Some wars are lost on the battlefield. Others are lost before they even begin. The current conflict with Iran belongs to the latter. Not because of weak soldiers or inferior technology, but because of a deeper failure: leadership, language, and the ability to read reality. These are not separate problems. They reinforce one another, forming a closed loop that makes decisive victory impossible.

The first failure is one of leadership. Leadership is not measured by declarations, but by the ability to define clear objectives and align them with the constraints of reality. This is true in times of peace, and even more so in war. When Winston Churchill ordered the destruction of the French fleet at Mers-el-Kébir to prevent it from falling into Nazi hands, he demonstrated a sober understanding of what total war demands: the willingness to make tragic, irreversible decisions. That was resolve – not in tone or personality, but in the alignment of ends, means, and reality.

Today, that alignment is missing. Resolve exists mainly at the level of rhetoric. Donald Trump and Benjamin Netanyahu speak of dismantling the Iranian regime, yet refrain from using the full range of means such a goal would require. Allowing the continued sale of Iranian oil is not a subtle tactical move; it is a basic strategic contradiction. One cannot wage war while sustaining the enemy’s economy. This is not balance – it is a direct contradiction of the stated objective.

In Israel, the problem takes a different but equally troubling form. The repeated invocation of ‘absolute victory’ signals not strength but evasion. A goal that cannot be defined cannot be achieved. A goal that cannot be achieved cannot bind those who declare it. When Netanyahu sets a total objective but shifts its meaning to fit political needs, the conclusion is unavoidable: the aim is not strategy, but politics. ‘Absolute victory’ becomes a slogan – one that allows the war to continue without ever requiring resolution. In this sense, the war ceases to be a means and becomes a condition – one that serves the leadership rather than constraining it.

This leadership failure rests on a deeper cultural and linguistic breakdown. Wars are not decided by force alone, but by language – because language is the medium through which reality is understood. When language detaches from reality, decision-making follows. Statements such as the claim that ‘Iran is gone’, even as the regime continues to operate, threaten, and destabilize the region, are not mere exaggerations. They signal a collapse in the relationship between words and facts. At a certain point, the lie is no longer a tool of propaganda; it becomes the environment in which decisions are made.

This is the line between leadership and demagoguery. Churchill did not promise quick victory. He spoke of sacrifice, of cost, of endurance. Precisely for that reason, he was trusted. Trust is not built on promises, but on the alignment between words and reality. A leadership that replaces truth with slogans does more than mislead the public – it erodes its own capacity for judgment. A leader who refuses to confront the truth will eventually lose the ability to recognize it.

From here follows the third failure: the failure to read reality. A leadership operating within distorted language will inevitably misunderstand its adversary. Much of Western strategic thinking assumes that Iran operates according to a cost-benefit logic – that pressure will lead to restraint or surrender. This assumption is not only mistaken; it is dangerous. Iran is not merely a state actor. It is a historical and ideological entity shaped by a Shiite consciousness in which sacrifice, suffering, and endurance are central virtues. The legacy of Karbala is not a distant memory – it is a living framework that gives meaning to struggle, even at great cost.

Against such a mindset, pressure does not necessarily deter; it can strengthen resolve. To expect rapid capitulation is to treat a religious-ideological movement as if it were a Western institution, governed by entirely different assumptions. The result is a widening gap between expectation and reality: while leadership anticipates collapse, the adversary interprets pressure as validation.

When these three failures – leadership, language, and perception – converge, they create a closed system in which each reinforces the other. Undefined goals produce empty language. Empty language produces distorted perception. Distorted perception requires ever more slogans to conceal the gap between promise and outcome. This is not a path to victory. It is a mechanism for prolonging war indefinitely.

In such a situation, the very question of victory loses meaning. The basic conditions required for decisive success are simply not present.

One does not need classified intelligence to see this. The signs are visible: a war declared as total but conducted as limited; an enemy portrayed as weak yet displaying resilience; a leadership that speaks of absolute victory but refuses to define it. These are not isolated inconsistencies. They point to a deeper structural failure.

In a war like this, defeat is not a single moment. It is a process. It begins when truth ceases to guide leadership – and ends when the distinction between reality and illusion, between victory and defeat, can no longer be drawn.

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)