President Donald Trump chose America’s midterm election day to announce that Washington would stop providing nearly $4 billion in annual assistance to Israel by December. He claimed to have reached an understanding with Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu months earlier. Neither government has so far produced its terms, but the timing is far too critical to be swept under the rug. With control of Congress hanging in the balance, Israel’s place in American politics had become an electoral liability that even Trump could no longer brush aside. There is, however, a considerable distance between a loud declaration and a change in American law. The existing ten-year arrangement provides $38 billion through fiscal year 2028, including $3.3 billion annually in military financing and $500 million for missile defence. Congress retains authority over appropriations. Trump has not explained how assistance authorised under that framework would end two years early. Nor has he promised to stop selling American weapons to Israel. Nevertheless, what has changed is the political climate. A poll conducted in June found 48 per cent of American voters believed Washington was too supportive of Israel, compared with 16 per cent in 2017. Among Democrats, the figure had risen to 66 per cent. Gaza’s devastation has similarly exacted a political price well beyond university campuses and activist circles. Even parts of Trump’s MAGA constituency have questioned the wisdom of Middle Eastern entanglements, particularly following the Iran war.
Michigan offered the most revealing clue. Trump explicitly invoked Democratic Senate candidate Abdul El-Sayed, who opposes unconditional military assistance to Israel. His contest with Republican Mike Rogers has exposed disagreements among Democrats themselves over Gaza, American taxpayers’ money and longstanding alliances. For Netanyahu, the announcement arrives at an awkward hour. Israel’s October election deprived his bloc of a governing majority, leaving coalition negotiations unresolved. The suggestion that Israel can pay for its own weapons may suit his rhetoric of self-reliance, yet withdrawing grants would force difficult budgetary choices. Washington’s defence manufacturers, too, have a stake in what comes next.
Meanwhile, a change in Washington’s bookkeeping can hardly substitute for a change on the ground, where Palestinians continue to bear the brunt of relentless bombardment, death and displacement. Commercial arms sales without meaningful conditions would preserve much of the relationship while removing its most conspicuous symbol. Gulf capitals and other regional governments will, thus, be watching closely if and how Washington’s promises of restraint translate into diplomacy, protection of civilians and a credible political settlement. At the end of the day, the midterms are all set to determine how Congress scrutinises the next chapter of this relationship. The old bipartisan consensus may be fraying, but still, it cannot disappear overnight. Whatever the result, Trump’s intervention has exposed a question that once scarcely troubled Washington’s political establishment: can support for Israel remain unquestioned when the American public increasingly insists on asking what it costs, and to what end?
