The Only Path Forward

Israel is heading, once again, toward elections. The exact date remains uncertain, but the direction is clear. Sometime this fall, Israelis will be called to vote. On paper, this should feel routine. In practice, nothing about the current political moment is routine.

This government has lasted longer than many expected, especially after a period in which Israel cycled through election after election, unable to form a stable coalition. For several years, politics devolved into paralysis. Governments rose and fell not on ideology or policy, but on personal alignments and vetoes. At the center of it all stood a single figure: Benjamin Netanyahu. The previous rounds of elections were, in essence, referendums on Netanyahu. Israelis were asked not so much what they believed, but whom they believed in. Netanyahu inspired deep loyalty and equally deep opposition. There was very little room for ambivalence. You were either for him or against him.

Then came October 7.

That day did not just reshape Israel’s security reality. It reset its political DNA. The immediate aftermath saw something rare and powerful: unity. Israelis who disagreed about nearly everything suddenly found themselves standing together, in uniform and out, facing a common threat.

But unity forged under fire does not automatically translate into unity at the ballot box. Current polling suggests that the political blocs remain deadlocked. On one side stands the current governing coalition: Likud, the religious Zionist parties, and the ultra-Orthodox. On the other hand, a diverse and somewhat improbable alignment of figures spanning the political spectrum, including Naftali Bennett, Gadi Eisenkot, Avigdor Lieberman, and Yair Golan. Neither bloc approaches a decisive majority. Israel appears poised, once again, for a stalemate.

A stalemate in Israel is not neutral. It is corrosive.

A minority government, if it emerges, is unlikely to endure. More importantly, it risks undoing the fragile cohesion that emerged after October 7. National resilience is not an abstract concept. It depends on a shared sense of purpose and fairness. That sense is beginning to erode.

Ariel Schnebel, writing recently in the Hebrew “Makor Rishon”, reframed the debate in stark and uncomfortable terms. He asked a question that cuts through political rhetoric: how can Likud continue its alliance with parties that categorically reject military service for their constituents? This is not an academic question. It is a zero-sum equation. Every young man who does not serve means another who must serve more. It means more days in uniform, more strain on families, more disruption to careers. It is not theoretical; it is lived reality for thousands of reservists who have been called up repeatedly since the war began. At the end of June, my two sons will be leaving their families for no less than 97 days. They do this with pride, but the situation is untenable.

The burden is not being shared.

Schnebel’s conclusion is as bold as it is practical: the only viable path forward is a national unity government. A coalition that includes Likud alongside Bennett, Eisenkot, Lapid, and even Smotrich. According to current polling, such a bloc would command a clear and stable majority of more than 70 seats. More importantly, it would reflect a truth that politicians often ignore: these parties have more in common than they care to admit. On core issues of security, economy, and national identity, there is significant overlap. The gaps, while real, are not insurmountable. Not in a country that has faced – and still faces – far greater challenges.

Such a government would also have the political legitimacy to address the most divisive issue of all: mandatory service for the ultra-Orthodox. This is not just another policy dispute. It is a defining question of what it means to be a citizen in Israel.

Yet national unity will not come from the political class. The incentives point in the opposite direction. Division mobilizes voters. Compromise dilutes brands. If unity is to emerge, it will come from the public. From the same Israelis who stood together in Gaza, in the north, and along every front since October 7. They have already demonstrated what shared responsibility looks like. Now they must demand that their leaders do the same.

Perhaps the first step is psychological. Today, every poll is framed as a horse race between two blocs. That framing does more than describe reality; it shapes it. Voters are conditioned to think in binary terms, to choose between camps rather than to imagine alternatives. But the numbers themselves tell a different story. When one aggregates the parties that could, in principle, sit together in a unity coalition, a stable majority appears. It exists not in theory, but in the very data that dominates the headlines. By simply presenting that number alongside the traditional bloc breakdown, pollsters and commentators could begin to legitimize the idea. What is today dismissed as unrealistic could become tomorrow’s default expectation.

Israel does not lack capable leaders, nor does it lack areas of agreement. It lacks the mechanism, and perhaps the courage, to align them. The people have already demonstrated what alignment looks like under pressure. The next challenge is to demand it without waiting for a crisis to impose it. If that demand becomes loud enough and consistent enough, even the most reluctant politicians will hear it. And eventually, they will have no choice but to respond.

Good things,

Ari Sacher