Israel’s Election Cannot Answer the Question It Refuses to Ask

The problem is bigger than Netanyahu. Israel must confront the political culture that has made Palestinian suffering, permanent insecurity and the denial of another people’s freedom acceptable features of national politics.

Israel’s latest election has once again exposed a question that the country’s political establishment appears unwilling to confront: what exactly is supposed to change when one Israeli government replaces another, but the underlying assumptions about Palestinian life, security and freedom remain largely intact? Benjamin Netanyahu may lose power, and Gadi Eisenkot’s opposition may eventually assemble a governing coalition, but a change of prime minister is not necessarily a change of national direction. The ballot can rearrange political alliances, redistribute ministerial offices and alter the language used to justify state policy, yet it cannot automatically dismantle a political culture shaped by decades of occupation, dispossession and unequal treatment. When the central political debate remains dominated by how Israel can preserve its military and territorial power rather than how Palestinians can enjoy equal rights and genuine self-determination, the limits of electoral change become painfully clear. Israel’s election therefore demands a deeper examination than the familiar contest between personalities, parties and coalition arithmetic.

The temptation to describe the contest as a choice between two versions of the same destructive politics is understandable, particularly for people who have watched Palestinian suffering become a recurring feature of Israeli political life. Netanyahu has become the most recognisable face of this system, but it would be a mistake to imagine that removing him would automatically remove the conditions that have enabled it. Gantz withdrew from the election before polling day, while Eisenkot emerged as a leading opposition figure, demonstrating that even the identity of the supposed alternative has changed without resolving the larger question. The issue is not that every Israeli citizen thinks identically, because Israeli society contains dissenters, peace activists, anti-occupation campaigners and people who reject the treatment of Palestinians. The more troubling reality is that political institutions can continue producing and rewarding policies that deny another population freedom, even when substantial disagreements exist within the society implementing them.

What should concern the world is the normalisation of dehumanising rhetoric and the political acceptability of violence against Palestinians. When chants calling for death, expulsion or collective punishment are tolerated or celebrated in public spaces, the question cannot end with identifying the individuals who shouted them. It must extend to the political leaders who exploit such sentiments, the institutions that fail to restrain them and the social conditions under which another people’s suffering can be treated as a source of national satisfaction. Racism does not become harmless because it is expressed through an election campaign, and collective punishment does not become morally defensible because a government invokes national security. A state that demands recognition of its own historical trauma must also recognise the humanity, rights and historical experiences of the people over whom it exercises power. There can be no credible claim to a secure future if the security of one population is pursued through the permanent insecurity of another.

The Israeli political establishment has spent years presenting military superiority as the foundation of national survival, yet the repeated cycles of violence demonstrate the limits of that proposition. Weapons can destroy infrastructure, intelligence services can identify targets, and military operations can temporarily weaken an adversary, but none of these achievements can substitute for a political settlement grounded in rights and mutual recognition. Palestinians cannot be expected to surrender their aspirations for freedom simply because Israel possesses greater military power, nor can regional stability be built by treating their political existence as an obstacle to be managed indefinitely. The consequences of this approach extend beyond Gaza and the occupied West Bank, shaping Israel’s relationships with neighbouring societies and reinforcing the conviction that force, rather than equal rights, determines whose future matters. A country may win battles while losing the moral legitimacy required to build a durable peace.

The election results themselves offer another uncomfortable lesson. Early counting on 28 October suggested that neither Netanyahu’s bloc nor the opposition grouping had secured an uncomplicated path to a parliamentary majority, while Arab-led parties appeared capable of influencing the formation of the next government. That possibility exposes a contradiction within Israeli politics: Arab citizens are part of the electorate, yet their participation in determining the government has repeatedly been treated by significant political forces as illegitimate or undesirable. If a political system celebrates democracy but places restrictions on which citizens and parties are considered acceptable partners, then its democratic claims deserve serious scrutiny. The decisive question is not merely who can assemble 61 seats in the Knesset, but whether the resulting government will recognise equal political dignity and rights as principles that apply beyond the boundaries of the dominant national group. A parliamentary majority is a mechanism for governing, not a moral licence to deny another people their freedom.

Israel must therefore examine the deeper assumptions embedded in its national project, including the relationship between Jewish self-determination, Palestinian self-determination, territorial control and equal citizenship. Historical persecution of Jewish people is real and must never be dismissed, but historical suffering cannot justify the indefinite subordination of another population. Nor should criticism of Israeli government policy be confused with hostility towards Jewish people, just as opposition to antisemitism cannot reasonably require silence about Palestinian dispossession or civilian deaths. The task is to distinguish a people’s right to safety from a state’s claim to exercise unchecked power over others. Until that distinction becomes central to Israeli political life, elections risk becoming a process through which the managers of the same unresolved crisis take turns in office.

The world should consequently resist the comforting fiction that Israel’s problems will be solved by the defeat of one leader. Netanyahu’s departure, if it occurs, may create political opportunities, but those opportunities will matter only if they lead to a demonstrable break with policies that perpetuate occupation, inequality and the denial of Palestinian rights. Eisenkot and other opposition leaders should be judged by what they are prepared to change, not merely by their ability to present themselves as alternatives to Netanyahu. Israeli society must also confront the rhetoric, institutions and political incentives that make the suffering of Palestinians so easy to excuse. The question Israel must answer is not simply who should govern, but what kind of country it intends to be, and whether its future can be imagined without the permanent subordination of another people. If the answer remains unchanged, the name at the top of the government may change while the underlying crisis survives.