For most democracies, a government reaching the end of its term is unremarkable. In Israel, it is almost a political miracle.
Since the founding of the state in 1948, Israeli governments have rarely survived a full term. Coalitions collapse, ideological contradictions explode, and narrow parliamentary majorities frequently disintegrate under pressure.
Yet despite the trauma of October 7, the war on multiple fronts that followed, spiralling living costs, domestic unrest over judicial reform, and deep political polarisation, Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s current coalition is on course to become one of the few governments in Israeli history to roughly complete its mandate.
Remarkably, however, the issue that may finally bring it down is not Iran, Hamas, or the economy. It is military conscription.
The debate over equality of military service has haunted Israeli politics since the state’s earliest days. David Ben-Gurion originally granted exemptions to a small number of strictly Orthodox Torah scholars following the Holocaust, believing the religious world had to be rebuilt.
Nevertheless, over time, those exemptions expanded dramatically alongside the growth of Israel’s Haredi population.
For secular, traditional and national religious Israelis, especially those serving in combat units or reserve duty, the arrangement has increasingly become politically and morally untenable.
After October 7, that resentment intensified dramatically. Israel was faced with the reality that the concept of a small, technology-heavy army was insufficient for a prolonged regional conflict fought on multiple fronts simultaneously.
The IDF publicly acknowledged an immediate shortfall of roughly 12,000 soldiers. At the same time, around 80,000 strictly Orthodox men between the ages of 18 and 24 are believed to be eligible for service but remain outside the military framework.
To many Israelis, the issue appears straightforward. Families who have sent sons and daughters into Gaza, Lebanon, and extended reserve duty increasingly ask why entire sectors remain exempt.
However, from the perspective of much of the Haredi leadership, the issue is existential rather than administrative. Their argument is not merely political. They genuinely believe full-time Torah study spiritually protects the Jewish people and that integration into the military threatens the religious character of their communities.
Senior rabbinic leaders have therefore insisted that the previous arrangement should continue and that “not one Haredi should serve in the military”.
The matter reached boiling point after Israel’s Supreme Court ruled that the existing exemption system was unconstitutional because it violated the principle of equality before the law.
Since then, the government has attempted to formulate legislation that would effectively preserve much of the previous status quo while surviving judicial scrutiny.
Yet the coalition has been unable to muster sufficient support. Some rebels within both Likud and the Religious Zionist Party oppose legislation that would formalise broad exemptions during wartime.
Others simply understand the political danger.
Poll after poll shows the Israeli public overwhelmingly supports broader Haredi enlistment. Even among Netanyahu’s own voter base, patience has worn thin.
Netanyahu therefore faces a trap entirely of his coalition’s own making. Passing such legislation risks alienating his softer base of supporters ahead of an election.
Failing to pass it risks losing his ultra-Orthodox partners altogether.
Now the political crisis has escalated dramatically. Both the opposition and the coalition itself have submitted rival bills to dissolve the Knesset, with preliminary votes now expected as early as next week. The coalition’s unusual decision to submit its own dissolution bill is designed to control the timetable and prevent the opposition from dictating the pace of events.
The question inside the coalition is no longer whether elections are coming, but when and who will control the mechanism that triggers them.
Knesset Speaker Amir Ohana still retains procedural tools that could slow the process. Even if a preliminary dissolution vote passes next week, the legislation would still need to clear committee stages and multiple readings, potentially stretching the process over weeks.
Meaning that this whole procedure is political theatre, because any Knesset dissolution bill allows for elections to take place up to five months from its passage, while the last date for elections to be held is around the same time anyway.
So, the key question is therefore no longer whether elections are coming, but precisely when.
Israel must legally hold elections by October 27, 2026. Conventional wisdom long suggested Netanyahu would avoid elections close to the anniversary of October 7, when the country will be commemorating the massacre and revisiting the failures surrounding it.
Yet events in the wider region appear to have altered his calculations.
Following Operation Roaring Lion and the broader confrontation with Iran, Netanyahu increasingly seems to prefer elections as late as possible, potentially even towards the final legal date.
From his perspective, time matters strategically.
He needs to assess developments surrounding Iran’s nuclear programme and regional posture. The Prime Minister needs to monitor the re-emergence of Hezbollah in Lebanon and Hamas in Gaza.
Above all, he likely hopes additional diplomatic or military achievements could strengthen his argument that only experienced leadership can navigate Israel through an exceptionally dangerous regional environment.
Which brings Israeli politics to an extraordinary reality: the timing of the next election may largely rest in the hands of one man, Aryeh Deri.
As leader of Shas, Deri occupies a uniquely influential position and has repeatedly rescued Netanyahu’s coalitions from collapse.
Nonetheless, Deri’s interests are not necessarily Netanyahu’s interests.
The Haredi parties traditionally prefer election periods when their constituents are more politically mobilised through breaks in their daily learning schedule.
That makes early September highly attractive.
Two possible dates reportedly discussed behind the scenes are September 1 and September 15.
From Shas’ perspective, the timing is ideal. The month of Elul, leading into the High Holy Days, is marked by Selichot prayers, which party strategists believe could significantly increase turnout among Haredi voters, especially Sephardi ones who spend an entire month rising early for penitential prayers.
These calculations may sound minor to outside observers, but they are not. In Israel’s fragmented political system, one seat can determine whether a coalition exists or collapses.
One procedural vote can bring down a government, and one month can reshape public memory, alter security realities, or redefine political momentum.
In an election likely to hinge on narrow margins, the battle over timing may become as important as the battle over policy itself.
Ashley Perry 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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