It's hard to choose a single killer argument against banning Sami Abu Shehadeh from running for the Knesset. There are simply too many.
Abu Shehadeh is the leader of Balad, a party representing largely Palestinian citizens of Israel running with two other Arab parties on a joint slate. On Wednesday, Israel's Central Elections Committee voted to ban all the Arab parties from the October 27 election in a ritualistic, politically driven move that will almost certainly be rejected by the Supreme Court.
The process itself is troubled; the election committee is one of the most partisan in the world, heavily dominated by party representatives, with a majority for parties in Benjamin Netanyahu's governing coalition. As such, its decisions represent an extension of the ideological leanings of the coalition.
This process yet again thrusts the Supreme Court into the role of backstop against politicians, earning wrath from populists who reject any such checks and balances.
Nevertheless, this is how it works in Israel. This time, the Jewish supremacist party Otzma Yehudit also requested a ban against Abu Shehadeh and another Joint List lawmaker, accusing him of supporting Hamas' October 7 attack. Israel's attorney general issued a statement indicating that there could in fact be a legal basis for such a ban.
The towering reasons why this ban should be rejected fall into either legal or normative categories. "Normative" just means that socially and symbolically, and in light of common sense, barring Abu Shehadeh stinks.
The weak legal case has been argued here in Haaretz. But it's worth noting why there is a legal claim at all.
The historical basis for banning political parties or candidates in Israel is fascinating as a reflection on the limits of democratic participation, and on Zionism in particular. In 1984, Meir Kahane was elected to the Knesset despite being an unabashed, violent Jewish supremacist who had been repeatedly arrested in Israel, not to mention his convictions in the United States on charges of stockpiling explosives.
Israeli political leaders of the right and left resented him, and the Central Elections Committee tried to bar his party, but the Supreme Court ruled that the panel lacked a legal basis to uphold the ban. In response, in 1985, the Knesset amended its Basic Law on the Knesset, adding the famous Clause 7a.
This item codified the language of a "Jewish and democratic state" into Israeli law. It limited the right of democratic participation by excluding those who seek to sabotage Israel as a Jewish and democratic state, incite to racism or support armed struggle against Israel, including terror groups.
Ironically, in the stormy 1985 Knesset debate over the amendment, Kahane made the following warning in his speech, available in the minutes: "Jews, know that if this [bill passes], we will have to ban all Zionist slates. We will have to ban Zionism ... because in fact Zionism is in its essence antidemocratic."
That's a sweeping and somewhat chilling indictment, given what Zionism has since come to represent. But ultimately, it was Kahane in 1988, and his subsequent offshoots or disciples, who have been banned since the law was passed, most recently in 2019. Adam Shinar, a professor of constitutional law at Israel's Reichman University, has argued that this situation exposes the impotency of Clause 7a in general; it can hardly be said to have stopped the metastasizing growth of Jewish supremacy in Israel.
Otherwise, the court has swatted down numerous other decisions by the Central Elections Committee to reject a party or candidate, creating a body of precedents over decades.
Why might Abu Shehadeh's case be different? Ahead of the committee's hearings, Attorney General Gali Baharav-Miara issued an opinion that included a review of the court's cautious interpretation of what counts as support for armed struggle: unambiguous expressions of support, suspicion that theoretical support will be translated into actions to advance armed struggle as the cause of that party or candidate, and a critical mass of such expressions indicating a genuine, longtime commitment to support armed struggle against Israel.
The main accusation against Abu Shehadeh, she noted, focuses on a single article he published the day after Hamas' October 7 attacks – other quotes were included but treated as marginal. Israeli commentators have focused on his description of the event as one of "historic" importance, his assertion that conditions of closure, occupation and devastation of Gaza led inevitably to an "explosion," and his remark that it was surprising the Palestinians hadn't exploded sooner.
He expressed admiration for the fact that Gaza avoided penetration by Israeli intelligence and security, and advised other Arab allies that they too could avoid such infiltration. And I certainly chafed when he used the word "resistance" instead of "Hamas."
The attorney general wrote that there could be a basis for banning him considering the operative advice he seems to provide, and the overall aura of support for the attack, given the timing of the article. What he was actually advocating for Arab allies to do isn't clear from the text; the article's main conclusion is that the war should stop quickly via diplomacy. In an unusual move, the Supreme Court justice who now heads the Central Elections Committee, Noam Sohlberg – among the more conservative justices – also supported the ban.
But where is the longtime pattern of support for armed struggle? Where is the evidence that it's central to his political program?
Abu Shehadeh has been involved in public life since 2010, when he became a member of the Tel Aviv-Jaffa city council; he entered the Knesset in 2019 and has never used these positions to support an armed struggle. Three weeks after Hamas' attack, Abu Shehadeh published another article, this time on the Local Call website, clearly opposing the onslaught. My translation:
"Without a doubt, on October 7, 2023, the most severe acts and crimes were committed by Hamas against the civilian population of Israel. Any attack on the lives of innocents, their body or their soul cannot be acceptable in any human society. The legitimate right of the Palestinian nation to struggle against occupation, closure and an apartheid regime cannot justify any harm to the civilian population."
Shinar, the constitutional law scholar, told me that if the court upholds the ban, this would represent "a deviation from long-standing precedents that have withstood 40 years [of related cases]." That's the court's prerogative, but he noted that "the Supreme Court is under a great deal of pressure and criticism, and it's perceived as being insufficiently patriotic, and left-wing – though that's completely unjustified."
All citizens should be alarmed by the possibility that a court will uphold a political ban under the influence of needing to prove its patriotic credentials. But if Abu Shehadeh is banned, it's the normative message that is most infuriating – and dangerous.
The attorney general and right-wing political correspondent and polemicist Amit Segal were indignant that Abu Shehadeh's condemnation of the October 7 attacks focused on civilians, as if endorsing attacks on soldiers by omission.
By that logic, Israel and the Palestinians can be locked in a deadly military occupation and conflict, but only Israel is allowed to fight. If you want to condemn attacks on Israeli soldiers, why not condemn Israeli attacks on Palestinian militants too? Because that would be weird – it's a conflict. How do you challenge such absurd logic and also avoid justifying attacks on soldiers? The only answer is to convince Israelis to end the occupation, and all sides to end the wars.
Honestly, I assume it's a lost cause. But there are more head-shaking hypocrisies here.
As I wrote this article, the Central Elections Committee announced its decision to reject requests to ban Otzma Yehudit itself, a party that incites regularly, constantly, at the heart of its political program against all Arabs. It implements the most violent possible policies against Palestinians and advocates for worse. But that's cool?
While we're at it, there's no solid evidence backing the idea that Abu Shehadeh provided or planned any material support for an enemy terror group. But I know someone else who did.
For years, Netanyahu funneled wads of cash to Hamas, arguing that the group was an asset. Systematically, over the course of years, this support literally helped build the material infrastructure needed to carry out October 7, such as the tunnel network. I'm asking for real: Does that count?
But it's the moral hypocrisy I find most unbearable. Abu Shehadeh's written response to the Central Elections Committee stated yet again that he is "deeply committed to the universal principles of human rights," he completely opposes "any use of violence as a means of politics," and he opposes "attacks on the life of any citizen or any person, no matter what ethnic identity, nationality or religion."
In a Zoom appearance at the election committee hearing Wednesday, Abu Shehadeh said of the piece: "I shouldn't have written the article, certainly not on October 7. I understand today that the article as it was formulated raises difficult questions."
In interviews Thursday, he repeatedly acknowledged the piece's poor judgment. In other words, he regretted what he conveyed and unambiguously took responsibility.
Earlier this week, on Yom Kippur at the end of a long day of fasting, I read the prayers of the Ne'ila prayer service, including the long list of sins for which we must atone. As I read, I wondered what Israel's leaders were thinking at that moment, the third Yom Kippur since October 7.
Did they ever take responsibility, acknowledge mistakes, face the damage they did to the country, let alone confront the dead civilians and children of Gaza? For three years, day after day, we've heard nothing but disgraceful, rhetorical acrobatics of evasion.
Israel shouldn't ban Abu Shehadeh – it should learn from him.
