This wasn’t a peace deal. It was a reputational rescue mission. A ceasefire dressed up in the grand robes of “historic peace,” while the real demands of the oppressed—statehood, dignity, the right of return—were buried beneath the fanfare. Trump and Netanyahu clung to the word “peace” like a talisman, deliberately avoiding “ceasefire,” “truce,” or “cessation of fighting.” Those words imply accountability. “Peace” is vague enough to mean anything, and in their hands, it means nothing.
The Palestinians want recognition. They want borders—4 June 1967. They want East Jerusalem as their capital. They want the right of return for those displaced in 1948. What they got instead was a photo op, a hostage swap, and a speech so porous a convoy of contradictions could drive through it.
Netanyahu hailed Trump’s “pivotal leadership,” calling it “a day of renewed hope.” But hope is not a substitute for justice. And this ceasefire, like the ones before it, will not hold. The lovey-dovey choreography between Trump and Netanyahu is already fraying. Their mutual adoration is a performance piece—soon to devolve into a barbed exchange of blame when Hamas resurfaces, when the next rocket flies, when the next funeral is held.
Trump’s speech was a masterclass in self-aggrandizement. He spoke not as a mediator, but as a messiah. The man who “fixed” the Middle East. The man who “brought peace.” The man who “ended the conflict.” But the conflict hasn’t ended. It’s been paused. And even that pause is fragile, stitched together with political duct tape and diplomatic vanity.
He mentioned the Palestinians only twice. Not their suffering. Not their demands. Not their history. Just a vague nod, as if they were a footnote in someone else’s war. This is the same Trump who moved the US embassy to Jerusalem, who cut aid to UNRWA, who greenlit settlements with a wink and a tweet. His record is not one of peace—it’s one of provocation.
Netanyahu, for his part, played the role of grateful host. He showered Trump with praise, framed the ceasefire as a triumph, and painted Hamas as vanquished. But Hamas is not gone. It is wounded, yes. Disrupted, perhaps. But not destroyed. And Netanyahu knows it. His embrace of Trump is tactical, not ideological. It’s a bet that Trump’s ego can be weaponized to serve Israeli interests—at least for now.
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But this alliance is brittle. Beneath the smiles and handshakes lies a simmering tension. Trump believes Netanyahu bungled the war. That he failed to crush Hamas. That he ignored American advice. Netanyahu, in turn, sees Trump as reckless, self-serving, and dangerously impulsive. Their relationship is a powder keg of mutual suspicion, barely masked by diplomatic theatre.
And when the ceasefire collapses—as it almost certainly will—the blame game will begin. Trump will accuse Netanyahu of incompetence. Netanyahu will accuse Trump of betrayal. Each will claim the other sabotaged peace. Each will insist they were right. And the Palestinians, once again, will be left in the rubble.
This is not diplomacy. It’s a theatre. A Swiss cheese of a peace plan—full of holes, hollow in substance, and destined to rot under the weight of reality. Trump came to Jerusalem not to broker peace, but to burnish his legacy. To re-anchor his narrative from paralysis to breakthrough. To recast himself as the architect of resolution, even as the foundations crumble beneath him.
The Palestinians’ voices were not heard. Their demands were not acknowledged. Their suffering was not mourned. This was a peace without partners. A ceasefire without justice. A performance without truth.
And the world watched. Some applauded. Some winced. However, few believed because they had seen this play before. The grand declarations. The staged handshakes. The temporary silences. And then, inevitably, the return of violence.
Trump’s speech was not a roadmap. It was a detour. A diversion from the real issues. A distraction from the real pain. It was a monument to ego, not empathy—a celebration of power rather than peace.
And Netanyahu played along. Because he knows the game, he understands that genuine peace requires genuine concessions. Real recognition. Real accountability. And he’s not ready to give that. Not to the Palestinians. Not to the international community. Not to history.
So the cycle continues. The ceasefire will fray. The rockets will return. The speeches will sour. And Trump and Netanyahu will turn on each other, each accusing the other of perfidy, betrayal, and failure.
This is not the dawn of a new Middle East. It’s the recycling of old delusions. The repackaging of old lies. The rebranding of old violence.
And the Palestinians? They will continue to wait. For recognition. For justice. For a voice. For a peace that is more than a photo op. More than a speech. More than a Swiss cheese of promises.
Until then, the silence between the bombs will be called “peace.” And the world will pretend to believe.
The views expressed in this article belong to the author and do not necessarily reflect the editorial policy of Middle East Monitor.