The Sledgehammer at the Crossroads: What Kind of Israel Does the Diaspora Need?
There are moments when an image says more than a thousand headlines.
This week, I found myself staring at one of those images: a sitting member of Israel’s parliament and Chair of the Education Parliamentary Committee, MK Zvi Sukkot, swinging a sledgehammer at a Palestinian terrorist memorial in the West Bank village of Madama, while under military escort.
I found the image deeply disturbing.
For some, it was a defiant act of deterrence against the glorification of terror. But for me, and for many Jews in Israel and across the Diaspora, it represented something much more unsettling. It raised a question I have been asking myself increasingly: What kind of Israel are we becoming — and what kind of Israel do those of us in the Diaspora need?
As Israel heads towards a high-stakes general election on October 27, 2026, the incident in Madama feels less like an isolated stunt than a symptom of a much deeper crisis. This election is not simply about changing political faces. It is about the direction in which Israel is heading, and about the values we expect the Jewish state to embody.
From Trauma to Polarisation
As Hatikvah President Nirit Eylon reflected in her lead article for the Hatikvah Australia Newsletter (14/08/2026), we continue to live in the long, heavy shadow of October 7, the ongoing war and the heartbreaking reality of the hostages.
For Jews everywhere, the pain is profound. For many of us in the Diaspora, Israel's trauma has become our trauma too. We have watched, worried, protested, argued, defended and grieved — often while trying to explain to our non-Jewish friends and communities why Israel matters so deeply to us.
And yet, something has changed.
The Israeli tradition of 'no-one left behind', has become entangled in political division, territorial ambitions and the struggle for political survival and nothing to do with the consideration of the greater good. The anguish of hostage families has been compounded by the sense that their plight has too often become another battlefield in Israel's increasingly polarised politics.
The consequences reach far beyond Israel's borders.
Since October 7, Jewish communities around the world have experienced an extraordinary rise in antisemitism, hostility towards Israel and, increasingly, a painful blurring of the distinction between opposition to Israeli government policy and hostility towards Jews and Zionism.
Our lives have been upended and reconfigured in ways few of us could have imagined.
When Lawmakers Become Vigilantes
The events in Madama bring another disturbing dimension into focus: the erosion of institutional guardrails.
According to the Israel Defence Forces, Sukkot and his aides used an authorised legislative tour to divert soldiers from their operational duties and carry out an unauthorised demolition. Foreign Minister Gideon Sa'ar rebuked the action, making the fundamental point that politicians are not sovereign in the West Bank.
That should not be a controversial proposition.
Whatever one's views about Palestinian memorials, terrorism or security, a democracy cannot function when elected officials decide that their political convictions give them the right to circumvent the law.
When lawmakers begin acting as judge, jury and demolition crew, something fundamental has gone wrong.
Israel has every right, indeed, an obligation, to protect its citizens. But security cannot mean abandoning the institutions and principles that distinguish a democracy from the forces that seek to destroy it.
What Does This Mean for Us?
This is where the issue becomes deeply personal for me.
Like many former Israelis and Diaspora Jews, my relationship with Israel is not simply political. It is emotional, familial and bound up with identity. Israel is part of the story I grew up with and part of the story I want future generations of Jews to inherit.
That is precisely why images like the sledgehammer trouble me so profoundly.
For generations, Zionism represented not only refuge and security, but the possibility of creating a Jewish society grounded in democracy, justice, human dignity and Jewish ethical values.
What happens when the country we love appears to be moving away from those ideals?
We find ourselves caught in a values gap.
We can believe passionately in Israel's right to defend itself and still condemn actions by Israeli politicians who flout the rule of law.
We can understand the trauma that shapes Israeli society and still insist that trauma cannot become a permanent justification for abandoning democratic norms.
And we can remain committed to Israel while refusing to remain silent when we believe it is going in the wrong direction.
That is not betrayal.
For me, it is an expression of connection.
The Cost to the Diaspora
What happens in Israel does not stay in Israel.
The decisions made by its government affect Jewish communities everywhere. They shape how Israel is perceived, how easily Diaspora Jews can advocate for it, and how we navigate an increasingly hostile environment.
This is the painful paradox.
We need Israel to be strong and secure. But we also need an Israel we can stand beside with confidence.
An Israel whose democratic institutions are respected.
An Israel where the rule of law applies to politicians as well as everyone else.
An Israel that can defend itself without losing sight of human dignity.
An Israel that Diaspora Jews can support without constantly having to explain or excuse the actions of its leaders.
A Turning Point for the Jewish Future
The October 27, 2026 election presents a genuine crossroads.
One possible path is further nationalist and messianic escalation, deeper polarisation, weakening institutions and increasing international isolation.
Another is a return to institutional accountability, judicial stability, greater equality in military service and a renewed commitment to the rule of law.
The choice will belong to Israeli voters.
But the consequences will not belong to Israel alone.
For those of us in the Diaspora, Israel's future is bound up with our own. We need an Israel that is strong enough to protect its people and secure enough to defend itself, but also confident enough in its democratic foundations to uphold the values that made its creation meaningful.
We owe that to the families who fought to bring the hostages home. We owe it to those who sacrificed their lives for Israel. And we owe it to the generations who will inherit the country we leave behind.
Israel's strength has never been found in a sledgehammer, nor in the lawlessness of its loudest voices.
Its strength lies in something harder and more enduring: the ability to defend itself while remaining committed to law, human dignity and moral purpose.
Or Lagoyim: a light unto the nations.
For the children still living under the threat of war, for those whose loved ones never came home, for the families still waiting, and for all of us who care deeply about Israel's future, October 27, 2026 is a crossroads.
And what happens there matters to all of us; so, if you can vote in Israel, VOTE.
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