The Palace of Westminster, with its 13th century Gothic Revival chambers, is steeped in history and tradition. The fact that no debate can take place in the Commons before the Serjeant-at-Arms has placed the ceremonial mace on a long oak table tells you all you need to know.
The Knesset (Hebrew for assembly) is a very different story, a parliament established and convened in haste, with no time for such pomp and circumstance.
The War of Independence was still raging when the elected members commandeered part of a Jerusalem office block for their first meeting in February 1949.
The Knesset subsequently moved to a museum and a cinema in Tel Aviv, then to a rented bank building in Jerusalem, before finally settling into its purpose-built home, in the Givat Ram neighbourhood of west Jerusalem in 1966.
Westminster is defined by its conventions. Government and opposition benches are positioned just over two sword‑lengths apart, members address the Speaker rather than their peers during debates, they dress formally and they never applaud.
The Knesset, by contrast, is a balagan (Hebrew for mess, chaos, disorder, shambles). Shouting and interruptions are commonplace, there is pushing and shoving, there are scuffles and fistfights, members are ejected, proceedings are suspended. And wearing a tie is optional.
Here we have two arenas united by a common aim – to translate the will of the electorate into the rules and policies that run the state – but divided by history, culture and temperament.
In practical terms two key differences dominate: The electoral system (Israel has proportional representation, the UK has first-past-the-post) and the structure of the legislature: Israel’s Knesset has a single chamber, the UK Parliament has two, the House of Commons and the House of Lords.
The absence of a second chamber in the Knesset to review, amend or delay legislation means that any bill with a majority – at least 61 of the 120 Knesset members – can be pushed through in a matter of weeks, or even days, if the ruling coalition deems it urgent.
Such a process typically takes many months in the UK, as bills ping-pong between the Commons and the Lords, with protocols often requiring two-week gaps before they can progress to the next stage.
The fledgling State of Israel adopted its unicameral system as a chik-chak solution (Hebrew for getting the job done, no frills). A besieged population of just 800,000 people needed to make laws quickly and efficiently.
But in the absence of a second chamber, another institution gradually evolved to perform some of the same checking and revising functions: Israel's Supreme Court, sitting as its High Court of Justice.
The Supreme Court, with its power to strike down laws passed by elected Knesset members, was at the very centre of the 2023 judicial reform crisis that threatened to tear Israel apart.
Here's why. Most countries have a written constitution - one document that sets out its fundamental laws, defines the structure and powers of government, and establishes the rights of citizens.
Two notable exceptions are the UK and Israel. The UK relies on a patchwork of statutes, common law, historic documents and binding conventions.
Israel always intended to adopt a written constitution – it was a promise enshrined in the 1948 Declaration of Independence – but has never quite got round to it.
Instead, the Knesset has been enacting what are known as Basic Laws since the 1950s - statutes intended to serve as chapters of some future constitution.
In the 1990s the Supreme Court began to flex its muscles. Its 15 justices, selected by a committee of lawyers and politicians, ruled that Basic Laws had superior, constitutional status and claimed for themselves the power to strike down any ordinary laws passed by the Knesset that, in their opinion violated them.
In doing so the Court effectively became a quasi‑second chamber, though not without considerable opposition.
There were unsuccessful attempts over the next two decades to limit its new powers, but a series of weak coalition governments proved unable to mount an effective challenge.
That all changed in January 2023, when the newly-elected Netanyahu government, backed by a stable right‑wing coalition majority, finally moved to rein in the Court.
The Knesset passed the so‑called “reasonableness law,” amending Basic Law: The Judiciary and stripping the Court of its power to invalidate "unreasonable" government decisions.
There were 64 votes in favour, from the coalition, and 0 against, as opposition factions walked out in protest.
The vote triggered months of large‑scale protests across Israel, protests that were only cut short by the atrocities of October 7, 2023.
In January 2024, after hearing petitions and completing its deliberations, the Court struck down the reasonableness law by an 8–7 majority, effectively restoring to itself the powers it had previously enjoyed.
The government has not overturned the Court's ruling, although it has continued to advance measures to change the way judges are appointed and it has publicly threatened to defy specific Court orders, leaving the system in a tense, unresolved standoff.
Much of the Knesset's day-to-day business is similarly tense and unresolved.
In the UK, governments generally serve out their full five‑year terms. Not so in Israel (where a full term is four years). Elections inevitably produce a fragile, pick‑and‑mix coalition that is always one step away from a no‑confidence vote.
The result is endless squabbles, compromises and back‑room deals to keep each party on board.
Policy changes are often incremental, legislation can be rushed or blocked for tactical reasons, and the threat of early elections is a routine lever in negotiations.
In the Knesset, governing is about more than just about passing laws. It is about holding the coalition together long enough to be able to do so.
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