As Israel comes under growing international pressure to change its tactics and agree to a ceasefire in Gaza, its leaders have made clear they aren’t interested. Foreign Minister Eli Cohen said the shift would hand a victory to terrorism, while Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu said he was “proud” to have blocked the creation of a Palestinian state alongside Israel, seen by allies as the prerequisite for any sustainable peace.

Two examples from recent history – from Northern Ireland and Azerbaijan – warn that these could be catastrophic miscalculations for the state of Israel.

Ben Wallace, the U.K. secretary of state for defense until August, made the Irish comparison in an article published this month in the Daily Telegraph, a solidly pro-Israel U.K. newspaper. The Troubles, as more than three decades of sectarian bloodshed over Northern Ireland’s status are known, escalated dramatically, he recalled, after the British government tried to end them through a draconian combination of military force and a suspension of legal due process, called internment.

Internment involved the jailing without trial of thousands of people suspected of having connections to the Irish Republican Army. That in turn prompted the 1972 tragedy of Bloody Sunday, when British paratroopers shot 26 Catholics with live bullets at an anti-internment protest in the town of Derry, killing 14 of them. The result was a huge increase in membership for the Provisional IRA – a more radical splinter group of the Irish Republican Army – from a few dozens to about 1,000, funded by a boom in the group’s funding by sympathizers in the U.S. and elsewhere.

“Northern Ireland internment taught us that a disproportionate response by the state can serve as a terrorist organization’s best recruiting sergeant,’’ Wallace wrote. Two decades of intensified terrorist attacks followed Bloody Sunday, with the IRA expanding its bombing campaign to the U.K. mainland. Nothing worked to halt the violence until the U.K. government did what it said it never would and publicly opened negotiations in 1994 with the IRA’s political wing, Sinn Fein.

The price of peace was a power-sharing deal together with expanded self-government for Northern Ireland, plus the right to an eventual referendum on the region’s status, among other concessions made on both sides. The consequences for the U.K. were greater still because the deal forced it later to grant similar rights of self-government and potential secession to Scotland and Wales.

For sure, Northern Ireland is a different and in many ways much simpler case than the one Israel faces, not least because the Palestinian question plays a role far beyond Israel’s borders. The bloodshed in Gaza risks spurring recruitment not just for Hamas, but for Islamist terrorist organizations across the Middle East and beyond.

Small wonder then that such staunch supporters of Israel as France, Germany, the U.K. and the U.S. are now calling for Netanyahu to change tactics and look for paths to a sustainable cease-fire. As if to underscore the counterproductive nature of Israel’s scorched-earth tactics, the Israel Defense Forces recently acknowledged mistakenly killing three of the hostages they were sent into Gaza to rescue, even though they were waving improvised white flags of surrender.

The example of Armenians in Nagorno-Karabakh should be still more sobering for Israelis considering the road that Netanyahu and his government are taking. More than 30 years ago, I stood with an Armenian general at the top of a plateau as he pointed toward Mount Ararat in Turkey and territories beyond as far as Syria, which had once belonged to the Kingdom of Armenia but were now controlled by Muslim enemies. He called his predominantly Christian nation “the Israel of the Caucasus,” surrounded by sometimes genocidal hostility and obliged to rely on arms for its survival.

That was 1992. War was raging in Nagorno-Karabakh, a part of neighboring Azerbaijan that for centuries had been populated mainly by ethnic Armenians. They were now contesting Azeri control as the collapse of the Soviet Union gave sudden meaning to the USSR’s once notional internal borders. Karabakh’s Armenians wanted either to be independent or annexed, and by 1994 they had won a crushing military victory, backed by Armenia and its security guarantor, Russia. The future seemed secure, even without a political settlement to accompany the cease-fire that Armenia had forced on its defeated rival.

The U.S. and some in Armenia, including then President Levon Ter-Petrossian, worried this wasn’t sustainable. They argued for negotiating a long-term deal with Baku while Yerevan held most of the cards. The idea was that Armenians, including in Karabakh, should recognize Azerbaijan’s sovereignty over the enclave, in exchange for Baku accepting international peacekeepers, a land bridge from Karabakh to Armenia, and strong political autonomy for the enclave.

Ter-Petrossian’s proposals for compromise contributed to losing his job. He drew the ire of nationalists, including a hawkish diaspora, for whom the history of Armenian expulsion and genocide – committed by Ottoman Turkey in 1915 – required relentless vigilance and force, to ensure it could never happen again. Besides, why negotiate when Armenia had comprehensively won and enjoyed the support of regional hegemon Russia?

The answer to that question became apparent this summer. Azerbaijan’s oil and gas fields had slowly transformed the balance of forces over the years, allowing it to build and equip a military far in excess of anything Armenia could afford. Russia, meanwhile, became disenchanted with Yerevan, just as a resurgent Turkey grew willing to throw its weight behind Turkic Azerbaijan, disregarding objections from Moscow or Washington. Azerbaijan struck back in 2020, recovering many of its losses. And this year, with Moscow busy invading Ukraine, a further offensive took just a day to force Karabakh’s total surrender.

Ethnic Armenians fled, fearful of the coming Azeri revenge, and by now few if any remain in their ancestral homes. This tragic turn of events came about because Armenia fell victim to the “illusion of absolute security,” according to Thomas de Waal, a Caucasus specialist and senior fellow at the Carnegie Endowment for International Peace. “Times change, alliances change, and the military balance changes,’’ he said. And by the time that happens, it’s too late for diplomacy.

Getting to a settlement with Azerbaijan that was acceptable to both sides would have been difficult, even when Yerevan held the advantage. It took painful compromises for the U.K. to cut a deal with the former IRA commanders running Sinn Fein in 1998. And the hurdles to a two-state solution for Israel and Palestine would be even bigger. Years of failed peace talks, rocket attacks and Hamas’ Oct. 7 atrocities have combined to harden views on both sides, including against the very concept of a two-state solution. Yet Israel, too, may not always be in a position of military dominance, enjoying the full backing of a superpower. Palestinians and Israelis have reason to despair of each other, but neither rage nor despair is a policy. After three-quarters of a century, nobody has come up with an alternative to the creation of two separate states that offers even the possibility of peaceful coexistence.

The much-derided two-state idea proposes not a utopian Shangri-la of cohabitation, but a divorce aimed at cutting short the fundamentally genocidal dreams of extremists. The terms of that divorce would need to guarantee the security of each state against the other, taking Gaza’s administration and policing out of the hands of both Hamas and Israel. That would not be easy, but the attempt couldn’t be worse than anything Netanyahu’s effort to crush not just Hamas, but Palestinian rights and hopes, can produce.

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