At Jinnah Park, F-9, Islamabad, the mustard-coloured Volkswagen Foxy, was waiting. BāBā-Tāl, my wandering dervish and philosophical companion, had just returned from Tiberias, Israel. He settled into the passenger seat without offering the usual running commentary. His navy-blue robe, decorated with brass bells, rested over his torn blue jeans, while his joggers completed an appearance that never seemed to belong to any particular century.
We drove silently towards The Eyrie, our rooftop sanctuary at F-10 Markaz. The afternoon was giving way to evening. Later, over steaming mugs of tea, with Margalla’s greenery visible through the western window, BāBā-Tāl finally broke his silence.
“Bacha! I have returned from a land where the ancient stones carry memories of prophets, armies, exile, and unfinished promises. I visited Tiberias, sat beside the Sea of Galilee, and encountered a generation whose understanding of security is very different from that of its grandparents.”
He leaned back and began his story.
A conversation beside the Sea of Galilee
“I visited Café Cap, overlooking the promenade of Tiberias. The late-afternoon sun was casting a molten-gold sheet across the Sea of Galilee, turning its waters into a shimmering mirror reflecting the basalt hills of the Golan.
“I noticed a young university student sitting at a corner table. I shall call her Avigail. Her character represents a composite literary portrait, not a documented interview or a claim that a real conversation took place.
“She had a glass of hot café hafuch between her hands. Her olive complexion caught the lakeside glow, and her hazel-brown eyes occasionally scanned the passing crowd. Her chestnut hair was loosely pinned up, with a few curls escaping. An oversized linen shirt and delicate silver jewellery gave her the relaxed appearance of a student taking a brief break from examinations.
“I approached her table. The brass bells on my navy-blue robe announced my arrival before I could introduce myself.
“She looked up, smiled at the unusual visitor, and gestured towards the empty chair.
‘Yalla, sit,’ she said. ‘I am Avigail, a university student here.’
“I accepted her invitation. The conversation began with ordinary pleasantries but gradually moved towards the anxieties dominating Israeli public life.
“‘You ask about the future,’ she said. ‘My friends and I don’t look at the world the way our parents did. They remember a time of peace talks. For us, there are sirens, borders, and classmates we’ve had to bury. We are no longer arguing only about left or right. We want to know who will actually stand behind us when we put on a uniform.’
“She glanced at her phone, where a political video was paused.
“‘Everyone on campus is talking about change. But we are also terrified of being priced out of our own lives and tired of feeling that the weight of this country falls only on the shoulders of the young. We want hope, yes. But more than hope, we want strength that keeps us safe tomorrow.’
“I listened. Her words were not a political manifesto. They were the anxieties of a young woman who wanted to study, work, live, and grow old without expecting the next siren.
“But, Bacha, I wondered whether another young student somewhere across the same troubled landscape, perhaps in Gaza or the West Bank, was asking precisely the same questions.
“That question brought me to Gadi Eisenkot.”
A soldier from the periphery
In the high-stakes theatre of Middle Eastern politics, where military pedigree often converts into political capital, Gadi Eisenkot has emerged as a formidable challenger to Benjamin Netanyahu’s long political dominance.
The former Chief of Staff of the Israel Defence Forces (IDF), now leader of the Yashar party, is neither a polished ideologue nor a conventional career politician. He is a disciplined military professional attempting to translate decades of command experience into national political authority at a moment of profound Israeli exhaustion and internal division.
Calling him a hustler is not intended as an insult. It describes a resourceful, persistent political operator who has repeatedly adapted to changing circumstances without abandoning his professional identity.
Born on May 19, 1960, in Tiberias to Meir and Esther Eisenkot, a family of Moroccan Jewish origin, he grew up in Eilat, away from Israel’s traditional political cent
He enlisted in the IDF in 1978 and began his military career in the Golani Brigade. Over 41 years of service, he occupied a succession of important command and operational positions.
He commanded the Golani Brigade, served as military secretary to senior political leadership, headed the Operations Directorate, commanded Northern Command, and eventually became the IDF’s 21st Chief of Staff on February 16, 2015. He completed his tenure in January 2019.
His career was shaped by Israel’s confrontations with Hezbollah, Hamas, and other regional adversaries. His military doctrine emphasised intelligence, deterrence, operational preparedness, and the capacity to respond forcefully to security threats.
He was also associated with the controversial Dahiya Doctrine, involving disproportionate retaliation against infrastructure used by hostile armed organisations. Its implications for civilian populations remain an important part of the debate about Israeli military conduct.
Eisenkot’s reputation was built upon institutional discipline rather than political theatrics. In 2016, during the controversy surrounding Sergeant Elor Azaria’s shooting of a wounded Palestinian attacker in Hebron, Eisenkot defended the principle that soldiers must remain accountable to military law, resisting political pressure to excuse the conduct.
That episode revealed something important about his understanding of military command: an army must remain an institution governed by rules, not an instrument of political popularity.
The personal price of war
Eisenkot’s personal life became inseparable from Israel’s war following the Hamas-led attacks of October 7, 2023.
His son, Staff Sergeant Gal Meir Eisenkot, was killed in Gaza in December 2023. His nephew, Sergeant Maor Cohen Eisenkot, was also killed in the same theatre of war. Another nephew was among the family members lost during the conflict.
These were not distant statistics for a military commander or politician. They were devastating family losses.
Eisenkot joined Benny Gantz’s National Unity alliance and entered the emergency wartime cabinet as a minister without portfolio following the October 7 attacks.
However, his differences with Netanyahu gradually became more pronounced.
In June 2024, he left the wartime government, arguing that the leadership lacked a credible strategy for the war’s conclusion, the release of hostages and Gaza’s future.
His criticism was not that Israel should abandon its security concerns. Rather, he questioned the wisdom of continuing a military campaign without a clearly defined political endgame.
In 2025, he broke politically with Gantz and established Yashar, meaning straight or Upright. The party presented itself as a centrist, security-conscious alternative emphasising national unity, institutional accountability, universal national service, and the restoration of public confidence.
His political appeal rests partly upon a contrast with Netanyahu: a former commander who promises professional discipline, accountability, and a less personalised approach to national leadership.
Yet Eisenkot should not be mistaken for a political dove. His security outlook remains hawkish.
The hustler enters the political arena
Israel’s October 27, 2026 election has brought Eisenkot’s ambition to a decisive moment.
His Yashar party emerged as a major political force, securing 21 seats in the 120-member Knesset. Netanyahu’s Likud secured 27, but the incumbent’s wider political bloc failed to establish an outright parliamentary majority.
During consultations with President Isaac Herzog, 67 lawmakers recommended Eisenkot as the candidate to receive the mandate to form the next government, compared with 46 for Netanyahu.
Seven lawmakers did not recommend either candidate.
The figures represent a significant political opening for Eisenkot, but they do not automatically make him prime minister. Recommendations to the president are not equivalent to guaranteed coalition votes.
As of November 7, 2026, Herzog’s decision was still pending.
Eisenkot must now navigate a complicated parliamentary landscape involving secular centrists, religious factions, Arab political parties, and other groups with conflicting ideological priorities.
His emphasis on universal military or national service places him at odds with ultra-Orthodox parties that have traditionally resisted compulsory military service for their communities.
The recommendations of Arab-led parliamentary factions have strengthened his numerical position, but their participation in an actual governing coalition remains a separate question. Eisenkot’s own reluctance to enter a formal coalition partnership with Arab parties complicates the arithmetic further.
A general can issue orders within a chain of command. A prime minister must negotiate with people who may refuse to follow his lead.
That is the difference between military command and civilian leadership.
A different Netanyahu, or a different Israel?
The central question is not simply whether Eisenkot can replace Netanyahu. It is whether he can change the policies that have defined Israel’s relationship with its neighbours, particularly the Palestinians.
Here, the differences between the two men are less dramatic than their political rivalry might suggest.
Eisenkot has criticised Netanyahu’s handling of the war, the absence of a credible endgame, the failure to secure the hostages and the political influence of far-right coalition partners.
He has also condemned extremist settler violence and opposed certain settlement expansion initiatives.
However, his position in Palestinian statehood is restrictive. He has rejected the two-state formula, arguing that the principle of two states for two people is mistaken after October 7. He insists that Israel must retain overriding security responsibility between the Jordan River and the Mediterranean Sea.
He has also advocated dismantling Hamas’s military and governing capabilities and has supported a forceful military response to Iranian influence.
These positions indicate that an Eisenkot administration might change the management, tone, and international presentation of Israeli policy without fundamentally changing its strategic assumptions.
There may be greater institutional discipline, less dependence on extremist coalition partners, more attention to military professionalism, and a stronger effort to restore Israel’s international standing.
But what would that mean for Palestinians?
Would Israel accept a genuinely sovereign Palestinian political future? Would it end settlement expansion? Would it relinquish overriding security control? Would Gaza’s reconstruction be linked to a credible political settlement rather than an indefinite arrangement under Israeli military supervision?
A Palestinian administration operating under Israeli security control is not necessarily Palestinian sovereignty. Limited self-government is not the same as self-determination.
This is where political analysis must move beyond personalities.
The Holy Qur’an provides a moral standard that transcends national, ethnic and religious loyalties. Allah Almighty commands in Surah Al-Ma’idah (5:8):
“Do not let the hatred of a people lead you to injustice. Be just! That is closer to righteousness.”
This is not a selective instruction to be applied only when convenient. It is a universal moral demand.
It does not excuse the October 7 atrocities. It does not diminish the right of Israeli civilians to live without fear. Equally, it does not permit the suffering of Palestinian civilians to be dismissed as an unavoidable political calculation.
The Qur’anic principle requires us to condemn injustice regardless of the identity of its perpetrator.
The teaching of the Holy Prophet Muhammad [Peace and blessings be upon him] goes even further. In Sahih al-Bukhari, Hadith 2444, narrated by Anas ibn Malik, the Prophet said:
“Help your brother, whether he is an oppressor or he is an oppressed one.”
When asked how one could help an oppressor, he explained that it meant preventing him from committing oppression.
This prophetic teaching offers a profound test of political responsibility. True loyalty is not blind endorsement of one’s own side. It includes the courage to restrain wrongdoing, even when committed by one’s own people.
For a political leader, that is a far more demanding test than winning an election.
The human cost behind the flags
The Israeli-Palestinian conflict is frequently presented through military maps, casualty figures, security briefings, and diplomatic communiqués.
But behind every statistic is a human life.
Avigail’s anxiety about tomorrow is real within the fictional portrait through which BāBā-Tāl tells his story. So is the fear of a Palestinian mother who can not guarantee that her children will return home from school.
The two experiences are not identical in political power, circumstances, or scale of suffering. Yet neither should be erased from the moral calculation.
A nation can not build lasting security by treating another person’s existence as a permanent security problem.
Nor can political leaders claim moral superiority merely because they possess more sophisticated weapons or stronger international alliances.
The American civil-rights leader Martin Luther King Jr., in his 1963 Letter from Birmingham Jail, wrote:
“Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.”
That sentence, born out of the struggle against racial injustice in the United States, speaks to a much wider human condition.
It reminds us that injustice does not become acceptable because it occurs beyond our borders, under another flag or in a conflict we consider distant.
It is also a reminder to Pakistan and the wider Muslim world: solidarity with Palestinians must be accompanied by a consistent commitment to justice, human dignity, and the protection of civilians everywhere.
*POETEARS* — Coined by S. T. Hejazi
[Where poetry becomes tears, and tears become poetry.]
A child inherits sirens where the lullabies should be at night,
A mother guards tomorrow underneath a trembling light;
No border can persuade a grieving heart to forget a name,
And every flag grows smaller when the dead are lost from sight.
The quatrain is not a political verdict on one community. It is a lament for human beings trapped beneath the ambitions of those who wield power.
The regional and international calculation
A change of leadership in Israel would carry consequences far beyond its borders.
The United States, European governments, and regional Arab capitals would be watching closely. A more predictable Israeli administration might improve diplomatic relations and create opportunities for regional cooperation.
Eisenkot’s military background could make him a familiar interlocutor for Washington and other security establishments. His emphasis on professional military planning might also help restore confidence among allies disturbed by the prolonged uncertainty surrounding Israel’s war objectives.
However, regional diplomacy can not be reduced to security coordination.
Saudi Arabia and other Arab states have repeatedly linked the prospects of wider normalisation with Israel to meaningful progress on the Palestinian question.
A new Israeli prime minister who retains the same fundamental rejection of Palestinian sovereignty may discover that diplomatic opportunities remain limited.
For Pakistan, which has consistently supported Palestinian self-determination and does not maintain diplomatic relations with Israel, the distinction between leadership change and policy change is equally important.
Islamabad should assess any new Israeli government through its actual conduct towards Gaza, the occupied West Bank, Jerusalem, and the Palestinian people, rather than through the personality or military reputation of its prime minister.
The wider Muslim world must make the same distinction.
A new face in Tel Aviv may change diplomatic language, but it cannot by itself resolve the conflict.
Can a soldier become a statesman?
As our conversation at The Eyrie drew towards its end, BāBā-Tāl looked towards the western window. His tea had almost lost its warmth.
“Bacha,” he whispered, “I have seen military commanders become politicians, and politicians become prisoners of their own promises. Eisenkot may know how to organise an army, command an operation, and challenge a prime minister. But governing a divided nation requires something beyond military discipline.”
He paused.
“Avigail wanted strength that could keep her safe tomorrow. That is understandable. But somewhere across the same troubled landscape, another young woman may be asking for the same thing in a language Avigail may never hear. Her home, her family, and her future matter too.”
He rose, adjusted his navy-blue robe, and moved towards the door. His brass bells gave their familiar chin-chin as he disappeared from view.
I remained at the western window, looking towards the Margalla hills.
Perhaps the real examination of Gadi Eisenkot has only begun.
He may prove more disciplined, more pragmatic, and less politically theatrical than Netanyahu. He may even succeed in assembling a government from an extraordinarily divided parliament.
But, the world should not confuse a change of political leadership with a transformation of national policy.
Israel does not need merely a new commander at the political helm. It needs a credible vision in which security is not built upon the permanent insecurity of other people.
The Palestinians need more than a change of Israeli prime minister. They need dignity, justice, freedom, and the right to determine their own political future.
A new hustler may enter the global arena, but history will judge him not by how successfully he captures power but by what he does with it.
Changing the captain may change the voyage. Changing the destination requires a different vision.
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