Greater Israel leads to ruin; moral renewal offers survival.
The surreal spectacle of a senior Israeli official flaunting a map of “Greater Israel” in a Paris salon, its borders stretched beyond recognition, was not merely a political provocation. It was the revelation of an ideology: theology refashioned into cartography, a covenant recast as a claim.
When Israeli Finance Minister Bezalel Smotrich stood at a lectern emblazoned with a Greater Israel emblem on March 19, 2023, he wiped Palestine from view with a gesture as casual as it was calculated.
That moment revealed far more than political bravado. It offered the world a glimpse into a poisonous re-reading of sacred history, where promise mutates into possession, faith hardens into frontier, and devotion devolves into sanctioned violence.
Yet the very tradition invoked to sanctify such ambition holds within it a radically different vision, one that subverts the map’s imperial geometry.
Breaking the cycle of violence: From conquest to conscience
In the same chapter that grants Israel the Promised Land, God first commands Abraham to “walk before me, and be thou perfect” (Genesis 17:1 KJV). In truth, the chosenness of Israel has never been a license to dominate, but has always been a mandate of inner and outer transformation – a sacred charge to reclaim righteousness and model justice, as a witness of God’s majesty before the world.
The prophets reinterpreted the covenant as a universal vocation: “It is a light thing that thou shouldest be my servant to raise up the tribes of Jacob, and to restore the preserved of Israel: I will also give thee for a light to the Gentiles, that thou mayest be my salvation unto the end of the earth.” (Isaiah 49:6 KJV). The land is holy only when life within it is holy.
Only by reclaiming that original meaning can Israel step off the wheel of violence. The sequence runs from Zion laying waste to its neighbors and, as the arc of violence foreordains, culminates in the annihilation of the Jewish homeland itself, together with much of the Diaspora, as a mighty coalition rises in retaliation.
The “Promised Land” must be re-read conscientiously – understood no longer as physical terrain, but as ethical territory, a place where human dignity, rather than any divine title deed, confers ownership.
Israel must grasp that the measure of a nation is not its army or its acreage, but the good it bestows on its citizens and the wider human family. And goodness cannot be born from demonized phantoms; it takes root only where generosity grows. The truth is stark: Greater Israel destroys; moral renewal preserves.
In Christian theology, Israel’s divine election and the Promised Land are understood typologically, as a prefiguration fulfilled in the ecclesial community. Put succinctly, the Church inherits the calling, not the territory. The “new covenant” expands chosenness into a communion shaped by faith rather than lineage or land. Islam likewise resonates with this universal vision.
The Qur’an acknowledges that God once granted the Children of Israel a blessed land (Q 5:21), but insists that God’s favor belongs to “those who believe and do righteousness,” a formula repeated throughout the Qur’an (e.g., Q 2:82; 5:9). The true ummah (Arabic for “nation”) is a community of believers united by faith and moral conduct rather than ethnic descent.
Judaism’s covenant, Christianity’s church, and Islam’s ummah are therefore three versions of a single concept: divine election as responsibility, not supremacy.
Universal humanism: The primacy of life over land
At a Knesset session on October 13, 2025 marking the return of Israel’s surviving captives of Hamas, opposition leader Yair Lapid proclaimed: “The real intelligence report on Israel’s intentions is found in the Book of Genesis: ‘And I will give you and your descendants after you the land of Canaan, for an everlasting possession.’”
Strikingly, the very Knesset session in which Lapid invoked the covenant also heard him recite the Talmudic maxim, “Whoever saves one life, it is as though he saved an entire world.” That universal, humanistic teaching – rather than the later, narrower variant “one life in Israel” – ought to complement, and ultimately temper, the promise of Canaan.
Scripture traces every life back to one ancestor, binding humanity into a single family and leaving no room for claims of superiority. Each person bears the divine image, embodying an entire world in miniature – since from Adam came all humanity – and carrying within himself the potential of all future generations. Each life is infinitely precious; to harm one is to harm all.
The sanctity of life, then, is the true sacred ground. When Israel, a state founded on God’s covenant, exalts territory above life, it overturns that ancient bond’s deepest purpose and primary charge: to make God’s justice visible and to guard the sanctity of human life through obedient faith.
Outlook: Peril in the path, possibility in the pivot
Theological nationalism sacralizes land; civil religion sacralizes a nation’s moral vocation, gauging greatness not by the reach of dominion, but by the reach of goodness.
Smotrich’s map, part of “Project Neo-Canaan”, speaks the language of possession, not promise – a cartography of dominion where borders stand in for belief. The political theology behind the map recasts the ancient promise as entitlement and enthronement, transposing covenant into claim – the oldest story retold as the newest justification, a trajectory descending into the abyss.
But in the end, the Bible’s geography charts not empire but ethics: Land becomes the measure of covenant, not conquest – a trusted possession conditioned on righteousness rather than seized by force, its loss the price of betrayal.
Consider this: Because of a lapse in faith and humility at a crucial juncture, Moses, the very man who had led his people out of slavery in Egypt, was not allowed to enter the Promised Land. At Meribah, he disobeyed God’s command and failed to uphold divine holiness before the people – a moment that turned his leadership from triumph to tragedy and made his story the archetype of unfinished redemption.
In Moses’ exclusion, Scripture makes clear that land is a moral trust, not a military entitlement. The promise remains, but possession depends on justice. Land functions as a moral barometer of covenantal fidelity, not as a military trophy of conquest; the covenant is gauged by how righteously the land is tended and shared. Possession is secured not by power, but by faithfulness to divine justice, through which divine blessing is channeled to humanity. When that moral order is forgotten, the sacred map is profaned: Memory hardens into military mandate, faith flattens into frontier.
Mythic stories are neither harmless nor inherently evil – but when they are fused with state power and stripped of ethical restraint, they transmute, almost alchemically, into the most combustible fuel humanity can ignite.
Lapid’s invocation of Genesis crystallizes the dilemma of Israel and, by extension, of all nations built on sacred or mythological stories. A narrative that once sustained an exiled people now threatens to imprison it in perpetual conflict. So long as divine promise is read as a property deed, every truce will be temporary and every border provisional. The “everlasting possession” will yield everlasting war.
To escape that trap, Israel must undergo a collective catharsis and recover the panacea hidden within divine chosenness: a mission, not a prize; a burden of responsibility, not a badge of superiority; a call to serve, never to rule.
Only through this pivot can the Promised Land be reimagined: not as ground to be seized, but as a world to be healed; not as a charter for domination, but as a summons to serve all humanity.
The true intelligence report of any nation is not found in ancient borders, but in how faithfully it protects the infinite worth of a single human life. Only when that becomes the sacred text of policy will peace cease to be a myth.
[Part 3 of a series on Israel’s Neo-Canaan project. Previous columns in the series:
