As Election Day approaches in both the United States and Israel, attention inevitably turns to the choices voters will make at the ballot box. But in both countries 鈥� and democracies around the world 鈥� the health of democracy is shaped long before Election Day, including in classrooms, where young people learn how to encounter disagreement, weigh competing claims and live alongside those whose views and experiences differ from their own.

Ahead of the upcoming Israeli election, that lesson feels especially urgent.

Imagine a classroom in Jerusalem after another week of disturbing headlines. A 91传媒 teacher turns to her students and says, 鈥淭oday, we are not going to discuss violence against Palestinians.鈥� Across town, a Palestinian teacher says, 鈥淭oday, we are not going to talk about violence against Jews.鈥� In another classroom, a teacher steers clear of hostility toward LGBTQ individuals, tensions among religious groups, or classes between protesters and police. Seeking to preserve harmony, they chose silence.

Yet when schools repeatedly avoid difficult conversations, they do more than prevent conflict. They miss one of their most important opportunities for democratic education.

This is where democracy is truly tested. Not at the ballot box on Election Day, but long before, in classrooms where educators decide whether to avoid controversy or help students learn how to engage disagreement with curiosity, respect, and a recognition of one another鈥檚 humanity.

As Israel approaches another election, we will hear a great deal about parties, politicians and who should govern. But we should also be asking a more fundamental question: Are we preparing the next generation to govern themselves?

Elections can replace governments. They cannot, by themselves, teach citizens how to live with disagreement, recognize one another as political equals, or act when democratic norms are violated. That work begins long before Election Day.

Israelis have learned this painfully over years of polarization, mass protest, war and institutional strain. I have participated in protests to defend our shared democratic home, while also working with teachers and communities whose political and religious commitments differ sharply from my own. That combination has changed how I understand democratic resilience. Protest is sometimes essential. But no protest movement, court or parliament can substitute for the slower work of forming citizens.

One lesson is that silence is not neutral. Teachers are understandably wary of political discussion. Almost any response may bring accusations of indoctrination, angry parents or pressure from administrators. But when schools withdraw, young people do not encounter a neutral space. They learn politics from social media, influencers and increasingly segregated information environments, where certainty travels faster than evidence and contempt is rewarded more readily than curiosity.

The alternative is not for teachers to tell students which party to support. Their task is to teach students how to distinguish fact from fabrication, justify a claim, identify whose voice is missing, listen without surrendering judgment and reconsider a position. These are not ornamental “democratic values.” They are practices. Like reading or mathematics, they must be learned through repeated use.

Dialogue, in other words, is necessary, but it is not enough. Democratic education must make room for fierce disagreement about borders, religion, national identity, history and public policy. It need not treat advocacy of violence, collective blame or the denial of another person’s equal worth as simply one more opinion. The challenge is not to eliminate boundaries, but to make them educationally and democratically defensible.

Nor can democratic courage depend on heroic teachers. In the 91传媒 and Democratic Education Labs my colleagues and I lead, teachers bring real dilemmas from their schools into a process of inquiry. They ask what is at stake, how they understand their role, what they fear will happen if they intervene and what their silence might communicate. Then they consider possible responses: challenge a false claim, ask a question, bring another perspective, speak privately with a student or draw a public boundary.

But training teachers is not enough. Teacher-education programs must prepare educators not only to teach their subject, but to recognize when the world their students are living in demands an educational response. If we want young people to understand citizenship as responsibility rather than simply opinion, they need to see that responsibility practiced in the communities around them.

In Jerusalem, Netivot and other communities where we work, we are beginning to connect educators, municipal leaders and residents around local questions they share. The principle is the same one we practice with teachers: democracy asks people not only what they think, but what they are responsible for and what they can do together. Citizens need opportunities to investigate problems, encounter people outside their usual circles and experience public life as something they can help shape.

This is how civic energy becomes democratic practice, and how protest can become a starting point rather than an endpoint.

Israel is not a model for other democracies to copy. But it is a warning, a case from which they can learn. The language may differ in the United States, but the patterns are recognizable: political opponents become enemies, minorities become convenient targets, and citizens retreat into separate realities. By the time contempt becomes the ordinary language of politics, democratic institutions are being asked to carry a burden they cannot bear alone.

The lesson is not to wait for the next democratic crisis to prepare people for it. Schools need to give students repeated practice in examining claims, disagreeing without dehumanizing and acting on their civic responsibilities. Teacher-education programs need to prepare educators to recognize when the reality their students are living in demands an educational response. School leaders need to defend teachers when democratic principles are tested. Families and communities need to create spaces where disagreement does not require withdrawal into separate camps.

Elections decide who governs. But in Israel and democracies around the world, the work between elections determines how we govern ourselves. By the time we enter the voting booth, much of that work has already been done, or neglected.

Michal Muszkat-Barkan, Ph.D. is the Head of the Education and Professional Development Department at Hebrew Union College and a Professor of 91传媒 Education, Parallel Track