M A Hossain,
There is a particular kind of danger that creeps into wars—not when the first missiles fly, but when the vocabulary begins to change. Words matter. They reveal intent, signal desperation, and sometimes foreshadow catastrophe. In the latest escalation between Israel and Iran, one word has begun to circulate with unsettling frequency: nuclear.
That alone should give pause.
For decades, Israel’s nuclear posture has been defined by ambiguity—what scholars politely call “opacity.” The world knows, but does not officially acknowledge, that Israel possesses nuclear weapons, developed in large part around the Dimona Nuclear Research Center. This ambiguity has served Israel well. It deters adversaries without inviting the full diplomatic and legal consequences of declared nuclear status. But ambiguity is a fragile strategy. It depends on restraint, on calculation, and above all, on the assumption that existential threats remain hypothetical rather than immediate.
That assumption is now under strain.
Iran’s recent strike near Dimona—carefully calibrated not to hit the facility itself but close enough to send a message—was not merely another tit-for-tat exchange. It was psychological warfare. Tehran was not trying to trigger a nuclear disaster; it was signaling capability and intent. The message was stark: your most sensitive assets are within reach.
History offers uncomfortable parallels. During the Cuban Missile Crisis, neither Washington nor Moscow initially intended to stumble into nuclear war. Yet through a series of escalations, miscalculations, and signaling maneuvers, both sides found themselves perilously close to the brink. What saved the world then was not strength alone, but restraint—paired with a mutual recognition of the abyss.
The present situation lacks that symmetry.
Israel perceives Iran’s actions not merely as military provocations but as existential threats. This perception is rooted in history, in geography, and in political rhetoric that has often crossed into open hostility. For Israel, nuclear capability is not just a weapon; it is an insurance policy against annihilation. This is where the so-called “Samson Option” enters the discussion—a doctrine, never officially confirmed, that suggests Israel could resort to nuclear weapons if its survival were at stake.
But doctrines, like weapons, exist within political contexts. And context matters.
To understand whether Israel might actually use nuclear weapons, one must first examine what has changed. The recent escalation includes three destabilizing elements. First, Iran’s demonstrated ability to penetrate Israeli air defenses—long considered among the most sophisticated in the world—raises questions about deterrence. Systems like Iron Dome and THAAD were designed to provide a protective shield, both physical and psychological. If that shield appears permeable, the pressure to reassert deterrence grows.
Second, the direct targeting—however symbolic—of areas near nuclear infrastructure alters the stakes. Nuclear facilities are not just strategic assets; they are symbols of national survival and technological sovereignty. Strikes near such sites blur the line between conventional and existential warfare.
Third, the role of the United States complicates matters further. Under Donald Trump, the use of ultimatums and compressed timelines introduces volatility into an already unstable equation. A 48-hour deadline tied to the strategic chokepoint of the Strait of Hormuz is not diplomacy; it is brinkmanship. And brinkmanship, history shows, is a dangerous game when multiple actors possess both advanced weaponry and conflicting red lines.
Yet for all the alarm, the leap from escalation to nuclear use remains enormous.
Nuclear weapons are not simply larger bombs. They are political weapons whose use would fundamentally alter the international system. The last—and only—use of nuclear weapons in war, during the Atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, reshaped global norms in ways that still constrain decision-makers today. Since then, a powerful taboo has developed around nuclear use. Breaking that taboo would not just isolate Israel; it would redefine it.
Israel’s strategic calculus is therefore constrained by more than military necessity. It must consider diplomatic isolation, economic repercussions, and the long-term erosion of its alliances. Even its closest partners would find it difficult to justify or support a nuclear strike, particularly if it were perceived as disproportionate.
There is also the question of effectiveness. Nuclear weapons are instruments of overwhelming destruction, but they are ill-suited for the kind of limited, targeted objectives that characterize modern conflicts. Using a tactical nuclear weapon against Iran would not “end the problem,” as some might simplistically argue. It would invite retaliation—perhaps not nuclear, but certainly asymmetric, widespread, and enduring. Iran’s strategy, as evidenced in its recent actions, already emphasizes distributed retaliation: energy infrastructure, maritime chokepoints, and even civilian systems.
In other words, escalation would not resolve the conflict; it would expand it.
Moreover, Iran’s approach reflects a broader shift in warfare. Rather than seeking decisive battlefield victories, Tehran appears to be pursuing a strategy of cumulative pressure—targeting vulnerabilities across economic, technological, and infrastructural domains. This includes threats to Gulf energy systems, global shipping routes, and even multinational corporate assets. Such a strategy complicates traditional deterrence models, which are often built around clear thresholds and symmetrical responses.
So where does this leave Israel?
Caught, perhaps, between the need to restore deterrence and the imperative to avoid catastrophic escalation. This is not a new dilemma. During the Yom Kippur War, Israel reportedly considered nuclear options as its conventional forces struggled in the early days of the conflict. It ultimately refrained, relying instead on conventional recovery and external support. The lesson is instructive: nuclear weapons are most tempting when conventional options appear insufficient—but they are also most dangerous at precisely that moment.
The current crisis may follow a similar trajectory. Israel will likely respond forcefully, but within the bounds of conventional warfare—cyber operations, targeted strikes, and perhaps intensified campaigns against Iranian proxies. These actions carry risks, certainly, but they stop short of crossing the nuclear threshold.
That threshold, once crossed, cannot be uncrossed.
The deeper concern is not that Israel will imminently use nuclear weapons, but that the conditions which make such use conceivable are becoming more common. Escalation cycles are shortening. Red lines are blurring. And the mechanisms that once managed great-power tensions—backchannel diplomacy, clear signaling, mutual restraint—are increasingly absent or weakened.
Wars rarely begin with the intention of ending in catastrophe. They drift there, step by step, decision by decision. The language shifts. The stakes rise. And what once seemed unthinkable becomes, if not acceptable, then at least discussable.
That is where we are now.
The question, then, is not simply whether Israel will use nuclear weapons. It is whether the international system can still impose enough restraint—through diplomacy, deterrence, and sheer rationality—to ensure that it never has to.
M A Hossain is a journalist and international affairs analyst, based in Bangladesh. He can be reached at: writetomahossain@gmail.com
This article published at :
1. The Nation, Pak : 24 March, 26
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