I left the cult of personality behind. Or did I?

When I arrived in Israel 25 years ago, I knew very little about this country. Today, after a quarter of a century living here, I still feel that I have so much to learn.

I came from a society where people were too often worshipped instead of ideas. I arrived in a country where I believed the greatest priorities were the welfare, security, and future of the Jewish people, both in Israel and throughout the world.

My relationship with politics began long before I was old enough to understand it.

As a child in Buenos Aires, my school was invited to visit the Casa Rosada, Argentina’s presidential palace. There, in the magnificent White Hall, we were received by President Arturo Illia.

I had the honor of presenting him with flowers. He kissed me.

It was my first encounter with someone I would later remember as a genuine statesman.

Not long afterward, on June 28, 1966, Illia was overthrown by the military and forced to leave the presidential palace. I was too young to understand what was happening.

As the years passed, I began to understand.

Argentina endured decades of political instability and military dictatorships. The last dictatorship left a terrible wound, with thousands murdered or forcibly disappeared. Argentine human rights organizations have long used the figure of 30,000 disappeared to represent the scale of that tragedy.

Then came the Falklands War, known to us as the Malvinas War.

Like so many Argentinians, I initially applauded the occupation of the islands. I believed what we were being told. I did not yet understand how a dictatorship could exploit a nation’s patriotic feelings in a desperate attempt to recover its lost legitimacy.

The illusion did not last long. The war ended in defeat, and the military regime soon collapsed.

Then came Raúl Alfonsín.

To me, he represented the continuation of the democratic values I had admired in Illia. I supported him wholeheartedly. I wanted to believe that Argentina could finally become a country with strong democratic institutions and leaders who served the people rather than themselves.

Alfonsín helped restore democracy and faced enormous challenges. But the Argentina I had dreamed of never fully became a reality.

And then, many years later, I arrived in Israel.

Here I discovered a different society, a different way of life, and what seemed to me a different relationship between citizens and their leaders.

One afternoon, while I was attending my first Hebrew ulpan, we received a visit from Shimon Peres.

He did not come to deliver a grand speech.

He came to listen.

My wife, Lili, had worked as a kindergarten teacher at a Jewish school in Buenos Aires and already had a basic knowledge of Hebrew. She had passed the examinations demonstrating that she was ready for a more advanced course.

Unfortunately, no second-level ulpan was available.

Several other new immigrants faced the same problem.

Meanwhile, Lili was working in the kitchen of a restaurant.

When I had the opportunity to speak with Peres, I explained our situation. My wife needed to continue studying Hebrew so she could build a professional future in her new country.

Peres replied that it was good that she was working.

“Yes, Shimon,” I answered, “but dishes don’t teach Hebrew.”

The room burst into laughter.

Peres smiled too.

A few weeks later, Lili began attending a second-level ulpan.

I never knew whether our conversation had anything to do with that development. But I never forgot that a man of Peres’s stature had sat down with a group of newly arrived immigrants, listened to their problems, and accepted a challenging reply with a smile.

To me, that represented a particular understanding of leadership.

Twenty-five years have passed.

Israel has grown, developed, and achieved extraordinary things. I have watched cities expand, highways and hospitals being built, and research centers flourish. I have watched my family grow, and I have watched my grandchildren grow up.

But my perception of Israeli politics has also changed.

Today, I am deeply concerned about the growing personalization of political power, the deterioration of public debate, and the difficulty of holding those in government accountable.

I worry that political agreements may place the interests of particular sectors above the needs of society as a whole.

I worry about how national responsibilities are shared: who works, who pays taxes, who serves in the military, and what education children receive to prepare them to contribute to the economy of tomorrow.

I recognize that Israeli society includes people with very different religious, cultural, and political convictions. But I believe a democracy must be able to discuss openly how rights, resources, and responsibilities should be distributed.

And above everything else stands October 7, 2023.

That day, Israel suffered a catastrophe that permanently changed our society.

The victims, the hostages, their families, and every Israeli citizen deserve the clearest possible answers about how so many layers of security failed.

I do not consider a demand for an independent investigation to be an attack on Israel.

On the contrary, I believe demanding answers is a responsibility of those who love this country.

I also believe that investigations into possible conflicts of interest and foreign influence within political circles must be allowed to proceed without interference, while fully respecting the presumption of innocence.

Political responsibility is not necessarily the same as criminal responsibility. A leader may have committed no crime and still be accountable for decisions made under his government.

I do not deny that Benjamin Netanyahu has had periods in his career when he demonstrated political ability and contributed to Israel’s economic development.

But past achievements cannot become a blank check for the future.

Golda Meir was a central figure in Israel’s history. Moshe Dayan also had an extraordinary career.

Yet after the Yom Kippur War of 1973, Israeli society demanded answers about the failures that had allowed the country to be taken by surprise.

The Agranat Commission was established. Golda Meir eventually resigned, even though the commission had not assigned her direct responsibility. Moshe Dayan also left the Defense Ministry when her government came to an end.

Those events left a lesson that I consider essential: political responsibility does not disappear simply because a leader has previously rendered great service to the country.

Today, after October 7, I find myself asking again what accepting that responsibility really means.

To me, a democracy is measured not only by its ability to elect leaders, but also by its ability to demand answers when those leaders fail.

Yet what troubles me most goes beyond any single politician.

It is the possibility that, as I witnessed so often in Argentina, loyalty to an individual may become more important than loyalty to institutions.

That uncomfortable questions may be dismissed as expressions of left-wing ideology rather than answered.

That legitimate criticism of the government may be automatically labeled as a left-wing political position, regardless of the facts or arguments behind it.

That discussions about the future of our children and grandchildren may be reduced to a confrontation between the supporters and opponents of one leader.

As Israel approaches the October 27 elections, I watch the political arguments, the opinion polls, and the divisions within our society.

And memories of Argentina return to me.

I do not believe Israel is Argentina. These are countries with profoundly different histories, institutions, and circumstances.

Nor do I believe our future has already been written.

But having lived through one history makes me particularly sensitive to certain warning signs when I believe I recognize them in another.

I remember the little boy who presented flowers to Arturo Illia.

I remember the young man who believed in Raúl Alfonsín’s democratic promise.

And I remember the new immigrant who dared to challenge Shimon Peres because he wanted his wife to have the opportunity to learn Hebrew.

Today, I am a grandfather.

I no longer think only about the country in which I want to live.

I think about the country my grandchildren will inherit.

I do not expect infallible leaders. They do not exist.

I expect leaders who can listen, acknowledge mistakes, accept responsibility, and understand that the state does not belong to them.

After 25 years, I remain profoundly grateful that I chose Israel as my home.

That is precisely why I worry about its future.

Because I learned, long before arriving here, that loving a country must never mean worshipping those who govern it.