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Israel’s election was supposed to answer a straightforward question: Who will govern the country after Benjamin Netanyahu? Instead, it has exposed a much deeper contradiction at the heart of Israeli democracy. The political arithmetic suggests that Netanyahu could lose power, but the ideological foundations of the political establishment may remain largely untouched.
The final count, as presented, gives Netanyahu’s bloc 53 seats and the opposition 48, leaving neither side with the 61 seats required to form a parliamentary majority. Yet the Arab parties, with their combined 19 seats, possess enough parliamentary strength to transform the political equation. Add their seats to those of the opposition, and the result is a potential 67 seat majority. On paper, the solution appears straightforward. In reality, it exposes one of Israel’s most enduring political dilemmas.
In most parliamentary democracies, political parties negotiate with whoever can help them secure a governing majority. Ideological differences may complicate the process, but the necessity of forming a government often encourages compromise. Israel presents a different situation. The parties that could make a parliamentary majority possible are also the parties that mainstream Jewish political leaders have repeatedly been reluctant to accept as coalition partners. The question, therefore, is no longer simply who has the numbers. It is who is considered acceptable to govern.
Netanyahu’s Likud remains the largest single party, with 27 seats. However, his wider alliance, built around nationalist, settler and ultra Orthodox interests, has secured only 53 seats. His political problem is not merely finding additional parliamentary support. It is finding that support without undermining the ideological foundation of his political coalition. An arrangement with Arab parties would risk alienating important sections of his nationalist constituency and could threaten his political survival.
The opposition faces its own complications. Gadi Eisenkot, Naftali Bennett, Yair Golan and Avigdor Liberman represent different political traditions and competing visions of Israel’s future. Their strongest common interest is ending the Netanyahu era. Beyond that, their differences are substantial. It is one thing to unite against a prime minister. It is quite another to agree on how to govern a country. Consequently, the opposition’s numerical advantage with Arab support does not automatically translate into a workable coalition.
Perhaps the most revealing feature of this election is the position of Arab citizens of Israel. Their electoral participation has produced substantial parliamentary representation. Their votes matter, their elected representatives can influence the formation of a government, and their parliamentary strength could determine who occupies the prime minister’s office. Yet the prospect of accepting Arab parties as full coalition partners remains politically controversial among mainstream Jewish political leaders.
This is the central paradox. Arab citizens participate in the electoral process, but their political representatives remain largely excluded from the conventional calculations of national power. It raises a fundamental question about the relationship between citizenship, democratic representation and political inclusion. A community may have elected representatives in parliament without enjoying meaningful access to the negotiations through which national policy is determined.
The issue goes beyond Netanyahu or his potential successor. It concerns the nature of Israeli democracy and the boundaries of political participation in a state whose national identity is explicitly rooted in Zionism and Jewish self determination. While Israeli parties disagree sharply over judicial reform, military conscription and leadership, there remains considerable continuity among mainstream Jewish political parties on questions concerning national security, Israel’s military posture and the country’s fundamental Zionist character.
This explains why a change of prime minister should not automatically be interpreted as a fundamental change in Israeli policy. A government led by a former military commander might be more disciplined in its communication, more predictable in its diplomacy and more coordinated in its security calculations. But a change in political temperament does not necessarily produce a change in strategic direction.
For Palestinians, therefore, a new administration may alter the tone of Israeli politics without fundamentally changing its approach to the occupation, Gaza or Palestinian statehood.
For Iran, the implications could be equally significant. Israeli political instability does not mean that its determination to confront perceived regional threats will disappear. Indeed, a more internally cohesive government could become an even more formidable strategic adversary.
How, then, does Israel escape this political deadlock? Four possibilities deserve attention. The first is a realignment of the ultra Orthodox parties, particularly Shas and United Torah Judaism, which together command approximately 15 seats. If they abandon Netanyahu and negotiate an arrangement with the opposition, Eisenkot’s 48 seats could rise to approximately 63. Such an arrangement would avoid dependence on Arab parliamentary support. However, the price would probably include concessions on military conscription exemptions, religious institutions and public funding.
The second possibility is an internal rebellion within Likud, resulting in Netanyahu’s replacement. A new leader might negotiate a national unity arrangement with sections of the opposition, allowing Likud to retain political influence without Netanyahu. But removing a political leader who has dominated the party for years is no simple undertaking.
Third, the opposition could attempt to form a minority government sustained by Arab parties outside the formal coalition. Israel has historical experience with such an arrangement. Yitzhak Rabin’s government in the 1990s relied on external parliamentary support from Arab parties in advancing the Oslo process. A similar arrangement today could provide a route to power without appointing Arab ministers, although the political resistance would be considerable.
The fourth possibility is another election. If negotiations collapse, Israelis may return to the polls only to reproduce substantially the same parliamentary divisions. Elections can change political fortunes, but they do not necessarily resolve ideological contradictions.
Ultimately, there is a temptation to interpret this election entirely through the personality of Benjamin Netanyahu. His possible departure would undoubtedly mark an important political moment. But Netanyahu is an individual leader, while the political architecture sustaining his alliances is much larger than one man.
The real question is whether Israel can reconcile its democratic institutions with the political exclusion of a significant section of its citizenry. Can Arab citizens participate in elections, win parliamentary seats and influence national politics without their elected representatives being permanently excluded from the possibility of governing?
Israel may soon have a different prime minister, a new coalition and a more restrained political atmosphere. But if the underlying assumptions about political inclusion remain unchanged, the country will simply reproduce its existing contradictions under new leadership.
The ultimate test of Israeli democracy is not merely whether another politician can assemble 61 parliamentary seats. It is whether the country can confront the deeper question of who is entitled to participate in governing it. Until that question is addressed, Israel may continue changing its prime ministers without changing the political architecture that determines who belongs at the table.
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