How Israel's prime minister repositions himself through crisis leadership

Benjamin Netanyahu is not new to political reinvention. Yet in 2025, his pivot from a deeply embattled figure to a crisis commander has been striking in both speed and scale. For much of the past year, Netanyahu was locked in a domestic war over judicial reform, facing mass protests that painted him as a threat to Israeli democracy. His approval ratings were plummeting, his ruling coalition strained, and his legacy looked precarious. Then came a national emergency.

With Iranian missile threats escalating into direct confrontation and tensions flaring along multiple borders, Netanyahu switched scripts. Judicial reform is now background noise. Instead, he’s cast himself as Israel’s indispensable wartime leader, calling for unity, restraint, and security. The rhetorical transformation is deliberate—and effective.

His speeches no longer mention internal enemies of the state, only external ones. Opponents are no longer traitors, but necessary allies in an emergency unity cabinet. The same protest movement that once filled Tel Aviv's streets has quieted under the weight of national security imperatives. The public, for now, is listening.

Netanyahu’s pivot follows a well-known playbook in democratic politics: when domestic legitimacy falters, reframe the narrative around external threat. But in Israel’s case, the threats are real, not rhetorical. Iranian drone capabilities have grown, Hezbollah remains entrenched in Lebanon, and the Gaza front has not quieted. For Netanyahu, embracing the mantle of commander-in-chief offers both necessity and opportunity.

The necessity is self-evident: Israel faces a multi-front threat landscape that demands focused, experienced leadership. Even his critics concede he has deep expertise in national security. The opportunity lies in how this crisis obscures, if not erases, domestic vulnerabilities. By refocusing public discourse on existential threats, Netanyahu has bought political time.

Critically, the shift is not just cosmetic. Netanyahu has convened a wartime unity government, bringing in centrist rivals like Benny Gantz. The move allows him to claim broad legitimacy, even as his judicial reform agenda remains technically paused, not canceled. It is a classic Netanyahu maneuver: compromise on symbols, retain control of substance.

The Israeli public is familiar with the language of unity. In times of conflict, there is an almost instinctive pivot away from dissent. Netanyahu has leaned into this, issuing statements that stress solidarity, military preparedness, and the need for calm. This tone contrasts sharply with his combative posture just months ago.

Yet unity is not apolitical. Critics argue that Netanyahu is using the crisis to shield himself from accountability. The judicial overhaul plan, still on the table in legislative terms, is now frozen under the guise of national interest. The timing has raised eyebrows: is the crisis management real or a means to reassert political dominance?

The unity government itself may be more fragile than it appears. While Gantz and others have joined the cabinet, they remain skeptical of Netanyahu’s long-term intentions. If the crisis continues indefinitely, so too will questions about whether the prime minister is prolonging it for political gain. For now, however, public criticism is muted.

Netanyahu’s script flip also serves a diplomatic purpose. His judicial reforms had alienated many in Washington and Europe. The Biden administration was openly critical, and Israel's standing among its democratic allies was slipping. With the new security narrative, Netanyahu can reposition Israel not as a democracy in peril but as a democracy under siege.

That framing matters. It invites Western support, shifts the conversation from democratic backsliding to regional stability, and makes criticism more politically costly. Already, some of the loudest voices in Congress have gone silent on Israel’s internal politics. National security trumps judicial norms in the hierarchy of American foreign policy priorities.

There is also the Iran question. Netanyahu has long viewed Iran’s nuclear program as the defining threat of his tenure. With new missile strikes and possible nuclear advancements, he may be setting the stage for a confrontation that draws in the United States more directly. Whether Washington is willing remains uncertain, but Netanyahu has laid the rhetorical groundwork.

While Netanyahu’s repositioning has muted immediate opposition, it comes with long-term risks. The Israeli economy, already slowed by tech sector volatility and investor uncertainty over judicial reforms, may take another hit amid prolonged conflict. Tourism has dropped. Military reservists, once vocal in their opposition to reforms, are now deployed—but not indefinitely.

There is also the danger of desensitization. Israelis are used to living under threat, but war fatigue is real. If conflict persists without clear gains—such as neutralizing Iranian assets or restoring calm on the northern front—the public mood could sour quickly. Netanyahu would then face not only renewed protests but a credibility crisis.

Moreover, the use of crisis politics as a governing tool erodes long-term institutional trust. If citizens come to believe that emergencies are used as pretexts for political survival, the legitimacy of democratic norms weakens. Netanyahu has walked this line before; this time, the stakes are higher.

Unlike past Netanyahu pivots, this one is playing out against a global backdrop of democratic erosion. Leaders from Hungary to Turkey have used crises to consolidate power and weaken checks and balances. Netanyahu, though elected, risks being seen through a similar lens if his crisis leadership translates into permanent political immunity.

The shift is also happening in a far more digitally transparent era. Protest movements are now networked. Journalists, both foreign and domestic, are tracking inconsistencies in messaging. If Netanyahu overplays his hand, the blowback will be swift and public.

Still, his ability to command the narrative—both inside Israel and abroad—remains formidable. His flip from political pariah to wartime patriarch may not last, but for now, it is working. The question is what comes next: a return to domestic deadlock or a new chapter of extended crisis governance.

Netanyahu’s transformation from embattled reformist to unifying wartime leader reveals a seasoned political tactician at work. But while the pivot is effective in the short term, it also exposes how fragile Israeli democracy can become under prolonged executive maneuvering. External conflict should not erase internal accountability. If crisis becomes the only way to govern, Israel risks normalizing the very instability Netanyahu claims to oppose. This script flip may win him time, but whether it earns him trust—at home or abroad—remains uncertain.