The historical truth did not change. Israel’s geopolitical environment did.
Syriana Analysis
For decades, Israel refused to officially recognize the Armenian Genocide despite overwhelming historical evidence and even though many Jewish historians acknowledged it without hesitation. Successive Israeli governments insisted that the issue was too politically sensitive, too strategically costly, or simply too complicated to address. And yet, almost overnight, that position appears to have changed. Not because new archives were opened, not because historians discovered new evidence, and certainly not because the victims of 1915 suddenly became more deserving of justice than they were yesterday. The historical facts remained exactly the same. The only thing that changed was the geopolitical environment.
I believe this detail is far more important than the recognition itself because it tells us something uncomfortable about how states weaponize history. As a descendant of Armenian Genocide survivors, I have spent my entire life believing that historical recognition matters. Not because parliamentary resolutions can undo what happened to my ancestors, nor because official declarations can bring back those who were murdered or driven from their homeland, but because historical truth matters in its own right. A crime of that magnitude should never depend on diplomatic convenience, nor should its acknowledgment fluctuate according to changing alliances, arms deals, or regional rivalries. That is precisely why I find it difficult to celebrate Israel’s announcement without first understanding the political calculations that produced it.
When governments that spent decades resisting historical recognition suddenly change course, the first question should be: why did they decide that recognition had become politically useful now?
The timing becomes even more striking when one remembers Netanyahu’s own response during his interview with Patrick Bet-David. Asked directly whether Israel recognized the Armenian Genocide, Netanyahu did not offer a clear answer. Instead, he relied on ambiguity, suggesting that he had somehow answered the question without actually committing himself or his government to an official position. It was a remarkably careful performance, and I think it reflected the reality that, until very recently, recognizing the Armenian Genocide simply did not serve Israel’s strategic interests.
Then came Gideon Sa’ar’s announcement. The Israeli cabinet unanimously endorsed a proposal to officially recognize the Armenian Genocide, although the measure still requires approval by the Knesset before becoming formal state policy. This distinction matters, especially because the Knesset is approaching dissolution. Israel has already obtained the diplomatic headlines and the political signaling associated with recognition while leaving open the possibility that the legislation itself may never become law if political circumstances change.
Sa’ar can now wear the statesman’s hat without necessarily carrying the burden of a final recognition that could complicate Israel’s future relationship with Turkey. If the Knesset dissolves, the proposal can be inherited, delayed or quietly abandoned by another government. If it passes, the next government carries the diplomatic consequences. Either way, the announcement itself may be more valuable to Israel than the legislation it supposedly initiates.That alone should invite skepticism. If historical justice were truly the driving force behind this decision, why did it take 80 years to arrive? Why now, at a moment when relations with Turkey have deteriorated to unprecedented levels? Why now, when Israel faces one of the deepest diplomatic crises in its modern history and is itself accused before international courts of committing genocide in Gaza? These are not separate questions. In my view, they are different parts of the same geopolitical picture.
For decades, Israel’s position on the Armenian Genocide was determined by strategic priorities. During the 1990s and much of the 2000s, Turkey was arguably Israel’s most important regional partner. Military cooperation expanded rapidly, intelligence agencies worked closely together, Israeli defense companies modernized Turkish military equipment, and joint exercises became routine. Ankara gave Israel political access and strategic leverage inside a predominantly Muslim region, while Israel supplied Turkey with advanced military technology, intelligence cooperation and diplomatic support. Under those circumstances, successive Israeli governments concluded that recognizing the Armenian Genocide would unnecessarily damage one of their most valuable strategic relationships.
That calculation extended far beyond Jerusalem. Inside Washington, Turkish, Azerbaijani and Israeli lobbying organizations repeatedly found themselves working in the same direction against congressional recognition of the Armenian Genocide. AIPAC, the ADL and other influential pro-Israel organizations helped create political pressure against recognition during a period when Israel’s relationship with Turkey was considered strategically indispensable. This history is well documented, but it is rarely discussed today because it undermines the narrative that Israel was merely neutral on the question of Armenian recognition. It was not neutral. Israel did not simply refrain from recognizing the Armenian Genocide. It used its influence, directly or indirectly, to help prevent others from recognizing it as well.
This is why the present move cannot be separated from the collapse of the Israel-Turkey relationship. As Haaretz itself put it, this may be the right move for the wrong reasons. Recognition comes at a moment when Turkey is no longer the strategic asset it once was and has increasingly become a regional rival. The same genocide that was once too sensitive to mention has now become politically useful because it can be used as leverage against Ankara. Armenian historical memory is being brought back into the conversation not because the Israeli government suddenly discovered a conscience, but because it seeks to weaponize it.
There is also another dimension that deserves more attention. Israel’s recognition proposal arrives at a moment when the word genocide has become central to the international debate around Gaza. For perhaps the first time in its modern history, Israel is no longer only invoking the memory of genocide. It is being accused of committing one. This changes the political importance of historical memory itself. Once the accusation of genocide becomes part of the global debate, controlling the definition of genocide becomes almost as important as defending military operations on the ground. Israeli officials and many of their supporters increasingly present genocide as something that can only exist when millions are murdered, when industrial extermination is present, or when a crime resembles the Holocaust in its exact form. But genocide is not defined by a numerical threshold. The legal question is whether there is intent to destroy a national, ethnic, racial or religious group in whole or in part.
This is why I find it impossible to separate Israel’s proposed recognition from the broader struggle over political narratives. By recognizing the Armenian Genocide today, Israel can present itself as a defender of historical justice and moral memory while simultaneously contesting the legal and moral framework increasingly being applied to its own actions in Gaza. It can say to the world: we know what genocide is, we recognize genocide, we condemn denial. But the real question is not whether Israel can recognize a genocide that happened more than a century ago. The real question is whether it accepts the same legal and moral principles when they are applied to the Palestinians and Lebanese today.
This is narrative warfare, and narrative warfare has become one of the defining characteristics of contemporary geopolitics.
The F-35 dimension makes this even clearer. According to the Haaretz analysis, the real audience for Israel’s recognition is not Yerevan, Ankara or Baku. It is Washington, and it is connected to the question of Turkey’s possible return to the F-35 program. Israel fears that a Turkish acquisition of the advanced stealth aircraft would threaten its regional aerial dominance and challenge Washington’s long-standing commitment to Israel’s qualitative military edge. At the same time, Trump has shown a clear willingness to praise Erdoğan, describe him as a strong NATO leader and signal that he may be prepared to provide Turkey with military hardware that would make Ankara “very happy.”
This is where the Armenian Genocide becomes useful again as a political pressure point inside Washington. It reminds American politicians of the issue Turkey fears most, precisely at a moment when Ankara is trying to repair its defense relationship with the United States and regain access to advanced military systems. Israel does not need to declare openly that it is using Armenian recognition to block or complicate an F-35 deal. The timing speaks for itself. The genocide becomes part of a wider proxy war between Israel and Turkey, with Washington as the decisive arena.
That does not mean Israel and Turkey are necessarily heading toward a direct military confrontation. I remain skeptical of that argument. Turkey is a NATO member, Israel understands Turkey’s military weight, and both states have repeatedly demonstrated that they know how to compete, coordinate and avoid crossing each other’s most dangerous red lines. They can clash politically, undermine each other through allies and compete for influence in Syria, the Eastern Mediterranean, the Caucasus and Washington, while still avoiding a direct war. But that does not make the rivalry unreal. It simply means that the battlefield is not necessarily a conventional one. It can be fought through lobbying, military programs, diplomatic recognition, intelligence networks and the weaponization of historical memory.
This cynicism becomes even more striking when one examines Israel’s treatment of Armenians not in history, but in the present. The Armenian community in Jerusalem has struggled for years to defend one of Christianity’s oldest continuous communities against corporate projects and political interests that threaten its land and demographic future. The Armenian Quarter is not merely another neighborhood inside the Old City. It represents centuries of uninterrupted Armenian presence in Jerusalem, surviving empires, wars, occupations and political transformations. Yet today, its residents continue fighting legal battles and facing pressure to preserve land and property that have belonged to the Armenian Patriarchate for generations. The Save the ArQ movement exists because Armenians in Jerusalem understand that their community faces an existential challenge.
How can a government suddenly present itself as the defender of Armenian historical memory while Armenians living under its authority continue struggling to preserve their physical presence in Jerusalem? If Israel truly cares about Armenians and the Armenian Genocide, the least it can do is stop enabling policies and interests that may push one of the last remaining Armenian communities in the Middle East toward further displacement. Historical recognition becomes difficult to separate from political convenience when contemporary realities point in the opposite direction.
The contradiction extends far beyond Jerusalem. Over the past two decades, Israel has become one of Azerbaijan’s closest strategic partners. This relationship is not limited to trade or diplomacy. It rests upon intelligence cooperation, oil, military technology and the broader confrontation with Iran. Israeli defense companies supplied Azerbaijan with sophisticated drones, missile systems, loitering munitions, surveillance technologies and other advanced weapons that altered the military balance during the wars over Nagorno-Karabakh. These weapons were decisive instruments on the battlefield.
The consequences are well known. More than 120,000 Armenians were forced to flee Artsakh in 2023. Entire communities disappeared almost overnight from lands where Armenians had lived for centuries. Churches were emptied, villages were abandoned, cemeteries and cultural heritage sites were left behind, and an ancient population vanished from Nagorno-Karabakh. Throughout this period, Israel did not reconsider its strategic partnership with Baku. Military cooperation continued expanding because Azerbaijan was not only a lucrative arms market. It was a major oil supplier and a strategic platform on Iran’s northern frontier.
This is also why the Israeli involvement in so-called smart villages near the Iranian border deserves much more scrutiny. I am not making speculative claims about the precise functions of these projects or the intelligence activities that may or may not be connected to them. But the broader picture is clear enough: territories emptied of Armenians have become part of a new strategic geography in which Azerbaijan consolidates control, Israel expands technological and political influence, and Iran becomes the central target of concern. Armenia does not appear in this strategy primarily as a moral question. It appears as a variable inside the wider confrontation with Turkey, Iran and the changing balance of power across the South Caucasus.
This is why I struggle to interpret Israel’s new concern for Armenian historical suffering as evidence of moral consistency. If the descendants of genocide survivors deserve recognition for what happened in 1915, why did the descendants of those same survivors receive Israeli-made drones over their heads in 2020 and 2023? If Armenian memory genuinely deserves protection, why was that concern absent when an entire Armenian population was displaced from Nagorno-Karabakh under weapons supplied by one of Israel’s closest regional allies? Why was there no moral awakening then? Why was there no cabinet resolution, no solemn statement, no warning about historical responsibility?
Turkey’s denial of the Armenian Genocide remains indefensible. Erdoğan’s attempt to portray Ottoman and Turkish history as a story of nothing but justice, mercy and compassion is not serious history. It is denial. Armenians were not deported from their homeland because they suddenly decided to move to the deserts of Deir ez-Zor. My own family was not born in Syria because they simply preferred Aleppo to eastern Anatolia. Churches, villages, cemeteries and cultural sites did not disappear by coincidence. The Armenian Genocide happened. It was organized, systematic and catastrophic, and those who deny it are denying a historical crime against humanity.
But Turkey’s denial does not transform Israel’s timing into an act of solidarity. Two governments can be cynical at the same time. One can deny the Armenian Genocide because it fears historical responsibility, while the other can invoke the Armenian Genocide because it sees a political opportunity. Armenians should reject both forms of manipulation.
Israel should formally recognize the Armenian Genocide. The Knesset should approve the proposal without delay, without ambiguity and without allowing the issue to disappear when relations with Turkey become useful again. But Armenians should remain deeply skeptical of this sudden moral awakening. We should not allow our history, our trauma and the memory of our ancestors to become a cheap bargaining chip in the hands of politicians who ignored us when Turkey was useful, armed our enemies when Azerbaijan was useful, and now invoke us because we may be useful again in a confrontation over F-35s, Washington and regional power.
Recognition matters. But recognition that appears only when history becomes strategically useful is not solidarity. It is the politicization of genocide memory, and Armenians should not allow themselves to become cannon fodder in someone else’s geopolitical war.
—Kevork Almassian is a Syrian geopolitical analyst and the founder of Syriana Analysis
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