From the Knesset to Sharm el-Sheikh: How the US president offered Netanyahu a way out

ANALYSIS: By Elijah J Magnier

Benjamin Netanyahu insisted, until just hours before Donald Trump’s arrival, that the war in Gaza would not stop. Then, standing in the Knesset before Israel’s hardline ministers, Trump announced that it had — and whisked a delegation of world leaders to Egypt to formalise the ceasefire before a global audience.

The message was unmistakable: Israel’s prime minister could no longer block peace without suffering public humiliation. Facing ministers who, only a day earlier, had vowed to press on with the war, Trump imposed an abrupt reversal — one that only he could engineer.

He came to Jerusalem not merely to speak, but to enforce the deal already reached and leave Netanyahu no choice but to comply or lose face.

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He then carried that spectacle to Sharm el-Sheikh, gathering heads of state and government from the Middle East, Asia, and Europe to witness and sign the cessation of war.

The first phase — halting hostilities and exchanging prisoners — represented the sole ground on which both sides could agree. But the phases that follow are riddled with complications: a path of shifting sands, vague clauses, and undefined timelines, where the devil hides in every single point.

Trump’s declaration, messages and summit
Trump’s arrival in Israel was theatrical. He entered the Knesset, addressed lawmakers and ministers, praised Netanyahu’s wartime leadership, and then made a sweeping proclamation: the war was over.

That was a bold reversal from the very ministers he faced only hours earlier, who had publicly affirmed their intention to continue the conflict.

The symbolism mattered more than the logic. By announcing the end of the war in Israel’s Parliament, Trump cornered Netanyahu in front of his hardline allies and the world.

If the Israeli leader dared to resume hostilities, he would be defying not only his own coalition but a global consensus. Trump also asked President Isaac Herzog — then present — to pardon Netanyahu from his ongoing corruption charges, invoking the president’s constitutional prerogative.

The gesture fused diplomacy, domestic politics, and Israeli justice in a single, calculated act of theatre.

From Israel, Trump flew to Egypt, where on 13 October 2025 many of the world’s leaders convened at the Sharm el-Sheikh Peace Summit to formalise the Gaza ceasefire.

The event was co-chaired by Trump and Egyptian President Abdel Fattah el-Sisi. The summit hosted delegations from approximately 27 countries, representing leaders from the Middle East, Europe, Asia, and international organisations.

The guest list included Emmanuel Macron, Recep Tayyip Erdoğan, Keir Starmer, Friedrich Merz, Pedro Sánchez, Mahmoud Abbas, António Guterres, António Costa, and the Arab League’s Ahmed Aboul Gheit.

Notably absent were formal representatives of Hamas and Israel itself. Netanyahu had accepted the invitation initially but later declined, citing a conflict with a Jewish holiday and diplomatic pressure from certain participants.

Many leaders refused to meet with him and declined the invitation for that very reason.

At the summit, Trump, Sisi, the Qatari Emir Tamim bin Hamad Al Thani, and Erdoğan signed what was called the Trump Declaration for Enduring Peace and Prosperity — a symbolic document laying out commitments to maintain the ceasefire, support reconstruction, and discourage future conflict.

By bringing so many leaders together in one place, Trump embedded the ceasefire into a global diplomatic architecture, making it harder for Netanyahu and his extremist ministers to reverse course without triggering international backlash.

Israel’s unfulfilled objectives
Despite the scale of destruction, Israel failed to achieve any of its declared military or political objectives in Gaza. The circumstances of this devastating war were unprecedented — and yet, even with such intensity, Israel failed to ethnically cleanse Gaza or alter its demographic reality.

It did not eliminate Hamas or its leadership; it could not rescue its captives through force; it failed to dismantle the movement’s military infrastructure or install a new governing authority in the enclave.

After months of bombardment, Israel still controlled only half of Gaza and faced renewed armed resistance in areas it claimed to have “cleared”. The campaign, designed to restore deterrence, instead exposed Israel’s limitations: overwhelming firepower, backed fully by the United States, but diminishing strategic capacity.

Internationally, the assault deepened Israel’s isolation, eroded its moral legitimacy, and unified global opinion against it. What Netanyahu had promised as a decisive victory ended in a political and military stalemate — the very failure that forced Trump’s intervention.

Many Arab leaders refused to meet with Netanyahu, and Trump himself failed to bring him to Sharm el-Sheikh.

Why Trump intervened
Netanyahu had long survived politically by delaying agreements, shifting blame, and keeping his options open. But this time, the war had devastated Gaza to such an extent that global public opinion — and even international institutions, including the United Nations — began to describe Israel’s actions as genocide.

Israel’s reputation, and Netanyahu’s with it, lay in ruins.

Trump’s intervention offered a lifeline. By casting himself as the architect of peace, he provided Netanyahu with an escape route — a political rescue disguised as diplomacy.

Netanyahu’s coalition, under pressure from its far-right partners, had no credible argument left against a deal once it was validated by world leaders. Trump’s carefully staged ceasefire left Netanyahu with only two choices: resist and face international isolation and sanctions, or comply and survive politically.

Trump also reminded Netanyahu, both publicly and privately, that Israel’s campaign had depended entirely on American weapons.

“He called for different kinds of weapons all the time,” Trump said — a remark that exposed the scale of US complicity. The message was unmistakable: if Israel defied the ceasefire, the stream of arms that had sustained its war could be cut off.

It was an implicit acknowledgment from Trump himself of Washington’s partnership in the devastation of Gaza — a conflict that killed and wounded more than 10 percent of the enclave’s population.

The bombs that rained down on civilians had been supplied on a fast track, lavishly and without restraint, enabling the destruction that Trump now sought to end.

The fragile structure of the deal
The agreement Trump brokered was only the first stage. It prioritised the release of hostages and prisoners — a symbolic and political victory — but left withdrawal, reconstruction, governance, and disarmament undefined.

Netanyahu accepted phase one, but the path ahead is laced with traps. He intends to resume operations against Hamas, undermine clauses he dislikes, and prevent the formation of a Palestinian authority capable of governing Gaza.

Resistance groups are unlikely to lay down all arms; they may surrender heavy weapons like missiles while keeping small arms, ensuring that Israel remains vulnerable to renewed attacks.

The result is de facto partition: Palestinians control parts of Gaza while Israel holds the rest. Each side asserts authority over its zone, and both will use pressure to influence the other.

Netanyahu’s political calculus
Domestically, Netanyahu faces a precarious balancing act. If President Herzog pardons him, it removes the legal threat but not the political cost of the failures of October 7.

Critics will question why Israel did not negotiate a prisoner exchange earlier, when more hostages might have survived.

Should his popularity fall, Netanyahu may dissolve his government and call snap elections — likely before October 2026 — to regain legitimacy. The far-right ministers in his coalition, such as Itamar Ben Gvir and Bezalel Smotrich, are unlikely to respect the ceasefire.

Nevertheless, they, along with Netanyahu who shares the same objective, have no intention of conceding Palestinian statehood or allowing lasting peace. Trump’s deal restricts Netanyahu’s room for manoeuvre, but whether he abides by it or quietly undermines it remains to be seen.

Trump positioned himself as the guarantor of the ceasefire. For the remaining three years of his mandate, Netanyahu will be constrained: he cannot break the agreement without triggering diplomatic consequences.

But ending the Gaza campaign is not the same as resolving the Israeli–Palestinian conflict, which remains untouched. Trump’s envoys, Jared Kushner and Steve Witkoff, remain in Israel to monitor Netanyahu and ensure he does not quietly restart hostilities.

Their presence keeps pressure alive, but it cannot be permanent. Netanyahu, long known for exploiting ambiguities in past agreements, will test every margin.

Public trust in him is weak — among Israelis, world leaders, and his own ministers. If he obstructs the deal, he risks splitting from Washington’s agenda and losing what remains of Israel’s legitimacy.

Trump’s broader aim is to rehabilitate Israel’s global image. He believes halting the war helps Israel recover its reputation while giving Netanyahu a way to maintain power. But his gamble is that Netanyahu will accept limits; if he goes rogue, Trump may face the dilemma of confronting the ally he once defended.

The absent West Bank and the end of the two-state illusion
The West Bank was conspicuously absent from Trump’s discourse. The United States no longer recognises the two-state solution — the very framework established under the Oslo Accords of the 1990s, which Washington itself once sponsored to guarantee Palestinians the right to self-determination and statehood.

By omitting any reference to it, Trump effectively buried what little remained of that diplomatic vision.

This omission ensures that the conflict in Palestine will not end; it will only be renewed, sooner or later, and wherever resistance resurfaces.

In the two years of war, Israel has constructed 22 new settlements on occupied Palestinian land in the West Bank, further erasing the territorial basis for a viable Palestinian state and dismantling the last vestiges of Oslo.

What now remains is not peace but a state of permanent instability — a no-peace condition that guarantees the cycle of violence will continue.

The unresolved core
Trump’s ceasefire is a political theatre of control. It publicly enshrined a truce, placed Netanyahu under scrutiny, and allowed Trump to claim a diplomatic victory. But it did not resolve the Palestinian question.

The ceasefire applies to Gaza, not to the broader occupation, the blockade, or the issue of self-determination. The two sides now operate within a precarious arrangement: Israel controls roughly half of Gaza, the Palestinian resistance remains armed in the other half, and both test the boundaries daily.

Trump cannot hold his envoys indefinitely, and Netanyahu cannot be trusted to restrain himself. The US–Israeli alliance remains solid, but Trump’s personal intervention underscored a fundamental shift: unconditional support has limits when the costs to America’s reputation become too high.

Trump’s strategy was to save Netanyahu and Israel from total isolation — to stop a war that had already killed more than 76,000 people, 82 percent of them civilians, including more than 20,000 children. He halted the destruction at the price of ambiguity: a ceasefire without a settlement, peace without reconciliation.

The world leaders who gathered in Sharm el-Sheikh signed the end of a war, not the beginning of a solution.

Elijah J Magnier is a veteran war zone correspondent and political analyst with over 35 years of experience covering the Middle East and North Africa (MENA). He specialises in real-time reporting of politics, strategic and military planning, terrorism and counter-terrorism; his strong analytical skills complement his reporting. His in-depth experience, extensive contacts and thorough political knowledge of complex political situations in Iran, Iraq, Lebanon, Libya, Sudan and Syria provide his writings with insights balancing the routine misreporting and propaganda in the Western press. He also comments on Al Jazeera.