Ra'am chairman Mansour Abbas is placing former senior police officer and longtime Yesh Atid politician Yoav Segalovich second on the party's electoral slate in an effort to broaden the legitimacy of partnering with Ra'am and bring the party closer to a future government, while risking turning the unusual alliance into a central campaign weapon against him.
If Abbas were simply looking for another star name for his slate, Segalovich would probably not have been his first choice. He has no political camp of his own, no network of vote contractors, and he is not bringing with him the remnants of a disbanded party. But that is not what Abbas wants from him.
Segalovich is meant to help him solve a problem far more difficult than gaining another Knesset seat: legitimacy.
Segalovich will be No. 2 on the Ra'am slate, the first Jewish candidate ever placed second on its list. He will not join the party itself, will have freedom to vote independently on matters of religion and state, security, and LGBT rights, and will seek to advance civilian service in Arab society.
The arrangement leaves both men enough breathing room and a reasonable degree of political maneuverability.
Abbas can tell his supporters that Ra'am remains Ra'am, while Segalovich can explain to Jewish voters that he has not undergone a political conversion on the road to Nazareth.
Abbas wants to get back into the government
Abbas wants to return to the government. He is already saying so openly, and that calculation matters to him far more than photographs alongside Segalovich. The number of seats Ra'am wins is important, of course, but the real question that will determine its fate will come the day after the election: What will Gadi Eisenkot, Naftali Bennett, and Avigdor Liberman do with those seats?
For another change of government, five or six Ra'am mandates could make the difference between a coalition and a dead end.
That is why Segalovich is there. He is the seal of approval Abbas wants from centrist Zionist voters. A former police major-general, former deputy public security minister, and longtime Yesh Atid member, Segalovich is identified above all with the "Safe Track" program and the fight against crime in Arab society.
In an internal Ra'am poll of 750 Arab citizens, 75% identified him as the Jewish politician most attuned to their needs. There is something almost inevitable about choosing a former police officer for Abbas's boldest political experiment yet. Segalovich is one of the few Jewish politicians Abbas can present to two very different constituencies without immediately driving one of them away.
The point should be made clearly: Ra'am is not suddenly becoming an Israeli consensus party, nor does it need to. Abbas needs something more modest and practical.
He needs enough centrist and moderate liberal right-wing voters to conclude that partnering with him is not political suicide. If Segalovich lowers that price even slightly, he is worth more to Ra'am than another half a Knesset seat.
At an earlier stage in the talks, the possibility was raised of making Segalovich a candidate for national security minister. Abbas ultimately retreated from the greater demand and chose a framework that would be easier to sell: Ra'am is not demanding the ministry for him, but rather a focused role overseeing the fight against crime and violence.
A red line in negotiations
The National Security Ministry could become a red line in coalition negotiations. A project role on crime, by contrast, fits Segalovich's record and addresses one of the most urgent needs of Ra'am voters.
Abbas has already experienced supporting a government from outside and providing it with a parliamentary safety net. This time, he wants a direct hand in one of the most pressing issues in Arab society: personal security.
He already knows the difference between standing beside a coalition and sitting inside it, where the decisions are made.
In June, Ra'am opposed the creation of an Arab joint list that would be merely "technical," without prior agreement on cooperation after the election and without a commitment to an alternative candidate to Benjamin Netanyahu. Less than three months later, Abbas himself is pursuing a technical alliance.
The difference is that this time, his partner is Jewish.
His priorities are fairly clear. Arab unity is not worth much to Abbas if it leaves him in the opposition. Segalovich is worth a great deal if he brings him closer to the room where decisions are made.
Abbas has already been there, and he knows the difference between delivering a good speech in the Knesset plenum and having a hand on the budgetary taps.
On paper, Abbas has plenty to gain. He gets a senior Jewish candidate who speaks openly as a Zionist while also being closely identified with one of the most painful issues facing Arab society: crime.
Against the renewed Hadash-Ta'al-Balad joint list, Abbas will be able to offer a simple and potentially persuasive argument: They will sit in the opposition and shout; we will enter the room where budgets are allocated, police are deployed, and decisions are made.
The other three parties have already agreed to run together without him. The election in Arab society will therefore also be a contest between two competing concepts of leadership.
On one side is unified national representation. On the other is Abbas's gamble on integration and influence from within the government. Last time, he brought an Arab party into the coalition. This time, he is bringing Jewish-Arab partnership into the slate itself before voters have even had their say.
A major step: A Jew in the number 2 slot of an Islamic party
The price is clear. A Jewish Zionist in the No. 2 slot of a slate rooted in the Islamic Movement is not a cosmetic change. Abbas's rivals in Arab society will have little difficulty arguing that, in his pursuit of coalition legitimacy, he is further blurring Ra'am's identity.
Segalovich faces the opposite problem. The more he emphasizes the differences between himself and Ra'am in order to reassure Jewish voters, the more ammunition he will give those who want to ask Abbas what, exactly, remains of the partnership.
Segalovich is also putting his political career on the line. In Yesh Atid, he was a senior member of a major centrist party. In Ra'am, he is entering a political experiment unlike anything Israel has seen before.
Success could make him the figure who connected an Arab public seeking personal security with a Jewish political center looking for an Arab partner it can live with.
Failure would leave him in the most uncomfortable political position of all: too Zionist for some Ra'am voters, and too closely identified with Ra'am for some centrist voters.
The greater danger for both men, however, lies outside the slate. Netanyahu has already received the image he needs for his campaign: a Jewish centrist politician in the No. 2 spot of an Arab party, alongside Ra'am openly declaring that it wants to return to government.
The campaign machine will not need much more. From Likud's perspective, this is a golden opportunity to portray any future government led by Eisenkot, Bennett, and Liberman as dependent on Mansour Abbas.
Segalovich is supposed to blunt that argument. Netanyahu, presumably, will turn him into its ultimate proof.