Growing international isolation, mounting domestic criticism and questions regarding Benjamin Netanyahu's perceived disregard for U.S. interests are making President Biden change course concerning Israel's war in Gaza

In the last several weeks, U.S. President Joe Biden has been subjected to growing criticism and political scrutiny over his Mideast policy, management of the Gaza war and, particularly, his perceived unwavering support of Israel.

The criticism may be legitimate and founded, but if you connect several dots from the past week – from Secretary of Defense Lloyd Austin's visit to Tel Aviv, to a stinging Thomas L. Friedman column in The New York Times, to the Americans abstaining from a UN Security Council vote on boosting humanitarian aid to Gaza – the picture that emerges points to a gradual change in U.S. policy.

The critique hasn't come from rivals or detractors but rather, from allies. Biden is being criticized for being oblivious to and allegedly giving Israel free rein to indiscriminately bomb the Gaza Strip; for conspicuously refraining from exerting effective pressure on Israel to agree to a cease-fire or to change the modalities of the war and scale down its intensity; for not demanding more forcefully that Israel clarify its intentions for postwar Gaza; and for being hoodwinked by Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu.

And despite U.S. ideas articulated by both Vice President Kamala Harris and Secretary of State Antony Blinken, the president is also accused of essentially losing the plot re "the day after" the war, tolerating a repeated Israeli reluctance to engage the United States on the matter and not clarifying its own vision.

The criticism was especially pronounced in recent days. First came two major investigative stories: a New York Times report on Israel using 2,000-pound (907-kilogram) bombs in parts of southern Gaza where it had asked Palestinians who fled from the north to seek refuge; and a Washington Post story rejecting the Israeli assertion that Hamas had used Al-Shifa Hospital as a command and control center. Both stories surely had an impact on dissenters within the U.S. administration.

Then came the Friedman column titled "It's time for the U.S. to give Israel some tough love." Friedman, who is both pro-Israel and pro-Biden, wrote that "it's time for the U.S. to tell Israel that its war aim of wiping Hamas off the face of the earth is not going to be achieved. … It's time for the U.S. to tell Israel how to declare victory in Gaza and go home, because right now the Israeli prime minister is utterly useless as a leader: He is – unbelievably – prioritizing his own electoral needs over the interests of Israelis."

Friedman then proposed that the Americans put an offer on the table: total Israeli withdrawal from Gaza in return for all the hostages and a permanent cease-fire under international supervision, including the U.S., NATO and Arab observers. That very same day (last Friday), the United States abstained from the UN Security Council resolution calling for "indefinite pauses" for humanitarian aid, and reaffirming the idea that the Palestinian Authority will at some point extend its governance from the West Bank to Gaza.

Also last week, The Washington Post's David Ignatius analyzed at length the issue of postwar Gaza and U.S. policy, in an op-ed titled "The Gaza war inches toward the day before 'the day after.'" That same Ignatius asked Delaware Democratic Sen. Chris Coons on MSNBC's "Morning Joe": "Do you think it's time for President Biden, your friend, to be tougher with Israeli Prime Minister Netanyahu not simply for the sake of the United States' interests but for Israel's interests as well?" "Yes," replied the senator.

In broader terms of U.S. foreign policy, a comparison between the Ukraine and Gaza wars sheds light on two very different approaches.

One of Biden's basic tenets of foreign policy is coalition building and alliance management. In the nearly two years since the Russian invasion of Ukraine, his record was impeccable in that regard. But in Gaza, he placed the weight, resources and attention of U.S. policy on helping an ally rather than forging a coalition. In Ukraine, the principles of alliance building and alliance maintenance were paramount, while in Gaza the U.S.' approach was of crisis management, accompanied by projecting enormous regional power but with no real coalition building.

Obviously, the context, circumstances and geopolitical landscape of the two wars are starkly disparate, but it is as if two different sets of foreign policy approaches were applied.

In the case of Ukraine, Biden's resoluteness, determination and endurance in standing up to Russian President Vladimir Putin strengthened NATO, eventually expanded the North Atlantic military alliance, turned the Baltic Sea into a closed and hostile environment for Russia, and indirectly contributed to the building of alliances in the Indo-Pacific to address a resurgent China.

But a few short weeks after the Hamas attack on October 7, America's allies started to ask questions that quickly turned into open criticism. Allies such as Canada, France, Australia and Japan were questioning America's perceived imbalance and the seemingly unconditional support it provided Israel. Biden's visceral and emotional support for Israel, and his visible devastation about October 7, was followed by the Americans extending generous military assistance, deploying two aircraft carrier strike groups in the Mediterranean to deter Iran and Hezbollah from escalating the conflict, and implicitly dissuading Israel from doing so.

The material assistance was coupled with a broad diplomatic umbrella, and the world interpreted that as either reticence to publicly pressure Israel in a meaningful way to change the war's dynamics or Biden giving Israel carte blanche in Gaza.

This resulted in the United States being isolated, almost alone in the world in defending Israel: the exact opposite of what had happened in 2022 in Ukraine, where Biden forged a consensus. This is now costing the United States "goodwill currency" among allies and potential partners globally, and making Russia and China happy.

Then there's the domestic political scene in Washington. Unlike the case of Ukraine, there is growing dissent and frustration about Mideast policy in two arenas: within the administration itself, and inside the Democratic Party – both in Congress and among critical groups in the Democratic electoral coalition. There is little confidence or trust in Netanyahu within the administration, while anti-Israel sentiment among young Democrats is reaching dangerous levels in key states.

It seems that in the past two weeks this triple realization – America's global positioning; domestic criticism; and questions relating to Netanyahu's perceived disregard for U.S. interests and general lack of dependability – has finally sunk in.

In foreign policy, it's rare to be able to turn on a dime. Given Biden's genuine commitment to Israel and profound shock over October 7, it is impossible to expect a 180-degree pivot in policy – certainly not under the circumstances of a war the United States supported. Nevertheless, if you look at the evidence, statements and signs of pressure of the past 10 days, it is clear that the Americans are in the process of correcting course.

How acute that change will be depends on Israel as much as it does on Joe Biden.