In October 1997, during his first term as prime minister, Benjamin Netanyahu leaned in to whisper to the elderly Kabbalist Rabbi Yitzhak Kaduri, unaware that nearby microphones were recording. The leftists, he said, “have forgotten what it means to be Jewish.”
Nearly three decades later, that remark still echoes through Israeli politics.
The political deadlock of 2019 to 2022, which sent Israel to five elections, was repeatedly framed as a referendum on Netanyahu. That framing served his supporters, his political partners, and even his liberal opponents, who remained trapped in a debate over one man.
But the underlying question was always larger: What kind of country should Israel be? A liberal, Jewish-majority democracy, or a religious state increasingly shaped by the ideological ambitions of the settler movement?
The October 27 election delivered a decisive setback for Netanyahu and his partners, whose combined representation fell from 68 to 53 Knesset seats. Opposition parties secured 67 seats, including a record 19 for the two Arab parties.
Arab Israeli turnout reached approximately 80%, its highest level in decades, providing the opposition with a majority it could not achieve through Jewish voters alone.
For many Arab voters, the election was about more than Netanyahu. It was a rejection of the policies represented by his coalition partners, particularly National Security Minister Itamar Ben-Gvir.
Whose votes count?
Efforts to cast doubt on Arab participation began before election day.
Hours before polls closed, police arrested three Ra’am activists on suspicion of vote-buying, reportedly following a call from Netanyahu’s chief of staff, Ido Norden, to senior police officials.
Police subsequently acknowledged conducting searches without warrants. A court released one suspect and refused to extend the others’ detention. Senior officials told Channel 12 the case was unlikely to produce indictments.
Nevertheless, Netanyahu cited the arrests as evidence of an attempt “to steal the election from us.”
The controversy intensified when Shin Bet (Israel Security Agency) chief David Zini sought to question senior figures in Ra’am and the Joint List over suspected foreign interference. The attorney-general reportedly rejected the request, citing insufficient evidence.
The Central Elections Committee also rejected allegations of systematic irregularities, stating that even substantiated suspicions would not undermine “the election results as a whole.”
Netanyahu subsequently argued that he had won the Jewish vote and that an opposition government dependent on Arab support would lack legitimacy.
Excluding Arab parties, his bloc indeed leads the Jewish opposition parties, 53 seats to 48. But the Knesset has 120 members, not 101.
This argument has historical precedent. In 1995, Netanyahu’s opposition challenged the legitimacy of Yitzhak Rabin’s government because it relied on Arab parties. When Oslo II passed by 61 votes to 59, opponents emphasized the absence of a “Jewish majority.”
The same distinction now threatens to undermine the electoral choice of nearly three million Israelis who voted for change.
Under this logic, Arab citizens may vote, but their representatives cannot legitimately determine who governs. Their participation becomes acceptable only when it does not alter the balance of power.
Two visions of a Jewish state
For most Arab Israelis, the Jewish character of the state is an established reality, not necessarily an obstacle to political participation.
Ra’am leader Mansour Abbas made that distinction explicit in 2021: “The State of Israel was born a Jewish state,” he said, “and it will remain a Jewish state.”
A May survey by Tel Aviv University’s Konrad Adenauer Program found that more than three-quarters of Arab respondents supported an Arab party joining the next government. A similar proportion supported voluntary civic service for Arab high school graduates.
These findings suggest that political integration and civic participation enjoy substantial support among Arab citizens.
The fundamental disagreement concerns what Jewish sovereignty should mean.
Israel increasingly resembles two competing political visions.
The first, represented by much of the liberal and secular public, sees Jewish sovereignty as the foundation for a democratic state that protects its citizens and participates in the international community.
The second, associated with the ideological settler movement and its political allies, places territorial and religious claims at the center of national identity, sometimes at the expense of democratic institutions.
This division is not absolute. Neither camp speaks for every Jewish Israeli, and religious identity does not necessarily determine political allegiance. But the competing visions have become increasingly difficult to reconcile.
The historical warning
Jewish history offers parallels, although history should not be mistaken for prophecy.
Following Solomon’s death, the ancient monarchy divided into the northern Kingdom of Israel and the southern Kingdom of Judah. Their political and religious trajectories diverged before both eventually lost their independence, Israel to Assyria in 722 BCE and Judah to Babylon in 586 BCE.
Centuries later, rival Jewish factions fought among themselves during the Roman siege of Jerusalem. The Second Temple fell in 70 CE, and Jewish tradition subsequently identified sinat chinam, baseless hatred, as a central cause of the catastrophe.
Today’s circumstances are fundamentally different, but internal division remains a danger to national cohesion.
The comparison also evokes what Israelis sometimes call the curse of the eighth decade, the historical anxiety that earlier periods of Jewish sovereignty failed to survive much beyond 80 years.
Both Ehud Barak and Netanyahu have invoked this warning. In 2017, Netanyahu spoke of his determination to ensure that modern Israel outlasted the Hasmonean kingdom.
The lesson is not that collapse is inevitable. It is that political institutions and shared citizenship cannot be taken for granted.
Rabin or Gantz?
The immediate test now falls to Gadi Eisenkot.
Ra’am has recommended him for prime minister, and the Joint List is expected to follow, potentially giving him the support of factions holding 67 seats.
Arab voters have helped provide Eisenkot with a path toward government. Whether he and his prospective coalition partners are prepared to recognize their political role is another question.
Two precedents illustrate the choice.
Rabin governed with Arab parliamentary support, despite fierce opposition and accusations that his government lacked legitimacy.
Benny Gantz took a different path in 2020. After campaigning to replace Netanyahu and receiving the recommendation of all Arab parties, he chose to enter an emergency government with Netanyahu instead. That government eventually collapsed.
Eisenkot now faces his own version of that decision.
Democrats leader Yair Golan has rejected Netanyahu’s distinction between Jewish and Arab votes.
“I know how to count to 120,” he declared.
Golan also challenged what he described as Netanyahu’s “racist division between Jewish votes and Arab votes,” insisting that “the voice of an Israeli citizen voting in Taybeh is worth exactly as much as the voice of an Israeli citizen voting in Givat Shmuel.”
That principle should not be controversial in a democracy.
The opposition’s 67 seats constitute an Israeli majority, even if they do not represent a Jewish parliamentary majority. The legitimacy of that majority cannot depend on the ethnic identities of those who elected it.
The 2026 election was therefore about more than replacing Netanyahu. It raised a fundamental question about whether Israel can reconcile its Jewish national identity with equal political citizenship.
Arab Israelis have demonstrated their willingness to participate in shaping the country’s future. Eisenkot and his Jewish political partners must now decide whether that participation will translate into genuine political influence.
Will they follow Rabin’s precedent and accept an Israeli majority built with Arab support, or repeat Gantz’s decision to place political accommodation with Netanyahu ahead of an alternative government?
The answer may determine whether this election marks a turning point or another missed opportunity.
The writer is an independent Arab Israeli writer and political commentator, a former LGBTQ activist and reporter. During the Bennett-Lapid government, Barzoabi helped establish the Knesset’s first Arab LGBTQ forum and secured government funding for Beit Almeem, an Arabic-speaking LGBTQ center.
Follow us on GoogleSource: The Jerusalem Post · EDEN BARZOABI
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