Netanyahu wasted little time sounding the alarm, warning that “Israel will stand alone if it must.” The episode lasted barely a week, but the chill lingered. Weapons—and the votes that approve them—have moved from being a background process to headline news.

This episode has led to some soul-searching inside Israel. It’s not just about dollar figures. The reliance on U.S. weapons, and on Washington’s political process, is suddenly seen as something of a vulnerability. As Ruhe explained, “Delays or embargoes in D.C. don’t just create diplomatic headaches—they affect battlefield readiness in real time.”

Yet, upending the old funding model isn’t an easy sell. Congressional debates over foreign aid always turn into theater, complete with late-night amendments and partisan posturing. The alternative—a ten-year deal, quietly locked in—spares both countries some degree of annual chaos.

Golov, for his part, is pitching something almost audacious: a “strategic merger”—his words—for the 21st century. Israel, he says, brings four times as much value as it receives, and asks for not a single U.S. boot on the ground. His proposal? Build one last “bridge” ten-year security deal, rather than risk sending the wrong signal to America’s rivals or putting the Israel Defense Forces in an impossible spot.

All the while, it’s not just the Israel-U.S. axis under pressure. Europe, watching from across the Atlantic, is openly second-guessing its dependencies. Mark Carney, Canada’s prime minister—never one for diplomatic evasion—put it plainly: “We are in the midst of a rupture, not a transition.” The message is stark. Europeans no longer see the U.S. as the reliable pivot it once was. Instead, they brace for the whiplash of American elections and shifting doctrines. “Nostalgia is not a strategy,” Carney quipped—words that echo between embassies.

The same refrain can be heard in the Gulf, where Saudi officials speak the language of partnerships, not patronage. Dr. Manal Radwan, a Saudi delegate at the U.N., argued for a new level of “coordinated action,” warning that failed states and unchecked conflicts don’t stay local for long. The global appetite, it seems, is for steadiness. No one wants another decade of improvisation.

These days, the U.S. finds itself playing a complicated balancing act—managing familiar alliances with one eye fixed on emerging perils. Israel, whether or not the next funding model looks like the last, is arguing less for detachment than for a bigger seat at the table. Washington, meanwhile, wants partners who can stand on their own two feet—but who still buy American fighter jets, and sign on to American priorities. In the background, an anxious world waits for signals: Can the U.S. offer predictability, or just more turbulence?

Gone are the days when postwar certitudes ruled and everything seemed clean-cut. As the U.S. rewrites its playbook for Israel and beyond, there are no easy formulas—only trade-offs and uneasy bets. One thing is certain: whatever the next deal looks like, its ripple effects will reach much farther than the hills outside Jerusalem or the lobbies of Pentagon contractors. This is policy as high drama, and the world is watching with more than idle curiosity.

There’s a certain restlessness in Washington these days, as Israeli delegates breeze in and out of top-floor offices while Pentagon officials shuffle papers laced with talk of new arrangements. The latest draft of the National Defense Strategy—set for 2026, but hardly resting quietly—has thrown another log on the fire. For decades, the policy has been simple: support Israel, and keep the machinery whirring on both sides of the Atlantic. Now, the tone has shifted. Israel, says the strategy, is “a model ally.” A small phrase, but if you listen closely, it carries the sound of tectonic plates moving beneath old alliances.What exactly does it mean? Well, the new wording leaves no doubts: Israel’s proven it can look after its own backyard—America just supplies some well-chosen tools. Gone is the script that assumed U.S. aid as an immutable fact, unquestioned and untouchable. “Israel has long demonstrated that it is both willing and able to defend itself,” reads the section quietly at the heart of the debate. There’s a nod to President Trump’s earlier attempts to recast Middle East diplomacy (remember the Abraham Accords and all the bluster), but the real focus is unmistakably forward-looking.For the record, Israel still banks $3.3 billion in annual U.S. military assistance, plus another half billion for missile defense—numbers set down in a 2016 memorandum due for renegotiation. The sums are significant, sure, but the real dispute isn’t about decimals and dollar figures. At its core, the two capitals are wrestling with a simple question: Should this funding go unchanged into the next decade? Or has the time finally come for each side to rethink their priorities?Arguments swirl in the corridors of Congress and across the lush lawns of D.C. think tanks. Some—often from the hawkish end of the spectrum—insist it’s time to wield that aid as leverage, pulling back unless Israeli leaders heed Washington’s preferences. The counterpoint, though, is less dramatic but every bit as pragmatic. As Jonathan Ruhe, policy director at the Jewish Institute for National Security of America, reminded me recently, “The bulk of that so-called assistance actually circulates back into the U.S. defense sector.” It’s true: contracts for aircraft, missile components, and cybersecurity projects are inked with American firms, keeping assembly lines humming from St. Louis to El Segundo.If anything, the conversation isn’t really about generosity or dependency—it’s morphing into a debate over what modern partnership should look like. There’s growing appetite, especially among Israeli officials, for more joint research, shared technology, and deeper intelligence ties. Avner Golov, a rising voice among Israeli analysts, cuts to the chase: “We’re not asking for charity. We’re front-line actors—what we need are the tools and the freedom to adapt.” In other words, Israel doesn’t want simply to cash checks. It wants a voice, and a stake, in shaping tomorrow’s defense strategies.But friction is never far from the surface. Only two months ago, the Biden administration briefly paused a shipment of precision bombs bound for Israel—ostensibly to make a point about restraint in military operations. Prime Minister Netanyahu wasted little time sounding the alarm, warning that “Israel will stand alone if it must.” The episode lasted barely a week, but the chill lingered. Weapons—and the votes that approve them—have moved from being a background process to headline news.This episode has led to some soul-searching inside Israel. It’s not just about dollar figures. The reliance on U.S. weapons, and on Washington’s political process, is suddenly seen as something of a vulnerability. As Ruhe explained, “Delays or embargoes in D.C. don’t just create diplomatic headaches—they affect battlefield readiness in real time.”Yet, upending the old funding model isn’t an easy sell. Congressional debates over foreign aid always turn into theater, complete with late-night amendments and partisan posturing. The alternative—a ten-year deal, quietly locked in—spares both countries some degree of annual chaos.Golov, for his part, is pitching something almost audacious: a “strategic merger”—his words—for the 21st century. Israel, he says, brings four times as much value as it receives, and asks for not a single U.S. boot on the ground. His proposal? Build one last “bridge” ten-year security deal, rather than risk sending the wrong signal to America’s rivals or putting the Israel Defense Forces in an impossible spot.All the while, it’s not just the Israel-U.S. axis under pressure. Europe, watching from across the Atlantic, is openly second-guessing its dependencies. Mark Carney, Canada’s prime minister—never one for diplomatic evasion—put it plainly: “We are in the midst of a rupture, not a transition.” The message is stark. Europeans no longer see the U.S. as the reliable pivot it once was. Instead, they brace for the whiplash of American elections and shifting doctrines. “Nostalgia is not a strategy,” Carney quipped—words that echo between embassies.The same refrain can be heard in the Gulf, where Saudi officials speak the language of partnerships, not patronage. Dr. Manal Radwan, a Saudi delegate at the U.N., argued for a new level of “coordinated action,” warning that failed states and unchecked conflicts don’t stay local for long. The global appetite, it seems, is for steadiness. No one wants another decade of improvisation.These days, the U.S. finds itself playing a complicated balancing act—managing familiar alliances with one eye fixed on emerging perils. Israel, whether or not the next funding model looks like the last, is arguing less for detachment than for a bigger seat at the table. Washington, meanwhile, wants partners who can stand on their own two feet—but who still buy American fighter jets, and sign on to American priorities. In the background, an anxious world waits for signals: Can the U.S. offer predictability, or just more turbulence?Gone are the days when postwar certitudes ruled and everything seemed clean-cut. As the U.S. rewrites its playbook for Israel and beyond, there are no easy formulas—only trade-offs and uneasy bets. One thing is certain: whatever the next deal looks like, its ripple effects will reach much farther than the hills outside Jerusalem or the lobbies of Pentagon contractors. This is policy as high drama, and the world is watching with more than idle curiosity.