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Bosnian Jews mourn Moris Albahari, one of Sarajevo’s last Ladino speakers
(JTA) — Moris Albahari, a Holocaust survivor, former partisan fighter and one of the last Ladino speakers in Bosnia and Herzegovina’s dwindling Jewish community, passed away at the age of 93 last month.
It is believed that he was one of four native Ladino speakers remaining in a country where the Judeo-Spanish language once flourished and was spoken by luminaries like Flory Jagoda, the grande dame of Ladino song, and Laura Bohoretta, the founder of a uniquely Sephardic feminist movement in Bosnia.
Bosnia’s small Jewish community — with barely 900 members throughout the country, 500 of whom live in Sarajevo — are mourning the loss of a living link to communal memory as well as a dear friend.
“From you, uncle Moco, I learned a lot about Judaism, about life, about nature and especially about people. About both the good and the evil,” Igor Kožemjakin, the cantor of the Sarajevo Jewish community, wrote in a memorial post on Facebook, referring to Moris as “Čika,” or uncle, a term of endearment in Bosnian.
“It is a terrible loss, especially for Sarajevo. Our community is very small, especially after the Holocaust,” Eliezer Papo, a Sarajevo-born Jew and scholar of Ladino language and literature at Ben-Gurion University of the Negev, told the Jewish Telegraphic Agency. “We’re not speaking just in terms of prominent members of the community, we’re speaking in terms of family members. Everyone is like a family member.”
When Albahari was growing up in the 1930s, the Jewish community of his native Sarajevo numbered over 12,000. Jews made up more than a fifth of the city and it was one of the most important centers of Jewish life in the western Balkans.
In his youth, the city was part of what was then the Kingdom of Yugoslavia. Formed out of the borderlands between the Ottoman and Austro-Hungarian empires, it was a multiethnic state composed of Croats, Serbs, Bosniaks, Slovenians, Macedonians, Hungarians, Albanians and more. Among them were many Jewish communities both Ashkenazi and Sephardic.
The unique mix of of Muslim, Jewish, Catholic and Orthodox Christian communities, with their mosques, synagogues and churches defining Sarajevo’s skyline, earned the city the nickname “Little Jerusalem.”
Speaking in a 2015 documentary made by American researchers, “Saved by Language,” Albahari explained that his family traced their roots back to Cordoba before the Spanish Inquisition, and through Venice, before settling in what would become Bosnia when it was part of the Ottoman Empire.
“We didn’t want to ‘just’ write an article about Moris or Sarajevo; we wanted [the audience] to see what we saw and hear what we heard,” Brian Kirschen, professor of Ladino at Binghamton University, who worked on the documentary with author Susanna Zaraysky, told JTA. “This resulted in a grassroots initiative to create the documentary.”
In the film, Albahari takes the researchers and their viewers on a tour through what was Jewish Sarajevo, giving glimpses of the thriving Ladino speaking community in which he was raised and explaining how ithe language would save him many times, when the Nazis and their Croat allies, the Ustaša, came to shatter it.
“In sharing your story of survival during the Holocaust, you opened doors that remained closed for decades,” Kirschen said in a memorial post on Facebook. “Some of your stories were even new to members of your family, but each survivor has their own timeline. While you experienced great pain during your life, from your story, we also learn about moments of kindness and heroism. Through your story, you also taught us about the power of language.”
Albahari wasn’t yet a teenager when, in 1941, Nazi Germany and Mussolini’s Italy invaded Yugoslavia. The Nazis occupied the eastern portion of the country, including what is now Serbia, while they raised up a Croat fascist party, known as the Ustaša, to administer the newly formed “Independent State of Croatia” — often known by its Serbo-Croatian initials, NDH — in the western regions that included the modern-day Bosnia and Herzegovina.
The Ustaša collaborated in the Nazis’ genocidal plans for Europe’s Jewish and Roma comunities, and they had genocidal designs of their own for the Orthodox Serb communities living in the NDH.
To that end they established the Jasenovac concentration camp, which would become known as the Auschwitz of the Balkans. By the war’s end it had become the third largest concentration camp in Europe, and behind its walls the overwhelming majority of Sarajevo’s Jews — at least 10,000 — were massacred. Including Serbs, Jews, Roma and political dissidents of Croat or Muslim Bosniak background, as many as 100,000 people were killed in Jasenovac.
Albahari was 11 years old when the Ustaša came to deport him and his large family to Jasenovac. A former teacher working as an Ustaša guard in the town of Drvar, where the train stopped, warned Albahari’s father, David, about their destination, and he was able to help his son escape from the train.
The teacher helped guide the young Moris to an Italian soldier named Lino Marchione who was secretly helping Jews.
This was the first case when Albahari’s Ladino came in handy. Ladino is largely based on medieval Spanish, with a mixture of Hebrew, Aramaic, Turkish and other languages mixed in. For speakers of Serbo-Croatian, a Slavic language, it’s entirely incomprehensible. But for a speaker of another Romance language such as Italian, it’s not such a stretch to understand, and Moris was able to converse with his Italian savior.
With his family gone, he was taken in by a Serb family, and changed his name to Milan Adamovic to hide his Jewish identity. Still, by 1942, it became clear that neither as Adamovic nor Albahari would he be safe in the town. So he fled to the mountains.
“If there was [a battle] I took clothes from a dead soldier to wear, I lived like a wolf in the mountains, you know. Visiting villages [asking for something] to give me for eating, it was a terrible time,” Albahari recalled in “Saved By Language.”
He would only feel safe in villages under the control of partisan forces. Yugoslavia was the only country in Europe to be liberated from Nazi rule by its own grassroots resistance.
During his time in the mountains, Albahari joined up with a partisan unit aligned with the movement of Josip Broz Tito, who would lead Communist Yugoslavia after the war. By the war’s end, Tito’s partisans numbered over 80,000 and included more than 6,000 Jews, many in prominent positions, such as Moša Pijade, who would go on to serve as vice president of the Yugoslav parliament after the war.
Moris was out on patrol as a partisan when he came upon a group of American and British paratroopers. They raised their weapons at him, thinking he was an enemy. Moris tried to communicate, but he spoke no English.
When he asked the soldiers if they spoke German or Italian, they shook their heads. When he asked about Spanish, one perked up: a Hispanic-American soldier by the name of David Garijo.
In Ladino, Alabahari was able to explain that he was not an enemy but could lead them to a nearby partisan camp where they would be safe.
“Ladino saved my life in the war,” Albahari recalled in the documentary.
At the partisan camp, Morris received even bigger news: The family that he had assumed had all perished after he left the train were in fact alive. The former school teacher and Ustaša guard who had warned his father had met them at the next train junction to help them escape. Furthermore, around half of the Jews in the train car were able to escape using the same hole Moris used during his initial escape.
Ultimately the family all survived the war, unlike so many other Jews of Sarajevo.
“Where is Samuel, where is Dudo, where is Gedala? They never came back,” Albahari lamented, listing missing neighbors while walking through Sarajevo’s old Jewish neighborhood in the documentary. “Maybe we are happy because we are alive after the Second World War, but also unlikely because every day we must cry for these dead people.”
When Moris returned to Sarajevo, it was an entirely different place from the bustling Jewish community he had once known.
Gone was the sound of Ladino in the streets and alleyways of Bascarsija, the market district where so many of Sarajevo’s Jews had once lived. Gone were the synagogues — only one of the many synagogues that had existed before WWII still functions. Gone was the robust Jewish life that was once a central part of Sarajevo.
Moris was still only 14 by the war’s end, so he returned to school and ultimately graduated at the top of his class. He became a pilot and later director of the Sarajevo Airport.
In this new world, Ladino was spoken, if at all, only in the home.
“Always, when I hear Spanish, I hear my father and mother, and all the synagogues, prayers in Ladino and rabbis who spoke Ladino. But that is in the past,” Albahari says in “Saved by Language.”
Eliezer Papo, who is a generation younger than Albahari, recalled that in his youth Ladino had long been reduced to a language of secrets.
“Mostly, Ladino was used when the elders didn’t want youngsters to understand,” Papo said.
Only later, in the 1980s, did community members realize what was being lost and begin to gather to maintain their language, recount what Jewish Sarajevo had been like and share their wartime stories of survival.
“He never took his story to the places of revenge, but he took it and his life experience to a place of ‘Never again,’ not just ‘Never again for Jews’, but never again for anybody,” said Papo.
Like many Sarajevans, World War II would not be the last major conflict Albahari would see. Less than 40 years later, war would once again come to Sarajevo with the break-up of Yugoslavia.
From 1992-1995 the city remained under constant siege by Bosnian Serb forces looking to break away from what would become Bosnia and Herzegovina. Moris joined with other Jews of Sarajevo in working to provide aid to their fellow Sarajevans during the harsh period.
Sarajevo’s synagogue was turned into a shelter and a soup kitchen. The community ran a network of underground pharmacies and a message service allowing Sarajevans to get word to family and friends outside of the city during what became the longest siege of a capital city in the history of modern warfare.
“Moris was an inspirational persona to many members of Jewish community and La Benevolencija,” Vlado Anderle, the current president of that local Jewish humanitarian organization told JTA. “He was a man with such inviting spirit and energy.”
When the dust settled on the breakup of Yugoslavia, and the new Bosnian state rose from its ashes, Moris found himself once again in a new role.
During the communist era in Yugoslavia, religious activity was discouraged. Sarajevo’s Jews emphasized the ethnic character of Jewish culture rather than the religious one. In the new Bosnia and Herzegovina, that was no longer true. So the community worked to reconnect with their religious identity as well.
“Everybody looked up to the people who had Jewish upbringing before the Second World War,” Papo recalled. “This doesn’t mean that they were rabbis. Just that they knew it better than anyone else.”
Moris, whose formal Jewish education ended in his preteen years, was appointed president of the community’s religious committee.
As such it often fell on him to represent Judaism to the Bosnian society at large, often in a very creative way, according to Papo, who in addition to being a scholar of Ladino is ordained as a rabbi and serves the Sarajevo community as a rabbi-at-large from Israel.
In one case, while being interviewed on a major Bosnian television station, Moris was asked why Jews cover their head with a kippah or other hat during prayer. Moris’ response, or rather creative interpretation, as Papo called it, was made up on the spot.
Moris’ interpretation began with the ancient temple in Jerusalem where Jews once had to fully immerse in a ritual bath before entering.
“Since the Temple in Jerusalem was destroyed it was reduced to washing the uncovered parts of the body only, before entering a synagogue, similarly to Muslims: the feet, the head, the hands…” Papo recalled him saying. But in Europe, as Moris’ answer went, they began to cover more and more of their body. “In Europe they started wearing shoes, so the feet were not uncovered anymore, and then they started wearing a hat, not to have to wash their head… you know it’s Europe, one could catch a cold if going out with wet hair…”
“A few months later, I came to Sarajevo, and found that everyone has heard this explanation and is talking about it, not just people in the community, but in the street,” Papo said. “And you know, I let it pass, I couldn’t correct them, it was just so beautiful. That was his genius.”
“Identity is all about telling stories. And Moris was one of the great storytellers of the community,” Papo added. And through his stories he expressed an identity which was “made of the same contradictions that Sephardic Judaism is made of, that Sarajevo is made of, that Bosnia and Herzegovina is made and that Yugoslavia was and is made of and that the Balkans are made of.”
Albahari is survived by his wife and a son.
—
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Jewish voters split on giving Mamdani a second term — and see Jessica Tisch as his strongest rival, new poll shows
Jewish New Yorkers divided over Mayor Zohran Mamdani’s handling of antisemitism and criticism of Israel are also split on whether he deserves a second term, with some eyeing his Jewish police commissioner, Jessica Tisch, as a potential challenger, according to a new poll. Mamdani, the city’s first Muslim mayor, won a bitterly contested Democratic primary last year without securing a majority of Jewish voters.
The survey by Honan Strategy Group of 269 Jewish Democratic primary voters across the five boroughs, shared exclusively with the Forward, found that Tisch narrowly leads Mamdani 44% to 42% in a hypothetical head-to-head matchup for mayor in 2029.
Mamdani remains the frontrunner, according to the poll, even among Jewish Democrats in a crowded primary field that hypothetically includes three Jewish rivals. He received 44% support, compared with 25% for Tisch, 7% for City Council Speaker Julie Menin and 4% for Rep. Dan Goldman, in the poll. Another 13% were undecided.
The poll was conducted Oct. 2 through Oct. 7 via text-to-web, with a margin of error of plus or minus 6 percentage points. Among all 967 likely Democratic primary voters surveyed, Mamdani leads Tisch 54% to 17% and enjoys a 73% job approval rating. The margin of error for the overall primary voter sample was plus or minus 3.2 percentage points.
The results highlight the unusual political position of Tisch, who has become one of the most popular figures among Jewish New Yorkers while serving under a mayor whose views on Israel and handling of antisemitism have drawn widespread criticism from the community. Asked whether Mamdani should be reelected in 2029, 44% of Jewish primary voters said it was time for someone new.
But the findings also show the limits of a potential challenge.
Mamdani has a relatively stable base of Jewish support — 45% approve of his job performance, 41% favor giving him another term, and he receives between 44% and 43% in potential head-to-head matchups against Menin and City Comptroller Mark Levine, respectively.
Jewish voters make up only an estimated 16% of the primary electorate, and even before his election, Mamdani had built a coalition of Jews who support him, including some Hasidic sects that continue to embrace him. Mamdani swept progressive Jewish neighborhoods in Brooklyn and Manhattan on his way to a citywide win last November, according to analysis of election districts where at least 10% of voters have Jewish-identifiable surnames.
The results, which seem to show an increase in support for the incumbent mayor, also come nearly three years before the next mayoral election, with no indication that Tisch is considering a run.
Why Tisch stands out among Jewish voters
Tisch, who comes from a prominent Jewish family and has publicly expressed support for Israel, has emerged as a reassuring presence for many Jewish New Yorkers who have deep concerns about Mamdani’s leadership. In the poll, 51% said they disapprove of Mamdani’s job performance, including 39% who strongly disapprove.
A separate Honan poll, conducted during the same period among 503 respondents, found that nearly two-thirds of all Jewish voters disapproved of Mamdani’s handling of antisemitism. By contrast, 75% approved of Tisch’s performance on the issue.
The partnership between Mamdani and Tisch has offered political benefits to both. Earlier this year, Mamdani declined to march at the annual Celebrate Israel Parade, citing his longstanding criticism of the Israeli government. Tisch, however, marched and represented the city.
Tisch has also made her Jewish identity visible in her public role. She placed a mezuzah on the door of her NYPD office, a gesture that resonated with Jewish New Yorkers concerned about rising antisemitism. And she spoke at Central Synagogue, where she’s been a lifelong member, at Shabbat services one week after an attack in the sanctuary.
Gov. Kathy Hochul, who endorsed Mamdani after the primary, revealed in a recent interview with Politico magazine that, before offering her support, she had urged him to retain Tisch as head of the police department, citing her Jewish identity. “I thought it was very important because she’s a credible voice, she is a Jewish woman, has a successful family,” Hochul said. “It’s important that she stays. She knows her role is important. He knows her role is important.”
Asked whether Tisch might eventually run for office, Hochul said, “I don’t know, and she had an opportunity last spring if she wanted to, as well.”
Mamdani has repeatedly defended his decision to keep Tisch in her role despite pressure from his progressive allies. “Jessica Tisch is the police commissioner. I have no plans to change that,” Mamdani said at a recent press conference following an Immigration and Customs Enforcement shooting in Manhattan that sparked protests over the NYPD’s response.
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The Yiddish theaters and elevated trains are long gone, but the spirit of the Bowery lives on
The oak rolltop desk I write on was once the reception station at the Crystal Hotel on the Bowery. Back in the 1930s, a man could rent a single bed, clean sheets and a foot locker in a large barracks-style room at the Crystal for less than a dollar a night; some lived there until the hotel closed in the late 1960s.
I like to think of myself as a 3rd generation citizen of the Bowery. For 65 years, my grandfather and father worked on the Bowery, manufacturing store fixtures in the building that was once the Crystal Hotel and before that a Vaudeville theater named Miner’s. I remember the signs on the wall that warned against spitting and smoking in bed. Even as I live and work elsewhere, I feel connected to the place.
I love to walk the mile-or-so stretch in lower Manhattan from Chatham Square, where the oldest thoroughfare in New York City begins, to its northern reach on East 4th Street at Cooper Square. And I love the layers of history so visible on its streetscape. First a Lenape Indian pathway and then a popular route for Dutch farmers, the Bowery (from bouwerijs, the Dutch word for farms) hosted later waves of businesses, breweries, bars, theaters, artists’ lofts, lodging houses for people with nowhere else to go and social service agencies to help them; today, there are even some bespoke shops and a Chabad.
While the Bowery has had a reputation as “Skid Row” or “Devil’s Mile” — the title of an engaging exhibit now at The New Museum through Jan. 31, 2027 — for me, it’s alive with stories. It’s a wide avenue where the pace is quick, the energy is high and the architecture is wildly varied, highlighting one of the widest views of the sky in this city.
On a sunny fall day, light bounces off the glass storefronts and the metal restaurant equipment being unloaded onto the sidewalk. The street’s Honey Locust and London Plane trees are lovely but sparse, so there’s no leafy canopy blocking the view. Most seats along the stretch north of Delancey are BYO: Several men face the sunlight, sitting outside buildings in a cluster of abandoned office chairs, crates and a beat-up recliner.
The light wasn’t always this brilliant: From 1878 to 1956, the Third Avenue Elevated train cast the sidewalks and street into shadow, as seen in the celebrated photographer Weegee’s stark image in the New Museum exhibition, “Under the Third Avenue El, 1943-45.”
The exhibition provides a beautifully detailed overview of 400 years of Bowery history, culture and tumult, with early maps, paintings, playbills, contemporary sculpture, photographs by Harvey Wang from the book Flophouse: Life on the Bowery, and a 19th century fire vehicle that hasn’t been seen on the Bowery since 1840. The royal blue, gold-trimmed “Lady Washington Engine Co. No. 40, Hand Pumper Fire Engine,” with painted classical scenes on the front and back was used by a volunteer fire brigade who, despite their elegant carriage, were known as a brutal street gang.
The Bowery was the city’s first entertainment district, with serious theater in the early 19th century and later on melodrama, magic shows, tap dancing (born on the Bowery), minstrel shows and Yiddish, Chinese and Italian theaters. A host of performers known as human curiosities filled the stages of dime museums. Peter Stuyvesant, George Washington and Abraham Lincoln all showed up on the Bowery, as did P.T. Barnum, who started his career selling “quack medicines and bear grease” at a dry goods store at 101 Bowery.
The site of the New Museum was once the London Theatre, which later became the Lipzen Theatre and Gabel’s Theatre, which staged Yiddish productions. And, a few blocks south is the footprint of the theater in my family’s history, Miner’s Bowery Theatre, established in 1878. Harry Miner was a former police officer, firefighter and pharmacist, who first owned the London Theatre before renovating this one. He helped launch the career of Eddie Cantor; Al Jolson sang and W.C. Fields juggled here. Miner also pioneered Amateur Night — and the “hook,” a wooden cane used to yank lesser performers off the stage. In 1929, the theater burned down.
I came across a photograph online of the top of the Crystal Hotel’s Art Deco façade. I reached out to the person who posted the image and met Kunihide Nakajima, a 3rd generation Japanese master sushi chef who also loves Bowery history. His gorgeous namesake restaurant, Nakaji, opened on the site of the 1826 Bowery Theatre, which later became the Thalia and a home to Yiddish theater. That building burned down six times, was rebuilt 5 times, but was completely destroyed, also in 1929.
“All you have to do is look up,” Nakajima says. “History is still there.”
I had to look twice at a photo in the exhibition that’s part of Martha Rosler’s installation of text and images from the 1970s to see the signage from my father’s business reflected back in the window of a cash register store across the Bowery.
Two decades ago, when I last reported on the Bowery for The New York Times, I walked around with my father, who was treated with much respect as the street’s elder statesman. Then, grand performances at the Amato Opera House were still being staged. The Amato family closed what was billed as the world’s smallest opera house in 2009. The Neoclassical building, originally a cigar factory and then a mission for the homeless, is now a Japanese restaurant with a mezuzah on its door and luxury apartments.
A few blocks north on the corner of Bowery and 1st Street, I couldn’t resist trying a blend of coffee called Marky Ramone’s Bowery Beat, a nod to the neighborhood’s punk history, at Adios Amigos – named for the Ramones’ breakup album. Sipping the robust coffee on a stool at the window, I looked out at the Bowery, much as I enjoyed doing when I was a child in the window of my father’s shop. I used to wave at the passersby back then; this time, I just watched a carnival of dog walkers carrying drinks more likely to be iced matcha than Wild Irish Rose (the favored drink of the Crystal Hotel crowd). I watched people pushing baby carriages or laundry carts filled with belongings, bicyclists, tourists with large shopping bags, a man inching forward trying to get his mismatched shoe back on, a woman with long gray hair pushing a walker, wearing the most colorful jacket I’ve ever seen.
At 202 Bowery, the Plato Gallery is hosting Shuto Okayasu’s solo exhibition of urban scenes. The exhibition’s title, “Impermanence,” seems fitting for this street. The New York-based Japanese artist cites the Buddhist concept that life is changing, constantly, and beauty can be found in fleeing moments.
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Israel’s messy election result: Five scenarios for what could happen next
Israel’s election has produced a messy result: Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s governing bloc has suffered a major defeat, losing perhaps 11 seats compared with its victory in 2022. Yet the country could still end up with Netanyahu as prime minister. Or a broad unity government that preserves part of the existing order. Or a repeat election.
According to near-final results, Netanyahu and his allies have won just 53 seats in the 120-member Knesset, down from the 64 that gave them a comfortable majority four years ago. The opposition has secured 67 seats, one of the strongest showings for the anti-Netanyahu camp in decades. You might think this would be interpreted as a decisive rejection of the incumbent government and a mandate for political change – yet things are not exactly so.
The complication is that the opposition’s seats include 19 held by Arab parties, whose dramatic electoral gains appear to have been driven by a surge in turnout among Israel’s Arab citizens. The Jewish-led opposition parties together hold just 48 seats, leaving them well short of the 61 needed for a parliamentary majority. And several of their leaders have promised to avoid a coalition with the Arab parties.
That pledge was always difficult to reconcile with Israel’s electoral math – as well as with the promise of equality in its Declaration of Independence. Indeed, the moderate camp has for decades depended on Arab votes for a parliamentary majority, even when Arab parties remained formally outside the governing coalition. The promises in this round were designed to reassure Jewish voters moving away from Netanyahu’s right-wing bloc, many of whom distrust the Arab parties on security, Palestinian nationalism and the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.
Now opposition leaders may have to choose between their principal campaign objective – removing Netanyahu, which the country needs desperately – and a secondary promise that should never have been made.
Further complicating the picture are Likud allegations of fraud – expected standard operating procedure – which on Thursday received a boost by reports of an investigation that Qatar might have bribed Israeli Arabs to vote.
A major wild card is President Trump, who seems determined to save Netanyahu and may pressure the main opposition leader, Gadi Eisenkot, to acquiesce. No one should be surprised if Trump engineers another Iran war – or, conversely, promises peace plans with the Palestinians and Saudi Arabia – to scramble the Israeli equation in ways that might help his fellow right-wing populist.
There are several possible routes to a government, each involving concessions and risks.
1. An opposition government supported by the Arab parties
The most direct path would be for Eisenkot to accept the parliamentary support of the Arab parties and form a government backed by the 67 lawmakers elected in opposition to Netanyahu’s bloc. This could involve bringing Ra’am, the pragmatic Islamist party led by Mansour Abbas that joined the governing coalition in 2021, into the government, and perhaps relying on outside support from the Joint Arab List, which is less Zionist-friendly.
The latter arrangement would allow the Jewish-led opposition to control the cabinet while giving Arab parties considerable influence without requiring them to assume responsibility for policies they oppose.
They could concentrate initially on domestic priorities, on which they all agree, including restoring democratic institutions, establishing a state commission of inquiry into the Oct. 7 failures, addressing the cost of living, combating crime in Arab communities and reversing controversial authoritarian reforms of Netanyahu’s outgoing government. Additional parliamentary support on individual issues could help reduce dependence on any single faction.
Avigdor Lieberman, the anti-Netanyahu, anti-religious nationalist whose Yisrael Beiteinu party won seven seats, could prove the toughest obstacle. Opposed to a coalition that relies on an Arab safety net, he could potentially demand a turn as prime minister in exchange for his support. Conceivably, some from Netanyahu’s bloc might later join in as well.
2. A unity government under Netanyahu, excluding the far right
A second possibility is a broad national unity government joining Netanyahu’s Likud with most of the Jewish-led opposition while excluding his ultranationalist partners, especially the globally toxic Itamar Ben-Gvir. Such an arrangement would command a substantial parliamentary majority and could be presented as an answer to Israel’s political divisions and security challenges.
Trump, who aggressively endorsed Netanyahu, will probably push for this, and Eisenkot could be receiving some phone calls from the White House.
Netanyahu would argue he should be the prime minister of such a government – or at least go first in a rotation. He’d argue his Likud is still the largest party, but that is actually irrelevant under the Israeli system – only the blocs count.
For Netanyahu, unity would offer an opportunity to shed his most controversial partners while remaining at the helm, claiming national reconciliation.
For Eisenkot and other opposition leaders, the political cost would be enormous. Having campaigned to end Netanyahu’s rule and won a 67-seat majority, they would look weak. They also could find themselves responsible for government decisions that would enrage their supporters, like additional settlements in the West Bank.
3. Defections from the opposition give Netanyahu another majority
A third possibility involves Netanyahu persuading opposition lawmakers to change sides, allowing him to assemble a governing majority despite his bloc’s electoral defeat.
Netanyahu could also attempt to recruit such individual lawmakers through ministerial appointments, policy concessions or promises of political influence. Parliamentary rules governing defections could complicate these efforts, particularly for lawmakers seeking to break away individually. But it is possible. One potential figure is, again, Lieberman, whose Yisrael Beiteinu party has been among Netanyahu’s fiercest opponents. A former defense minister and veteran coalition negotiator, Lieberman holds nationalist positions closer to the traditional right than to the liberal opposition, although his longstanding hostility toward Netanyahu would make any reconciliation dramatic – and he has ruled it out. But he has also ruled out a coalition with the Arabs.
The prospect of major cabinet portfolios, a broader realignment of the right and the avoidance of another election could nevertheless become appealing options.
The broader implication is that Netanyahu could retain power through post-election maneuvering.
4. A unity government under Eisenkot, with Netanyahu in senior ministry
A fourth scenario, albeit unlikely, would flip the odd assumption that Netanyahu must lead a unity-government. Using his leverage in parliament, Eisenkot could become prime minister with Netanyahu accepting a senior cabinet position, perhaps as foreign minister or defense minister. Netanyahu would remain a prominent national figure, potentially representing Israel abroad or overseeing a major policy portfolio, while Eisenkot assumed responsibility for leading the government.
There would, however, be significant legal complications. Netanyahu’s ongoing criminal trial blocks him legally from serving as an ordinary cabinet minister rather than prime minister (which, due to a loophole, is possible). Assigning him a portfolio would require legislation and invite judicial scrutiny.
Another main obstacle: Netanyahu is pathologically fixated on retaining the premiership, and almost no one in Israel thinks he would accept such an arrangement over new elections.
5. Another election
The final possibility is that the parties fail to reach an agreement and Israel returns to the polls.
President Isaac Herzog plays an important procedural role, consulting parliamentary factions and assigning the task of forming a government to a Knesset member. The process could begin next week, and the initial mandate normally lasts 28 days, with a possible 14-day extension. Further procedures allow other candidates to seek a majority before another election becomes necessary.
A prolonged deadlock could leave Netanyahu heading a caretaker government while Israel prepares for another election – which is why he probably would not mind.
Another election would raise questions about whether the exceptionally high Arab turnout that helped produce the opposition’s majority could be sustained. Arab voter participation has historically fluctuated, and the latest result could represent either a lasting political transformation or a temporary surge driven by the campaign – then suppressed by bitterness over their exclusion.
For the Jewish-led opposition, returning to the polls would risk squandering its electoral achievement while giving Netanyahu another opportunity to reshape the contest around security, national identity and the legitimacy of Arab parliamentary influence.
If I wore Eisenkot’s shoes
If I were Eisenkot, I would give Lieberman whatever is needed to buy his cooperation and form a government with an Arab parliamentary safety net, remove Netanyahu and secure the premiership.
I would immediately pursue broadly popular policies: a state commission of inquiry into Oct. 7, universal conscription including Arab and Haredi national service, a crackdown on Jewish terrorism in the West Bank and organized crime, particularly in Arab communities, and reversal of Netanyahu’s authoritarian reforms.
I would maintain a firm line against Hamas, Hezbollah and Iran, and close the legal loophole allowing criminal defendants to serve as prime minister.
I would do all that in the first month. In the second, I would invite Likud into a unity government on these terms. Competent governance, relief from the threats of global economic sanctions and incumbency could build momentum, making any subsequent election prospects more favorable.
All that would require focus, determination and a bit of courage. As a former military chief, Eisenkot should be up to the task.
Netanyahu would scream bloody murder. Give him a megaphone, recommend a valium, and send him a copy of Israel’s Declaration of Independence, which promises equality to the Arabs.
The opposition’s leaders have a chance to show us whether they are worthy of leadership. Their decision will determine whether the election becomes a turning point in Israeli politics or another chapter in Netanyahu’s remarkable record of political survival.
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