Israel’s Fourth Quarter: The Election Is Only the Beginning

Sometimes, I think we forget just how young the State of Israel really is.

This year, Israel celebrated its 78th birthday. In the lifespan of a country, that is remarkably young. And yet, in those 78 years, Israel has experienced extraordinary achievements, enormous challenges, wars, waves of immigration, political upheaval, and a pace of development that many countries take centuries to experience.

On Tuesday, Israelis will head to the polls for the country’s 26th general election. When I cast my vote, it will be the ninth Israeli general election in which I have participated. As someone who grew up in the UK and made Aliyah as an adult, I find that quite extraordinary. I will have voted in more than one-third of all the general elections in Israel’s history.

That statistic is both remarkable and, if I’m honest, a little unsettling. It speaks not only to how young Israel is, but also to the frequency with which we have returned to the ballot box, particularly in recent years.

Elections are always important. They are one of the great privileges and responsibilities of living in a democracy. They give us the opportunity to shape the society in which we live, to determine its priorities, and to hold those entrusted with leadership accountable.

But I would argue that the responsibility is even greater in a country as young as Israel. We are not simply choosing who will govern us for the next few years. We are still helping to determine what kind of country Israel will become.

And this election, perhaps more than most, feels like it could help define that future.

There is a theory, often referred to in Zionist discourse as the Fourth Quarter, which suggests that the fourth quarter of a nation’s first century can be a particularly dangerous period. Having survived the challenges of establishment and consolidation, a country can find itself threatened less by its external enemies than by the divisions that develop within its own society.

It is not a prophecy, nor an inevitable historical law. But as Israel enters the final quarter of its first century, it is a warning worth taking seriously.

This will be Israel’s first general election since turning 75. And the years surrounding that transition have been among the most dramatic, traumatic and consequential in our modern history.

The divisions surrounding judicial reform. The horrors of 7th October. The wars that followed. The hostages and their families. The extraordinary sacrifices made by soldiers, reservists and their loved ones. The continuing debates about security, democracy, equality, national service, religion and the character of the state.

These experiences have affected every part of Israeli society, although not always in the same way.

And now, as we approach another election, there is a sense that Israel stands at a precipice.

In 2015, then-President Reuven Rivlin famously described Israeli society as comprising four tribes: secular Jews, religious Zionists, ultra-Orthodox Jews and Arab Israelis. His warning was that these communities were increasingly growing up, studying and living separately, with different understandings of what Israel is and what it should become.

More than a decade later, those divisions feel as significant as ever.

But Rivlin’s vision did not stop at four tribes. In 2017, addressing Jewish leaders in Los Angeles, he spoke of a fifth tribe: the Jewish Diaspora. He recognised that, although Diaspora Jews do not vote in Israeli elections, they remain an integral part of the wider Jewish story and have an important stake in Israel’s future.

Today, I worry that this fifth tribe increasingly feels disempowered, unloved and unheard. Decisions made in Israel profoundly affect Jewish communities around the world, their identities, their sense of belonging and their relationships with the Jewish state. Yet too often, the conversation between Israel and the Diaspora feels like one in which we speak past one another rather than genuinely listen.

There is a growing sense that we are no longer simply disagreeing about the best direction for Israel. Too often, we are questioning whether those who disagree with us have any legitimate place in shaping its future.

That is a dangerous place for any democracy to find itself, let alone one still in the process of defining its identity.

And perhaps most concerning is the feeling that, whatever happens on Tuesday, a significant proportion of Israeli society will wake up disappointed, angry, frightened or despondent about the country’s future.

So how do we move forward?

I certainly don’t pretend to have all the answers. But as Executive Director of FZY, the UK’s oldest Zionist youth movement, I spend much of my professional life thinking about a challenge that feels particularly relevant right now.

How do you bring together people with different backgrounds, beliefs, values and visions of Israel, and help them build something meaningful together?

FZY is a pluralist Zionist movement. That means we do not expect every member to share the same political opinions, religious practices or understanding of Zionism. Indeed, our strength comes partly from the fact that they don’t.

Pluralism does not mean having no principles. Nor does it mean that every position is equally acceptable. It means recognising that people can hold different views while sharing a genuine commitment to Israel and the Jewish future.

It means creating an environment in which disagreement is not seen as a threat, but as an opportunity to learn, challenge and grow.

And it means understanding that the success of the movement is not measured by whether everyone agrees with its leadership, but by whether everyone feels they have a meaningful place within it.

I believe there are four principles that we try to model in FZY which Israel would benefit from embracing as it enters this election and, perhaps more importantly, emerges from it.

First, respect.

We are all products of our upbringing, our communities, our experiences and the values that have shaped our lives. It is entirely natural that we will not all see the world in the same way.

Someone growing up in a secular family in Tel Aviv will not necessarily understand Israel in the same way as someone growing up in a religious community in Judea and Samaria, an ultra-Orthodox neighbourhood in Jerusalem, or an Arab town in the Galilee.

That does not automatically make one right and another wrong. It means that our experiences have shaped different priorities, concerns and aspirations.

In a healthy democracy, those differences should lead to debate. Sometimes passionate debate. Sometimes deeply uncomfortable debate.

But disagreement should never become an excuse for disrespect.

We can challenge someone’s ideas without questioning their humanity. We can oppose their political vision without suggesting they do not belong. We can disagree profoundly about Israel’s future while recognising that others may be motivated by an equally sincere desire to see the country succeed.

Respect does not require agreement. It requires recognising the dignity of the person with whom we disagree.

In youth movement education, this is fundamental. If a young person expresses a view that differs from the majority, our responsibility is not simply to correct or silence them. It is to create an environment where they can explain their thinking, be challenged respectfully and feel comfortable engaging with those who disagree.

Imagine how different our national political conversation might look if we expected the same standards from our elected representatives.

Second, education.

We live in an age where information has never been more accessible, yet genuine understanding can sometimes feel further away than ever.

We read headlines without opening articles. We share social media posts without checking their accuracy. We surround ourselves with people who reinforce what we already believe, while dismissing opposing perspectives before we have properly understood them.

Our algorithms have become remarkably effective at telling us what we want to hear.

But democracy requires more than information. It requires understanding.

There is a beautiful teaching in the Talmud, in Eruvin 13b, about the disagreements between Beit Hillel and Beit Shammai. Both schools offered serious and deeply considered interpretations of Jewish law. Yet the halacha generally followed Beit Hillel.

Why?

The Talmud explains that Beit Hillel were humble and respectful, and that they studied and taught the arguments of Beit Shammai alongside their own. Indeed, they would present Beit Shammai’s position before presenting their own.

Think about how extraordinary that is.

Their strength did not come from refusing to engage with opposing ideas. It came, in part, from their willingness to understand those ideas before arguing their own case.

What an extraordinary model for political debate.

As Israelis prepare to vote, I hope we will take the time to understand not only what each party promises, but why it believes those policies are right for Israel. What are the implications? What are the compromises? What are the consequences for people who may not share our priorities?

And for those in the Diaspora, I believe there is an equally important responsibility. It is easy to judge Israeli politics from afar, particularly when the decisions being made can feel deeply personal. But understanding the choices Israelis face requires engaging seriously with the realities of living here, the security concerns, the social tensions and the competing visions of the country’s future.

That does not mean Diaspora Jews should remain silent. Far from it. Their voices matter enormously. But meaningful engagement begins with understanding, not assumptions.

If we want to shape Israel’s future responsibly, we must be willing to learn before we decide, and listen before we judge.

Third, the greater good.

This is perhaps the most difficult principle of all.

Every political party represents particular values, priorities and constituencies. That is entirely legitimate. It is how representative democracy works.

But there is a difference between representing a constituency and governing exclusively for it.

Israel’s political system, with its coalition governments and competing interests, makes compromise inevitable. That is not inherently a weakness. In fact, compromise can be one of democracy’s greatest strengths.

The danger comes when the interests of an individual politician, a particular community or a political coalition are consistently placed above the long-term interests of the country.

The fact that something can be passed legally does not automatically mean it is right, wise or in the national interest.

Our politicians should be asking themselves not simply whether a decision benefits their supporters, but whether it contributes to building a stronger, safer, fairer and more cohesive Israel.

And as voters, we should be asking those questions too.

Will this policy strengthen Israeli democracy? Will it protect the security and wellbeing of our citizens? Will it uphold the rights of minorities? Will it contribute to the long-term future of the country, even if the benefits are not immediately visible?

Will it help create an Israel that future generations can be proud of?

Israel’s Declaration of Independence provides an important moral foundation for these questions. It envisages a Jewish state committed to freedom, justice and peace, and to equality of social and political rights for all its inhabitants, irrespective of religion, race or sex.

Those commitments should not be treated as aspirations that can be conveniently set aside when politically difficult. They should remain central to the way we judge our leaders and the decisions they make.

In FZY, we encourage young people to think beyond themselves. To understand that leadership is not simply about getting what you want, but about accepting responsibility for the wider community.

That is a lesson that should apply just as strongly in the Knesset as it does in a youth movement.

Finally, we must create a tent in which everyone belongs.

In just over a week, the votes will have been counted. Some Israelis will be celebrating. Others will be devastated. There may be prolonged coalition negotiations, difficult compromises and further political uncertainty.

But whatever the result, the country will still belong to all its citizens.

Those who voted for the winning parties and those who voted against them.

Those who served in the military and those who did not.

Those who are religious and those who are secular.

Jewish and Arab citizens alike.

Those who believe Israel is moving in the right direction and those who fear it is heading towards disaster.

A democratic election determines who has the authority to govern. It does not determine who deserves to belong.

That distinction is fundamental.

One of the most important responsibilities of leadership is to create a space where people feel valued even when they disagree with those making decisions.

In FZY, our pluralism is not always easy. Different opinions can create tension. Difficult conversations can be uncomfortable. Finding common ground sometimes requires patience and compromise.

But we do not see those challenges as reasons to abandon pluralism. They are precisely why it matters.

A movement in which everyone thinks alike may be easier to manage. But a movement in which people learn to work together despite their differences is far better equipped to prepare the next generation for leadership.

I would argue the same is true of a country.

Israel does not need everyone to agree. It needs people who disagree to recognise that they share responsibility for its future.

And that responsibility does not stop at Israel’s borders. The Jewish Diaspora must also have a meaningful place in the wider conversation about Israel’s identity and future. Not because Diaspora Jews should determine the outcome of Israeli elections, but because the relationship between Israel and world Jewry is too important to allow it to become another casualty of our divisions.

The tent must be broad enough to include different identities, beliefs and political visions, while remaining firmly anchored in democracy, equality, mutual responsibility and the fundamental values upon which the state was established.

As I prepare to vote on Tuesday, I find myself thinking less about who will win and more about what happens afterwards.

Of course, the outcome matters enormously. The policies of the next government will shape the lives of millions of people, influence Israel’s security and economy, and affect its relationships with the wider world.

But an election victory, however decisive, will not by itself resolve the divisions within Israeli society.

Nor will an election defeat remove the responsibility of those who find themselves in opposition.

The real test of our democracy will be whether we can emerge from this election recognising that our shared future matters more than any individual political victory.

I think back to Israel’s founders, who established a Jewish state against extraordinary odds. They came from different backgrounds, held competing ideologies and disagreed fiercely about the kind of society they wanted to build. Yet they shared an understanding that the creation and survival of the state required something greater than any one political movement.

Seventy-eight years later, that responsibility now belongs to us.

As someone who made Aliyah, who is raising a family here, and who has the privilege of leading a Zionist youth movement dedicated to developing the next generation of Jewish leaders, I feel that responsibility deeply.

I want my children, and the thousands of young people who pass through FZY, to inherit an Israel that is not only strong enough to defend itself, but confident enough to embrace its diversity. A country that can disagree passionately without tearing itself apart. A country that honours both its Jewish character and its democratic commitments. A country that sees its citizens not as competing tribes, but as partners in a shared future.

The Fourth Quarter does not have to be a period of decline. It can be a period of renewal, maturity and growth.

But that will not happen automatically, and it will not be achieved by one election or one political leader.

It will require all of us.

On Tuesday, we will each enter the polling booth alone. We will make our decisions based on our beliefs, our priorities and our hopes for the future.

But when we leave, we will still share the same country.

And perhaps that is the most important thing to remember.

The true measure of this election will not simply be who wins the right to lead Israel. It will be whether, together, we can build an Israel in which everyone has a place, everyone has a voice, and everyone has a future.

Because the most important victory is not the one achieved at the ballot box.

It is the Israel we build together afterwards.