Israel’s Deep State Is Worse Than America’s
Moshe Cohen-Eliya
For left-wing elites in Jerusalem and Washington, ‘saving democracy’ means rule by a rogue judiciary and intelligence services
Protesters hold signs with photos of Attorney General Gali Baharav-Miara and Israel’s intelligence Director Ronen Bar during a protest against the Israeli government outside the prime minister’s office in Jerusalem on March 23, 2025 / Amir Levy/Getty Image
The Israeli government’s decision to dismiss Shin Bet chief Ronen Bar against the warnings of its attorney general arguably marks the most dangerous inflection point yet in Israel’s long-simmering constitutional crisis. On Sunday the Israeli government unanimously passed a vote of no confidence in Attorney General Gali Baharav-Miara herself, a first step toward dismissing her. The Supreme Court, which last year struck down a constitutional amendment to overhaul the Israeli judicial system, has now intervened to block Bar’s dismissal—a ruling the government says it intends to defy. So the question is no longer whether Israel has a judicial problem. The question is: Who actually governs the country?
Outside observers, particularly in the West, often describe Israel’s legal crisis as a power grab by a radical right-wing government. The truth is the opposite. For years, unelected officials in Israel’s judiciary, security services, and legal bureaucracy have amassed extraordinary powers to override elected decision-makers. Israel has become the only Western constitutional democracy in which judges have veto power over judicial appointments, the attorney general controls the government’s legal voice, and intelligence chiefs act as constitutional guardians. The result is a crisis of legitimacy—and a growing confrontation between the institutions of popular sovereignty and what can only be described as a deep state.
Nowhere is this confrontation more acute than in the relationship between Israel’s judiciary and its security establishment.
The showdown over the Shin Bet is not symbolic—it is existential. It encapsulates the various elements of the elite that are trying to cripple the elected government. Bar headed an agency responsible for internal security that failed miserably on Oct. 7, 2023. The prime minister lost confidence in him long ago, but with Israel at war, Netanyahu refrained from dismissing key security figures like Bar and then-Chief of Staff Lt.-Gen. Herzi Halevi. Following the IDF’s report on its failings on Oct. 7, which came out end of February, Halevi resigned. Bar had no intention of doing so. Not only was the Shin Bet’s report pathetically self-exculpatory, but also Bar preempted it by launching an investigation into the prime minister’s senior aides’ alleged financial ties with Qatar. The maneuver simultaneously deflected criticism of Shin Bet’s Oct. 7 failure and allowed Bar to claim that his dismissal was tainted by a conflict of interest, and thereby get folded into the ongoing campaign against the government.
Enter Attorney General Baharav-Miara.
Israel’s constitutional crisis is not a legal debate. It is a struggle over sovereignty.
The attorney general is both the government’s legal adviser and its chief prosecutor, but in practice, the role functions as a legal viceroy—binding the government to her own interpretations of the law. If the attorney general refuses to defend a government decision before the Supreme Court, the government is not allowed to defend it independently. That’s not theory—that’s practice.
In the Bar case, Baharav-Miara announced she will not defend the government’s decision, yet she allowed the government to seek representation elsewhere; in other cases she denied any representation in the court from the government. Her own potential dismissal will almost certainly be challenged in the Supreme Court, much like with Bar. No other democracy vests this kind of unchecked authority in a single unelected official.
Ironically, even Israel’s own Supreme Court has found some of the attorney general’s decisions indefensible. But it was the court itself—led by Chief Justice Aharon Barak—that conferred these extraordinary powers on the attorney general in the first place. In a landmark 1990s decision, Barak declared that the government must obey the attorney general’s opinions—while citing a report that said the opposite. The net effect is that the attorney general, appointed by the previous left-leaning government, wields more power over Israel’s policy than the current elected ministers.
The Supreme Court has issued a temporary order halting the government’s decision against Bar. Following the injunction, Baharav-Miara instructed Prime Minister Netanyahu that he is not allowed to appoint a new Shin Bet head, interview candidates, or even appoint a temporary chief, pending the Supreme Court’s final ruling.
But the big question is, what happens if the court invalidates the government’s decision and the government refuses to comply—who decides then?
That question leads to what I call the “bodyguard test.” Imagine a scenario in which the attorney general declares Prime Minister Netanyahu “incapacitated” due to his ongoing corruption trial—something the court has suggested it may do. If Netanyahu arrives at his office, and the attorney general has declared him unfit to serve, what will his bodyguard do?
That bodyguard, of course, will escalate the issue up the chain of command—eventually reaching the Shin Bet chief. In that moment, it will not be the law, the constitution, or the court that determines who governs Israel. It will be one unelected security official making a decision based on loyalty.
This is why the battle over the identity of the Shin Bet director matters so profoundly. Security chiefs may ultimately determine the outcome of Israel’s constitutional standoff. That is the logic—and the danger—of a system in which the levers of force answer not to elected officials, but to a caste of unaccountable elites.
Israel’s constitutional dysfunction did not begin overnight. While the country’s Declaration of Independence envisioned the adoption of a formal constitution, David Ben-Gurion rejected the idea, wary of judges overruling elected officials. Instead, Ben-Gurion preferred the British model of parliamentary supremacy. In 1950, the Knesset opted to pass Basic Laws incrementally, intending to compile them into a formal constitution at a later date. That moment never came.
In the 1990s, under the leadership of Chief Justice Barak, the Israeli Supreme Court overturned previous judicial precedents and declared the Basic Laws to be constitutional in nature. With no formal constitution and no effective checks on judicial powers, the court became a hybrid super-legislature.
Barak’s judicial revolution unfolded in three waves. In the 1980s, he diluted the standing rules, allowing NGOs to bring political issues before the court, and ruled that “everything is justiciable.” He also discarded the strict traditional Wednesbury test of reasonableness—used in other common law countries—in favor of a “balancing” test that enabled judges to replace executive decisions with their own preferences under the guise of legal review.
In the 1990s, the court transformed the Basic Law: Human Dignity and Liberty—originally a modest compromise between liberals and conservatives in Israel—into a sweeping quasi-constitution. And in 2024, it reached the apex of its power by annulling a constitutional amendment designed to curtail judicial overreach itself. The Israeli court is now unique in the democratic world in its assertion of the authority to cancel a constitutional amendment, absent any “eternity clauses” in the Israeli Basic Laws.
The real roots of this power imbalance are sociological as much as legal. Since Menachem Begin’s historic electoral victory in 1977, Israel’s traditional Ashkenazi secular elite has gradually lost its political dominance. In response, this liberal, globally connected minority sought to entrench its influence through institutions it continued to control: the courts, academia, the Bank of Israel, and key departments within the civil service.
The security establishment, particularly the Shin Bet (Israel’s equivalent to the FBI) and IDF General Staff, have also become instruments of this unelected power bloc. Time and again, elected governments have been thwarted not by parliamentary opposition, but by hostile bureaucracies and security chiefs willing to challenge their authority on ostensibly legal or professional grounds. The idea that it is vital for democracy for the Shin Bet head to serve as a check on the prime minister echoes the circus America experienced during President Trump’s first term and is just as preposterous. But that is why the elite has embraced Bar—precisely because he runs an agency that operates with vast extra-legal power.
These dynamics were on full display this week, as the Shin Bet director and the attorney general refused to attend a cabinet meeting discussing their own dismissals. Instead, they submitted letters challenging the legitimacy of the elected government. Their open defiance marks a pivotal moment: We are no longer dealing with internal bureaucratic resistance, but with an institutional rebellion.
The judiciary, too, is actively escalating the confrontation. Chief Justice Yitzhak Amit—appointed in open defiance of the current government—has handpicked a judicial panel to rule on the dismissal of Ronen Bar. Research by professor Yair Givati shows how Israeli Supreme Court presidents have long manipulated their power to form judicial panels in order to produce desired rulings. This week’s decision appears no different. The panel includes two out of three justices known for their hyperactivist bent. In Israel, as the saying now goes, the justices shoot the arrow—then draw the target.
Meanwhile, Baharav-Miara has denounced as “politicization” a parliamentary bill that would reform judicial appointments by requiring consensus between the government coalition and the opposition. Yet in virtually every constitutional democracy—including the U.S.—Supreme Court justices are appointed by elected officials.
Israel’s constitutional crisis is not a legal debate. It is a struggle over sovereignty. One side seeks to preserve a system in which unelected elites in robes and uniform dictate national policy. The other side, embodied by the current government, is trying to restore democratic accountability.
The judiciary, emboldened by decades of activist jurisprudence, is now openly resisting any attempt to reform its power. Meanwhile, security agencies, legal advisers, and civil service bureaucrats are acting in lockstep to block the government’s agenda—even at the cost of subverting democratic norms.
This is no longer just Israel’s crisis. As Elon Musk recently warned, the fight against the unelected bureaucratic class—what many now call the deep state—is a global struggle. From Washington to Brussels to Jerusalem, elected governments are being boxed in by entrenched elites who use the language of law, security, and “professionalism” to undermine democratic mandates. What is needed now is not only internal reform, but international solidarity among nations—and citizens—who value representative government over rule by unaccountable institutions. Israel’s struggle is the front line of a wider battle. It is time for those who believe in self-government to form alliances across borders, cultures, and political divides. The alternative is not stability—it is permanent rule by those who were never chosen.
Moshe Cohen-Eliya is a professor of comparative law and the former President of the College of Law and Business in Ramat Gan, Israel.
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