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Shaanan Streett of Israeli hip-hop band Hadag Nahash mixes music and activism
Shaanan Streett, one-sixth of the Israeli hip-hop/funk group Hadag Nahash, says that it’s all well and good for musicians to advocate for social-justice causes, but that doesn’t mean the music can’t also be fun. Streett seems to have accomplished both goals, as his band’s songs are featured in protests for various causes while remaining catchy and danceable. As long as you “keep it real,” Streett says, audiences will pick up on your authenticity.
In our interview, Streett talks about what music can do to bring people together and about his hometown of Jerusalem.
First, tell us where you grew up and how you came to the music world.
I was born in 1971 in Jerusalem. I still live on the outskirts of Jerusalem. After the army, I, like many Israelis, traveled the world. When I was in the US, I started hearing a lot of hip-hop, and like a true traveler, I had a pad and a pen, and I started writing down rhymes in Hebrew. And when I came back to Israel, I recorded one song. I handed it out in CD stores. And one of the employees at one of the CD stores turned out to be a guy with an instrumental funk band. And that’s how we started.
Before we go more into your music, tell me about Jerusalem. There’s the Jerusalem of everybody’s imagination around the world, and there’s the real Jerusalem in which real people live.
Yeah, nobody lives in the Jerusalem of the imagination, not a single person. But oddly enough, nobody lives in the Jerusalem of the real world, either. We all live somewhere in between. Doesn’t matter what religion you belong to, if any; if you’re in this city, you won’t only live on what’s happening on the floor, you’re going to live thousands of years of history, millions and millions of hopes and shattered hopes. It’s all circulating around you at any given moment. And, in that sense, it’s super artistic.
You’re involved in art, films, and music. What can these things do to foster Jewish pride or bring people together?
It’s really hard for me to put baggage on art. If it happens, it happens because the art did it, not the artist. It’s hard to explain. My only advice would be a classic hip-hop phrase: keep it real, do it as real as you can. Even when it seems like it’s the wrong thing to do, still speak your mind. And that’s the only way, at least for me and my band, to connect.
What, to you, is keeping it real? I know that you founded a number of community activities, including the One Shekel Festival, that help to strengthen marginalized communities. Is that an important part of what you do?
I think that involvement in social issues in Israel is kind of like a privilege or a benefit that artists can choose. Because people do want to hear what we have to say, and it’s up to us to decide if we want to say it or not. So yeah, when I was speaking earlier about keeping it real, it’s not to shy away from the issues, it’s to talk about the issues. And if people can act — perfect. If we can hold a festival in a place that never had one—amazing. If we can volunteer in a cancer ward — amazing. If we can perform in a forest that they want to tear down to turn into a neighborhood—even though all of the green movements think that it’s a disaster—we’ll do it. So, we try to stay close not only to the art but also to what’s happening. But that does get very, very tiring because we aren’t politicians, and we aren’t activists. We’re artists with our hearts in the right place.
Do you feel like you need to balance writing about social issues and just writing something that’s fun? Or can you accomplish both?
We demand the freedom to write whatever we want at any given time, and that can be about, for example, marijuana or just having a good time, as well as social injustice. It’s not one or the other. Our lives contain both. And when we want to keep it real, we have to speak about both. If I can give you an example from our latest album that we’re still recording, actually. But our first single that was released is a real good vibe, fun kind of tune with funny rhyming and funny references for Israelis. The single that we’re releasing tomorrow is called the “City of God,” and it’s about Jerusalem and what it does to its inhabitants over time. So, totally different topics, but music from the same band, and we’re always trying to keep it funky and fun. Having fun is super important to us. Because even if you’re saying important stuff, but it’s not fun, who wants to join? Right? There’s a saying that is something like, “If you can’t dance to it, it’s not my revolution.”
Who are some of your hip-hop influences?
I just did my top-five artists on Spotify. The first one this year was Lil Wayne. And the second one was a female rapper here in Israel called Eden Dersso. Number three was Kendrick Lamar. Number four was Eminem. And then number five was an Israeli rapper called Peled. So, actually, the top five were all hip-hop. But I’m influenced by various things — anywhere from jazz to rock and roll, reggae, electronic music, funk, of course, and a bunch of hip-hop from all over the world.
One theme of the Z3 conference is achieving Jewish unity and pride. What kind of advice do you have for younger people who may be reluctant to show their Jewish pride?
I think the best method would be to find something on Judaism that you connect with. Find certain elements and be proud of that. Narrow it down. You’re not holding 5,000 years of Jewry on your shoulders. You don’t need to feel that way. Judaism, and for that matter, Diaspora Jews, have so much to be proud of. Diaspora Jews have achieved so much that there’s plenty to be proud of inside that enormous umbrella. So just find the things you connect with and be proud of that. I think that’s a good way to start.
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The post Shaanan Streett of Israeli hip-hop band Hadag Nahash mixes music and activism appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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Eight years after Tree of Life shooting, a Jewish burial society’s ranks have nearly doubled
After preparing five victims of the Tree of Life synagogue massacre for burial, members of Pittsburgh’s New Community Chevra Kadisha stood in a circle and held hands.
They had gathered like this before, taking a moment after their work to process what they had done. This time, they were caring for people murdered in their own community.
Volunteers from outside Pittsburgh had come to help. David Zimmer, a longtime member, remembered one visitor bringing a custom from another chevra kadisha.
“He passed around a piece of chocolate,” Zimmer recalled, “so that there should be something sweet.”
Eight years later, NCCK has nearly doubled in size. Before the attack, it had about 38 members, according to records reviewed by Patricia Cluss, one of its founders. Within four months, 11 people had joined. Today, it has 70.
The growth has brought more volunteers into some of the least visible work in Jewish communal life. A chevra kadisha, traditionally translated as a “holy society,” washes and prepares the dead for burial, dresses them in plain white shrouds and helps ensure they are treated with dignity. The work is considered a chesed shel emet, or true kindness, because the dead cannot repay those who care for them.
For NCCK, the aftermath of the attack also revealed another dimension of that care: The people accustomed to supporting others through loss needed support themselves.
Caring for their own
Pittsburgh’s NCCK was founded in 2004 to encourage greater participation in the Jewish tradition of caring for the dead. An Orthodox chevra kadisha already existed, and NCCK’s founders hoped to involve more Jews in the practice, regardless of their level of religious observance.
Cluss was among them. She had encountered an article about Reform Jews reviving Jewish burial practices that had fallen away in some communities. Until then, she had never heard of a chevra kadisha.
“I gotta do that,” she remembered thinking.
Deane Root joined early, too, drawn by an idea: What if Pittsburgh had a chevra kadisha open to anyone in the Jewish community? Root remembered a small group gathering, often in a member’s living room, to figure out the logistics of working with funeral homes and training volunteers.
Then came Oct. 27, 2018.
Root and his wife, Rabbi Doris Dyen, were approaching the Tree of Life synagogue building that Saturday morning when they heard a series of loud noises. They pulled into the parking lot and saw shattered glass.
Two NCCK members had been inside the synagogue, and the dead and wounded included people its members knew. At the Jewish Community Center of Greater Pittsburgh after the shooting, where families and friends gathered and waited for news, Root recalled that “not everybody knew for sure” what had happened to their loved ones.
When the victims were released for burial, NCCK began the work for which it had trained. Members also kept shmira, remaining with the dead and reciting Psalms until burial.
Allen Baum, who coordinates the NCCK men’s members, remembered that by the end, nearly every man in the group had participated in shifts. After the final tahara, the ritual preparation of a body for Jewish burial, they stood in a large circle, joined by women from NCCK as well.
Later, members gathered in a home, bringing food, reading poems and speaking about the people they had lost.Root was carrying the trauma of what he experienced that morning. He described a “video playing in my head constantly.”
Being together helped. “Let the community carry some of that burden,” Root remembered, “rather than keeping it all inside our own emotions and our own minds.”
A growing circle
Following the attack, younger Jews contacted NCCK after reading about its work. Some described joining as something they felt they needed to do as Jews. Others spoke of it as a form of social action.
Elana Glick, who joined NCCK around 2014 after her grandfather died, remembered that the group sometimes struggled to find enough volunteers before the massacre. Afterward, she said, the work became more public, even as members sought to preserve the privacy of the rituals.
At its annual dinner, Glick has watched the group grow. There have been “more and more tables added year after year because of people who have found this and wanted to be a part of this work,” she said.
“Being part of the chevra is one of the ways I feel most attached to my Judaism,” Glick said.
Sarit Wishnevski, executive director of Kavod v’Nichum, a national organization supporting chevrot kadisha and Jewish burial practices, has watched the movement become increasingly multigenerational. At the organization’s November 2025 gathering in Ojai, California, participants ranged from their 20s to their 80s, with one in their 90s.
The Jewish phrase l’dor v’dor is usually understood as passing something “from generation to generation.” Wishnevski suggested it can also mean practicing a tradition with generations alongside one another.
NCCK has also become a resource for other communities. Wishnevski called it a “really strong model,” citing materials its members have shared and their help with questions ranging from starting a group to making the work more inclusive of gender diversity.
The possibility of mass-casualty events has prompted other questions, too. “How will we be prepared?” Wishnevski said. “How will we show up if God forbid this happens here?”
Kavod v’Nichum is developing an emergency preparedness pilot effort. Wishnevski said the goal is not for a chevra kadisha to respond “in a silo,” but to build relationships with first responders, government agencies and other Jewish organizations.
Earlier this month, three NCCK members traveled to Chicago to teach other volunteers about something none would ever want to need: developing tahara liturgy for young children.
But most of the chevra kadisha’s work remains unseen, and the calls come without warning. “The only predictable thing is the unpredictability,” Baum said.
One summer, the men’s group went 11 weeks without a tahara. More recently, Cluss said, the women’s group performed 11 in two weeks. Sometimes volunteers arrive at a funeral home for one person and are asked whether they can stay for another. In recent years, NCCK has performed roughly 90 taharot annually.
For Cluss, the work had long been meaningful. After Tree of Life, she struggled to explain how that meaning had changed. Her daughter noticed something she hadn’t.
“Mom, do you ever notice when you’re talking about the chevra you always put your hand on your heart?”
Cluss hadn’t noticed.
The post Eight years after Tree of Life shooting, a Jewish burial society’s ranks have nearly doubled appeared first on The Forward.
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When a black hat and a toothbrush take on deeper meanings
דניאל גלאַיס באַנד „דער פֿאָיע און אַנדערע פּיעסעס“ (ה. לײוויק־פֿאַרלאַג, תּל־אָבֿיבֿ, 2026), נעמט אַרײַן צוועלף דראַמאַטישע ווערק אין פֿאַרשײדענע זשאַנערס: מעלאָדראַמעס, מאָנאָדראַמעס, משפּחה־דראַמעס און פּאָליטישע סאַטירעס.
די ווערק זײַנען פֿאַרשיידענע, אָבער זײ װערן צונױפֿגעקניפּט דורך אַ בשותּפֿותדיקן מאָטיװ פֿון זכּרון און זײַן כּוח פֿון תּיקון.
גלאַי איז געבוירן געוואָרן אין 1945 אין בוענאָס־אײַרעס, בײַ אַ משפּחה פֿון ייִדישע אימיגראַנטן. אין שטוב, אויף משפּחה־שׂימחות און אױף דער גאַס האָט ער געהערט ייִדיש, העברעיִש און שפּאַניש, װי אױך די קלאַסישע מוזיק, כּלי־זמר און טאַנגאָ.
זײַן טאַטע, זישע גאָלדוואַסער, איז געווען אַ שנײַדער און אַן אַמאַטאָרישער ייִדישער אַקטיאָר. דורך אים האָט דער יונגער דניאל אײַנגעזאַפּט די קלאַנגען, עמאָציעס און אינטאָנאַציעס פֿונעם ייִדישן טעאַטער.
צו פֿינף יאָר האָט גלאַי אָנגעהויבן זיך לערנען מוזיק, לכתּחילה אין בוענאָס־אײַרעס און דערנאָך אין תּל־אָבֿיבֿ. שפּעטער האָט ער באַקומען אַ מאַגיסטער אין קאָמפּאָזיציע פֿונעם שיקאַגע־אוניווערסיטעט.
דער ביאָגראַפֿישער הינטערגרונט העלפֿט פֿאַרשטיין די טיטל־פּיעסע „דער פֿאָיע“. דעם הױפּטהעלד פֿישעלעס פֿאָטער איז — ווי גלאַיס אייגענער טאַטע איז געווען — אַ שנײַדער, װאָס איז פֿאַרליבט אינעם טעאַטער.
דער טעאַטער, און בפֿרט דער פֿאָיע, װערט פֿאַרװאַנדלט אין אַ זכּרון־קאַמער, װוּ עס װערט אױסגעשפּילט די דראַמאַטישע ליבע־געשיכטע פֿון פֿישעלע און זײַן געליבטער רײזעלע. זײ באַװײַזן זיך אױף דער בינע אין דרײַ געשטאַלטן — װי קינדער, יונגע לײַט און דערװאַקסענע.
דער פֿאָיע איז מער ווי אַ טייל פֿונעם טעאַטער־בנין. דאָס אין אַ פּונקט װוּ דער זכּרון טרעפֿט זיך מיט דער ווירקלעכקייט. דער דערוואַקסענער פֿישל עקשטיין שטייט דאָ ווי אַ רואה ואינו נראה, אַן אומזעעוודיקער אָבסערוואַטאָר װאָס פּרוּווט צו פֿאַרבינדן „צוויי פּונקטן אין דער צײַט“.
בײַ גלאַין איז די קינדהײט ניט קײן אַלטע מעשׂה־שהיה, נאָר זי פֿאַרמאָגט אַ שליסל צום הײַנט: „דער סוד פֿון וואָס איך בין הײַנט, מײַנע טרוימען, ליבע און פּײַן, שטעקט אין אָט די נאָענטע קינדעריאָרן“, זאָגט פֿישל אינעם פֿאָיע.
ווען דער קליינער פֿישעלע קען ניט ענטפֿערן אויף אַ פֿראַגע פֿונעם כּפֿל־טאַבעלע, שרײַט ער אויס: „דרײַצן טויזנט מיליאַרד!“ דער קלאַס לאַכט אים אױס, אָבער פֿאַר אים שטעקט אין דער דאָזיקער צאָל אַ סוד, אַן „עניגמע“.
שפּעטער ווערט ער אַ באַרימטער פֿיזיקער. עס גײט דאָ ניט סתּם וועגן אַ שלעכטן תּלמיד, וואָס איז געקומען צום שׂכל. די עניגמאַטישע ריזיקע צאָל איז אַ סימן פֿון אַ שטאַרקן כּוח־הדמיון. די שול קען ניט דערקענען זײַן טאַלאַנט, אָבער דװקא אָט דער כּוח דערמעגלעכט זײַן אױפֿטו אין װיסנשאַפֿט.
אַן ענלעכע דינאַמיק שטעקט הינטער רייזעלעס דערפֿאָלג װי אַ טעאַטער־שטערן. פֿישעלע טרעפֿט זי אױפֿן מאַרק װוּ זי זינגט שטײענדיק אויף אַ פֿרוכטן־קעסטל. זי זאָגט צו אים: „זאָלסט װיסן…קונסט שטייט העכער פֿון אַלץ!“
דאָס קעסטל איז איינער פֿון גלאַיס בינע־חפֿצים מיט אַ סימבאָלישן באַטײַט. אַ פּשוטער טאָגטעגלעכער אָביעקט איז אַ מין זכּרון־פּושקע װאָס פֿאַרבאַהאַלט דעם חלום פֿון די קינדעריאָרן. דאָס קעסטל באַװײַזט זיך װידער אינעם פֿאָיע, װען די דערװאַקסענע רײזל זעצט זיך אַנידער כּדי אָפּצוגעבן זיך אַ דין־וחשבון פֿון איר לעבן.
אַזאַ מין פֿונקציע האָבן די בינע־חפֿצים אויך אין אַנדערע פּיעסעס. אין „באַכס פּאַרטיטע אין רע מאַזשאָר“ איז דאָס דער שוואַרצער הוט, װאָס די מאַמע טראָגט װען זי קומט צו איר טאָכטערס פּיאַנע־קאָנצערט.
אײן בליק אױף דעם הוט ברענגט די טאָכטער פֿון די כּלים אַרױס און מאַכט קאַליע דעם קאָנצערט. דער הוט איז דאָ אַ סימן פֿון דער מוטערס קאָנטראָל איבער דער טאָכטערס פּערזענלעכקײט — אַ פּראָבלעם, װאָס זײ בײדע מוזן לײזן.
אַ פּשוטער חפֿץ איז אָפֿט מאָל חשובֿער אײדער אַ בכּבֿודיקער. „דאָס ציינבערשטל און די כּתובֿה“ איז אַ פּיעסע װעגן אַ משפּחה־ברוגז. דער מאַן װאַרפֿט מיט כּעס זײַן טעלעפֿאָן אין דער װאַנט אַרײַן און צעברעכט על־פּי־צופֿאַל די כּתובֿה. דאָס צעבראָכענע גלאָז איז אַן אָנזאָגער פֿונעם משפּחה־קריזיס.
דער מאַן ציט זיך אַריבער אין אַן אַנדער דירה, אָבער קען ניט געפֿינען זײַן ציינבערשטל. אין צװישן געפֿינט די פֿרױ אָט דעם צײנבערשטל און דאָס גיט איר אַ תּירוץ צו טעלעפֿאָנירן דעם מאַן. דער סוף איז גוט; שלום־בית װערט אױפֿגעשטעלט.
גלאַי האָט געשריבן מוזיק צו די לידער פֿון פֿאַרשײדענע ייִדישע און העברעיִשע דיכטער. אין זײַן טעאַטער איז מוזיק ניט קיין באַפּוצונג, נאָר אַן אייגנאַרטיקע בינע־שפּראַך. אױך טאַנץ איז פֿאַר גלאַי, ווי ער האָט געזאָגט אין אַן אינטערוויו, „די שפּראַך פֿונעם גוף“, װאָס איז וויזועל, דינאַמיש און פֿאַרשטענדלעך פֿאַר אַלעמען.
אַ סינטעז צװישן װאָרט, קלאַנג און באַװעגונג קומט פֿאָר אין „אַ פֿריילעכס פֿאַר איסאַ“. אין דער פּיעסע, װאָס איז געװידמעט דער באַרימטער זינגערין איסאַ קרעמער, װערן איבערגעפֿלאָכטן לידער, טענץ, ביאָגראַפֿישע פּרטים, אַרכיוואַלע דאָקומענטן און חלומות.
אַ װיכטיקער זשאַנער אין גלאַיס דראַמאַטורגיע איז די גראָטעסקע סאַטירע. „ווי מאַכט מען חרובֿ אַ פֿאָלק“ איז אַ בינע־עקספּערימענט: חיים װיל װײַזן זײַן חבֿר יאַנקל װי אַזױ צו „צערײַסן אױף שטיקער“ גוטע אָרנטלעכע מענטשן דורך דעמאַגאָגיע און געװאַלט.
חיימס װערטער „מען האָט אַ מאָל גרינטלעך מתקן געװען דאָס פֿאָלק. איצט קומט די ריכטיקע שעה מאַכן פֿון אים אַש און פּאָרעך“ קלינגען ספּעציעל אַקטועל אין דער הײַנטיקער געשפּאַנטער פּאָליטישער אַטמאָספֿער סײַ אין אַמעריקע סײַ אין ישׂראל.
אין אַן אינטערוויו האָט גלאַי געזאָגט, אַז אַ קינסטלער דאַרף ניט בלויז שילדערן די װירקלעכקײט, נאָר אויך אָנווײַזן אויף אַ בעסערער וועלט מיט מער יושר און ליבע. זײַנע פּיעסעס זאָגן אָבער ניט צו, אַז קונסט קען ברענגען אַ תּיקון־עולם. צװישן זײַנע פּערסאָנאַזשן זײַנען ניטאָ קײן אידעאַלע העלדן. זײַן טעאַטער איז אַ פֿאָיע, װוּ מען טרעפֿט זיך פּנים־אל־פּנים מיט זיך אַלײן, מיט אַלע זײַנע שװאַכקײטן און חסרונות.
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Israel’s future: What will actually change if Netanyahu loses?
Israel’s election on Tuesday could mark a dramatic turning point for a country battered by war, political turmoil and growing international isolation. If the opposition manages to replace Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, the consequences could extend far beyond a change of leadership. A new government could reverse the assault on democratic institutions, investigate the catastrophic failures of Oct. 7, end the extraordinary military exemptions enjoyed by the ultra-Orthodox, curb Jewish extremism in the West Bank and begin repairing Israel’s shattered relations with much of the world. For many Israelis, the stakes are nothing less than the country’s long-term survival.
The polls suggest that Netanyahu’s coalition will lose its parliamentary majority, but that may be the easy part. The opposition, led by former military chief Gadi Eisenkot, faces a potentially crippling contradiction: it seems like that it will be capable of commanding a majority in the 120-member Knesset only with the support of Arab parties, yet several of its leaders have promised not to rely on them. Unless they find a way around that commitment, Israel could emerge from the election with a clear majority opposed to Netanyahu but no alternative government capable of taking power.
For much of Israel’s secular, educated and economically productive population, the desperation to remove Netanyahu is palpable. Tens of thousands living abroad have been streaming home to vote, amid estimates that more than a quarter-million Israelis left during his current term. After Oct. 7, years of warfare, immense loss of life, democratic erosion and international isolation, another Netanyahu victory would convince many that Israel has crossed a point of no return. The spectacle of far-right figures such as Itamar Ben-Gvir and Bezalel Smotrich representing the country has compounded their humiliation.
The fear is of a monumental brain drain, the damage could be irreversible.
Talk of Israel’s survival is therefore not necessarily hysterical. A country weakened by emigration, threatened with European sanctions and declining American support could lose the technological and military superiority on which its security depends, inviting aggression. An Israel increasingly dominated by ultra-Orthodox communities that largely reject military service and modern secular education would face further difficulties. It is an astonishing predicament for a technological powerhouse whose GDP per capita exceeds that of France, Britain and Germany.
Netanyahu, meanwhile, has responded to unfavorable polls with apocalyptic warnings. On Sunday, he shared an AI-generated image of a nuclear explosion engulfing Tel Aviv, suggesting his defeat could expose Israel to a second Holocaust at Iran’s hands. Days earlier, he raised the prospect of international banking sanctions and proposed using cryptocurrencies and blockchain technology to circumvent them. The Bank of Israel rejected the idea as unworkable, while economists warned of potentially disastrous consequences.
In another reflection of Netanyahu’s apparent desperation, CNN reported that he tried to persuade President Trump to launch a joint attack on Iran before the election. Netanyahu’s government denies the report. But what is extraordinary is how readily the allegation is believed in Israel. The notion that a prime minister might deliberately trigger a war for political advantage should be staggering – and disqualifying. That so many Israelis consider it plausible speaks volumes about the almost unbearable tension gripping the country ahead of Tuesday’s vote.
What, then, would actually change if the opposition managed to take power and govern?
Democracy: Reversing the march toward autocracy
The central domestic issue is Netanyahu’s attempt to transform Israel from a liberal democracy, in which citizens enjoy guaranteed rights and the government faces institutional checks, into something resembling an elected autocracy. His coalition has pursued an extensive program to weaken the judiciary, undermine independent legal authorities and concentrate power in the government. Supporters describe this as a necessary correction to excessive judicial power; critics see a transparent power grab – and a plot to end Netanyahu’s corruption trials.
Some measures have been enacted, including legislation weakening the attorney general’s position. Others have been blocked by the Supreme Court, notably the attempt to eliminate the judicial doctrine of reasonableness, which allows courts to review certain government decisions. Still others have been delayed or disrupted by the Gaza war. The broader ambition has included giving politicians decisive control over judicial appointments and enabling the Knesset to override Supreme Court rulings by a simple majority, potentially leaving few meaningful constraints on government power.
An opposition victory would mean dismantling this project. That would not preclude judicial reform: Israel’s notoriously slow courts, lengthy trials and cumbersome judicial appointments require attention. But the distinction would be between improving the judiciary and subordinating it to politicians.
Oct. 7: The investigation that never happened
The Hamas-led invasion on Oct. 7, 2023, was the greatest security catastrophe in Israel’s history. Thousands of attackers breached the Gaza border, massacring some 1,200 people and taking hundreds hostage. Communities were overrun while the military response was disastrously delayed. Yet Netanyahu’s government has resisted establishing an independent state commission of inquiry into the failures that made the disaster possible. It has even been quietly promoting conspiracy theories that a “leftist” security establishment helped Hamas. And, of course, it has dared to actually run again.
All this has become politically radioactive. Critics accuse Netanyahu of trying to evade responsibility and prolong wars as a distraction, while hoping public anger will eventually dissipate. The issue is not simply accountability but national survival: understanding how the country’s defenses collapsed is essential to preventing another catastrophe. The opposition is committed to establishing such an inquiry promptly, with a mandate that could implicate military and intelligence leaders as well as the political leadership, including Netanyahu himself.
Netanyahu’s trial: Closing the loophole
Israel’s legal system contains a remarkable anomaly. Politicians facing serious criminal proceedings can be barred from ministerial and certain other public offices, yet an indicted politician can serve as prime minister. The Supreme Court allowed Netanyahu to form a government while standing trial, subject to conflict-of-interest restrictions – which he agreed to in an affidavit – to prevent his legal predicament from influencing his exercise of power.
His subsequent campaign to reshape the judiciary has made a mockery of that commitment. Opposition politicians intend to close the loophole through legislation restricting the ability of politicians under criminal indictment to serve as prime minister, preventing another situation in which a leader facing prosecution exercises authority over the institutions administering justice.
The ultra-Orthodox: Ending a system of exemptions
Perhaps the most consequential long-term domestic challenge involves Israel’s rapidly growing ultra-Orthodox, or Haredi, population. The Haredim constitute roughly one-sixth of Israel’s population, with families averaging more than six children. Many boys receive little or no secular education in mathematics, English or science. Male workforce participation is relatively low, and many families depend heavily on public assistance. Given the community’s rapid demographic growth, the implications for Israel’s economy and society are enormous.
But the most politically explosive issue is military service. For decades, ultra-Orthodox men studying in religious seminaries have enjoyed sweeping draft exemptions or deferments, even as other Jewish Israelis face compulsory military service. The arrangement creates a perverse incentive: remaining in religious study is the path to avoid conscription, while leaving the seminary – and entering the labor market – exposes a young man to the draft. The result is a system that discourages employment and places an increasingly unequal military burden on the rest of society. Adding insult to injury, the Israeli taxpayer is forced to pay subsidies to the yeshiva students – rather than the students paying tuition as those in university do.
After Oct. 7 and the prolonged wars that followed, public tolerance for this arrangement has diminished sharply. Polls have repeatedly shown overwhelming support for ending the exemptions. Netanyahu seeks to formalize the arrangement for his Haredi coalition partners, while the principal opposition parties are committed to ending it. Broader changes to education, employment incentives and public subsidies are also needed, but ending the draft exemption system would be the immediate test.
The Palestinians: A change in methods, not an immediate peace process
Historically, Israel’s center-left has been more receptive to partitioning the land and establishing a demilitarized Palestinian state in much of the West Bank and Gaza than the right. Israeli governments made far-reaching proposals in 2000–2001 and again in 2008, without achieving a final agreement. Oct. 7, however, has profoundly changed the political atmosphere. Even many Israelis who once supported territorial compromise are unwilling to contemplate further withdrawals while Hamas remains an armed force capable of threatening Israel.
An opposition government would therefore be unlikely to launch an ambitious peace initiative in the near term. But significant changes could still follow.
An alternative government could be expected to crack down on violent Jewish extremists in the West Bank, curb the settlement expansion encouraged by Netanyahu’s far-right partners, and restore some credibility to the prospect of an eventual political settlement. It would also continue efforts to prevent Hamas from reconstituting itself as an armed force in Gaza or the West Bank.
The difference would be less about immediate territorial concessions than about abandoning the ideological extremism and permissiveness toward settler violence that have characterized the present government.
Iran and Hezbollah: Tough security policies, different diplomacy
A change of government would not necessarily mean a softer Israeli approach to Iran or Hezbollah. Preventing Iran from acquiring nuclear weapons commands broad support across Israel’s political spectrum, as does the determination to prevent Hezbollah from rebuilding its military threat along Israel’s northern border. Netanyahu’s military campaign against Hezbollah enjoyed substantial domestic support, including among his opponents (and, in fact, is aligned with the ultimate goals of the government of Lebanon). An opposition government would be expected to maintain pressure on the organization and insist on effective security arrangements in Lebanon.
The change would be in diplomatic style and strategic coordination. Rather than treating international criticism as a badge of honor, an opposition government would be more inclined to coordinate with partners, combining military resolve with greater diplomatic engagement.
The world: Repairing Israel’s shattered relationships
Netanyahu’s government has left Israel increasingly isolated internationally, particularly because of the Gaza war, settlement policies and the conduct of its far-right ministers. Relations with European governments have deteriorated amid growing pressure for sanctions. Netanyahu’s close identification with the American Republican right has damaged Israel’s traditional bipartisan standing in Washington. Many liberal American Jews have become deeply alienated by the government’s religious nationalism and the rhetoric of ministers such as Smotrich and Ben-Gvir.
An opposition government would attempt a major diplomatic reset. That would not eliminate disagreements over the Palestinians or Israel’s military operations, but it would offer a government more interested in rebuilding alliances than antagonizing its critics, and more capable of making Israel’s case to democratic partners whose support remains strategically indispensable.
For Israel’s business and technology sectors, whose prosperity depends on access to international markets, investment and financial institutions, the restoration of normal relations with the world is an absolute economic necessity.
Coalition negotiations: Winning may be the easy part
None of these changes is guaranteed, even if Netanyahu loses his parliamentary majority. An Oct. 23 Maariv poll projected 48 seats for Netanyahu’s coalition, 58 for non-Arab parties outside it, and 14 for the Arab parties – and most other credible polls painted a similar picture. That would give Netanyahu’s opponents a commanding 72-seat majority in the 120-member Knesset, where a majority of 61 is needed to confirm a government — but only if the Arab parties are counted.
If the polls are right – and historically this has roughly been the case – the simplest route to an alternative government would be a coalition of Jewish opposition parties governing with outside parliamentary support from Arab parties.
Such an arrangement would not necessarily require Arab parties to hold ministries or participate in national security decisions. But Naftali Bennett and Avigdor Liberman have rejected dependence on Arab parties, while other opposition figures have shown greater flexibility.
Other scenarios include persuading ultra-Orthodox parties to abandon Netanyahu, attracting defectors from Likud, or constructing a broader coalition of right-wing and centrist parties. Liberman and other leaders could use the uncertainty to demand powerful ministries, major policy concessions or even a rotation agreement for the premiership. Because an Israeli-Palestinian peace agreement is unlikely to be on the immediate agenda, cooperation between the center and parts of the nationalist right may prove easier than in previous eras. But judicial reform, the Haredi draft and Netanyahu’s legal future could become major stumbling blocks.
There is, though, a precedent. In 1992, Yitzhak Rabin’s Labor-Meretz bloc won only 56 seats, but the support of five Arab legislators gave the anti-Likud camp a majority. Rabin ultimately formed a coalition with the ultra-Orthodox Shas party rather than bringing Arab parties into government. Something similar could happen again. Alternatively, coalition deadlock could lead to another election — or leave Netanyahu in charge of a temporary “caretaker government” despite an electoral majority opposed to him.
That is the drama facing Israel. For millions of Israelis who believe their country’s future is at stake, there might be an extraordinary possibility of national recovery after years of trauma and division. But to accomplish any of it, the opposition’s leaders may first have to abandon their refusal to rely on the votes of Israel’s Arab citizens — roughly one-fifth of the population.
The promise was understandable. The opposition needs to attract former Netanyahu voters; they overwhelmingly do not trust the Arabs, and some are simply racists. But rarely have democratic politics produced a promise that more clearly needs to be broken.
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