My First Israeli Election: Who’s next?

As Benjamin Netanyahu approaches his 77th birthday, I find myself questioning not only who should lead Israel today, but who is being prepared to lead us tomorrow.

In Canada, I could follow Israel’s security alerts from thousands of miles away. I could download an app, watch the notifications and try to imagine what Israelis were experiencing.

But nothing prepares you for actually living it.

For being awakened in the middle of the night by an alert, knowing you have moments to reach a mamad or miklat. For running an ordinary errand and suddenly wondering where the nearest shelter is. Or contemplating what might happen if a siren sounds while you’re driving on an open highway, with nowhere nearby to seek protection.

It’s frightening.

During periods of heightened danger, I’ve found myself staying closer to home, avoiding unnecessary highway travel. Thank God we have our faith, which gives us strength and the ability to carry on. But faith doesn’t eliminate fear.

That has been one of the greatest awakenings of my first year living in Israel. And it has fundamentally changed the way I think about leadership.

On October 27, just over a year after making aliyah from Canada, I will cast my first vote in an Israeli election.

I’m excited. I’m curious. And quite frankly, I’m overwhelmed.

With so many parties, platforms, interviews and podcasts, trying to understand what everyone stands for feels like a full-time job. Yet this is no longer a country whose politics I follow from abroad. It’s my home, and the decisions made by its leaders affect my everyday life.

So as I consider where to place my vote, I find myself asking a question that goes beyond the candidates and their promises.

Where are Israel’s future statesmen?

Since making aliyah, one thing has become crystal clear to me: I genuinely believe that being the prime minister of Israel is among the hardest political jobs in the world.

Having spent most of my life in Canada, I understand that leading any democratic country carries enormous responsibilities. But Israel faces a particular combination of regional threats, ongoing conflict and international scrutiny that makes the responsibility extraordinary.

And there’s something else that makes leadership here different. Something I’ve come to appreciate enormously.

The intimacy of Israel.

Perhaps because we’re such a small country, the distance between ordinary citizens and our national leadership can feel remarkably short.

When tragedy strikes, it isn’t simply another headline. It’s a family sitting shiva, a community grieving and often an entire country feeling personally connected to that loss.

We’ve seen Netanyahu visit grieving families. Following the recent Flydubai incident, he met Yaniv Hayun and other passengers whose courage helped prevent a catastrophe. President Isaac Herzog subsequently honored six passengers for their heroism.

There’s something special about those personal connections. Our prime minister and president aren’t simply distant figures appearing on television. They’re people who may sit in a family’s living room, hear their grief firsthand or personally recognize an ordinary citizen’s extraordinary courage.

I never experienced quite that same sense of closeness between national leadership and ordinary citizens during my years in Canada.

Perhaps it’s Israel’s size. Perhaps it’s our shared experiences. Whatever the reason, it’s one of the beautiful things I’ve discovered about this country.

But that closeness also makes the responsibility of leadership profoundly personal.

The consequences of decisions made at the highest levels of government aren’t merely statistics in a briefing. They affect families our leaders may actually meet, comfort or look in the eye.

Add the pressures of war, diplomacy, coalition politics and relentless public scrutiny, and it’s difficult to comprehend the weight of that responsibility.

Living here has given me a deeper appreciation of what it means to carry that burden. And it has influenced how I look at Benjamin Netanyahu, a leader I’ve admired for many years.

I’ve always had a soft spot for him.

I know that statement alone will generate reactions. Some will agree, others will roll their eyes, and many will immediately point to everything they believe he’s done wrong.

But hear me out.

To me, Netanyahu possesses something not given to everyone. Charisma. Presence. An extraordinary command of language.

He’s articulate, polished and confident. Even the way he carries himself contributes to his presence.

When he speaks, people listen. I certainly do. I could listen to him for hours.

His ability to articulate Israel’s position on the international stage is something I admire, as is his extensive diplomatic experience.

Which is why something I recently heard from journalist Haviv Rettig Gur struck me so strongly.

In a conversation with Maya Sulkin of The Free Press, Gur criticized the government’s failures in international messaging and public diplomacy.

And the more I looked into it, the more concerned I became.

Israel’s National Public Diplomacy Directorate, responsible for coordinating our message to the world, was left without a permanent director for nearly two years, from May 2024 until April 2026.

During a war.

At a time when Israel’s actions, policies and statements were being scrutinized around the clock, the government was struggling with the very system responsible for communicating its position internationally.

It wasn’t that nobody was speaking for Israel. Diplomats, military representatives and government spokespeople continued working. But there were serious gaps in the system meant to coordinate those efforts.

And that matters enormously.

Our international reputation has been affected by many factors, including the conduct of the war, government policies and inflammatory statements by individual ministers. Better public diplomacy could not simply erase those controversies.

But communicating clearly, consistently and credibly should surely have been among the government’s highest priorities.

I admire Netanyahu’s ability to stand before the world and make Israel’s case. But why was such an important position left unfilled for so long under his government?

To me, that represents a serious failure of leadership.

Because a statesman cannot be judged solely by how eloquently he speaks. He must also be judged by the people he appoints, the institutions he strengthens and the systems he puts in place to ensure the country functions effectively.

And that brings me to a broader concern about today’s political discourse.

Admiring someone shouldn’t require defending everything they do. And disagreeing with someone shouldn’t require dismissing everything they’ve accomplished.

Yet increasingly, politics seems to demand exactly that.

I’ve seen it in Canada, in the United States and now in Israel. Political disagreement has become so personal that acknowledging an opponent’s strengths can almost feel like an act of betrayal.

October 7 is a painful example of why we need to separate political loyalties from the pursuit of truth.

I hear people blaming Netanyahu for what happened, while others defend him. Personally, I want facts.

What went wrong? How were warning signs missed? Why did help take so long to reach certain communities? Who knew what, and when?

Investigations by the IDF and Shin Bet have already identified serious failures. But important questions about the full chain of political and security responsibility remain, and I want the findings of a comprehensive independent state commission of inquiry.

The victims, their families and the country deserve answers. If Netanyahu bears responsibility, that responsibility must be acknowledged.

At the same time, his leadership during the subsequent war deserves examination on its own merits.

From my perspective, I saw determination and resolve under enormous pressure. I admired aspects of his willingness to pursue Israel’s security objectives despite significant international criticism.

Others will disagree, and that’s legitimate. The war presented agonizing decisions involving hostages, military operations and civilian lives. I don’t pretend to know whether every decision was correct.

But accountability and recognition are not mutually exclusive. We should be capable of both.

And perhaps we should expect even more from the leaders we admire.

Which brings me to my greatest disappointment with Netanyahu.

On October 21, he will turn 77. Six days later, Israel goes to the polls.

Age alone shouldn’t determine someone’s ability to lead. Experience and judgment are invaluable. But realistically, how much longer does Netanyahu expect to remain prime minister?

More importantly, who is he preparing to succeed him?

Netanyahu has spent decades in Israeli politics and served as prime minister longer than anyone else in the country’s history.

Surely someone with that experience should have been identifying, mentoring and developing future leaders long before today.

There were reports in 2019 naming Yossi Cohen and Ron Dermer as possible successors, although Netanyahu disputed those reports. Whatever private conversations may have taken place, I still don’t see a clear picture of the next generation of Likud leadership.

But succession planning is only part of the question.

Has Netanyahu done enough to empower the people around him?

Throughout my corporate career, I’ve managed people in different capacities, across departments and teams. Some of the people I’ve worked with and mentored have gone on to establish themselves as leaders in their own right.

To me, watching them succeed has been one of the greatest rewards of being a manager.

Their accomplishments don’t diminish my own. Quite the opposite. There’s enormous satisfaction in recognizing someone’s potential, helping them develop it and watching them accomplish things independently.

Of course, managing a corporate team isn’t comparable to governing a country. But I believe the principle of leadership is the same.

A leader shouldn’t always need to be in the spotlight. Empowering others, giving them meaningful responsibility and allowing their talents to shine should be a source of pride, not a threat.

And their success becomes part of the legacy you leave behind.

I don’t know how Netanyahu views the talented people within Likud, nor can I claim to know whether his own political image has sometimes taken priority over their development.

But from the outside, I wonder whether Likud has become so closely identified with Netanyahu himself that other leaders have struggled to establish independent political identities.

My first instinct is that his determination to remain prime minister may have overshadowed the importance of developing the people around him.

Perhaps I’m wrong. Perhaps he has mentored and encouraged people behind the scenes.

But empowering others should be visible in the opportunities they receive, the responsibilities they’re trusted with and the recognition they earn.

If Netanyahu believes in Likud and its vision for Israel, shouldn’t he want that vision to continue long after he leaves office?

A political party should be bigger than one individual. And a country’s future should never depend on one person remaining in power.

But perhaps this is a broader problem within Israeli politics. Have we become so focused on personalities and winning the next election that we’re overlooking the people capable of leading us beyond it?

Amir Ohana, Speaker of the Knesset, is one person who has caught my attention. I enjoy listening to him. I find his presence and communication style compelling, and he has held significant government positions.

That doesn’t automatically qualify him to be prime minister. His policies, judgment and accomplishments deserve scrutiny, just like anyone else’s.

But he’s someone I’d want to learn more about.

I’ve heard suggestions that Israel may not be ready for an openly gay prime minister. I don’t know whether that’s true, but I find the possibility troubling.

What does someone’s sexual orientation have to do with their ability to govern, negotiate or lead through a crisis?

Judge people on their qualifications, integrity, judgment and accomplishments. Those are the standards that should matter.

And while we’re considering qualifications, I believe international communication deserves greater attention.

Recently, I learned that Itamar Ben-Gvir addressed an English-speaking audience with Yishai Fleisher translating his remarks.

That surprised me.

Hebrew is Israel’s primary language, and English fluency isn’t a requirement for serving in the Knesset. Nor should it necessarily be.

But I believe anyone aspiring to international leadership should make a serious effort to communicate directly with global counterparts.

And this isn’t exclusively about Israel.

English already serves as a common language in many international settings. Relationships are built through conversations, and trust often develops through informal personal interactions. Being able to exchange ideas naturally, without every word passing through an interpreter, can be a tremendous advantage.

Interpreters have an essential role in diplomacy, and fluency alone doesn’t make someone a statesman. But strong communication skills, diplomatic judgment and the ability to develop international relationships are qualities worth cultivating.

A politician may know how to win votes. A statesman must also know how to represent an entire nation.

And the challenge of developing such leaders becomes even greater when I look at Israel’s political system.

Thirty-eight electoral lists.

Thirty-eight!

Coming from Canada, where a handful of major parties dominate federal politics, I find that astonishing.

I understand that Israel’s proportional representation system gives different communities and political perspectives a voice. There’s genuine democratic value in that.

But I also wonder whether this fragmentation makes establishing stable governments unnecessarily difficult.

The Knesset has 120 seats, and a governing majority ordinarily requires the support of at least 61 members. With no single party typically winning that many seats, coalition negotiations become essential.

One party needs another. That party has conditions. Another wants commitments on legislation, budgets or ministerial positions.

Before governing even begins, complicated negotiations determine who can govern together.

Of course, coalitions are a legitimate feature of parliamentary democracy, and fewer parties wouldn’t automatically eliminate political divisions.

But when several parties share similar values and objectives, why not combine their efforts rather than divide their support?

And when a party fails to cross the 3.25% electoral threshold, its voters are left without parliamentary representation through that party.

Smaller parties can represent communities and priorities that larger parties overlook. That matters. But so does the ability to establish a government capable of governing effectively.

Surely there’s room to question whether Israel has found the right balance.

And perhaps that brings me to what troubles me most about politics today, not only in Israel but throughout the democratic world.

Whatever happened to integrity?

When did politics become almost synonymous with dishonesty, personal attacks, broken promises and corruption?

When did tearing down an opponent become more important than demonstrating one’s own accomplishments?

There was a time, or at least an expectation, that public office should come with dignity and class. That your word meant something. That your conduct reflected the responsibility of the position you were seeking.

I don’t expect politicians to agree with one another. Debate, disagreement and legitimate criticism are essential to democracy.

But there’s a difference between challenging someone’s record and attacking someone simply to elevate yourself.

You shouldn’t have to bring someone else down to bring yourself up.

Let your accomplishments speak for themselves.

Tell me what you’ve achieved, what you believe in and what you intend to do for this country. Explain why you deserve my trust rather than spending your energy convincing me that your opponent doesn’t.

And that standard applies to everyone, including Netanyahu, whom I’ve admired for years.

I cannot say that he, or any other political leader, has consistently demonstrated the integrity I would like to see.

To me, integrity means standing by your word, taking responsibility when you’re wrong, treating others with respect and remaining faithful to your principles even when doing so comes at a political cost.

Governing requires compromise, and circumstances sometimes demand changing course. But there’s a difference between compromising to serve your country and compromising your principles to serve yourself.

Charisma may capture my attention. Eloquence may inspire me. Experience may earn my respect.

But integrity is what earns my trust.

And without trust, what exactly are we voting for?

As I prepare to cast my first Israeli ballot, I still haven’t decided where my vote will go.

And I’m comfortable admitting that.

I don’t want to vote simply because I’ve always admired someone, nor reject someone because others have decided it’s time for that person to leave.

I want leaders whose actions speak louder than their attacks on opponents, whose words carry meaning and whose integrity remains intact when difficult decisions must be made.

I want political parties that recognize and develop capable individuals rather than revolving entirely around personalities.

And I want a political culture that looks beyond winning the next election to the kind of country we’re building for the next generation.

Benjamin Netanyahu will not be prime minister forever.

No leader is irreplaceable, nor should any leader aspire to be.

So perhaps the most important question surrounding my first Israeli election isn’t simply who deserves to lead Israel today.

It’s whether we’re preparing the people who will lead us tomorrow.

Because ultimately, the true legacy of a statesman is not measured only by how many years he or she remains in power.

It’s measured by the strength of the country, the institutions, and the leadership he or she leaves behind.