Origins of ‘Greater Israel’

Chapter 1: Introduction – Israel and the Question of Power

From its earliest decades, Israel’s relationship with the United States has generated profound debate. Is Israel best understood as a client state—a dependent ally serving American strategic interests? Or is it, in fact, an autonomous power, capable of shaping U.S. policy in ways that often run counter to Washington’s own calculations?

The first view, deeply rooted in Cold War-era thinking, portrays Israel as “the unsinkable aircraft carrier of the United States in the Middle East.” The phrase, attributed to Alexander Haig, Ronald Reagan’s Secretary of State, encapsulates the notion that Israel is a vital outpost of American military power: a reliable partner surrounded by hostile Arab states, able to project force, gather intelligence, and counter Soviet influence. In this telling, Israel’s function is primarily strategic, much like a forward-deployed naval base.

But there has always been another, more troubling perspective. In a 1992 Nightline interview, Richard Nixon reflected on his decades of experience dealing with Israel. Support for Israel continued, he acknowledged, but its strategic utility had “diminished”. For Nixon, what sustained the relationship was not primarily geopolitical necessity but domestic political dynamics and a moral attachment to Israel as a fellow “democracy.” He implied that, if judged strictly by cold national interest, the U.S. commitment to Israel was hard to justify.

History offers powerful evidence for the second view—that Israel often acts independently, and even at times against U.S. interests. The 1967 attack on the USS Liberty is a stark example: during the Six-Day War, Israeli forces struck an American signals-intelligence vessel, killing 34 U.S. sailors. Though Israel later claimed it was a mistake, declassified U.S. documents and survivors’ testimony strongly suggest otherwise. Washington nevertheless covered up the incident, unwilling to confront Israel publicly.

In 1973, during the Yom Kippur War, Israel threatened to use nuclear weapons if its survival appeared in doubt. This escalation risked drawing the U.S. and Soviet Union into direct confrontation. Henry Kissinger later recalled the pressure of preventing a global crisis while simultaneously managing Israel’s brinkmanship.

The Jonathan Pollard espionage case of the 1980s offers another illustration. Pollard, a U.S. naval intelligence analyst, spied for Israel, passing thousands of classified documents—including highly sensitive material about U.S. sources and methods—to Israeli handlers. Far from the behaviour of a loyal client state, this was the act of an ally willing to damage U.S. security to advance its own.

Israel’s 1982 invasion of Lebanon, and the subsequent massacre at Sabra and Shatila by its allied militias, also inflicted severe reputational damage on Washington. The U.S. found itself implicated by association, despite having no interest in such brutality.

The pattern persists into the present. Following October 7, 2023, Israel’s devastating assault on Gaza—described by South Africa before the International Court of Justice as genocidal—undermined American influence worldwide. U.S. credibility in the Global South, already strained, collapsed further as Washington provided diplomatic cover for Israel at the United Nations and continued weapons transfers despite global outrage. For America’s European and Arab allies alike, Israel’s actions were destabilising.

Yet moments of U.S. resistance remind us that the relationship is not one of absolute domination by Israel. President Dwight Eisenhower, in 1957, forced Israel to withdraw from Sinai after the Suez Crisis, making clear that Washington, not London, Paris, or Tel Aviv, would set the terms of Middle East security. Likewise, in 1991, President George H.W. Bush withheld $10 billion in loan guarantees as leverage to slow Israeli settlement expansion. But such episodes are rare exceptions.

Taken together, the evidence complicates the “unsinkable aircraft carrier” metaphor. Israel is not a mere instrument of American strategy. Nor is it a fully independent actor divorced from U.S. support. Instead, it exists in a hybrid position: shielded by American power yet frequently pursuing policies—settlement expansion, regional wars, covert operations—that harm U.S. strategic interests.

This paradox raises a central question: why does the U.S.–Israel relationship endure, even when it demonstrably weakens American power? The answer lies not in short-term calculations of utility but in the deeper ideological, theological, and financial origins of Zionism itself.

To grasp Israel’s independence within the American orbit, one must trace the roots of Zionism back before Herzl, before the Holocaust, even before Britain’s Balfour Declaration. The project of “Greater Israel” was cultivated across centuries: first as a Christian theological vision, then as a financial and political project carried by powerful European elites, and finally as a geopolitical reality embedded in Anglo-American power.

This book will explore that arc. From the millenarian dreams of 17th-century English evangelicals, through the rise of the Rothschild banking dynasty during the Napoleonic Wars, to the drafting of the Balfour Declaration in 1917 and the lobbying networks of the present, the story of Greater Israel reveals how finance, ideology, and politics converged to create one of the most consequential states of the modern age.

Chapter 2: The Deep Roots of Zionism

When most accounts of Zionism begin with Theodor Herzl’s Der Judenstaat (1896) and the First Zionist Congress at Basel in 1897, they risk obscuring a deeper, older genealogy. Political Zionism may have taken its modern organisational form in the late 19th century, but the intellectual and theological currents underpinning it stretched back centuries. Long before Herzl, the idea that Jews must return to the Holy Land had been championed by Christian thinkers, woven into imperial politics, and supported by financiers who saw in it both prophecy and opportunity.

Christian Restorationism: A Pre-Herzlian Zionism

The roots of Zionism lie in Christian restorationism—the belief that the Jews must be restored to Palestine as a necessary precondition for the Second Coming of Christ. This doctrine emerged in 16th- and 17th-century Protestant Europe, particularly in England, where millenarian fervour infused theology and politics alike.

One of the earliest English proponents was Sir Henry Finch, a lawyer and MP who in 1621 published The World’s Great Restauration, or the Calling of the Jews. Finch argued that the Jews’ return to their ancient homeland was foretold in Scripture and would precede Christ’s millennial reign. His work was controversial, condemned by King James I, yet it resonated widely among Puritan circles.

Later, under Oliver Cromwell, the idea gained political expression. Cromwell’s Protectorate lifted the ban on Jewish settlement in England in 1656, partly due to millenarian advisers who believed that restoring Jews to the land of Israel—and allowing them back into Christian Europe—was divinely mandated. Evangelicals such as Thomas Brightman and Joseph Mede promoted interpretations of prophecy that cast the Jews’ return to Palestine as a cosmic necessity.

By the 18th and 19th centuries, restorationist ideas had become embedded in British evangelical Protestantism. Figures like Lord Shaftesbury (Anthony Ashley-Cooper) were especially influential. Shaftesbury famously described Palestine as “a country without a nation” awaiting “a nation without a country”—a slogan later echoed in Zionist propaganda. For Shaftesbury and other evangelical elites, Jewish restoration was not just theology but geopolitics, a means of aligning British imperial destiny with divine prophecy.

Proto-Zionism and Early British Policy

These theological currents began to seep into British foreign policy well before Herzl. By the 1830s and 1840s, evangelical parliamentarians lobbied the Foreign Office to support Jewish “restoration” in Ottoman Palestine. Lord Palmerston, as Foreign Secretary, was sympathetic—less from theology than from a pragmatic sense that Jews in Palestine could act as buffers against Ottoman decline and Russian encroachment.

This early “proto-Zionism” prefigured the later Balfour Declaration by nearly a century. It demonstrates that the notion of a Jewish homeland in Palestine was not suddenly invented in the age of nationalism; it was already circulating in British imperial thought, shaped by the unusual alliance of evangelicals, financiers, and imperial politicians.

Zionism Before the Nation-State

An often-overlooked point is that restorationist thought predates the modern nation-state system itself. Christian Zionism was circulating in England in the 1600s—before Britain’s Act of Union (1707), before the founding of the United States (1789), before the French Republic (1792). This chronology matters. It shows that the Zionist project is not merely a product of modern nationalism or 19th-century imperialism but is rooted in older theological visions that outlasted political regimes.

By the time Herzl convened the First Zionist Congress in 1897, he was inheriting a centuries-old idea with deep Protestant, evangelical, and imperial antecedents. Herzl systematised it into a modern political program, but the intellectual soil had been fertilised long before.

The Convergence of Theology and Politics

The convergence of Christian prophecy with imperial strategy created a potent force. Britain’s evangelical statesmen saw in Jewish restoration both a fulfilment of divine will and an extension of British influence in the Near East. This combination of theology and geopolitics is critical to understanding Zionism’s eventual success. Unlike other nationalist movements of the 19th century, Zionism enjoyed external sponsorship from powerful Christian elites who were not themselves Jewish but believed their salvation depended on Jewish return to the land.

In this sense, Zionism was never solely a Jewish project. From its inception, it was a joint venture: Jewish aspiration intertwined with Christian prophecy and imperial opportunism. This alliance—strange though it might seem—would later prove decisive when Britain, in the throes of World War I, turned to Zionist leaders like Chaim Weizmann and financiers like the Rothschilds for support.

Chapter 3: Zionism and the British Empire

The 19th century was an era in which the British Empire stretched across continents, its navy ruling the seas and its politicians grappling with the question of how best to preserve imperial hegemony. Yet Britain’s interest in Palestine, which eventually led to the Balfour Declaration of 1917, is difficult to explain purely in terms of traditional imperial strategy. At first glance, the region was peripheral: oil had not yet been discovered (commercially exploited only after 1907), and the Suez Canal—completed in 1869—was not initially perceived as the lifeline it later became.

This raises a question: why did figures like Lord Palmerston and Lord Shaftesbury press for policies sympathetic to Jewish restoration in Palestine decades before such interests were self-evident?

Palmerston’s Doctrine: Interests Without Perpetual Allies

In 1848, Lord Palmerston, then Prime Minister, famously declared:

“We have no eternal allies, and we have no perpetual enemies. Our interests are eternal and perpetual, and those interests it is our duty to follow.”

Palmerston was no evangelical; his worldview was pragmatic and power-oriented. Yet his support for Jewish restorationist schemes in Palestine indicates that he considered it consistent with Britain’s “eternal interests.” Why?

One answer lies in the perception that the Ottoman Empire, then in slow decline, could not indefinitely hold its territories. By encouraging Jewish settlement in Palestine, Britain could place a loyal, European-oriented community in a strategic crossroads of empire. Jews, Palmerston believed, might become a stabilising element—or at least a pro-British element—in a region otherwise vulnerable to Russian or French encroachment.

Palmerston’s alignment with Shaftesbury’s evangelical vision suggests that imperial pragmatism and religious ideology converged, even if from different motives. For Shaftesbury, restoring Jews to the Holy Land was prophecy; for Palmerston, it was geopolitics.

The “Great Game” and Its Discontents

Mainstream historians long argued that Britain’s involvement in the Middle East during this period was driven by the so-called “Great Game,” the geopolitical rivalry with Russia over Central Asia. From this perspective, support for Jewish settlement in Palestine was just one move in a larger imperial chess match.

Yet revisionist historians have cast serious doubt on this interpretation.

Malcolm Yapp, in The Legend of the Great Game (2001), argued that the notion of a grand Anglo-Russian rivalry was largely a retrospective myth. British actions, he showed, were often reactive and piecemeal rather than coordinated under a strategic doctrine.
Gerald Morgan and Yapp further highlighted the lack of serious British intelligence operations in Central Asia, suggesting the “espionage” dimension of the Great Game was largely a literary fabrication.
Matthew Salyer has gone further, calling the Great Game a “historiographical fiction” invented by later writers to romanticise British imperial adventures.
Alexander Morrison criticised the narrative for ignoring the role of local actors, reducing complex regional conflicts into simplistic imperial rivalries.

From this perspective, Britain’s Palestine policy cannot be neatly explained as part of a calculated rivalry with Russia. In truth, the region was far from central to Britain’s global empire. India, the crown jewel, loomed much larger in strategic thought, and even there, Britain’s position was rarely directly threatened by Russia in the mid-19th century.

The Role of Ideology and Finance

If the “Great Game” cannot fully explain Britain’s sympathy for Zionism, we must look elsewhere. Here, the influence of evangelical Christian restorationists and the Rothschild banking family comes to the fore.

Shaftesbury’s tireless lobbying in Parliament and in the press framed Jewish restoration as both a religious duty and a civilisational mission. At the same time, rumors circulated—recorded in periodicals such as Niles’ Weekly Register and The Asiatic Journal in 1829—that Nathan Rothschild had attempted to purchase Jerusalem outright from the Ottoman sultan.

Though such reports remain unverified, their very circulation underscores a perception: financial elites had a stake in Palestine, and their influence over Britain’s political class was growing. When Benjamin Disraeli published Coningsby in 1844, featuring the character of Sidonia (a thinly disguised Baron Lionel de Rothschild), he embedded into popular culture the idea that Jewish finance, British politics, and the dream of restoration were interlinked.

A Pre-Strategic Palestine

The central paradox of Britain’s proto-Zionist policies is that they were pursued before Palestine had obvious material value. Unlike India or Egypt, Palestine offered little in the way of natural resources, trade, or military advantage in the mid-19th century. This is why traditional strategic explanations fall short.

Instead, Palestine’s significance lay in its symbolic geography. For evangelicals, it was the land of prophecy. For financiers, it was a potential sphere of influence tied to international capital. For pragmatists like Palmerston, it was a place where Britain could pre-empt rival encroachment. Together, these motives gave Palestine an importance disproportionate to its immediate economic value.

This blend of factors—religious, financial, and political—was unique. Other nationalist movements in the 19th century (Italian unification, Polish independence, Irish Home Rule) relied largely on grassroots mobilisation. Zionism, by contrast, had the advantage of external sponsorship by a superpower that viewed Jewish restoration not just sympathetically but strategically useful.

Conclusion to Chapter 3

Thus, Britain’s early Zionist sympathies cannot be explained solely as imperial pragmatism, nor dismissed as evangelical eccentricity. They were the product of a convergence: evangelical Christians like Shaftesbury interpreting prophecy, financiers like the Rothschilds exploring influence, and politicians like Palmerston translating both into policy.

Palestine, insignificant in material terms, was elevated into the realm of strategic importance by these forces. By the late 19th century, Britain had laid the ideological and political groundwork that would, in the crucible of World War I, culminate in the Balfour Declaration.

Chapter 4: Finance and the Rothschild Ascendancy

The Napoleonic Wars and the Birth of a Financial Dynasty

The Rothschild family’s rise to international prominence was inseparable from the great conflicts of the early 19th century. During the Napoleonic Wars (1803–1815), the five sons of Mayer Amschel Rothschild established a trans-European banking network: Nathan in London, James in Paris, Salomon in Vienna, Carl in Naples, and Amschel Jr. in Frankfurt.

This decentralised but tightly coordinated system allowed the Rothschilds to operate across borders with unprecedented speed. Most importantly, Nathan Mayer Rothschild in London built a private courier network so efficient that it outpaced even state channels. Famously, he learned of Wellington’s victory at Waterloo before the British government itself, using that information to manoeuvre in the bond market.

Napoleon himself understood the danger of such financial networks to state sovereignty. He warned:

“When a government is dependent upon bankers for money, they and not the leaders of the government control the situation, since the hand that gives is above the hand that takes. Money has no motherland; financiers are without patriotism and without decency; their sole object is gain.”

While Napoleon attempted to construct a Continental System based on state-controlled autarky, the Rothschilds embodied the opposite: a transnational capitalist model rooted in debt-financing, private networks, and commodity control. By underwriting British, Austrian, Prussian, and Russian loans against Napoleon, they not only bankrolled his defeat but ensured that European governments remained reliant on their capital in the war’s aftermath.

From War Financing to Imperial Influence

The Rothschilds quickly extended their reach beyond sovereign debt into infrastructure and commodity monopolies. They financed railways, canals, and mines across Europe, becoming not just bankers but architects of the industrial economy. Their 1875 loan to Benjamin Disraeli to purchase Egypt’s shares in the Suez Canal epitomised this model: the family was underwriting not just wars but the arteries of empire itself.

This business model has been described by some scholars as an early version of what Naomi Klein would later call the “shock doctrine.” The Rothschilds profited from crises, then embedded themselves in the reconstruction phase, locking governments into long-term dependency. They were not merely financiers but shapers of geopolitics.

Their influence was not only structural but symbolic. In 1829, Niles’ Weekly Register and The Asiatic Journal speculated that Nathan Rothschild was negotiating to purchase Jerusalem directly from the Ottomans—an extraordinary claim that echoed Theodor Herzl’s later, documented attempts in 1902 to buy Palestine from Sultan Abdul Hamid II. Whether or not these early reports were accurate, they indicate how closely the Rothschilds were associated with Jewish restoration in the European imagination.

Disraeli and the “Sidonia” Archetype

The perception of Rothschild influence was cemented by Benjamin Disraeli, who before becoming Prime Minister published a series of novels. In Coningsby (1844), he introduced the character of Sidonia, modelled on Lionel de Rothschild. Sidonia is portrayed as a cosmopolitan financier whose family controls the flow of capital and who muses on the destiny of the Jewish people.

Though a work of fiction, Coningsby reinforced the idea that Jewish finance and Jewish restoration were intertwined. Disraeli, himself of Jewish heritage though baptised Anglican, admired the Rothschilds and frequently linked Britain’s imperial mission to Jewish destiny. In Tancred (1847), he declared:

“The Jewish race is the aristocracy of the human race.”

Disraeli’s later political career, culminating in his securing of the Suez Canal for Britain, demonstrates the real-world impact of this worldview. With Rothschild money behind him and restorationist ideas animating his politics, he helped integrate Zionist sympathies into the highest levels of British imperial strategy.

Crisis Capitalism and Proto-Neoliberalism

The Rothschild business model can be summarised in four key strategies:

Crisis Exploitation – lending during wars and profiting from volatility.
Post-Crisis Reconstruction – financing rebuilding and thus embedding long-term dependency.
Infrastructure Control – investing in railroads, canals, and later energy, controlling the arteries of economies.
Information Advantage – using courier and intelligence networks to act on news before markets reacted.

This model created a form of proto-neoliberal capitalism long before the term existed. States ceded partial sovereignty to financiers who operated above national loyalties. Where Napoleon had sought to build independence through state-led economics, the Rothschilds created dependence through capital flows.

By the late 19th century, this system was institutionalised across Europe. Governments relied on Rothschild loans not just for emergencies but for routine operations. Financial power was now embedded in the machinery of state.

Linking Finance to Zionism

The Rothschilds’ financial clout naturally intersected with Jewish restorationist ideas. Though not all members of the family were active Zionists, their position as the most prominent Jewish financiers in Europe meant they became symbolic leaders of the cause. When Arthur Balfour issued his famous Declaration in 1917, he addressed it not to the World Zionist Organization, but to Lord Walter Rothschild.

This choice was not incidental. It reflected over a century of association between the Rothschild name, Jewish finance, and the dream of Palestine. Even before Herzl, even before the Congress of Basel, the Rothschilds were seen as the family who could, if they wished, restore Israel to the Jews.

Conclusion to Chapter 4

The story of the Rothschild ascendancy is not just one of banking success; it is a tale of how finance, politics, and ideology fused into a powerful force that shaped Europe and, ultimately, the Middle East. Their rise during the Napoleonic Wars created a new model of transnational financial power. Their investments in imperial infrastructure gave them leverage over governments. Their symbolic association with Jewish restoration placed them at the heart of the Zionist imagination.

When the Balfour Declaration was finally written to Lord Rothschild in 1917, it was the culmination of decades in which the Rothschild name had become synonymous with the fusion of finance and prophecy. In this sense, Greater Israel’s origins are inseparable from the rise of financial capitalism itself.

Chapter 5: Politics and Emancipation in Britain

Lionel de Rothschild and the Battle for Parliament

In 1847, Lionel de Rothschild was elected as Member of Parliament for the City of London. His election was historic: never before had a Jew been chosen to sit in the House of Commons. Yet Rothschild faced a barrier. The oath required of MPs ended with the words “on the true faith of a Christian.” Rothschild, as an observant Jew, refused to swear it.

For more than a decade, this conflict would play out repeatedly. Rothschild was elected four times, but each time was barred from taking his seat. His case became a lightning rod in British politics, symbolising the broader struggle for Jewish civil emancipation. The press debated it; Parliament divided over it; and evangelical restorationists seized on it as part of their theological vision.

It was not until the Jews Relief Act of 1858 that Rothschild and others were finally allowed to substitute an affirmation for the Christian oath. On 26 July 1858, Rothschild at last took his seat. The moment was celebrated across Europe and within Jewish communities as a milestone in emancipation.

But the episode revealed more than just a legal technicality. It showed how closely Jewish emancipation in Britain was tied to wider ideological and financial forces. Rothschild’s exclusion was not only a matter of religion but of symbolism: could a Jewish financier, long associated with Europe’s financial elite, also be a legislator in the British Empire?

Disraeli: Between Identity and Ideology

The most prominent political figure to engage with this question was Benjamin Disraeli. Born to a Jewish family but baptised into the Church of England, Disraeli never denied his heritage and often spoke admiringly of Jewish history. Unlike some contemporaries, he did not view Jews as outsiders but as an ancient aristocracy. In Tancred (1847), he famously declared:

“The Jewish race is the aristocracy of the human race.”

Disraeli supported Rothschild’s right to sit in Parliament, framing Jewish emancipation as part of Britain’s liberalising trajectory. But his interest went beyond civil rights. He also saw the Jewish people as central to Britain’s imperial destiny. In his fiction and speeches, he repeatedly linked Jewish restoration to Palestine with Britain’s global role.

When Disraeli became Prime Minister (first briefly in 1868, then more substantially from 1874–80), he translated these ideas into policy. The most dramatic example was his 1875 purchase of Egypt’s 44% stake in the Suez Canal, financed by a £4 million loan from Lionel de Rothschild. Disraeli presented it as a bold imperial move, securing Britain’s route to India. Yet it also symbolised how Jewish finance and Jewish restorationist ideas had become integral to British strategy.

Christian Restorationism and the Politics of Emancipation

Rothschild’s parliamentary battle and Disraeli’s rise took place within a broader environment where Christian restorationism shaped elite opinion. Evangelical Anglicans such as Lord Shaftesbury argued that Britain’s mission was not only to emancipate Jews within its borders but also to prepare for their restoration in Palestine.

Shaftesbury’s advocacy was tireless. He lobbied the Foreign Office, pressed Palmerston, and used the press to argue that Britain should protect Jews abroad. For him, civil emancipation at home was inseparable from restoration abroad. Jewish rights in London, he argued, would pave the way for Jewish return to Jerusalem.

Other figures, such as Lewis Way, Alexander McCaul, and Edward Bickersteth, built networks of missionary societies and theological campaigns promoting Jewish restoration as a divine imperative. Their influence was felt in Parliament, in the press, and within the Anglican Church.

This combination of theological lobbying, financial influence, and political reform meant that by the mid-19th century, Britain was unusually receptive to Zionist ideas—even before Herzl or modern nationalism had taken shape.

The Convergence of Wealth, Politics, and Theology

The emancipation of Jews in Britain cannot be seen in isolation. It was the product of three converging forces:

Wealth – embodied in Lionel de Rothschild and the family’s financial clout.
Politics – embodied in Benjamin Disraeli, whose career tied Jewish identity to British imperial strategy.
Theology – embodied in Shaftesbury and the restorationists, who saw emancipation as a prelude to prophecy.

Together, these forces not only secured Jewish rights in Britain but embedded the idea of restoration into Britain’s political imagination. By the time the First Zionist Congress met in 1897, the ground had already been prepared. Zionism was not an alien idea to Britain—it was already familiar, filtered through decades of religious conviction, financial partnership, and political reform.

Conclusion to Chapter 5

The Jews Relief Act of 1858 was more than a legal milestone. It marked the moment when Jewish finance, politics, and theology fully entered the British establishment. Lionel de Rothschild’s seat in Parliament, Disraeli’s imperial vision, and Shaftesbury’s evangelical zeal together forged an environment in which the idea of a Jewish homeland was no longer marginal but part of Britain’s national discourse.

The story of emancipation thus set the stage for what was to follow: the global conflicts and diplomatic bargains of the late 19th and early 20th centuries, where Zionism would shift from theology and finance into a hard political project, culminating in the Balfour Declaration.

Chapter 6: Restorationism and Ideological Advocacy

Evangelical Restorationism as Political Theology

While Jewish emancipation in Britain was driven in part by financial clout and political reform, it was undergirded by a powerful theological current: Christian restorationism. This doctrine, rooted in biblical prophecy, held that the Jewish people must return to the land of Israel before the Second Coming of Christ. Far from a fringe belief, it commanded the attention of some of Britain’s most influential aristocrats, parliamentarians, and clerics.

Among the foremost was Lord Shaftesbury (Anthony Ashley-Cooper). A devout evangelical, Shaftesbury believed it was both Britain’s Christian duty and a strategic necessity to support Jewish restoration. He famously described Palestine as “a country without a nation, in want of a nation without a country.” Though later associated with Zionist propaganda, this phrase originated in Shaftesbury’s evangelical discourse. His lobbying in Parliament and influence within the Foreign Office helped keep Jewish restoration on the agenda, decades before Herzl.

Shaftesbury was joined by others in a broader evangelical network. Lewis Way, an Anglican philanthropist, devoted his fortune to Jewish causes, including civil emancipation and restorationist theology. Clerics like Alexander McCaul and Edward Bickersteth preached that Jewish return to Palestine was not only prophesied but essential for global redemption. These views circulated widely among the evangelical middle class, creating a political base that pressured policymakers to take restoration seriously.

Restorationism as Foreign Policy Pressure

By the 1830s and 1840s, restorationist lobbying had tangible effects on British diplomacy. Shaftesbury and his allies urged Palmerston and others in the Foreign Office to advocate for Jewish protection within the Ottoman Empire. They argued that Britain, as the leading Protestant power, had a divine role to play in facilitating the Jews’ eventual return to their homeland.

This theological vision intersected with realpolitik. Supporting Jews abroad, including in Palestine, allowed Britain to claim moral leadership over European rivals while subtly increasing its influence in Ottoman domains. In this sense, Christian restorationism was not a private eccentricity but a political tool—one that resonated with both religious conviction and imperial interest.

The Structural Role of Ideological Movements

Christian restorationism is significant not only for its theological content but also for its method of influence. It mobilised networks of clergy, philanthropists, and parliamentarians; it used press campaigns to shape public opinion; and it embedded restorationist sympathies within the machinery of state.

This mechanism has striking modern parallels. In the United States today, organisations like AIPAC (American Israel Public Affairs Committee) operate structurally in a way that echoes 19th-century restorationism. AIPAC is not merely a Jewish lobby; it draws heavily on the support of millions of Christian Zionists who see Israel’s existence as part of biblical prophecy. Figures like John Hagee and the movement known as Christian Zionism play the same role that Shaftesbury and his evangelical peers did in Victorian Britain: pushing a religiously motivated foreign policy agenda through a coalition of ideological conviction and political pressure.

While the contexts differ—Victorian Britain was a Protestant empire, while 21st-century America is a global democracy—the structural similarity is clear. In both cases, ideologically motivated actors embedded themselves within political systems, leveraging theology and belief to shape long-term foreign policy commitments.

The Convergence of Ideology and Finance

The restorationist movement was further reinforced by its overlap with Jewish financiers like the Rothschilds. Shaftesbury and others saw Jewish wealth and influence as providential tools for fulfilling prophecy. Rothschild philanthropy—such as Baron Edmond de Rothschild’s later funding of early Jewish settlements in Palestine—seemed to confirm that divine will and worldly finance were aligned.

Thus, restorationism operated at two levels:

Ideological – shaping public opinion, elite discourse, and theological justification.
Material – linking prophecy to actual financial support and political reform.

This fusion gave Zionism a unique advantage compared to other nationalist movements of the 19th century. Italian unification, Irish Home Rule, and Polish independence had to fight against hostile powers with limited outside sympathy. Zionism, by contrast, was sustained for decades by a coalition of non-Jews who believed their own salvation depended on its success.

Restorationism as the “Proto-Lobby”

It is helpful to think of Christian restorationism as a proto-lobby: an organised, well-connected movement that influenced state policy not by subversion but by embedding itself within legitimate channels of power. Just as today AIPAC works through campaign finance, congressional lobbying, and policy briefings, so too did restorationists of the 19th century operate through Parliament, philanthropy, and clerical networks.

The success of the Jews Relief Act (1858), the increasing attention paid by British diplomats to Palestine, and the eventual Balfour Declaration (1917) can all be seen as outcomes of this early lobbying tradition.

Conclusion to Chapter 6

Restorationism demonstrates that Zionism’s origins cannot be explained purely as a Jewish nationalist movement. From its inception, it was also a Christian project, advanced by those who saw prophecy and politics as inseparable. Evangelicals like Shaftesbury created an environment where Jewish restoration was not an alien idea but a respected political objective, woven into Britain’s sense of mission.

This ideological scaffolding would prove decisive when World War I created the conditions for the Balfour Declaration. Without decades of restorationist advocacy, Britain might never have considered supporting a Jewish homeland. The convergence of theology, finance, and politics made it not only conceivable but inevitable.

Chapter 7: From Europe to America — Finance, Zionism, and the Federal Reserve

The Atlantic Shift

By the late 19th century, Britain remained the imperial guarantor of Zionist aspirations, but the locus of financial power was beginning to move westward. The United States, industrialising at extraordinary speed, was becoming both the world’s largest economy and, increasingly, the centre of global finance. For Zionists, this shift was crucial. If Britain was to be the political midwife of Jewish restoration, America was becoming the financial and ideological sponsor that would sustain it into the 20th century.

The transatlantic link was built by a network of Jewish financiers and intellectuals, whose influence extended into the highest levels of U.S. politics and banking. Three figures stand out: Jacob Schiff, Paul Warburg, and Louis Brandeis.

Jacob Schiff: Undermining Tsarist Russia

Jacob Schiff, head of the powerful New York investment bank Kuhn, Loeb & Co., was both a financier and a committed opponent of Tsarist Russia, whose anti-Jewish pogroms had terrorised millions. Schiff used his wealth and influence to weaken the Tsarist regime by financing its enemies abroad.

The most dramatic instance was the Russo-Japanese War (1904–05). When Japan sought funds to wage war against Russia, European bankers hesitated. Schiff stepped in, arranging loans worth approximately $200 million — an extraordinary sum at the time. This infusion of capital helped Japan secure victory at Tsushima in 1905, humiliating Russia and galvanising Jewish communities worldwide.

Schiff’s decision was explicitly political. He declared that he would not finance Russia so long as it oppressed its Jewish population. By aiding Japan, he struck a blow against the Tsar while simultaneously positioning himself as a defender of Jewish interests. For many contemporaries, Schiff embodied the fusion of finance and Jewish political identity — a forerunner of how Jewish-American influence would later shape U.S. foreign policy in the Middle East.

Paul Warburg and the Federal Reserve

If Schiff symbolised financial activism abroad, Paul Warburg represented institutional power at home. A German-Jewish banker who emigrated to the U.S. in 1902, Warburg brought with him deep connections to European finance, including ties to the Rothschilds. He became a partner at Kuhn, Loeb, and quickly distinguished himself as an expert on central banking.

In 1910, Warburg participated in the Jekyll Island meeting, where a small group of bankers and policymakers drafted the blueprint for what became the U.S. Federal Reserve System. The Federal Reserve Act was passed in 1913, and Warburg was appointed to its first Board of Governors.

The Fed provided the United States with a modern central bank capable of managing credit, stabilising markets, and, crucially, facilitating war finance. When World War I broke out in 1914, it was the Federal Reserve that enabled U.S. banks — notably J.P. Morgan & Co. — to extend massive loans to the Allies. Warburg’s role in shaping the Fed tied Jewish finance directly into the machinery of U.S. state power.

Louis Brandeis: Zionism and the U.S. Supreme Court

While Schiff and Warburg represented financial influence, Louis Brandeis embodied Zionism’s entry into American political and legal thought. Appointed to the U.S. Supreme Court in 1916 by President Woodrow Wilson, Brandeis was both a progressive jurist and a committed Zionist.

Brandeis argued that Zionism was not in conflict with American patriotism but an extension of it. In a 1915 speech, he declared:

“Let no American imagine that Zionism is inconsistent with patriotism. Multiple loyalties are objectionable only if they are inconsistent. Loyalty to America demands rather that each American Jew become a Zionist.”

Brandeis became the head of the American Zionist movement, lending it legitimacy and political weight at the highest levels of government. His influence over Wilson was significant; historians have argued that Brandeis was instrumental in shaping Wilson’s sympathy for Zionist aspirations during the First World War.

Finance and Zionism in U.S. War Mobilisation

When the U.S. entered World War I in 1917, the convergence of finance, politics, and Zionism reached a new height.

J.P. Morgan & Co., acting as Britain and France’s financial agent in the U.S., underwrote approximately $1.5 billion in Allied loans.
Rothschild banks in London and Paris continued to manage European war finance.
Warburg and Schiff, through Kuhn, Loeb and the Federal Reserve system, ensured that American financial flows could sustain the Allies.
Brandeis, from the Supreme Court and through his advisory relationship with Wilson, reinforced the moral and political legitimacy of Zionism as aligned with Allied war aims.

By late 1916, Britain was on the brink of bankruptcy. British officials like Sir Mark Sykes openly acknowledged the importance of Jewish support, declaring:

“The Jews are the key of the situation. Without the assistance of Great Jewry in this country and in America, it would have been impossible for the Allies to win this war.”

It was against this backdrop that Arthur Balfour issued his 1917 Declaration to Lord Walter Rothschild — a gesture that recognised both the ideological weight of Zionism and the financial networks that underpinned Allied victory.

The Atlantic Alliance of Zionism

The early 20th century thus saw a decisive shift. Where Zionism had once depended primarily on Britain — through evangelical restorationists, Rothschild finance, and imperial politics — it now relied increasingly on the United States. Schiff’s financial activism, Warburg’s central banking reforms, and Brandeis’s judicial and political leadership together embedded Zionism into the American establishment.

This Atlantic alliance would prove foundational for the next century. Britain facilitated the Balfour Declaration and the Mandate in Palestine, but it was the U.S. that would eventually become Israel’s indispensable patron. Already by 1917, the outlines of this relationship were clear: Zionism’s success depended not only on Jewish mobilisation but on its ability to align with the financial and political interests of great powers.

Conclusion to Chapter 7

The story of Zionism’s transatlantic shift demonstrates how finance and ideology worked hand in hand. Jacob Schiff’s loans weakened Russia and elevated Jewish identity into international politics. Paul Warburg institutionalised Jewish financial power within the U.S. central banking system. Louis Brandeis legitimised Zionism at the highest levels of American jurisprudence and executive decision-making.

By the time the Balfour Declaration was issued, Zionism was no longer simply a European project. It had become a transatlantic enterprise — one in which America’s financial and political power would eventually eclipse Britain’s, ensuring that the idea of Greater Israel would not fade with the twilight of empire but would survive into the age of American hegemony.

Chapter 8: Zionism and the First World War

Britain’s Desperation

By 1916, the First World War had brought Britain to the brink of financial and military collapse. The Battle of the Somme had cost hundreds of thousands of lives, while German submarine warfare strangled supply lines. More critically, Britain was running out of money. By late 1916, the Treasury’s overdrafts with J.P. Morgan in New York had reached approximately $400 million, an unsustainable level. Without continued American loans and resources, Britain risked financial ruin.

At the same time, Britain’s strategic position in the Middle East was becoming more precarious. The Ottoman Empire still controlled Palestine, and while British forces advanced through Mesopotamia and Egypt, the war in the Levant was far from decided. Securing Palestine was not yet an obvious imperial priority — but it became one when combined with the need to mobilise international support, particularly among Jews in the U.S., Germany, and Russia.

Zionist Leverage

It was in this moment of weakness that Zionist leaders pressed their case. Chaim Weizmann, a Russian-born chemist working in Britain, had already made himself invaluable by developing a synthetic process for producing acetone, critical for British munitions. His contributions gave him access to the highest levels of government, including David Lloyd George and Arthur Balfour.

Weizmann and his allies argued that Jewish support could tilt the balance of the war. In Britain and France, Jews were relatively small minorities, but in the United States and Russia — two countries whose roles were decisive for the war’s outcome — Jewish opinion mattered more. In America, Louis Brandeis and Jacob Schiff had already demonstrated their influence; in Russia, Jewish leaders could help discourage revolutionary unrest or encourage continued fighting against Germany.

Sir Mark Sykes, a key British diplomat, put it bluntly in late 1916:

“The Jews are the key of the situation. Without the assistance of Great Jewry in this country and in America, it would have been impossible for the Allies to win this war.”

The Role of Finance

The financial dimension cannot be overstated. J.P. Morgan & Co. had already arranged over $500 million in loans for Britain and France by 1915, the largest private war loan in history up to that point. The Rothschild banks in London and Paris remained deeply involved in underwriting Allied debt, while Kuhn, Loeb’s Schiff continued to exert influence in the U.S. through his financial network — though Schiff himself remained cautious about open support for Zionism, wary of accusations of dual loyalty.

Nevertheless, Britain’s reliance on Jewish financiers was clear. When the war seemed unwinnable without American entry, cultivating Jewish support in the U.S. became a strategic necessity. The Zionist movement, though still small, positioned itself as the gateway to that support.

The Balfour Declaration

It was in this context that Foreign Secretary Arthur Balfour drafted his famous letter of 2 November 1917 to Lord Walter Rothschild:

“His Majesty’s Government view with favour the establishment in Palestine of a national home for the Jewish people, and will use their best endeavours to facilitate the achievement of this object…”

The choice of recipient was significant. The World Zionist Organization was the formal political body of Zionism, but the Declaration was addressed to a Rothschild, symbol of Jewish finance and influence in Britain. This reflected both practical politics — Rothschild could mobilise elite support — and symbolic power: the family had long been associated with Jewish restoration.

For Britain, the Declaration was not a matter of altruism but of calculation. By endorsing Zionist aspirations, London hoped to:

Win Jewish support in the United States, strengthening Wilson’s pro-Allied stance.
Secure Jewish influence in Russia, to encourage continued war against Germany.
Gain a moral justification for British presence in Palestine, cloaked in the language of national self-determination.

Weizmann and Wilson

The role of the U.S. was critical. President Woodrow Wilson’s Fourteen Points, announced in January 1918, framed the postwar settlement around national self-determination. Zionists, led in America by Brandeis, argued that Jews qualified as a nation deserving of such recognition.

Wilson himself was moved by both political calculation and personal sympathy. He told Rabbi Stephen Wise, one of Brandeis’s allies:

“I am deeply moved by the plight of the Jewish people.”

Brandeis’s proximity to Wilson ensured that the U.S. did not oppose the Balfour Declaration — a crucial factor, given America’s growing dominance.

Aftermath and Consequences

The Balfour Declaration was a diplomatic triumph for Zionism. It transformed what had been an ideological and financial aspiration into an official policy of the world’s greatest empire. Yet it was also a document riddled with contradictions. While promising a “national home for the Jewish people,” it also insisted that “nothing shall be done which may prejudice the civil and religious rights of existing non-Jewish communities in Palestine.” This clause was an attempt to square the circle, but in practice it was ignored.

For Britain, the Declaration solved immediate wartime concerns but sowed the seeds of a century of conflict. For Zionists, it was proof that theological prophecy, financial influence, and political lobbying could converge to achieve historic outcomes.

Conclusion to Chapter 8

World War I was the crucible in which Zionism moved from aspiration to international legitimacy. Britain’s desperation for finance and support opened the door; Jewish financiers and political leaders offered leverage; and Zionist activists like Weizmann seized the moment.

The Balfour Declaration was thus not an isolated act of generosity but the product of a century-long convergence of forces — Christian restorationism, Rothschild finance, Jewish emancipation, and American influence. It marked the beginning of the modern political project of Greater Israel, forged in the fire of global war.

Chapter 9: The Mandate Era and the Shaping of Greater Israel

From War Aims to Mandate

The Balfour Declaration of 1917 was a wartime promise, but its real force came after the armistice, when the Allied powers divided the spoils of the Ottoman Empire. In the San Remo Conference of 1920, Britain was formally awarded the Mandate for Palestine by the League of Nations, with the Balfour Declaration incorporated into the text. This transformed Zionism from a diplomatic aspiration into international law: Britain was now legally bound to facilitate a “national home for the Jewish people.”

For Britain, Palestine was a minor territorial acquisition compared to Mesopotamia or Egypt. Yet symbolically and politically, it became a focal point. London had to balance three conflicting commitments:

To the Zionists, who saw the Balfour Declaration as a charter for Jewish statehood.
To the Arabs, many of whom had been promised independence for supporting Britain against the Ottomans.
To its own imperial interests, which demanded stability in a volatile region.

This contradiction ensured that the Mandate would be marked by continual crisis.

Zionist Institution-Building

Zionist leaders understood that Britain’s support was both an opportunity and a temporary window. They used the Mandate years to build the infrastructure of a state under the cover of colonial protection.

The Jewish Agency, recognised by the League of Nations, functioned as a quasi-government, coordinating immigration, land purchases, and settlement.
The Haganah, founded in 1920, began as a self-defence force but evolved into a paramilitary organisation — the embryo of a future Israeli army.
The Histadrut, a labour federation, integrated Jewish workers into a national economic framework.
Settlements, funded by Zionist philanthropy (notably Baron Edmond de Rothschild), created “facts on the ground” by purchasing land from absentee landlords and displacing Arab tenant farmers.

Chaim Weizmann, now president of the World Zionist Organization, described the strategy plainly: Zionists would build patiently under British protection until they could achieve full sovereignty.

Arab Resistance and Betrayal

For the Arab population, which comprised over 90% of Palestine in 1917, the Balfour Declaration was a betrayal. Palestinian Arabs had fought alongside Britain in expectation of independence, encouraged by the promises of the Hussein–McMahon Correspondence. Instead, they found their homeland pledged to another people.

Resistance erupted almost immediately. Riots broke out in Jerusalem in 1920 and Jaffa in 1921, both triggered by fears of mass Jewish immigration. In 1929, violence centred on the al-Buraq Wall (Western Wall) left hundreds dead. These uprisings were not spontaneous chaos but expressions of deep political opposition to both Zionism and British duplicity.

The most significant revolt came in 1936–39, when Palestinians launched a general strike and armed rebellion against both British rule and Jewish immigration. The British responded with overwhelming force, deploying tens of thousands of troops and using aerial bombardment, collective punishment, and executions to crush the rebellion. By the end, the Palestinian leadership was decimated — a weakness that would haunt them in 1947–48.

Britain’s Balancing Act

Throughout the Mandate, British policy oscillated. At times, London sought to appease Arab unrest by limiting Jewish immigration, most notably in the 1939 White Paper, which capped Jewish entry to 75,000 over five years. This infuriated Zionists, especially as European Jews faced extermination under Nazi rule. David Ben-Gurion, a future Israeli Prime Minister, expressed the duality of Zionist strategy:

“We shall fight the war against Hitler as if there were no White Paper, and fight the White Paper as if there were no war.”

At other times, Britain tilted back toward Zionist support, particularly when it needed international Jewish goodwill. But the underlying contradiction remained: Britain could not simultaneously satisfy Arab demands for independence and Zionist demands for statehood.

Toward “Greater Israel”

During the Mandate years, the idea of a Jewish homeland began to expand into the vision of Greater Israel. Maps circulated by some Zionist groups showed borders stretching beyond Palestine into parts of Lebanon, Syria, Jordan, and Sinai. While not official policy, these ambitions reflected a maximalist vision rooted in biblical promises and geopolitical calculation.

The Peel Commission of 1937 proposed partitioning Palestine into separate Jewish and Arab states. For the first time, Zionists were offered sovereignty, albeit over a small portion of the land. Weizmann accepted partition as a step, while Ben-Gurion articulated the long-term view:

“We shall accept the partition today, but the borders of Zionist aspirations are the borders of biblical Israel.”

Here lay the kernel of the Greater Israel concept: pragmatic acceptance of incremental gains, coupled with a refusal to renounce ultimate expansion.

The Legacy of the Mandate

By the time Britain withdrew in 1948, Zionists had built a functioning proto-state: military forces, political institutions, an economy, and international legitimacy. Palestinians, by contrast, were fragmented and weakened by repression, with little organisational capacity to resist.

The Mandate thus served as the incubator of Israel. Britain, unintentionally or not, facilitated Zionist state-building while suppressing Arab opposition. The contradiction of the Balfour Declaration — promising a homeland to one people without prejudicing the rights of another — had collapsed into open conflict.

Conclusion to Chapter 9

The Mandate era was the crucible in which Zionism was transformed from a diplomatic promise into a territorial reality. Under British protection, Zionists built the infrastructure of statehood while Palestinians were dispossessed and repressed.

The seeds of “Greater Israel” were planted in these years: not yet formal borders, but an aspiration nurtured by biblical vision, political calculation, and pragmatic opportunism. The legacy of the Mandate ensured that when Britain departed, the conflict over Palestine would explode into war — the next stage in the unfolding project of Greater Israel.

Chapter 10: Structural Parallels — From Rothschild to AIPAC

Historical Continuities

The history of Zionism is often presented as linear: from Herzl’s political Zionism in 1897 to the Balfour Declaration in 1917, the Mandate years, and eventually the establishment of Israel in 1948. Yet beneath this chronology lies a deeper structural continuity. The mechanisms by which Zionism secured support in Britain during the 19th century bear striking resemblance to those that sustain it in the United States today.

In both cases, Zionism advanced through three interlocking pillars:

Financial influence, embodied in networks of banking and philanthropy.
Ideological mobilisation, whether Christian restorationism in Victorian England or Christian Zionism in modern America.
Political lobbying, through direct access to decision-makers and the embedding of allies within state institutions.

The historical shift is not in the structure, but in the host polity: from the British Empire to the American Republic.

The Rothschild Model in Britain

In 19th-century Britain, the Rothschilds epitomised financial influence. Their loans underwrote imperial projects from the Napoleonic Wars to the Suez Canal purchase. Their philanthropy supported Jewish settlement in Palestine. Their name became synonymous with both Jewish emancipation at home and restorationist hopes abroad.

Yet the Rothschilds did not act alone. They operated within a network of ideological allies — evangelical restorationists like Lord Shaftesbury — who provided theological legitimacy for Jewish restoration. And they benefited from political allies such as Benjamin Disraeli, who brought restorationist ideas into government policy.

This triangle of finance, ideology, and politics created a durable mechanism of influence, one that allowed Zionist aspirations to be embedded into the very fabric of British imperial strategy.

AIPAC and the American Political System

In the United States today, the same structural dynamics are visible in the work of the American Israel Public Affairs Committee (AIPAC) and allied organisations. AIPAC functions as one of the most powerful lobbying groups in Washington, shaping U.S. policy toward Israel through campaign financing, policy briefings, and the cultivation of bipartisan networks of support.

As in 19th-century Britain, finance plays a central role. Wealthy donors aligned with AIPAC and affiliated PACs channel vast sums into U.S. electoral politics, ensuring that candidates sympathetic to Israel enjoy a competitive advantage. This is not fundamentally different from Lionel de Rothschild’s loans to Disraeli or Nathan Rothschild’s underwriting of government bonds; in both cases, financial capital translated into political leverage.

Ideology is equally significant. In the U.S., it is not Anglican evangelicals but Christian Zionists — a movement numbering in the tens of millions — who frame Israel’s existence as the fulfilment of biblical prophecy. Figures like Pastor John Hagee, founder of Christians United for Israel (CUFI), echo Shaftesbury’s 19th-century rhetoric, declaring that the return of Jews to Israel is a divine mandate and precondition for Christ’s return. Their fervent support gives political cover for pro-Israel policies even when they appear to contradict broader U.S. strategic interests.

Finally, political access is institutionalised. Just as restorationists embedded themselves within Parliament, so too does AIPAC embed itself within Congress. It trains staffers, drafts legislation, and ensures that allies occupy key positions in committees and executive agencies. The effect is systemic rather than conspiratorial: Zionist interests are normalised within the machinery of state.

Parallels in Method, Not in Context

It is important to stress that these parallels are structural, not identical. Victorian Britain was an aristocratic empire; modern America is a democratic superpower. The mechanisms of influence — loans, philanthropy, lobbying — operate differently across these contexts. Yet the logic is consistent:

Financial elites use wealth to gain access and leverage.
Ideological movements provide moral or religious justification.
Political allies embed these ideas within the state itself.

The outcome in both cases is a long-term alignment of national policy with Zionist objectives, even when such alignment does not serve the host country’s immediate strategic interests.

The Continuity of Christian Zionism

One of the most striking continuities is the role of Christian belief. In both 19th-century Britain and 21st-century America, Zionism has been sustained not only by Jewish activism but by Christian allies who saw their own destiny tied to Jewish restoration. Shaftesbury’s “country without a nation” rhetoric in 1840s London finds its echo in John Hagee’s sermons in 21st-century Texas.

This continuity reveals something crucial: Zionism has never been purely a Jewish movement. From its inception, it has depended on external theological and political sponsorship. Without Shaftesbury, Palmerston, and Disraeli, there would have been no Balfour Declaration; without Brandeis, Christian Zionists, and AIPAC, U.S. support for Israel today would be unthinkable.

Conclusion to Chapter 10

The structural parallels between 19th-century Britain and modern America show that Zionism’s endurance is not accidental. It rests on a reproducible model of influence that blends finance, ideology, and politics into a durable coalition.

The Rothschilds and their evangelical allies in Britain prepared the ground for the Balfour Declaration. AIPAC and Christian Zionists in the United States sustain Israel’s dominance today. Both represent not isolated conspiracies but systemic alignments — networks of belief and capital that embed Zionist objectives into the policies of global powers.

This continuity helps explain the persistence of the “Greater Israel” project. Its success has never depended solely on Jewish mobilisation, but on the ability of Zionism to harness wider financial and ideological forces. In this sense, the story of Zionism is not only about Jewish nationalism but about how empires, financiers, and believers in prophecy have, across centuries, made Israel their project too.

Conclusion: The Long Arc of Greater Israel

The story of Greater Israel is not simply the story of a settler colonial entity born in 1948. It is the culmination of centuries of ideological vision, financial engineering, and political lobbying that together created the conditions for Israel’s emergence — and for its endurance as a regional power often acting independently of the very empires that sustained it.

From the 17th century onwards, Christian restorationists laid the theological foundation. Figures like Henry Finch, Oliver Cromwell, and Lord Shaftesbury infused the English-speaking Protestant world with the conviction that the Jews must return to Palestine before Christ’s Second Coming. Their advocacy embedded Zionist aspirations into British political culture long before Herzl or modern nationalism.

In the 19th century, the Rothschilds and allied financiers transformed these aspirations into a credible political project. By underwriting wars, controlling infrastructure, and lending to governments, they demonstrated that financial capital could bend empires. Their association with Jewish restoration — from rumored negotiations with the Ottomans to their role in the Balfour Declaration — gave Zionism both symbolic and material weight.

At the same time, political reform in Britain, epitomised by Lionel de Rothschild’s long struggle to take his parliamentary seat, normalised Jewish participation in state institutions. Figures like Benjamin Disraeli wove Jewish destiny into Britain’s imperial imagination, ensuring that restorationist ideas were not merely tolerated but celebrated at the highest levels of government.

The First World War was the decisive turning point. Britain’s desperation for finance and support opened the door for Zionist leverage. Weizmann’s scientific contributions, Brandeis’s political advocacy in America, and the financial influence of Schiff, Warburg, and the Rothschilds aligned at a critical moment. The result was the Balfour Declaration of 1917 — a promise that internationalised Zionism and gave it the imprimatur of empire.

The Mandate period transformed that promise into reality. Under British protection, Zionists built institutions of statehood while Arab resistance was violently suppressed. By the end of the Mandate, the infrastructure of Israel already existed: an army, a bureaucracy, a political elite, and international legitimacy.

In the 20th century, as Britain declined, the United States became Zionism’s indispensable patron. Schiff’s loans against Russia, Warburg’s role in shaping the Federal Reserve, and Brandeis’s Supreme Court position laid the groundwork. In the postwar era, AIPAC and Christian Zionists reproduced the same structural model that had succeeded in Britain: finance, ideology, and lobbying working in concert to ensure state policy aligned with Zionist goals.

This continuity reveals an essential truth: the project of Greater Israel has never been merely a Jewish undertaking. From its origins, it has depended on coalitions with non-Jewish actors — evangelical Christians, global financiers, imperial politicians — who saw in Jewish restoration their own destiny, whether religious, economic, or geopolitical.

It also explains Israel’s unique position today. Unlike other client states, Israel often acts contrary to U.S. strategic interests, secure in the knowledge that support rests not only on cold calculations but on deep ideological, theological, and financial entanglements. As Richard Nixon observed, the “strategic utility” of Israel may have diminished, but the relationship persists because it is anchored in something deeper than strategy.

The long arc of Zionism demonstrates that the idea of Greater Israel is not an aberration of modern politics but the product of centuries of preparation. Its foundations lie in prophecy and finance, its midwifery in empire and war, and its endurance in the ability to reproduce, in new contexts, the same triangular mechanism of influence.

To understand Israel today — its independence, its expansionist ambitions, and its enduring hold on Western power — one must see it as the heir to this arc. Greater Israel is not simply a territorial aspiration; it is the logical outcome of an ideological and financial project that has shaped world politics for over three centuries and its ongoing Genocidal campaign against the people of Gaza must be understood through this lens, as an inevitable outcome of allowing this long-held vision to be slowly realised without any opposition.

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