'People Here Like Ben-Gvir's Tough-guy Approach': Will This Netanyahu Stronghold Near Gaza Go Further Right?

Residents of Sderot are still traumatized by Hamas' infiltration three years ago. The attack is moving many young voters to the far right, but others are finding that Netanyahu's main opponent Gadi Eisenkot pushes just the right buttons for them

July 22nd, 16PM July 22nd, 19PM

Throughout the day, a steady procession of buses pulls up at the former site of the Sderot police station, dropping off visitors. They include a delegation of police cadets, a group of ultra-Orthodox schoolteachers, a busload of Birthright participants and a contingent of Israeli tour guides enrolled in a continuing education course.

In the early morning hours of October 7, 2023, Hamas terrorists infiltrated Sderot and stormed the station, killing 10 police officers and barricading themselves inside. Following an extended 26-hour standoff, the building was eventually retaken by Israeli special forces and bulldozed with the terrorists inside.

At the memorial erected at this site, visitors hear from former colleagues and family members of the victims about the events of that day and pay their respects.

From there they head to another must-stop on any visit to Sderot these days: Givat Kobi – an observation point that overlooks the Gaza Strip, barely a kilometer (0.6 miles) away. On this particular mid-summer day, all is quiet, but it is often possible, from this vantage point, to see smoke billowing from buildings struck by the Israeli army across the border.

For reasons no town would ever choose, Sderot has in recent years become a required destination on any sight-seeing itinerary of Israel, attracting visitors from at home and abroad.

Founded mainly by immigrants from North Africa, this western Negev border town, surrounded by kibbutzim, had been under Hamas rocket attack off and on for more than 20 years. The October 7 attack was the first time, however, that it had ever been infiltrated by terrorists. Entering Sderot in white pickup trucks, the attackers gunned down 53 residents that day, including a group of 13 senior citizens waiting at a bus stop for their ride to the Dead Sea, and a young mother and father in a car, shot at close range in front of their two young daughters in the back seat.

"As a Yom Kippur war veteran, this became my second experience, 50 years later, with post-trauma," says Haim Bouganim, a retired film and media teacher of legendary status in this town. His parents, immigrants from Morocco, were among its founders.

Before offering his visitors cold drinks on this sweltering day, Bouganim insists on taking them on a short tour of the neighborhood. He points out where a squad of five terrorists came racing down his street, fatally injuring a young Israeli soldier standing guard, before ending up in his yard where four of them were shot dead.

"The corpses were piled here on this table for an entire night," says Bouganim, pointing to a sukkah-like structure at the front of his house. In case his visitors might question the veracity of his account, Bouganim pulls out his cellphone and shares some of the horrifying photos and videos he shot that day.

Although he is deeply rooted in Sderot, this soft-spoken man describes himself as "a sort of outsider here, especially since the current government took power."

In the last election, held in November 2022, more than 40 percent of voters in Sderot cast their ballots for the ruling Likud, and another 25 percent for Religious Zionism – a party headed by the far-right politicians Bezalel Smotrich and Itamar Ben-Gvir (who are running separately in the upcoming October election).

Sderot, however, was not always a right-wing stronghold. In the 1980s, Amir Peretz, then an up-and-coming Labor politician, served as mayor of this town. He eventually rose to the position of Labor party leader. In the 2022 election, Labor (which recently merged with Meretz to form the Democrats), hardly captured 1 percent of the vote here.

In the immediate aftermath of October 7, as the government faced accusation of abandoning the south to the mercies of Hamas, Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and his Likud party appeared to be bleeding support even in this classic Likud stronghold.

But three years on, based on conversations with locals, the pendulum seems to have swung back somewhat.

Bouganim credits identity politics, which he says has long been a key determinant of voter behavior in this town.

Indeed, support for Likud has traditionally run deep in so-called development towns like Sderot, where many residents of Mizrahi origin trace their political loyalties to grievances against Labor, the party that ran the country when their families first arrived.

"It's not something rational – it's emotional, like rooting for your soccer team," Bouganim observes.

True to his outsider persona, he does not plan to vote for any party in the current coalition. "I hope to see a government of change after this election that will help rehabilitate and heal this nation, and serve its citizens rather than itself," says Bouganim.

A retired police officer, Yossi Farjun and his friends regularly convene after their morning workouts at a local coffee shop to shoot the breeze. His interlocutors introduce Farjun as "chairman of the parliament."

"Only right-wing parties for me," he says when asked how he will vote in the upcoming election. "Isn't it obvious where all this woke-shmoke progress has taken us?"

His single biggest takeaway from October 7, says Farjun, is that Israel has "no partner" for peace.

"We must live by the sword, only the sword," he says, raising his voice. "No more peace agreements and no more peace songs, like the ones our nursery school teachers used to sing us. It's all bullshit, and it's high time we stopped deluding ourselves."

His friend Dani Lazmi, another retired police officer, is planning to vote Likud. "I've always voted Likud because it was the one party that saw us, supported us and helped us here, and I don't see any other party doing that."

Neither does he see any politician capable of replacing Netanyahu.

"If Bibi can wrap Trump around his pinky, who am I to stand in his way?" he asks.

Spotted among the lunchtime crowd at Itzik Falafel King, a popular fast-food joint downtown, Victor Cohen is finishing off his meal with a cigarette. For him, all of Israel's problems, including the debacle of October 7, can be traced to the left.

"Once all the left-wing parties are wiped out, Israel will be the strongest country on earth," he declares. "The leftists have sold out this country."

But the right wing was in power on October 7 – not the left.

"So what? The left still runs the government. It still tells Bibi when to sleep and when to get up."

The left tells him when to sleep and when to get up?

"Of course. Who's [former Shin Bet chief] Ronen Bar? And who's [former army chief of staff] Hertzi Halevi? They're all leftists. Because of them, thousands died here in the south."

October 7 proved why a right-wing government is so important. The wet dream of the left, of a new Middle East where we could count on our neighbors, collapsed that day.

Yosi Ohayon, an executive at a large supermarket chain, is more restrained in his rhetoric but no less convinced about what Israel needs.

"October 7 proved why a right-wing government is so important," he says in conversation across from the police station memorial. "The wet dream of the left, of a new Middle East where we could count on our neighbors, collapsed that day, and the only government capable of dealing with those on the other side of the fence is a right-wing government."

But we have a right-wing government, and Hamas is still in power.

"True, true, true. Not only that, but I believe that within a decade, Gaza will be rehabilitated, and we'll be living once again under rocket fire. Still, the fact that you and I can be standing outside right now, and the only sound we hear is birds chirping, that's thanks to what this government has done."

Based on anecdotal evidence, Ohayon says that Sderot voters have moved further to the right since October 7, and Ben-Gvir's anti-Arab Otzma Yehudit ("Jewish Power") party is most likely to capitalize on this radicalization.

"I predict that Likud will continue to be the biggest party in Sderot, but I also see Ben-Gvir really taking off because people here like his tough-guy approach."

During Ben-Gvir's nearly four-year tenure as national security minister in charge of the police, crime in Israel has soared to unprecedented levels.

But to hear it from Ohayon, that is not his fault. "It's the attorney general, who refuses to give him the tools he needs to really crack down," he says." She needs to let him do the job, and we need to stop acting humanely to people who are inhumane. I'm saying this as someone who is not a Ben-Gvir supporter, but rather on the 'soft right.'"

Ohayon has yet to decide which party will receive his vote come October but says that the newly launched right-leaning Yesodot Yisrael ("Foundations of Israel") party could be an option. "It represents a high-quality right that I like," he says.

Sderot's transformation over the past 30 years from a small working-class town, known for its hopping music scene, into a city in its own right – its population today is roughly 37,000 – has been accompanied by major demographic shifts. Until the 1990s, North African immigrants and their descendants who embraced Jewish tradition but were not rigidly Orthodox accounted for the overwhelming majority of the population.

Since then, two distinct, relatively large groups have established themselves here: immigrants from the former Soviet republics and young Orthodox Israelis, primarily drawn by Sderot's prominent hesder yeshiva (an institution that combines full-time Torah study with military service) – the largest of its kind in the country.

Sderot is also home to Israel's largest Garin Torani – a Religious Zionist movement that encourages organized groups of young Orthodox families – typically very right wing in their politics – to set-up base in cities and towns around the country, where, with the help of substantial government funding, they run programs aimed at "strengthening Jewish identity."

These young Orthodox families have become a prominent presence in Sderot and wield considerable influence in City Hall. Mayor Alon Davidi, who has filled this position since 2013, arrived in the city 30 years ago as part of the Garin Torani and has since served as head of the local yeshiva. By now, the original Mizrahi founders of Sderot and their descendants barely account for 40 percent of the total population, according to Dr. Moti Gigi, a sociologist at the Sapir Academic College in Sderot.

"It is hard to believe how much Sderot has changed," says Gigi, who was born and raised here, but like many of his peers, eventually left. "Who could imagine today that this was once one of the most non-religious development towns in Israel? That people would come from Be'er Sheva, the big city, to go to pubs and discos here in Sderot on Friday nights?"

Gigi, who has conducted extensive research on Sderot and still has deep family ties to the city, believes, nonetheless, that a political shift may be under way.

"I'm beginning to see a move among traditional right-wing voters toward Gadi Eisenkot," he says, referring to the former IDF chief of staff whose Yashar party, according to recent polls, is neck and neck with Likud.

Eisenkot was born in Tiberias to immigrants from Morocco and raised in Eilat, Israel's southernmost city. His son was killed in the recent Gaza war.

"He's from the geographic periphery, he's Mizrahi and he lost a child in combat," says Gigi. "Those are things that mean a lot to people here. I personally have had conversations with at least five-to-six people in Sderot, all of whom consider themselves right wing, who told me they're planning to vote for Eisenkot."

Ohad Peretz, the son of the former mayor and Labor party leader, has been an admirer of Eisenkot's since the former army chief stood his ground against Netanyahu in a high-profile case 10 years ago. In defiance of the prime minister, Eisenkot at the time insisted on prosecuting Elor Azaria, a soldier who violated the army's ethical code by shooting an incapacitated Palestinian assailant.

"He was not afraid to take a stand, and I want to hope that says something about him," says Peretz over coffee at the local arthouse theater, where staff and patrons greet him warmly. He predicts that Likud will not do as well in the upcoming election in Sderot as it did in the previous round.

"I'm not talking about massive numbers leaving Likud – at most, maybe 20 percent of its voters," says the pony-tailed musician who runs a program that helps promote local artists. "I think the older voters will move toward Eisenkot, and sadly, the younger ones will move toward Ben-Gvir. The bad news is that you have more younger voters in this town than older voters."

Long before the Garin Torani drew an estimated 1,000 Orthodox families to Sderot, a much smaller band of idealists, guided by a very different worldview, had already set down roots here.

Eric Yellin, a veteran peace activist, has been living in Sderot's "urban kibbutz" since its founding nearly 40 years ago. American-born, this software specialist grew up on Ein Dor, a leftist Hashomer Hatzair kibbutz in northern Israel. The urban kibbutz, where he and his wife raised their three sons, is currently home to about 20 families.

Although he was profoundly shaken up by the events of October 7 and had many friends on surrounding kibbutzim who were killed or taken hostage, Yellin says his worldview has not changed.

"One horrific event does not justify another," he says in conversation at his cottage, located on a shady, tree-lined street. "The fact that Israel has shut down Gaza for years and caused it to become a huge prison does not justify what Hamas and Islamic Jihad, and even civilians from Gaza, did that day.

"But Israel's vengeful response did not solve anything either. Momentarily, we may feel a bit more secure here, but in the long run, the only solution is a peace agreement."

In the past, Yellin says, he usually voted for Meretz, the most left-leaning of the Zionist parties, and he plans to vote for the Democrats, led by Yair Golan, in October. "I'm not so enthusiastic about the head of the party being a general, but they have some really great people running on the list," he says.

Yellin is concerned that most residents of Sderot, unlike him, have been radicalized by the events of October 7. "I strongly doubt that people who voted Likud here last time have changed their minds – if anything, they may end up voting for Ben-Gvir," he says. "I'll be really happy, though, to find out that I'm wrong."

Naama Yogev, a first-year film student at Sapir, is also something of an outlier. In previous elections, this 24-year-old cast her vote for the centrist Yesh Atid party, which recently folded into the new Beyahad ("Together") list led by Naftali Bennett. Since beginning her studies, however, she says she has moved more to the left.

"Most of my classmates have very different political views, and it seems to me that most of them are voting out of hate rather than hope," she says during a break from studying for exams. "I would rather vote out of a sense of hope that things could change here because it makes me really upset that so many young Israelis I know have lost hope and are thinking of leaving the country."

Tav Abuhatzira, a third-year law student, is the executive director of Sapir's student union. On the morning of October 7, he recounts, soon after Hamas terrorists infiltrated this city, his father grabbed his gun, bade farewell to the family, and headed to the streets.

"I know that he had two close calls, but beyond that, he never spoke about what happened that day," says Abuhatzira. "He's still in a state of trauma."

Aspiring to a career in the Israeli foreign service, this 25-year-old is understandably reluctant to talk politics, aside from saying that he is still very angry about what happened nearly three years ago. "Have I let it affect me? No, I haven't. Instead, I've devoted myself to trying to heal this country and get this college, which was closed down for a year, back on its feet."

His forecast for the upcoming election is that the vote in Sderot will be distributed among many more parties than the usual "default options" because "everyone has processed the experience of October 7 differently."

"Mark my word," he promises, "the outcome here will be very interesting."

Almost the entire city of Sderot was evacuated within days of October 7, and residents did not begin returning until nearly half a year later. Danielle Greenberg-Mordechai, who was working at the municipality at the time, was among a tiny minority that stayed put. While her husband and baby boy were relocated to a community much further away from the border, she spent her nights sleeping in the municipal command center.

"I felt strongly that this was my calling," says 35-year-old Greenberg-Mordechai.

Today, she serves as director of the newly opened Rimon Music School campus in Sderot, which serves students from around southern Israel.

While she insists that Sderot is safer today than many other places in Israel, Greenberg-Mordechai notes that her husband still refuses to leave the house unarmed when he takes their child to daycare. "That is not a normal situation," she says.

When asked what kind of government she would like to see formed after the upcoming election, this proud Sderot resident responds: "We've lost so much here. Friends and family members who used to be part of our childhood landscape. Soldiers who died trying to protect us. I want the next government to prove that all these losses were not in vain."