Israel from Inside the Knesset-and the Election That Could Change Everything

After October 7, Israel’s political debates became existential. But as the country heads to the polls, will voters choose genuine change, or simply more of the same?

October 7 did not just change Israel’s security reality. It shattered long-held assumptions about leadership, responsibility, national unity, religion, military service, and what Israelis should expect from their government.

The upcoming elections are therefore about far more than replacing one set of politicians with another. They are about redefining the Israeli social contract.

I spent much of the past two years watching Israeli politics unfold from inside the Knesset, working as an adviser to a Likud minister. I entered the political arena roughly a year and a half after October 7, without any firsthand experience of what the Knesset had been like before the war.

But those who had been there longer repeatedly told me that something had fundamentally changed.

Conversations that had once been largely performative had become existential. Political disagreements were no longer simply about coalition agreements, budgets, or legislative priorities. They were about the future of the country itself.

And yet, despite the gravity of the moment, I often felt that the political system had become increasingly incapable of addressing the very issues Israelis were most concerned about.

From my vantage point, politicians across the political spectrum understood that the country was facing an unprecedented crisis. But understanding the crisis and governing through it were two very different things.

Too often, the Knesset seemed less like a place where legislation was being advanced and more like an arena for endless political confrontation, protests, and arguments.

That is not to say that the government achieved nothing. I worked for a Likud minister who, in my view, managed to accomplish meaningful things, and the right-wing government passed legislation that its supporters rightly consider significant.

But I also witnessed how easily substantive work could become overshadowed by political noise. Too much time was spent on arguments that generated headlines rather than the difficult, often unglamorous work of governing.

As the government’s term ended, the sense of political paralysis became difficult to ignore.

An election about more than Netanyahu

Israelis are now approaching what could become one of the most consequential elections in the country’s history.

There are obvious historical comparisons. The political upheaval following the Yom Kippur War eventually contributed to the 1977 election, when Menachem Begin’s Likud ended nearly three decades of Labor-led rule. That election fundamentally reshaped Israeli politics.

The first national election following October 7 could prove similarly transformative.

But the central question is not simply whether Benjamin Netanyahu remains prime minister.

It is what kind of coalition Israelis are prepared to accept, and what compromises they are willing to make to get there.

For many voters, the choice may ultimately come down to whether they prefer another coalition dependent on Haredi parties or an alternative coalition that could require cooperation with Mansour Abbas and his Ra’am party.

Neither option is politically simple. Both carry ideological and practical consequences that voters will have to confront.

Meanwhile, the issues facing the next government are enormous.

The question of Haredi military service has become increasingly difficult to avoid, particularly after years in which reservists and their families have carried an extraordinary burden. Israel also faces pressing economic challenges, deep social divisions, and unresolved debates over the judiciary and the balance of power between the country’s institutions.

These are not issues that can be solved through another election campaign filled with slogans and accusations.

They require serious legislation, compromise, and political courage.

A new generation shaped by October 7

Perhaps one of the most interesting developments in this election is the emergence of candidates whose public identities were shaped not by traditional political careers, but by the war itself.

Figures such as Elisha Medan, a wounded war veteran and amputee; Sharon Sharabi, brother of Eli and Yossi Sharabi, Eli was killed in captivity and Yossi’s wife and two daughters were murdered on October 7th ; and Shira Shapira, the mother of Aner Shapira, represent a different kind of political figure.

Alongside them are reservists, activists, and public figures such as 23 year old reservist, Yonatan Shalev (Beyachad) and Omri Ronen (Hademokratim) one of the founding members of Achim Laneshek, who are seeking to translate their experiences and public activism into political representation.

Their emergence raises an important question: Will the trauma of October 7 produce a genuinely new political leadership, or will these individuals simply be absorbed into the same party structures and political habits that existed before the war?

There is something powerful about seeing people who have experienced the country’s most difficult moments firsthand seeking a place in the Knesset.

But personal sacrifice, public recognition, and compelling life stories do not automatically translate into effective governance.

The real test will be whether these candidates can bring a different political culture into the legislature one that places responsibility, public service, and practical solutions above party loyalty and political theatere.

Voting for what you believe in or against what you fear

This brings me to what I believe is one of the most difficult choices facing Israeli voters.

Do you vote strategically, choosing a party primarily to prevent the coalition you fear most?

Or do you vote for the party that most closely reflects your values, even if it risks failing to cross the electoral threshold?

For right-wing voters, this dilemma is particularly relevant when considering smaller parties or emerging political movements, including those associated with figures such as Ofer Winter or the new Haredi Public party.

There is something admirable about voting according to one’s ideological convictions. But in Israel’s parliamentary system, where parties must cross the electoral threshold to enter the Knesset, ideological satisfaction can come at a very real political cost.

A vote for a party that fails to cross the threshold may ultimately weaken the very political camp the voter hoped to strengthen.

On the other hand, voting exclusively out of fear risks perpetuating the same political arrangements that so many Israelis claim to want to change.

After spending time inside the Knesset, I have become increasingly convinced that the greatest challenge facing Israeli democracy is not a shortage of passionate politicians or strongly held beliefs.

It is the difficulty of turning those convictions into effective governance.

Israel does not lack people willing to argue about its future. It needs more people capable of building that future.

October 7 exposed failures that Israelis can no longer afford to ignore. The next government will inherit not only the responsibility of rebuilding national security, but also the far more complicated task of restoring public trust in the country’s institutions and political leadership.

Whether that government comes from the right, center, or a combination of political camps, it will have to prove that it can do more than survive coalition crises.

It will have to govern.

And that, more than any campaign promise or political personality, is what I hope Israelis remember when they enter the voting booth.