I have spent my professional life inside New York State government institutions that do not operate on slogans. Courtrooms, conflict-resolution rooms, and security-adjacent spaces teach a hard lesson: words can deter organized gang violence, or they can accelerate it.
From that vantage point, one truth about the Middle East is unavoidable: peace is rarely born from sentiment, and survival is never secured by illusion. That is why the Abraham Accords were misunderstood from the moment they were signed, and why the war in Gaza has become the wrong test for the right idea.
I write not only as an analyst, but as someone shaped by layered histories and obligations: a Black African Jew of Ethiopian origin, Israeli and American, raised in a Zionist home long before the Abraham Accords existed, and formed intellectually and morally by Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks, of blessed memory.
Long before “normalization” entered diplomatic vocabulary, I was taught that responsibility precedes reconciliation, that moral courage must coexist with realism, and that leadership means entering broken spaces not for applause, but for repair. In that tradition, diplomacy is not ambition; it is vocation.
From this perspective, the Abraham Accords were never a peace treaty in the sentimental sense. They were a survival pact, an architecture designed by states that understood a hard regional reality: the greatest danger was not the absence of harmony, but the collapse of order.
Iran’s aggression, transnational jihadist movements, economic fragility, and the erosion of state authority created a shared threat environment in which cooperation became rational, even unavoidable. That realism is what distinguished the Accords from earlier peace processes.
Oslo demanded emotional reconciliation before security, symbolism before responsibility, and trust before verification. The Abraham Accords reversed the order. They prioritized security coordination, intelligence sharing, and economic integration without insisting on ideological convergence. States cooperated not because they suddenly trusted one another, but because they understood the cost of isolation.
This same logic explains why Israel’s recognition of Somaliland belongs in the broader strategic conversation connected to the Abraham Accords’ worldview. Somaliland is not an emotional breakthrough or a romantic gesture. It is a strategic acknowledgment of reality. In the Horn of Africa and the Red Sea corridor, where shipping lanes, ports, fragile states, and rival powers intersect, stability is not abstract.
Recognition, in this context, is not charity; it is statecraft. If the Abraham Accords were about managing conflict responsibly, then expanding partnerships beyond the traditional Arab Israeli frame is not a distraction. It is a continuation of the same moral realism.
Western commentary often judges the Accords as if they were meant to resolve history itself to heal trauma, dissolve ideology, and usher in harmony. By that standard, any outbreak of violence becomes proof of failure. Gaza is now treated as Exhibit A.
This framing misunderstands both the region and the agreement. The Accords were never designed to end conflict. They were designed to manage it quietly, imperfectly, and among states that knew the greater danger lay not in cooperation, but in collapse.
Gaza exposes questions the Accords deliberately did not address: who governs territories ruled by armed ideological movements? Who controls intelligence and verification? Who absorbs the moral and political cost when civilian harm is unavoidable? Expecting the Accords to function like NATO is not morally serious; it is strategic fantasy.
Another persistent misconception is that the Abraham Accords represent “Muslim-Jewish reconciliation.” They do not. They represent cooperation among governments facing common threats. The Muslim world is not monolithic. It is divided between pragmatic states seeking stability and ideological movements committed to permanent struggle. The Accords align Israel with the former, not based on religion, but on the basis of responsibility.
Israel cannot afford to look inwards
As an Ethiopian Israeli part of a Jewish community that prayed toward Jerusalem for centuries without power, armies, or international protection, I learned early that moral clarity does not require naïveté. Later, working in organized gang conflict resolution, I learned something equally sobering: durable agreements are built on disciplined restraint, shared threat perception, and mutual interest. That is not cynicism. It is moral realism.
Israel must also look inward as it looks outward, drawing on the full breadth of its people. Citizens whose lives bridge Africa and Zion, Jewish memory and global responsibility, bring perspectives this moment demands. Inclusive Zionist service is not symbolic; it is strategic.
The Abraham Accords were never about love. They were about preventing collapse and creating a framework where responsibility could slowly widen the space for dignity. Israel’s recognition of Somaliland should be judged through the same lens: whether it strengthens a regional architecture that constrains extremists, stabilizes vital corridors, and expands the circle of partners willing to replace permanent rejection with managed cooperation. In this region, survival is not the enemy of peace. It is its precondition.
The author is a former NYC Supreme Court Detective/investigator and educator in conflict resolution, restorative peace, and moral diplomacy expert. His upcoming book is Moral Diplomacy for a Broken World, inspired by Rabbi Jonathan Sacks.