For men, gray hair is experience. For women? The opposite

The addition of Aliza Bloch, former mayor of Beit Shemesh, to the third spot on Gilad Erdan's list was, for me, the refreshing female element of the current election campaign. Bloch is nearing sixty, arrives with a name and a proven public record, and has already managed, decided, succeeded, and also paid prices. In other words, she almost breaks the female casting mold emerging in these elections.

New parties and political alliances boast, and rightly so, of the women joining them, but it is hard not to notice a common denominator: most of them are relatively young, solid, and many are presented under the title that has become the 'bon ton' of the election campaign — 'social activist'. I have nothing against social activism, certainly not against the women themselves. The problem is with those who choose and the way they choose to present them. It seems that politics has discovered a convenient formula for female representation: women who are definitely worthy, but those who do not threaten the male center of gravity of the party. And this is also a retreat.

Until about a decade ago, women did not settle for a place on a list — they headed parties and were candidates for the country's leadership. Today, when looking at the new political alliances, it is hard to even find a woman in the second spot. Something happened on the way between women in leadership and female representation. I expected more. I expected the new parties to also look for women with a name and a public, economic, business, legal, academic, or media record, women who have already managed systems, made decisions, and borne responsibility. And above all — I expected the age range to be much wider.

Where are the women in their sixties and seventies? Where are the CEOs, the jurists, the media figures, the researchers, the entrepreneurs, and the women in public service who have accumulated decades of experience? For men, gray hair is experience. For women, it is apparently a casting problem. We talk a lot about the exclusion of women, but less about the double exclusion: being both a woman and older. Precisely at the age when a woman arrives with experience, knowledge, and judgment — everything we ask of someone who wants to lead — she begins to disappear from the political radar.

And there are also strong women who have already been there. Ayelet Shaked is a prominent example. One can love her or oppose her and criticize the mistakes she made. But it is hard to argue with the fact that this is one of the most executive and experienced politicians we have had here in recent years. And yet, while the election campaign produces alliances of men, Shaked is not leading, at least for now, any of them. Are we less forgiving of women who made a mistake or failed once? Men in Israeli politics have zigzagged, made mistakes, established frameworks that failed, retired and returned — and received a second and third chance. For a woman, sometimes one mistake becomes almost a verdict.

And perhaps there is something deeper here. A truly strong woman is not a convenient decoration. She has a name, an opinion, and power of her own. It is much easier to talk about promoting women than to share the center stage with them. The lists are still being built, so the test is still ahead of us. I am not waiting for the count of women on the lists. We have already learned this exercise. I am waiting to see who will place strong, well-known, experienced, and independent women at the top, and yes, also in their sixties and seventies. Because the test for promoting women is not how many women you are willing to put behind you in a picture. The test is which woman you are willing to put next to you.

The author is a strategic communications consultant.