Israel Acts, Europe Watches

In mid-June, Israeli forces launched an unprecedented offensive inside Iran, targeting military and nuclear infrastructure in response to Tehran’s persistent aggression, support for proxy warfare, and direct threats to Israeli survival. The strikes—carried out with stealth aircraft and precision drones—hit multiple facilities including IRGC command centers, missile depots, and suspected enrichment sites. The message from Jerusalem was unmistakable: Israeli deterrence is real, and it is not subject to diplomatic permission slips.

The European Union, meanwhile, responded with its usual blend of hesitation and hollow language. Brussels issued ritual appeals for “restraint from all sides,” carefully avoiding any statement that might offend Tehran or show solidarity with Israel. In doing so, it confirmed what many already suspect: the EU has forfeited its claim to geopolitical strength.

Europe’s response to the Israeli strikes inside Iran revealed three fundamental weaknesses that have come to define its foreign policy posture. First, the EU defaulted to its usual script of vague, cautious statements—calling for “restraint” without offering any clear stance or actionable strategy. Second, it was once again paralyzed by internal division, with some member states pushing to affirm Israel’s right to self-defense, while others insisted on language so diluted it rendered the bloc’s position meaningless. Third, and most damning, Europe had no seat at the table. While the United States and regional powers directly shaped the crisis through military action and backchannel diplomacy, the EU offered only distant commentary. In moments that demand relevance, Europe consistently chooses retreat.

Security analyst Claude Moniquet put it bluntly in an interview with Euronews: Europe was “sitting on the sidelines.” While Washington, Jerusalem, and regional actors shaped the unfolding conflict, Europe was not in the room. It was not setting terms, not proposing outcomes, not even leading in diplomacy. It was commenting—at a safe distance, with words crafted to offend no one and protect nothing.

This failure wasn’t merely noted by observers. It sparked frustration within the EU itself. Cypriot President Nikos Christodoulides publicly criticized Brussels’ lack of urgency. He revealed that he had personally appealed to European Council President António Costa to elevate the crisis during the G7 summit in Canada. Even the wording of a basic joint statement was delayed due to internal disagreements among member states. “It is not possible for the EU to claim a geopolitical role… and not have at least – it is the minimum – a convening of the Council of Foreign Ministers,” Christodoulides said. His remarks were not merely procedural—they were a plea for relevance.

That plea did not remain rhetorical. It is also worth noting that it was Cyprus—a small EU member state, but one with real stakes and strategic awareness in the Eastern Mediterranean—that pushed the bloc to act. On June 17, following Nicosia’s initiative, an informal EU Foreign Affairs Council was convened via videoconference to address exclusively the unfolding Israel-Iran crisis. Cypriot Foreign Minister Constantinos Kombos, who had just met with his German counterpart Johann Wattefull at Larnaca Airport, stressed that the presence of the European Union on the diplomatic stage is essential at this critical moment. The German foreign minister acknowledged that Cyprus’s initiative to convene the informal Foreign Affairs Council was both important and necessary. That this basic diplomatic impulse had to come from the periphery rather than the EU’s core speaks volumes about the state of Europe’s strategic awareness—and its fading instinct for leadership.

The G7 summit only reinforced how far the EU has drifted from global leadership. While the world’s top powers discussed a major Middle East escalation with nuclear and regional implications, Europe was on the margins—lobbying to be included, not driving the conversation. For a bloc that still refers to itself as a “strategic actor,” it was a moment of quiet humiliation.

This is not an isolated episode. It is part of a pattern. From Ukraine to Nagorno-Karabakh, from the Sahel to Gaza, the EU has consistently shown itself to be slow, reactive, and fractured. It issues statements while others issue ultimatums. It schedules meetings while others shape realities on the ground.

Europe’s muted reaction also raises uncomfortable questions about its aspirations for a stronger, unified defense policy. In recent months, EU leaders have renewed calls for “strategic autonomy” and expanded defense infrastructure, hoping to position Europe as a serious military actor. But credibility is earned through action. When confronted with a live regional crisis involving state actors, missile exchanges, and nuclear threats, the EU failed to respond with coherence, urgency, or influence. If it cannot act diplomatically in a crisis it itself deems strategically significant, then one must ask: will it be ready to act militarily when truly tested? And more fundamentally—will it be able to protect its own members if they come under threat?

But the true crisis is not one of speed—it is one of spirit. The European Union no longer believes in what once defined it: a continent shaped by conviction. It has replaced judgment with consensus, strategy with caution, and clarity with endless compromise. Israel acts because it must—because its survival demands it. Europe does not act because it no longer knows what it stands for.

For conservatives across the continent, the implications are stark. A Europe that cannot defend its allies abroad will not defend its foundations at home. A Union that cannot take sides when democracy is under threat cannot claim to lead in a world that respects only geopolitical resolve and strength. This is not merely a diplomatic failure—it is a warning.

Europe, and much of the world, still talks of power. But when history moves, it is not in the room.