Many voices, one people

By the time you read this article, Israel will already have held its elections. Some readers will be celebrating, others disappointed, and quite possibly everyone will still be trying to work out who will form the government.

For Australians, Israel’s electoral system can seem bewildering. Where are the local electorates? Why so many parties? And why does counting the votes so often mark the beginning of the political negotiations rather than their conclusion?

The explanation begins before the State of Israel existed.

The Jewish community in Israel before the state’s establishment, known as the Yishuv, already had elected representative institutions. Its political movements disagreed passionately about religion, socialism, nationalism and the Jewish future. Proportional representation allowed these movements to retain their identities while participating in a common political framework. When Israel became independent in 1948, it inherited this system. The political diversity familiar to us today was present from the beginning.

There was a practical logic to this arrangement. A country absorbing immigrants from vastly different backgrounds needed to accommodate many communities and convictions. Representation gave these groups a stake in the shared national enterprise, even as it complicated the task of governing.

Israel’s first national election took place on January 25, 1949. Technically, voters were electing a constituent assembly, intended to prepare a constitution. That assembly soon became the first Knesset, but Israel never adopted the single written constitution originally envisaged.

A beautiful episode accompanied its opening.

On February 14, 1949, the newly elected representatives travelled to Jerusalem for the assembly’s first sitting. It was Tu Bishvat. Along the way, representatives coming from the coastal plain stopped at Sha’ar Hagai to plant trees. Before beginning the parliamentary work of building a state, they planted something that would grow beyond that day’s proceedings.

We cannot know what each participant was thinking, but the image offers a powerful lesson. A tree requires patience, care and confidence in a future we may never fully see. So does a country. Those representatives had profound disagreements, yet they were participating in an undertaking larger than any individual party.

Today, Israel remains one nationwide electoral constituency. Voters choose party lists, with the Knesset’s 120 seats distributed broadly in proportion to the votes received by lists passing the 3.25 per cent threshold. There are no local parliamentary electorates, and governments depend on support in the Knesset, making coalition negotiations central to political life.

The system has also seen experiments. Beginning in 1996, Israelis directly elected their prime minister separately from their parliamentary party. That arrangement was eventually abandoned, with its repeal legislated in 2001. Even the rules governing Israeli political arguments have themselves generated considerable argument.

Jewish tradition has much to say about the responsibilities that accompany such arguments.

The Talmud teaches that a leader should not be appointed over a community without consulting its members. Remarkably, this principle emerges from the appointment of Betzalel to build the Mishkan. Even someone chosen by God was to be presented to the community for its approval (Berachot 55a). The people’s voice mattered.

Pirkei Avot adds another dimension, praising the disagreements of Hillel and Shammai as disputes conducted “for the sake of Heaven” (5:17). Strong disagreement can serve a sacred purpose when those involved seek truth and the common good.

That is a demanding standard for politicians, voters and those of us discussing Israel around the Shabbat table. We should care deeply, speak honestly and hold leaders accountable. We should also remember that our fellow Jews’ hopes for Israel may be as heartfelt as our own, even when their conclusions differ.

And elections should also be an occasion for celebration.

Alongside our fervent disagreements, there is room for gratitude: for the restoration of Jewish sovereignty, the gathering of exiles, the flourishing of Hebrew, and the extraordinary communities, learning and creativity that have taken root in Israel.

Think again of those representatives’ planting trees on their way to the first parliamentary sitting. We have inherited so much of what earlier generations planted. We now share responsibility for what will grow after us.

Whatever the result, the opportunity for Israelis to cast their votes and shape their country’s future is itself an achievement worth celebrating. This Shabbat, may we find room for both passionate conviction and profound thanksgiving.

Shabbat Shalom.

Rabbi Shua Solomon is president of the Rabbinical Council of NSW and rabbi of Bondi Mizrachi Synagogue.