After October 7, it seemed almost inevitable that Israel’s political establishment would face a reckoning unlike anything in the country’s history. The catastrophe had exposed failures across government, intelligence and the military.
Surely a traumatised electorate would demand more than different policies, it would demand different people. The politicians who had governed, opposed, promised and reassured would be swept aside by a new generation.
Three years later, with Israel approaching its October 27 election, that wholesale rejection has conspicuously failed to materialise.
There is anger, exhaustion and a profound appetite for accountability. Yet the established political forces remain remarkably resilient, while many challengers promising a break with the old order struggle to secure even parliamentary representation.
Current polling puts Ofer Winter’s Amcha Israel just above or below the 3.25 per cent electoral threshold, and the only other list with a realistic chance of crossing the threshold, the Reservists–Economic alliance sharing a similar fate.
Meanwhile, the familiar parties representing the right, the left, the center, the religious communities and Arab voters remained above the threshold.
The challengers are fighting for survival rather than leading the political revolution many anticipated.
There is an important qualification. Gadi Eisenkot’s Yashar is a new party, and a successful one in the polls. Nonetheless, Eisenkot was a Member of Knesset on October 7th and joined the Security Cabinet shortly afterwards in a short-lived national unity government. He is also a former IDF Chief-Of-Staff and established political figure.
Israelis appear more willing to embrace a new label when they already know the person carrying it.
That distinction reveals something deeper than the power of incumbency. Party machinery, loyal constituencies and recognisable brands certainly matter.
However, the emerging picture also suggests a public whose anger competes with an unusually powerful aversion to risk. Israelis may want the political furniture rearranged while remaining reluctant to entrust the house to someone whose judgement they have never seen tested.
Calling this conservatism is only part of the very complex story. Israel is restless, argumentative and extraordinarily innovative. Its citizens challenge authority with an enthusiasm that can bewilder outsiders, and has been described as one of the foundational pillars of the Jewish State’s Start-Up Nation achievements.
Yet technological and innovative daring and political caution can coexist.
Launching a start-up or technology and choosing the people who will decide whether you and your children go to war involve very different calculations about the consequences of failure.
Since its reestablishment in 1948, Israel has lived with threats that repeatedly turn tomorrow from an assumption into a question.
Wars, terrorism, missiles and regional upheaval have made uncertainty part of ordinary life. Families make plans knowing that a reserve call-up, an attack or an escalation can overturn them. Political choice takes place within that experience.
For a British voter, an untested politician might create unease about the possibility of higher taxes or an ill-conceived reform. For an Israeli voter, the imagined consequences can include a mishandled mobilisation, a disastrous security assessment or a decision that exposes a community to attack.
This does not make Israelis uniquely wise, but it gives their caution supremely understandable.
October 7 might therefore have produced two impulses simultaneously.
On the one hand, a demand to remove those responsible, and on the other, a desperate need for reassurance that their replacements understand the dangers and able to meet the challenges.
A newcomer’s distance from the establishment can be an advantage when allocating blame, yet a disadvantage when voters ask who can manage the next emergency.
A challenger cannot assume that a compelling diagnosis of national failure establishes the ability to govern. Winning agreement that the system is broken is easier than winning confidence that you can repair it.
None of this means that Israel has forgiven its leaders or forgotten the massacre.
Parties can survive while losing seats, and familiar politicians can replace other familiar politicians. The election may still deliver a change of government, but accountability and wholesale renewal are different outcomes, and the polls suggest that voters distinguish between them.
Almost two years ago, I was approached by a group of wealthy investors whose goal was to remove all 120 Members of Knesset at the ballot box. I predicted then, that the overwhelming majority of parties and MKs will return to the Knesset.
The challenge for any new party in Israel is consequently greater than articulating public and righteous fury.
They must make change feel dependable. In a country where security has so often been shattered, novelty carries a burden of proof.
Three years after October 7, Israelis may still demand new answers, while insisting that those offering them first earn their trust.
So far, it appears, that few of them have.
Ashley Perry is an international strategic communications and campaigns advisor, a former senior Israeli government adviser who has worked with eight cabinet ministers and a former advisor to the Negev Forum. He has been involved in Israeli politics and every election campaign for the past two decades.
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