The Strategic Ambiguity of Israel’s Borders
The question isn’t whether Israel has a right to exist—that’s a given in diplomatic reality—but rather: What exactly do we mean by Israel?
By Nick Holt
There’s an old adage that says, “He who controls the definition controls the debate.” Nowhere does this ring truer than in the ongoing discourse around Israel’s so-called right to exist—a phrase wielded like a moral cudgel in international politics, yet rarely interrogated for its ambiguity.
It’s a phrase that invites nodding approval, perhaps even moral urgency, without ever requiring clarity from those who invoke it.
The question isn’t whether Israel has a right to exist—that’s a given in diplomatic reality—but rather: What exactly do we mean by Israel?
Is it the nation within its internationally recognized borders? Or does that definition stretch, elastic and opportunistic, to include annexed territories and settlements carved into the occupied West Bank?
The problem with the right to exist argument is not the concept itself but the convenient vagueness that surrounds it.
It’s a clever rhetorical maneuver, designed to disarm critics by accusing them of denying Israel’s fundamental legitimacy.
But beneath the emotional weight of the phrase lies a brutal geopolitical reality: Israel is the only modern nation-state that refuses to declare where its borders actually are.
Every other nation—regardless of conflict, colonial history, or border disputes—at least makes the effort to define itself geographically.
Israel does not. And it’s not out of diplomatic oversight or cartographic confusion. It’s because ambiguity serves a purpose.
The Israeli government’s refusal to define its borders allows it to move with a kind of sanctioned impunity.
By avoiding a clear, legal delineation of its territorial scope, Israel can expand settlements, annex land, and shift the boundaries of what constitutes the state—without ever formally admitting to expansionism.
The West Bank, considered by the international community to be illegally occupied since 1967, is absorbed piecemeal under the guise of security or historical right, while critics who dare question this creeping annexation are swiftly dismissed as opponents of Israel’s very existence.
It’s a neat trick—and an effective one.
But what does this mean in practice?
For Palestinians living under occupation, the ambiguity is anything but abstract. It manifests in checkpoints, demolished homes, and a legal system that operates with two sets of rules—one for settlers and one for those who were there first.
The line between what is Israel and what is not becomes less a question of law and more a matter of military might and political convenience.
And yet, when critics highlight these uncomfortable truths, they’re often met with a familiar deflection: “Are you saying Israel doesn’t have the right to exist?”
It’s a bad-faith argument, designed not to engage but to silence.
The reality is, of course Israel has the right to exist—as do the Palestinians. But what kind of Israel are we talking about?
One that respects international law and defines its territory with the same clarity expected of every other sovereign nation? Or one that perpetually redraws its borders through settlements and occupation, all while cloaking its expansionism in the language of victimhood and survival?
This isn’t about questioning Israel’s legitimacy. It’s about demanding intellectual honesty from those who claim to defend it.
If Israel is to be treated like every other state—sovereign, legitimate, and secure—it must be held to the same standard that applies to every other state. That includes defining its borders and adhering to international law.
As long as Israel refuses to declare where it ends, it cannot credibly demand that the rest of the world accept it without question.
In the case of Israel, that reality is this: ambiguity is not an accident—it is strategy.
And for as long as that strategy remains unchallenged, the debate around Israel’s right to exist will continue to be less about existence and more about the unchecked power of a state that refuses to define itself but demands the world recognize every inch of its expanding shadow.
The question we should be asking isn’t whether Israel has a right to exist—it’s where that right ends.
Until that answer is given with clarity and honesty, every invocation of Israel’s right to exist will remain not a moral declaration but a political weapon, sharp with ambiguity and wielded with precision.