It has often been said that Israel’s political life is a mosaic of contradictions. From the outside, the recent alliance between the right-leaning Naftali Bennett and the left-leaning Yair Lapid under the banner of Beyachad (Together) appears improbable.
In reality, it is entirely consistent with the logic of Israeli politics, where pragmatism, survival, and timing often matter far more than ideology.
The traditional labels of “left” and “right” in Israel were once anchored in attitudes toward the Palestinians and the future of the West Bank. The more a party supported territorial compromise, the further left it was perceived. The more it opposed concessions, the further right it stood.
However, that framework has steadily eroded. Since Mahmoud Abbas walked away from then-prime minister Ehud Olmert’s far-reaching peace proposal in 2008, and especially in the aftermath of October 7, the issue has receded from its defining role in domestic Israeli politics.
In that context, Bennett, a former leader of the Yesha Council, and Lapid, a long-time proponent of a two-state solution, joining forces is less ideological heresy than political calculation. The Palestinian statehood issue has completely fallen off the political map and Israeli voters today are driven more by questions of leadership, security, and competence.
This is not their first partnership. In 2013, as political neophytes, Bennett and Lapid formed an unlikely alliance that forced Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu into a coalition without his traditional strictly Orthodox partners. In 2021, they went further, constructing a government spanning right, centre, left, and, for the first time, an Arab party. It was a remarkable feat, if a short-lived one.
Their history shows they can work together, but Beyachad is less about chemistry than necessity.
Bennett’s political trajectory over the past two years has been uneven. Initially rising in the polls as a post-war alternative to Netanyahu, his support has softened with the entry of former IDF chief of staff Gadi Eisenkot into the political arena. Israeli politics has always placed a premium on security credentials, and few profiles resonate more with voters than that of a former military chief.
This is why Israeli politics can regurgitate a Yitzhak Rabin, Ariel Sharon and Ehud Barak, all with strong defence backgrounds, who all made comebacks that would seem highly unlikely in most other western liberal democracies.
Eisenkot fits that mold. His emergence has not only challenged Bennett’s positioning but also fragmented the broader anti-Netanyahu bloc.
At the same time, Lapid’s political standing has weakened.
Once the dominant figure in the centre-left, he now faces competition within his own ideological space and is polling in the single digits. Yet he brings a critical asset: resources.
In Israel, political parties receive state funding for election campaigns based largely on how many seats they win in the Knesset, with each seat worth roughly £350,000 in public financing.
Lapid’s party, Yesh Atid, still holds significant representation in the Knesset, translating into substantial campaign funding. In Israeli politics, that financial base can be decisive.
The alliance, then, is mutually beneficial. Bennett gains organisational strength and funding, while Lapid regains relevance and a path back to influence. Together, they aim to project unity and strength, particularly in contrast to Eisenkot, who remains the potential kingmaker of the opposition.
Yet projection and reality are rarely aligned in Israeli politics.
Early polling following the merger suggests Beyachad may already be losing momentum. This is a familiar pattern. Israeli voters often respond positively to announcements of unity, but when faced with the ballot box, they revert to clearer ideological or personal preferences.
The sum, more often than not, is smaller than its parts.
For Bennett, the risk is alienating right-leaning supporters uneasy with Lapid. For Lapid, it is losing voters on the left who view Bennett with suspicion. In a system built on identity and nuance, such trade-offs are rarely neutral.
This stark choice is not new.
Political alliances in Israel are typically tactical, not organic, and they rarely endure. The most striking example came in 2013, when Netanyahu and Avigdor Liberman merged Likud and Yisrael Beytenu into a joint list. The move, engineered in part by famed American strategist Arthur Finkelstein, was expected to deliver a landslide.
It did not. The alliance underperformed significantly, winning just 31 seats instead of the predicted 40-plus, as voters on both sides recoiled from the partnership. On paper, it was a failure.
Nevertheless, in practice, it achieved its core objective: keeping Netanyahu and the right in power.
That is the paradox at the heart of Israeli politics. Alliances often lose the battle but win the war. They may weaken individual parties, blur ideological lines, and disappoint at the ballot box, yet still reshape the political map in ways that determine who governs.
And that brings the story full circle.
In 2013, Bennett and Lapid used their alliance to force Netanyahu into a coalition without his natural strictly Orthodox allies, redefining the balance of power. Today, they are once again joining forces, this time to try to remove him altogether and potentially deal with long-standing issues involving the strictly Orthodox community. The most prominent of these issues are the long-standing non-enlistment of the strictly Orthodox community, which, since October 7 has become untenable for large swathes of the public, and the disproportionate amount of benefits they receive in relation to their contribution.
If they have learned anything from the Likud-Beytenu experiment, it is this: success in Israeli politics is not measured solely in seats, but in leverage.
Netanyahu understood that then, Bennett and Lapid are betting they understand it now.
With the polling showing an exceptionally tight race and neither the current government or opposition receiving the 61 seats necessary to form a coalition, new and unexpected alliances might still be necessary, before or after election day, with coalition-building jockeying.
Nevertheless, the question is not whether Beyachad will win the election. It is whether, like past alliances, it can bend the outcome in its favour.
Ashley Perrty is a former senior Israeli government adviser who has worked with eight cabinet ministers and has been involved in Israeli politics and every election campaign for the past two decades
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