In the summer of 2006, Ehud Olmert was a newly minted Israeli premier (barely four months into the job) governing with middling approval ratings when Hezbollah killed eight Israeli soldiers and abducted two more in a cross-border raid. The Israeli public demanded—and got—a massive military response. Within days of what would be later named the Second Lebanon War, approval for the war surged to 86% of the adult Israeli population. Olmert's own job approval, which had hovered in the low 40s before hostilities, shot up to 78%, with the defence minister's rating jumping from the mid-20s to 72%. Two weeks in, with Israeli jets pounding Lebanon, that support held firm at 92-95%. The rally-around-the-flag effect was spectacular, textbook, and politically intoxicating.
Then the cracks appeared. The Israeli home front was absorbing 150 Katyusha rockets a day (without the Iron Dome at the time). The ground offensive was poorly planned and costly. When the ceasefire came on 14 August 2006, the Israeli public looked at what had been promised, namely a “once and for all” operation that would bring the demise of Hezbollah, the return of the kidnapped soldiers, and a transformed Middle East, and compared it to what had been delivered.
The verdict was devastating. By late August, 63% of Israelis wanted Olmert to resign. His approval rating had collapsed to 22%. The Winograd Commission, appointed to investigate the war's failures, found "serious failings" and "a serious missed opportunity," accusing Olmert of "serious failure in exercising judgment, responsibility and prudence." Olmert survived for two more years, but as a political dead man walking. He resigned in 2008, and the 2009 elections returned Netanyahu to power. The broader lesson is that in Israel (as in many countries), leaders often get a burst of support during war. Yet, if the result feels inconclusive, that support can vanish even faster than it emerged.
Netanyahu, who spent those years denouncing Olmert's failure from the Likud opposition benches, knows this better than anyone. He has studied the arc. He knows that Israeli publics forgive a great deal, but not leaders who set sky-high expectations and deliver a ceasefire. And yet, with the war in Iran, he may well have made the exact same mistake.

Mr. Security’s comeback
The war, launched jointly with the United States, struck Iran with extraordinary force. Its opening salvo killed Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, a moment Netanyahu described as fulfilling what he had "long aspired to do for 40 years: to strike the terrorist regime decisively." In the war's first days, political allies publicly floated the prospect of early elections. Sources close to Netanyahu acknowledged that the opening success had been read as an opportunity: if elections were called before the tactical euphoria faded, the right-wing bloc behind Netanyahu might seek to cash out on rising support. Likud member and Science Minister Gila Gamliel appeared on local radio in early March to predict elections in "late June or early July."
This was a gamble. Netanyahu believed a decisive victory over Iran could rewrite his legacy, particularly after the catastrophic failure of October 7. This goes deeper than just legacy: Netanyahu understands that his most potent card is to be portrayed as “Mr. Security”. In his view, Mr. Security is the only one in Israel who can make sure the country isn’t swallowed by a tidal wave of enemies surrounding Israel, the only leader capable of going toe to toe with superpowers, pushing back against the US when it demands a path to a Palestinian State, or negotiating with Russia for a modus vivendi in Syria before Bashar al-Assad’s fall, when Moscow held significant sway over the country.

