The acronyms and the blue of Election Day, the day of reckoning. Travelling from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem

Jerusalem, from our correspondent. It is a normal day, just like any other election day in Israel, where a 24-hour public holiday is declared across the country during elections. As soon as you’ve cast your ballot, you head to the beach, the café, the restaurant, the park or out of town. You’ve done your duty and life goes on – the country too. There is no such thing as electoral silence, and the phones are ringing off the hook because the election campaign is also waged over the phone – constantly, nervously, with an insistence that, on a public holiday, is more annoying than usual. And yet, this last-minute effort is not in vain, because there are still people to be persuaded and, above all, there are more people who have chosen to go and vote anyway, even if they do not yet know who to vote for: turnout is extremely high from the start of the day right through to the end.

In Tel Aviv, everything seems clearer; there’s sunshine, there’s the beach, where everyone flocks to discuss the vote while waiting for the day to pass. The bars are packed, with people engaging in their final political chats. At a table of expats who have returned from Boston, San Francisco and London to vote, the talk is of the vote needed to live in Israel once again. An exaggeration that might well have infuriated the pioneers, their grandparents and great-grandparents. Israel is a choice; you don’t just walk away from it. At the table, some have voted for Yair Golan’s Democrats, others for Gadi Eisenkot’s Yashar.

The colour that dominates everything is blue; every party has chosen its own shade, stretching and straining the colour of the flag. They are all blue: Yashar, the Democrats, Likud – which is rarely seen in these parts – and even the far-right parties, such as Itamar Ben-Gvir and Bezalel Smotrich. Every party seeks to evoke the colour of the country, where even the ballot boxes are blue. The shades of blue are the only common element; for the rest, the Israeli political world is made up of rifts, divisions and differences. They stick together to govern with difficulty, and the only thing they don’t need to argue about is the colour. Tel Aviv is blue through and through. Tel Aviv breathes democracy, thinks democracy; it seems irreversible, unchangeable. The ruling parties’ posters meet a sorry end: they are thrown on the ground, reduced to waste paper. In the queues to reach the polling stations, people display their voting intentions with hats, stickers and T-shirts, and it always seems as though the city ignores the rest of the country: Tel Aviv, the city-state, the city of paradise.

Those who do not dare to say who they voted for are merely admitting that they have chosen ‘change’. There are thirty-six ballot papers; voters find them inside the polling station, choose one and slip it into the envelope – which is blue, of course. Each ballot paper is a small rectangle of paper, with an abbreviation printed on it that does not correspond to the party’s name – a complicated legacy of a country that does not know how to be simple and does not want to be so. 

The acronym for Benjamin Netanyahu’s Likud party consists of three letters – m-kh-l, ‘mekhal’ – and it is not in Tel Aviv that it is all the rage; to find the Prime Minister’s supporters, one must venture away from the city centre. Hagana station, before catching the train to Jerusalem, is a place in between; it’s Tel Aviv, but it’s a hub for those heading elsewhere: on polling day, public transport is free, so some people take the train just for a ride. Israelis speak candidly about who they’re voting for: “Bennett, for security”. “Bennett, because I’m on the right.” “I’ve never voted before, but I’ll do so today – for Ben-Gvir.”

Bennett is the former prime minister; on his ballot paper, he chose to include an adverb: ‘rak’, which means ‘only’. Throughout the election campaign, he repeated: “Rak Bennett”, just Bennett. He has something that Gadi Eisenkot does not: political experience. On the train to Jerusalem, a lady who had travelled from the Netherlands said she had voted for him because he reminded her of “someone I trust, a relative of mine who is no longer in the running, but he also has a stronger name”. The relative in question is Benny Gantz, the former general who withdrew from the election a few days ago; he was the opposition’s rising star and was then co-opted by Netanyahu. He was one of the few opposition figures who agreed to sit down with the Prime Minister, to form a coalition government with him – not so much because it would have paid off electorally, but because it was the right thing to do: a unity government. The Israelis punished him for it, and today Eisenkot is adamant that he will not repeat that mistake, which was, in reality, a sacrifice.

Perhaps Gantz’s niece is right: it’s all a matter of sounds, and a name like Naftali Bennett carries inherent credentials of reliability and toughness. She is originally from Be’er Sheva and is travelling with a friend who, on the other hand, voted for the Reservists’ Party, the Miluiminiki, who have not declared which side they will take if they pass the electoral threshold, “and that’s exactly what I’m looking for”. Someone open to cooperating, to working – it doesn’t matter with whom. ‘Ulai’, perhaps, is the expression many use when thinking of a government of national unity – an option that all politicians rule out, but which the grassroots don’t mind. “I don’t care who wins, I just don’t want there to be a civil war,” she has always voted for Likud, but the time has come for a change; that said, a government including the Prime Minister’s party would still suit the Reservists’ voter just fine. “But to understand how it works and who will win, you have to go to Be’er Sheva!”, the two passengers are from there. “Of course Likud will win; everyone votes for Likud there. I was at the hairdresser’s today, and people kept coming in and saying, ‘Mekhal’.” They acknowledge that Bibi has been strong, continuing to put Israel first despite what’s happening around him, but they’ve decided to make a change, without any fear of looking back.

One enters Jerusalem as if stepping into a blender. In Jerusalem, people shout more, run more, go everywhere without getting anywhere. And in Jerusalem it pours with rain; the blue sky doesn’t matter – it’s just an extra, it doesn’t count. It is the city of chaos; it overwhelms and mixes everything up, even when it doesn’t mean to, and here are the names you don’t hear in Tel Aviv: Smotrich.

The anticipation of the election makes us forget the other anticipation – that of war, which is inevitable and will take place. It does not matter who is in government; no one intends to abandon the work already begun against Iran. Eisenkot has said he would know how to go about it. Netanyahu, on the other hand, has insisted that he is the one needed; he needs two years to take on Tehran alongside Donald Trump. Coalitions are an internal matter; they matter a great deal and change almost everything, but ultimately Israel often experiences war as the only time when the nation unites. Israel is a country that faces war with the resolve of an election and, in seeking unity, faces the election with the fervour of a war.