The long, turbulent trajectory of modern Middle Eastern history has often been framed through a single, uncompromising logic: ethno-nationalist separation. From the moment Theodor Herzl convened the First Zionist Congress in Basel in 1897, political Zionism emerged fundamentally as a European political response to a distinctly European crisis of violence, pogroms, and social exclusion. Confronted by systemic antisemitism, European Jewish intellectuals adopted the dominant political currency of 19th-century Europe—ethno-nationalism—seeking physical survival through the mechanics of a sovereign state.
Yet, this European import required a total dismantling of older, indigenous paradigms. Across the Levant, North Africa, and the broader Ottoman realm, Jewish life had existed for centuries within a pluralist—if hierarchical—framework. Under the Ottoman millet system, non-Muslim communities maintained structural autonomy, facilitating deep regional integration, economic synergy, and local co-existence. The arrival of a rigid, European nation-state model displaced these Levantine practices, replacing centuries of regional continuity with hard borders, demographic engineering, and zero-sum identity politics.
In the decades following the establishment of the Israeli state, this European framework systematically flattened the complex diversity of the region. Over 800,000 Mizrahi Sephardic Jews, forced out of ancestral homelands in Iraq, Egypt, and Syria amidst the Cold War pressures of Pan-Arabism, were absorbed into a centralized state apparatus that viewed their Middle Eastern heritage through a Eurocentric lens. Funneled into peripheral “development towns” (ma’abarot) and marginalized by the Ashkenazi establishment, these communities eventually pivoted. By 1977, their socio-economic alienation fused with Menachem Begin’s Revisionist nationalism, transforming a population that once bridged the Middle East into the fierce electoral backbone of right-wing Israeli politics.
For nearly half a century, this binary stood unbroken: a dominant Jewish nationalist establishment on one side, and a marginalized, permanently sidelined Arab minority on the other. That is, until now. In a move that has sent shockwaves through the Israeli political landscape, Mansour Abbas, leader of the southern branch of the Islamic Movement (Ra’am), announced that Yoav Segalovitz—a secular Zionist, former IDF officer, and major-general in the Israel Police—would run in the second spot on Ra’am’s electoral slate.
This is not merely another electoral maneuvering; it is a seismic event. It is a deliberate crossing of the Rubicon that pierces the core narrative constructed over a century ago in Basel. Unlike previous Arab-Jewish electoral lists—such as the communist Hadash, which operates on an explicit platform of non-Zionist, anti-establishment leftism—the Abbas-Segalovitz partnership represents a transaction between two unapologetic figures from the core of their respective communities.
Segalovitz is an unimpeachable security figure from the center of the Zionist consensus. Abbas is a devout, conservative Islamist who leads a Palestinian-Arab party within Israel. Neither man is asking the other to convert. Segalovitz remains a Zionist; Abbas remains an Islamist. What connects them is not an idealized, sentimental vision of peace, but a cold, Machiavellian operational shift built on necessità (necessity), virtù (strategic agency), and prudenza (prudence).
Niccolò Machiavelli never wrote that “the end justifies the means.” Rather, in The Prince and Discourses on Livy, he argued that when the very survival or stability of a political community is at stake (lo stato), unconventional, bold actions that seem radical or harsh will ultimately be judged honorable if they produce security and civic order.
For Abbas, the existential necessità is the rampant, devastating wave of organized crime and violence paralyzing Palestinian municipalities in Israel. Recognizing that decades of ideological posture and permanent opposition yielded moral purity but zero actual protection for his people, Abbas opted for tactical synthesis. By recruiting Segalovitz—who, as former deputy minister of national security, spearheaded the most effective anti-crime programs in Arab towns—Abbas anchors his political platform directly on the immediate, tangible needs of his constituency.
Yet, the strategic implications extend far beyond anti-crime budgets. By placing a mainstream Zionist general in the number two slot of an Arab list, Abbas has fundamentally altered the arithmetic of Israeli coalition politics.
For years, the Israeli opposition—a fragile constellation of center-left, centrist, and hawkish anti-Netanyahu parties—has been trapped in a mathematical dead end. While they needed Arab votes to cross the 61-seat majority threshold, right-leaning opposition leaders like Avigdor Liberman hesitated to sit in a government dependent on Arab factions, fearing the right-wing charge of “legitimizing anti-Zionists”.
Segalovitz’s presence on the slate operates as a structural “certificate of political usability.” It becomes nearly impossible for Likud to delegitimize Ra’am as a “fifth column” without attacking a decorated former police commander and IDF officer sitting at the very top of their list. In doing so, Abbas converts Arab voters from an isolated minority into an indispensable, normalized player at the coalition table.
This experiment, of course, carries immense risks. Right-wing coalitions have already launched fierce counter-attacks, accusing Segalovitz of “Zionist bankruptcy”. Meanwhile, Palestinian nationalist critics view the alliance as a dangerous dilution of collective national identity in exchange for localized civic crumbs.
Whether this alliance survives the crucible of the upcoming elections remains an open question. But its significance is undeniable. By stepping out of the rigid national traps set in 19th-century Europe and choosing a transactional, outcome-based civic platform, Abbas and Segalovitz have provided a rare, pragmatic blueprint. They have demonstrated that breaking a century of deadlock does not require total narrative agreement—it requires the courage to forge shared agency out of shared necessity.
- Jamil K Mroue is Lebanese writer and previous editor of Al Hayat newspaper in London and The Daily Star in Beirut.