A World “Between Wars”

On Demography, Military Power, and the Illusion of Stability.
By Yakov Faitelson

Иллюстрация: kontinentusa.com / AI

This essay argues that today’s international system is best understood not as postwar but as “between wars,” with periods of apparent calm serving as phases of strategic preparation rather than genuine stability. Drawing on the war in Ukraine, Russia’s demographic decline, and Europe’s rearmament, it shows how military capacity, population trends, and geography are reshaping security calculations—particularly for Israel, where territorial depth and demography impose structural constraints that diplomacy alone cannot resolve.

We do not live in a postwar world. We live in a world between wars. The distinction is more than semantic. Much of contemporary political discourse treats the present moment as a transitional inconvenience on the way to stability. In practice, such assumptions are repeatedly paid for in lives lost, economic dislocation, and long-term strategic damage.

The appeal of “peace now” has always been understandable. It has also often been dangerous. Today it is evident in Europe and the Middle East alike, and it carries particular risks for Israel. Unlike great powers, Israel cannot absorb the consequences of a failed strategic campaign, either militarily or demographically.

A world between wars is not an intermission. It is a period of active strategic preparation. States that mistake it for respite are usually the least prepared for what follows.

Why This Is Not a “Post-War World”

The only correction needed in how the current situation is described is simple: we are not in a post-war reality. At best, we are in what Israel has called for years a “between wars” situation. This term is much more accurate than any talk of stability or calm.

Ukraine, if it could, would be happy to be in such a state. Being “between wars” is easier than living in total war. But the very idea that the war “will end soon” and peace will come almost by itself is a kind of self-delusion. History teaches: wars do end, but almost never as imagined in real time.

In the pre-industrial era, historical processes developed slowly. With the advent of aviation, missiles, and space technologies, the pace of political and military cycles changed.

Therefore, this war too will end—perhaps even sooner than currently estimated. But it will not end as optimistic scenarios of negotiations and current commentaries paint.

When I hear statements that “peace is near” and that it will be stable and long-lasting, I recall unpleasant historical associations—the Munich Agreement of 1938 and Neville Chamberlain’s false prophecy of “peace for our time.” We know how that illusion ended.

The difference between Czechoslovakia in 1938 and Ukraine today is substantial. Ukraine did not surrender—and does not intend to surrender. Perhaps a paradoxical factor was at play: the Ukrainians chose a stubborn leader who made it clear to their Western allies that he did not need a taxi to escape—but weapons.

Therefore, proposals that now seem like pragmatic business compromises are perceived in Ukraine as national suicide. And so, talk of “peace tomorrow” seems—at the very least—premature.

Russia: Empires Do Not Disintegrate Neatly

There is a common perception that Russia will inevitably win because it is “objectively strong.” This argument ignores basic historical logic. Empires sometimes appear especially strong on the eve of a systemic crisis. Their collapse is almost never immediate, but signs of disintegration are evident long before the official end.

At the start of the war in Ukraine, I wrote: “Paradoxically, it was the Russian president who created an independent Ukraine—not in the legal sense, but in the historical sense.” Until 2022, there could be debate about language, identity, and regional differences. Afterward, these disputes became completely meaningless. The “brotherly people” who invaded a neighboring country with unusual brutality were met with resistance that became the basis for the consolidation and strengthening of the national identity of the defending people.

A look at long-term demographic trends shows that the main burden of the war does not fall on Moscow or St. Petersburg, but on the periphery—on non-Russian minorities.

From this perspective, the state of the “Russian core” is worse than that of other ethnic groups. As published on March 31, 2025, by the A.G. Vishnevsky Institute of Demography at the Higher School of Economics in Moscow: the number of births in 2023 dropped by 35% compared to 2015 (1,264,000 versus 1,941,000). (HSE Institute of Demography, 2025). The reason for the population decline in Russia in 1993, 1995–2008, and 2020–2024 was a natural decrease—more deaths than births, observed since 1992.

According to the Russian Federal State Statistics Service (“Rosstat”), the total fertility rate in Russia in 2022 was 1.42 children per woman, compared to 1.5 in 2021. (Rosstat data, 2023). Long-term forecasts are also not promising for Russians. According to one “Rosstat” forecast, by 2046, the country will lose 15.4 million people. About 30% of Russia’s population will be Muslim within the next 15 years, according to the Grand Mufti of Russia, citing demographic trends.

This has broad implications: for governance, the economy, the military, and the state’s very ability to maintain its territorial integrity. The causes of the crises that led to partial disintegration in 1917 and a much deeper collapse in 1991 were different, but the result was similar: the imperial structure could not withstand internal pressure.

Today’s Russia is much weaker than Tsarist Russia, and certainly than the Soviet Union. It combines elements from both scenarios—so its crisis may be deeper and more painful. The disintegration of empires may take time, but it is historically recurrent. In this context, promises of “peace tomorrow” are nothing but a collective illusion.

Europe Awakens

Ukraine is holding on largely thanks to American and European aid, but the war has already changed Europe itself. It has had to face an uncomfortable realization: the United States can be relied upon—but only to a limited extent.

Paradoxically, the pressure exerted by President Donald Trump on Europe, despite his blunt style, turned out in retrospect to have clear strategic logic. He did not seek to dismantle NATO but demanded that Europe take responsibility for its security. Eastern and Central Europe understood this well—security cannot be outsourced.

Poland, the Czech Republic, Romania, and others have embarked on an accelerated process of armament. They are developing military industries, acquiring advanced systems. This enabled them to transfer heavy weapons from their Warsaw Pact days to Ukraine.

Western Europe is awakening much more slowly. Germany is only now returning to a reality where security is not a theoretical concept. Britain and France maintain relatively small military forces compared to the threats of the 21st century.

Against this backdrop, Europe discovers a simple truth: when there is an urgent need to close security gaps and acquire proven battlefield weapons, the options are limited, and Israel occupies a central place.

It’s not just about the volume of Israeli exports, which have reached many billions of dollars. Modern systems are not a one-time purchase: they require maintenance, upgrades, personnel training, ammunition supply, and integration into existing arrays. Such engagements create long-term ties, taking into account the political interests of the contracting parties.

Therefore, declarations of a boycott against Israel often turn out to be practically meaningless. In practice, without air defense systems, unmanned technologies, anti-tank means, and electronic warfare solutions, the defense capability of modern states is significantly impaired.

Israel exports not only equipment but also proven operational experience. In a world that believes less and less in the illusion of “eternal peace,” this experience becomes a strategic asset.

From “Villa in the Jungle” to Regional Power

One of the harmful concepts adopted by Israel in recent decades was the “villa in the jungle” metaphor, coined by former Prime Minister Ehud Barak. The metaphor sounds flattering: we are the culture, surrounded by chaos—and all that remains is to lock ourselves behind a fence. In historical terms, this is a logic of isolation reminiscent, in strategic terms, of the defensive approach of Jewish communities in the diaspora—not in the everyday sense, but in the strategic sense. You can fortify a ghetto—but you cannot win strategically from it.

History is full of examples: Hadrian’s and Trajan’s walls did not save Rome; the Maginot Line did not stop the German army; the Bar-Lev Line did not stop the Egyptian army. The advanced and extremely expensive fence built around Gaza did not prevent the disaster in the surrounding communities. It created a sense of security that evaporated the moment the enemy decided the price of breaching it was bearable.

Today, Israel is returning to a different logic, that of Ben-Gurion and Jabotinsky: ensuring security beyond immediate borders. Not passive waiting for a blow, but preemptive action. Strikes in Iran, Yemen, and Syria, activity in Lebanon and Gaza—are not a random collection of events, but an expression of regional strategy.

The Northern and Southern Security Corridors

This strategy is also reflected in diplomacy. Around Israel, a network of partnerships is forming. In the north, there is cooperation with Greece and Cyprus, including joint military exercises and coordination of activities in the eastern Mediterranean.

In the center, a strategic transportation network is taking shape, connecting India with Europe via the UAE, Saudi Arabia, Jordan, Israel, Cyprus, and Greece.

In the south, an equally important alliance is forming: Israel–India–Ethiopia–Somaliland–South Sudan. This involves control over the Bab-el-Mandeb Strait (“Gate of Tears” in Arabic), one of the three most important maritime routes in the world connecting Europe, Africa, and Asia. In 2023, about 22% of global maritime traffic passed through it.

It should be emphasized: this is not about creating a new official alliance in the spirit of a “Southern NATO.” Israel is building a network of shared interests which, through cooperation, creates a new geopolitical reality of collective security for the world’s most important trade routes.

The basic difference between Israel and its main ally is clear: the United States can end its involvement and return across the ocean. Israel has nowhere to retreat.

Hence, a central task of Israeli diplomacy is to clarify that solutions that seem reasonable from an American perspective may be dangerous for Israel. True support cannot be expressed by imposing moves that contradict basic security interests.

Israel cannot afford to lose any war. This is not rhetoric, but geographic and demographic reality. Therefore, Israel is forced to think several steps ahead, even when its partners prefer to focus on the next election cycle.

Thus, the discussion on the importance of Judea, Samaria, and the Gaza Strip is usually conducted in ideological terms, and too rarely in terms of strategic planning that relates to questions linking state security and the importance of Jewish settlements for its strengthening. This is a serious mistake.

Critics contend that large-scale settlement expansion entails substantial diplomatic and security costs. Yet these considerations do not alter the basic geographic and demographic constraints that shape Israel’s long-term strategic exposure.

Historically, the strategic depth of a geographic area has always been crucial. Its size determines how long it will take enemy forces to reach centers of government and vital infrastructure. The smaller the depth, the shorter the window for organization, defense, and counterattack.

According to Russian military standards, the effective firing range of standard tube artillery is 30–45 km; guided rockets reach substantially farther. According to US Army standards, the defense depth of a division is up to 28 km, and of a brigade up to 12 km.

The width of the State of Israel in the Netanya area along the 1949 lines is about 15 km, and the entire country between the sea and the Jordan does not exceed about 70 km. Hence the structural challenge the IDF may face in the absence of full security control in the mountainous area east of the coastal plain.

But control of territory is not achieved by slogans or marking points on a map, but by stable and broad human presence. Small settlements do not create critical mass and do not solve strategic problems. They are easy to freeze, isolate, and even dismantle when the political climate changes.

Modi’in Illit, Beitar Illit, Ma’ale Adumim, Givat Ze’ev, and Ariel are examples of creating irreversible presence. Had urban construction in Judea and Samaria received more significant support already in the 1970s, the demographic and strategic balance in the area would look different. This is not an ideological claim, but a planning-strategic conclusion.

On March 5, 2020, the UN Statistical Commission approved the degree of urbanization as a recommended method for international comparisons. According to these definitions, a settlement is defined as a city if its population is at least 50,000 in contiguous dense grid cells. (UN Statistical Commission, 2020). This definition is based on the logic of agglomeration economies. The cost of providing services tends to rise from cities to towns and semi-dense areas, and then to rural areas.

As a result, access to these services tends to be highest in cities and lowest in rural areas. Therefore, every new city must reach a critical mass—at least 50,000 residents. Only at such scales are stability, economic independence, and the ability to serve as an anchor for surrounding settlements created.

In addition to the population size of settlements in Judea, Samaria, and the Gaza Strip, there is also a political implication. For example, if Neve Dekalim had 50,000 residents instead of 2,500, Gush Katif would have remained and continued to develop.

From the very beginning of Israeli strategic thinking, Ben-Gurion and Jabotinsky saw this area not as a temporary bargaining chip. For them it was an asset of deep historical and national significance. Above all, they saw it as an area from which strategic depth, sustainable security borders, territorial continuity, and the state’s deterrence and survivability are derived. Ignoring this fact replaces long-term thinking with momentary political convenience.

The time between wars is not a gift. It is an examination. States that treat it as a holiday are eventually examined again, under harsher conditions. Israel will not enjoy the luxury of repeated failure.

Peace, when it lasts, is not declared into existence. It is engineered—by force when necessary, by population trends when unavoidable, by diplomacy when possible, and usually by all three at once.

We live between wars. And in such periods, it is determined who will set the rules for the next stage of history—and who will be forced to act according to them.