National Security Minister Itamar Ben-Gvir has become a sort of political lightning rod, drawing high-voltage tension and intense global as well as domestic criticism.
While the obvious reasons for this widespread antipathy concern firstly his positions – death penalty for terrorists, voluntary emigration of Gazans, expansion of Jewish settlement, opposition to Palestinian statehood, to name but a few – they do not explain by themselves this peculiar phenomenon.
However “radical” one may consider them to be, these substantial positions, backed by a long-standing ideology, remain political stances that can be supported, opposed, or debated on their own terms.
Beyond his political program, it is also Ben-Gvir’s manner (or lack thereof) that is being targeted: the theatrical provocations, the confrontational language and the social media stunts. From suggesting a moat of crocodiles around a prison holding Hamas terrorists to publicly humiliating the Gaza flotilla terror supporters, Ben-Gvir understands the power of an image.
And he uses it as a method, a method whose impact is reaching far beyond Israel’s borders, making the debate around him more existential than political. All these, combined with his unapologetic Jewish pride and his rejection of political correctness, trigger a revealing reaction, the “Ben-Gvir effect.”
The recent statements by U2 band member Bono about the Israeli minister illustrate the reach of this effect.
The Irish singer not only compared Ben-Gvir’s remarks about Gazans to the rhetoric of Heinrich Himmler, the architect of the Nazi extermination machinery, but he also claimed that the leader of Otzma Yehudit had put Judaism “in the shade.”
Whatever one thinks of Ben-Gvir’s words, this shift from criticizing a politician or a specific policy to conflating them with Judaism itself deserves scrutiny, because it goes deeper than the standard debate over extremism.
Understanding the criticism directed at Itamar Ben-Gvir
Ben-Gvir may be a lightning rod, and a convenient one, but he did not create the storm that has been gathering above Israel and the Jews since October 7.
He was democratically elected to the Knesset, and his party, which recent polls put at around eight seats in the upcoming elections, is an important component of the current coalition. His critics on the Left see a threat to democracy and the rule of law, and the ones on the right view his provocations as a liability to quieter diplomacy.
He and his party, treated as pariahs for many years, are now part of the political mainstream, whether one likes it or not. In fact, their ideology is not far removed from the historic Right. The core difference lies in language and the Jewish part of the equation.
The new generation of the modern national-religious camp has left the European reference point and its anxieties behind.
Instead, they return to a native Jewish and religious character, rooted in the reality of being here, with no regard for convention or the sensibilities of Western audiences – whom Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu is so familiar with.
The national security minister feels no need to moderate his tone when speaking about Jewish sovereignty or particularism.
The backlash against Ben-Gvir thus often shifts from moral objection to personal attack, at times even evoking historical, antisemitic caricatures of the Jew. Yet Ben-Gvir, who, to some extent, projects this image of himself, uses it as a tool of political deterrence. Focusing on the image, however, obscures what matters more.
Beyond aesthetics, the “Ben-Gvir effect” exposes an ancient anxiety: the Western world tolerates the Jew under subjection, but hates and fears the Jew who exerts sovereign power. While this hostility does not make all criticism antisemitic, it does seem to derived from it.
Abroad, Ben-Gvir is often collapsed with Finance Minister Bezalel Smotrich into a single patronizing category, the “Ben-Gvirs and Smotriches,” Israel’s convenient symbol for a threatening extreme.
By reducing him to a caricature, one avoids having to engage with the real ideas he embodies, ideas that are an integral part of Israel’s democratic political landscape.
Ultimately, the disproportionate rage surrounding him exposes the global and domestic difficulty of accommodating a specific, unapologetic figure: the Jew on his own land, claiming spiritual attachment, possessing raw political power, and refusing to apologize for any of it.
BEHIND BEN-GVIR’S positions lies a strong national-religious conception of Israel that has acquired a larger audience since October 7, as many Israelis are asking questions about identity, sovereignty, and security with a renewed sense of urgency.
Thus, the visceral secular reaction to Ben-Gvir hides something even deeper than just an aversion to his bad manners and alleged racist positions. The problem lies with what he represents: a loud, proud, nationalist religious Jew.
And this Jew, for many in Israel and abroad, is difficult to come to terms with. He is the antithesis of the “court Jew,” the cosmopolitan and universalist Jew who has had to master the codes of the surrounding society to survive, a Jew not necessarily unproud but careful about particularism, and accommodating about his identity.
He is also quite different from the “New Hebrew,” the socialist and secular pioneer, symbol of the building of the country. But this evolution is not simply about style; it is a transformation of the Jewish character itself.
And this Jewish part of the equation is unsettling to secular culture. Beyond beliefs, it is the very existence of a visibly religious person that inevitably raises questions that modern European tradition has relegated to the private sphere: God, transcendence and meaning. And although these questions never disappeared, they were toned down within Israel’s secular-Zionist tradition.
This friction could help explain the discomfort surrounding Ben-Gvir. He is not simply promoting a national-religious agenda; he wears his Jewish identity and attachment to the land openly, refusing to translate them into a universalist vocabulary. He brings his faith out of the private sphere, thrusting it into questions of sovereignty, land, national identity and political power.
While the place of religion in the Jewish state has been a fault line in Israeli society since its creation, and has been dividing Israelis long before October 7, it has become a very raw existential battlefield as it occupies more space within the public debate.
Considering the Jewish particularity of Israel, this conversation needs to happen. But for it to happen, Israel and its citizens need to allow for an accepting, tolerant, and inclusive space, without knee-jerk reactions, without violence, and with a genuine will to understand the other. From his newly gained position, Ben-Gvir himself could actually be helping to bridge these differences.
The Ben-Gvir effect has brought front stage a long-muted Jewish nationalism, attracting intense animosity but also discreet curiosity from Western leaders seeking strategies against radical Islamism and terror.
To capitalize on this attention, Ben-Gvir must change his method from mere provocation to more mature communication, and adopt a syntax that speaks to the international community without compromise or accommodation.
This gives the national-religious camp an opportunity to assert their ideology into the mainstream as an impossible-to-ignore reality in Israel and abroad. Ultimately, the fierce reaction Ben-Gvir triggers reveals as much about those responding as it does about the man himself.
The author holds a PhD from Tel Aviv University and is a regular contributor on Zionism, Israeli society, and Jewish identity.
