The Israeli Government Is Failing Its People During the Pandemic

On the night of July 11 and again on July 13, after many months of a weird, melancholic quiet, central Tel Aviv was loud again. Hundreds, then thousands, made their way to Rabin Square. Most of them were wearing masks, but the rules of social distancing quickly evaporated. Young and old risked their health, possibly even their lives, as they gathered to protest against an Israeli government that — they believe, and I agree — has lost touch. 

The police let them gather and protest — and let them break the rules. When a few became violent and smashed windows of banks, there were clashes and arrests. The next morning, the police moved to other places, to clash with Charedis and Arabs in Jerusalem, whose neighborhoods were placed under quarantine. Stones were thrown, tear gas deployed. On the radio, ultra-Orthodox politicians, members of the coalition, complained that the police use different gloves for different populations. Police are soft with trendy Tel Avivians and harsh with minority Jerusalemites. Members of the opposition complained the opposite is true: The police are trying to restrict moves of resistance and tame public anger. They had proof. On the morning of July 13, protesters near Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s house in Jerusalem were dispersed, some by force.

The crowd at Rabin Square was angry. Arabs and Charedis were angry. Black-Shirt protesters against Netanyahu are always angry. Anger is one thing you can find in Israel in abundance these days. Anger in all groups. Anger whose main target is Israel’s government. 

This is a majority government that enjoys the support of more than 70 members of Knesset; a unity government born after more than a year of labor; an emergency government formed to address a crisis. It is a government that has all the means to succeed — and still is failing miserably. When it comes to controlling the virus and handling the economic crisis, it let Israel descend into something resembling chaos.

Israel started dealing with the pandemic early and well; then it became cocky because of the favorable statistics, and became frustrated because of the heavy price paid; then it irresponsibly removed the restrictions on public gatherings; it was late to respond to the first signs of a second coming of the virus; it now is trying to regain its footing amid a crisis much worse than the first.

One in five Israelis is out of work and our leaders toy with the option of another election.

The third week of May was probably the inception of this reversal of fortune. It was a week in which bad luck met sloppiness of mind. Bad-luck exhibit No. 1 was the weather. Temperatures in Israel often get high in the transition period between winter and summer. This year, they were especially high. Bad-luck exhibit No. 2 was that same week, schools were slated to reopen after the long first round of virus hiatus. Students were expected to wear masks at all times but with temperatures rising above 100 degrees Fahrenheit, this was an impractical order. So the order to wear masks was canceled. Newly installed Minister of Health Yuli Edelstein decided to give students a pass for a few days. Schools immediately became a main driver of COVID-19 mass infection.

This probably is one of the worst years of Edelstein’s illustrious political career. Six months ago, he was the Speaker of the Knesset, respected by friend and foe for his mild manner and moderate approach. He was considered a likely candidate to become Israel’s next president, or maybe even a compromise Likud candidate for prime minister. Then he got entangled in the never-ending maneuvers to save Netanyahu’s seat as the prime minister. Bullied by a court order, he quit his post as Speaker. This made him persona non grata to the leaders of Blue and White, who banned him from returning to his seat. So he was appointed health minister, a job other politicians wanted much more than he did and seemed much better suited for.

Now, he’s stuck. The bearer of bad news, Edelstein must take responsibility for a crisis that got out of hand and — as a side show — explain why his wife had a birthday party for dozens of guests the same night he announced new restrictions on public gatherings. The information about the party turned into a social media circus, with memes, satire, outrage and everything in between hurled at the minister. 

The story of Edelstein is the sad story of the newly formed government. Just a few months ago, a narrow, transitional government that couldn’t win three rounds of elections functioned with precision under the direction of a highly engaged prime minister. Then the unity government was formed, and instead of one prime minister in charge, we have two who refuse, or are unable, to take charge. The coronavirus-era government is a slow, clumsy, inflated, ruptured government. Precious energy was wasted on creating the complex mechanism that governs its actions. Precious resources were wasted on unnecessary offices and ministries. Precious time still is wasted on turf wars and political maneuvering. The parties keep fighting over things great and small as if they all must prepare for a fourth round of elections.

Last week, they fought tooth and nail over whether to form a committee to investigate the conflict of interest of Supreme Court justices. After seven decades in which this was a non-issue, someone decided this was an urgent mission. The decision was made to embrace Likud; sure enough, it fell into the trap.

Does anyone care about the conflict of interest of Supreme Court justices? With 20% unemployment and a virus that’s spreading like wildfire, the public expects the government to focus on what is important. Alas, what is important for the politicians, who live in their bubbles — a “Seinfeldian” version of a show about nothing — is hardly what’s important for us.

No government can survive a crisis such as this and keep everybody happy. No government can find a quick fix to a virus without a cure, or to rising unemployment because of closures and quarantines. No government can convince  the public that they must keep the rules and follow orders. So, the problem with Israel’s government isn’t that it failed to do any of those — or that it made many mistakes along the way. In a time of uncertainty, when decisions are made on the fly, all governments are bound to make mistakes.

The coronavirus-era government is a slow, clumsy, inflated, ruptured government …. It is a government of whiners and spoiled brats.

The main problem with Israel’s government is that it doesn’t set examples. It doesn’t inspire the public, gaining its trust and leading it through hardships. It has no fireside-chat ability to console and inject confidence. It has no Churchillian fighting mentality. It is a government of whiners and spoiled brats. The prime minister tells everyone to spend their Passover seder alone, then has his son as a guest at his table. The minister of health — the one preceding Edelstein — tells everyone not to join crowds, then gets sick after disobeying his own rules to attend synagogue. The result is a complete lack of trust. Everyone suspects everyone. Everyone complains about everyone else.

One day a police officer handed a ticket to a crying 13-year-old Charedi girl who dared walk around without a mask — imagine the outrage — and at week later the police let 10,000 protesters spend two hours together, no tickets. No one is ready to accept that one or the other was a mistake, or to accept there is no hidden motivation behind police decisions.

If swimming pools are closed and ritual baths are opened, the secular conclude Charedis manipulated the system. If ritual baths are closed but the Tel Aviv beach is crowded, Charedis conclude the secular get a pass they would never get. The list goes on. On July 11, a Knesset committee headed by a member of Likud defied the prime minister and allowed gyms and swimming pools to open. The head of the coalition then wanted to depose the rebellious members of Knesset. But he quickly realized that he didn’t have a majority for such a move. A verse from the book of Judges comes to mind: “In those days there was no king in Israel; everyone did as he pleased.”

Why gyms and pools? Why synagogues and not schools? Why schools and not wedding halls? Why mosques and not rock concerts? Why restaurants but not bars?

It is as if the government must keep everything closed — or keep everything open — or keep a detailed catalog of a particular and convincing reason for each and every item on its list of open or closed institutions. Of course, this is something the government cannot do, because some of the decisions are a compromise born of political or financial pressures — such as a Charedi politician blocking the closing of synagogues; such as a businessman warning that if things don’t go his way, the factory will boot thousands of workers. Or a decision might seem irrational because it is, well, irrational. They are the kinds of mistakes people make when they spend nights and days making hundreds of decisions under pressure and are subjected to the outbursts of a chaotic political system.

In every crisis, heroes are born and villains identified. Think Dr. Anthony Fauci. Just a few months ago, few Americans knew who he was. Today, he is a household name. A hero to many, especially the very cautious. Think Gov. Doug Ducey of Arizona. He surely is the hero of Americans who believe in the religion of individualism. In Arizona, each person must decide for himself or herself whether to go to a church or a rodeo. This makes Ducey a villain in the eyes of those who believe in government action to safeguard the public’s health.

In Israel, everybody recognizes professor Sigal Sadetsky, the head of health services at the Health Ministry. Well, the former head. Sadetsky recently resigned, dissatisfied with how the crisis was being handled. Everybody recognizes Moshe Bar Siman-Tov, nicknamed “Barsi,” the first non-doctor to head the Health Ministry. Well — the former head. Barsi also resigned. These two were the heroes of Israel’s first round of dealing with the coronavirus. They were dominant; they had the ear of the prime minister; they became household names. Then, suddenly, their stars dimmed. Their influence diminished. Their dire warnings seemed outdated. Israel was ready to move on and downgrade its heroes to villains. And it did.

Surely, they had their faults. Barsi was too grim, Sadetsky too controlling. Every crisis has its share of infighting between institutional warlords. In a war, it is a general vying for combat and glory. In a plague, it is doctors and economists vying to sell their view of what is more important: health or finances.

The July 11 demonstrations in Tel Aviv were about the latter. Israelis — many without work, many in debt, many seeing their small businesses drown — broke the rules that guard their health to send a message about their finances. One of them was a senior doctor who tweeted to protesters that they ought to leave their phones at home in order to dodge tracking by the government and risk quarantine. A senior health official was telling people how to get infected and infect others without getting caught. The post by this doctor prompted a harsh response from the minister of health. A proper response. But the response to the response — all over social media — was also harsh: A minister who parties when Israelis suffer is not in a position to tell other Israelis what to do.

This is a blame game with no end in sight. The public is right: The government must set an example. The government is right: A public that doesn’t follow the rules will make it more difficult to overcome the crisis.

What Israelis seem to worry about more than anything else is their financial situation. No, they are not yet hungry or homeless — but they can feel the earth moving beneath them. They see how short the journey from middle class to poverty and despair can be.

But it is not the public that prevents a unity government of 70-something members from passing a new budget; it is the politicians. And budgets are important because what Israelis seem to worry about more than anything else is their financial situation. Those most worried are the owners of small businesses. One has a falafel booth, another an independent bookstore or a club. Even more troubled are those who work as freelancers in industries that came to a halt, such as the guitar player who has no shows to play at; the waiter, whose restaurant is closed; the dressmaker for a theater that no longer puts on plays. Many of these people have little to depend on. Their stories are told by the media. Their grim faces touch the heart. No, they are not yet hungry or homeless — but they can feel the earth moving beneath them. They see how short the journey from middle class to poverty and despair can be.

There is no doubt they need help. But how much and for how long? The government started by giving them small change for a few months. It recently realized more money and more time is needed. So now, it is ready to give assistance for at least a year, until next summer. Finance Ministry officials worry that too much help will serve as incentive for people not to go back to work. Social activists argue these officials were never unemployed, and their stinginess adds injury to the insult of being unemployed.

Of course, what the government wants to give could never meet the expectations of these Israelis. Currently, Israel’s social workers are on strike. Their salaries are low and the workload overwhelming, and getting heavier with every passing month of plague and financial struggle. Can they get raises? What the government intends to do in the coming weeks is cut the salaries of all state workers. When the private sector is hurting, state workers must shoulder some of the burden of necessary cuts to subsidize the assistance to unemployed Israelis and falling businesses. Thus, the prospect of a social worker’s salary raise seems impractical, and the strike continues with no end in sight.

Every crisis has its share of infighting between institutional warlords. In a war, it is a general vying for combat and glory. In a plague, it is doctors and economists vying to sell their view of what is more important: health or finances.

With this strike — as with all other aspects of financial fixes — the issue of trust resurfaces. When the government says, “This is what we can afford,” the needy citizens respond with, “Close some unnecessary ministries, stop wasting money on political pet projects, and then, we might believe that this is really the best you can do for us.” This is where the limit to what a country can do to mitigate a crisis meets the limit of the patience of citizens who think their government is engaged in corruption while they hurt.

To formulate a methodological, orderly response to the financial crisis, a country must have a budget. Israel did not pass a budget for the past two years because of constant electioneering. And now, Netanyahu and Finance Minister Israel Katz insist the best economic course forward is to pass a short-term budget for the rest of 2020, then prepare another one for 2021. The coalition agreement determines that the government will pass a two-year budget at once, and the leader of Blue and White, Benny Gantz, insists on it. Netanyahu says Gantz is playing politics. It makes no economic sense to pass a budget for a year and a half under such uncertain circumstances. Gantz says Netanyahu is playing politics. He wants to prepare a way out for himself from the unity deal by initiating a crisis over next year’s budget.

The probable assumption should be that both of them are right. Netanyahu has the better economic argument; Gantz has the better political argument. In the first half of this week, both seemed insistent and warned that it’s their way or the highway to a fourth election. Imagine that. One in five Israelis are out of work and our leaders toy with the option of another election. On July 12, the Charedi parties joined Gantz and demanded a two-year budget. But it was not at all clear if this is because they want to prevent another election; because they think a two-year budget is the right move; or because this is their way of putting pressure on the prime minister to ease some of the restrictions that target Charedi communities, in which the rate of infections is particularly high.

Yes, Charedi politicians also are back to their habit of politicizing every crisis to their benefit. They began the first round of the pandemic as out-of-touch leaders. They thought the warnings were exaggerated, disrespected government orders, and dragged their community down the path of mass infection. At some point, they realized they were wrong, and the Charedi community became the most obedient community in the country. But then, the country was reopening, and Charedi speakers reignited their automatic complaining about discriminating decisions. You’re familiar with the concept: Why concerts and not synagogues? Why restaurants and not yeshivas? Why Tel Aviv and not Bnei Brak?

Do they have a point? They do. The same point other Israelis have when schools were closed down and Charedi yeshivas kept spreading the virus. When everybody is suspicious; when no one is willing to accept error; when everything is politicized as a tool for or against the government; when the leaders have no shame, the result is disobedience, disbelief, disrespect and disharmony. 

Most of all, set an example, suspend trickery, instill confidence. Make us believe, make us follow the rules, make us as poised and resilient as we can all be.

The result, on top of COVID-19, is an autoimmune disease. Autoimmune-2020. For that disease as well, a vaccine has yet to be found.

To me, this looks like a simple, straightforward mission for a government, for a country as spirited as Israel.

Contain the plague by limiting the exposure of Israelis to the virus. 

Assist those in need to the extent a country can do such a thing without risking its economic future.

Do not waste energy on things other than the crisis, and if you do (because of the belief that a crisis creates opportunities for necessary changes), make sure these are truly essential diversions.

But most of all, set an example, suspend trickery, instill confidence. Make us believe, make us follow the rules, make us as poised and resilient as we can all be.

If not now, when?

Shmuel Rosner is senior political editor.