I have a friend, his name is Amichai, and he has served for more than 350 days in IDF reserve duty. Amichai is a major and holds a senior command role in his battalion. He is also the father of three young children.
A couple of weeks ago, his wife flew to the United States for a family wedding, leaving him to manage the familiar chaos that every parent knows: mornings, school drop-offs, homework, dinner, and bedtime.
Most people in his situation would have taken time off. After 350 days in uniform, no one would have questioned it. But Amichai lives in the South, not far from Gaza. So every morning, he woke up, got the kids dressed, packed their lunches, walked them out the door – and then drove to the border, crossed it, and spent the day inside Gaza commanding soldiers. In the afternoon, he came out, drove home, and was there to put his kids to bed.
Gaza by day. Bedtime stories by night.
When he told me this, it sounded almost surreal. But then again, it is not the story of one man. This is Israel in year two of the war, where silent heroes like Amichai walk among us, carrying impossible loads, with no fanfare, no speeches, and no expectation of gratitude. They simply do what needs to be done.
An entire generation has stepped forward
It is the story of an entire generation that stepped forward this year without speeches or slogans. These are people who did not wait for orders. They are reservists who returned again and again to the frontlines and civilians who filled the gaps the state couldn’t. They are communities that organized shelter, food, equipment, trauma support, education, and dignity.
What we have learned over the last two years is that the real story of this war is not in the government offices. It is in the people who showed up.
I look at people like my friend Amichai, and no, he is not planning on running for elected office, and wonder if this is not exactly the profile of the person that Israel needs in the next government. We should elect people like him, who set their lives aside, left their families, lost their jobs, and went off to fight to keep the rest of us safe. They have sacrificed in a way that so many have not. Shouldn’t they be the ones who now make the decisions going forward?
Take, for example, the debate that continues about the haredi (ultra-Orthodox) draft and the possibility that new legislation aimed at continuing the shameful haredi exemption from military service will soon pass in the Knesset.
Let’s look for a moment at the people who are going to be making the decision about this – they are career politicians, from the coalition and from the haredi parties. These are the people who spend their time thinking about ways to preserve political coalitions, using controversial legislation and budget allocations.
They are not the people who have spent the last two years in uniform plugging the holes where they could because of the tragic losses sustained on the battlefield, and because too many haredim continue to run away from sharing the national burden.
This is not meant to detract from all of the current politicians that we have in Israel. Many of them are dedicated to advancing the country and to keeping it safe and strong. Still, there is something to be said about the need for a fresh start. October 7 was not just another moment in Israeli history; it showed that something is deeply broken and that we reached this point not just because of our enemies but also because of what we did to ourselves.
An election will be held in Israel in the coming year, but when we look at the polls, the Israeli people fall back on the same parties and people who have been here all along.
It is the same gallery of faces who either were in their roles for the last few years, setting the policies that led up to October 7, or were there for periods of time before, tried, and failed. It is the same voices that have been shouting at each other for years.
Are they the solution? Isn’t the lesson of October 7 that going back to the way things were will only bring us the same results that got us here? Do we really think that people dramatically change and that the way they were as politicians before this war and in the two years since is suddenly going to be different?
There is something to be said about sticking with who you know, especially when facing such regional volatility and uncertainty. It is natural to be apprehensive about experimenting with something new after seeing how even basic ideas, like the continued existence of the country, cannot be taken for granted.
This is why I return to people like my friend Amichai. He is not running for political office, but I wish he would. He is the kind of person I would want to see running a ministry and serving in the Knesset. When a future vote would come up about draft exemptions, I would know that Amichai and people like him would vote for what is right for the country, not for the sectarian interests of the few.
When the security cabinet would debate what to do with an emerging threat, I would know that Amichai would be able to speak honestly and sincerely for the silent heroes of the last two years, the men and women, in uniform and out, who didn’t hesitate to press pause on their lives for all of us, and then explain the price of whatever decision is made.
He and those like him understand responsibility. They understand sacrifice and what it means to choose the country over themselves.
They are the ones who defended the nation, and they are the ones who can rebuild it. The question now is whether we have the courage to let them.
The writer is a co-founder of the MEAD policy forum, a senior fellow at JPPI, and a former editor-in-chief of The Jerusalem Post. His newest book, While Israel Slept, is a national bestseller in the United States.