Israeli Doctors Reveal Netanyahu’s Chronic Heart Problem Only After Implanting Pacemaker 

Israel's Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu attends a session of the Knesset, Israel's parliament, in Jerusalem, Monday, July 24, 2023. (AP)
Israel's Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu attends a session of the Knesset, Israel's parliament, in Jerusalem, Monday, July 24, 2023. (AP)
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Israeli Doctors Reveal Netanyahu’s Chronic Heart Problem Only After Implanting Pacemaker 

Israel's Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu attends a session of the Knesset, Israel's parliament, in Jerusalem, Monday, July 24, 2023. (AP)
Israel's Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu attends a session of the Knesset, Israel's parliament, in Jerusalem, Monday, July 24, 2023. (AP)

After undergoing emergency surgery to implant a pacemaker, Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, 73, made a video appearance from a hospital near Tel Aviv. Wearing a crisp dark suit, he grinned and declared energetically that he felt "great, as you can see."

But the Sunday photo-op failed to reassure Israelis, who were shocked to learn the same day that their longest-serving prime minister had concealed a long-known heart problem. The admission was a stark contrast to the image of a fully healthy, energetic leader that Netanyahu has gone to great lengths to bolster.

A week after a fainting spell, Netanyahu was urgently fitted with a pacemaker to control his heartbeat. Only then did staff at the Sheba Medical Center reveal Sunday night that Netanyahu has for years experienced a condition that can cause irregular heartbeats.

Until Sunday, the cardiologists had publicly played down concerns, saying the prime minister was dehydrated and describing his heartbeat as "completely normal."

The sudden revelations about Netanyahu’s health troubles came at the height of mass protests against his contentious plan to limit judicial power, with legislators from the governing coalition voting a first key bill into law on Monday.

The news about a chronic heart problem — offered up in a seemingly backhanded way — stoked further anger and distrust at a time of extreme political polarization in Israel.

"The factory of lies surrounding Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s hospitalization continued like an episode of a sitcom," Yossi Verter, a political writer for Israel’s left-leaning daily Haaretz, wrote on Monday. The health crisis, he added, "illustrates more than anything the culture of deceit in which Netanyahu, his ministers and advisers run the country."

Because illnesses can damage a ruler's carefully maintained veneer of invincibility, strongmen around the world often obfuscate their medical history.

But democratic countries, too, have misrepresented the health of their leaders.

Netanyahu’s close ally, former US President Donald Trump, provided a highly sanitized account of his own health – never releasing full details of his medical history before he became president, and limiting information about his COVID-19 diagnosis in 2020. He announced his diagnosis by tweet, but his chief of staff, Mark Meadows, later recounted in a book that Trump tested positive for the virus days before and nevertheless continued with his public schedule and private meetings — a claim the former president has denied.

When Trump was hospitalized to receive an experimental anti-viral treatment, his doctor provided a rosy view of his health, but just minutes later, Meadows told reporters that Trump’s condition was far graver. Officials involved with his care now say Trump came within hours of potentially dying from the virus.

In Israel, the emergency pacemaker surgery marked the latest twist for Netanyahu, who is currently fighting a litany of bribery, fraud and breach of trust charges — a case that has driven Israelis to exhaustion with five elections in four years.

Fueling longstanding accusations that Netanyahu and his wife, Sara, are out of touch with ordinary Israelis, Israeli media reported Monday that his pacemaker cost five times more than a typical model and was not covered by health insurance, citing Medtronic, the manufacturer.

But worrying critics most has been the hospital’s contradictory assessments of Netanyahu’s health and a wider lack of government transparency.

"You can’t ask for public trust if you don’t tell the public the whole picture, and it’s especially important when you talk about a leader’s medical condition," said Tehilla Shwartz Altshuler, a senior fellow at the Israel Democracy Institute, a Jerusalem think tank.

Netanyahu's health saga started last week, after a scorching day spent on a boat in the Sea of Galilee with his family. On Saturday, July 15, Netanyahu was admitted to Sheba hospital after feeling mild dizziness.

The next day, he underwent heart tests, which the prime minister’s office said had all come back clear. Dr. Amit Segev, the director of the hospitals’ cardiology unit, said Netanyahu was fitted with a heart monitor as a purely routine measure "to continue regular monitoring."

"His heart is completely normal, without any evidence (to the contrary)," Segev announced that Sunday.

But a full week later, last Saturday, Netanyahu was rushed to the hospital for sudden surgery to receive a pacemaker.

In a video statement, Dr. Eyal Nof said that the heart monitor had sounded an alert late Saturday after detecting a condition called heart block. The electrical signals that trigger a heartbeat begin in the top of the heart, but during heart block they have trouble reaching the heart's pumping chambers at the bottom. Slow heartbeats, skipped beats and fainting are symptoms. A pacemaker usually controls the disorder but untreated cases can lead to cardiac arrest.

The doctors' delayed acknowledgment of Netanyahu's condition sparked intense public criticism. Sheba Medical Center declined to comment on the mixed messages. A person familiar with Netanyahu’s treatment, speaking on condition of anonymity because he was not authorized to brief the media, said the hospital was under "strict orders" not to disclose Netanyahu’s condition last week.

"This is a disaster: The doctors knew about his medical condition and lied to the people," said Eliad Shraga, Chairman of the Movement for Quality Governance in Israel, a civil society group. "If he is not in fit and proper condition maybe he is not fit to run a nation in such a crisis."

Netanyahu has not commented on his condition beyond his two upbeat videos released from the hospital, in which he declared feeling "excellent" and ready to carry out business as usual.

In the face of mounting political crises, Netanyahu has carefully crafted an appearance of omnipotence, campaigning on his insistence that only he is capable of leading the tiny country. During his 15 years in power, his good health has largely gone unquestioned. His father, Benzion, died at the age of 102, lending weight to his family’s claims of vigorous health and vitality.

News of Netanyahu’s ailments could jeopardize the personal charisma that has been so critical to his political staying power, experts say.

"He feels that he’s above the law and above nature," said Altshuler.

Netanyahu appeared shaky at times during the legislative sessions on Monday just hours after his release from the hospital, his eyes sunken, but he soldiered on.

Although Israeli government protocol requires that prime ministers release annual medical reports, Netanyahu has not published one since 2016. That report declared his lab tests "completely normal" and his overall health "excellent," only mentioning that a polyp had been removed from his large intestine. In 2018, Netanyahu was briefly hospitalized after suffering from a fever.

Because the protocol is legally unenforceable, Netanyahu has had few other recorded health scares. But last October, he was rushed to a hospital for examination after feeling pains in his chest during his election campaign. He went jogging in a park the next morning, a display of physical fitness made for the cameras.

Ahead of the vote on the first major law to overhaul Israel’s justice system, protesters thronged the Israeli parliament building. Shraga, the good governance advocate, had to shout to be heard over the deafening chants of "De-mo-cra-tia!" — Hebrew for democracy.

"Without transparency, everything is at risk," he said.



10 Years after Europe's Migration Crisis, the Fallout Reverberates in Greece and Beyond

File photo: Migrants of African origin trying to flee to Europe are crammed on board of a small boat, as Tunisian coast guards prepare to transfer them onto their vessel, at sea between Tunisia and Italy, on August 10, 2023. (Photo by FETHI BELAID / AFP)
File photo: Migrants of African origin trying to flee to Europe are crammed on board of a small boat, as Tunisian coast guards prepare to transfer them onto their vessel, at sea between Tunisia and Italy, on August 10, 2023. (Photo by FETHI BELAID / AFP)
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10 Years after Europe's Migration Crisis, the Fallout Reverberates in Greece and Beyond

File photo: Migrants of African origin trying to flee to Europe are crammed on board of a small boat, as Tunisian coast guards prepare to transfer them onto their vessel, at sea between Tunisia and Italy, on August 10, 2023. (Photo by FETHI BELAID / AFP)
File photo: Migrants of African origin trying to flee to Europe are crammed on board of a small boat, as Tunisian coast guards prepare to transfer them onto their vessel, at sea between Tunisia and Italy, on August 10, 2023. (Photo by FETHI BELAID / AFP)

Fleeing Iran with her husband and toddler, Amena Namjoyan reached a rocky beach of this eastern Greek island along with hundreds of thousands of others. For months, their arrival overwhelmed Lesbos. Boats fell apart, fishermen dove to save people from drowning, and local grandmothers bottle-fed newly arrived babies.

Namjoyan spent months in an overcrowded camp. She learned Greek. She struggled with illness and depression as her marriage collapsed. She tried to make a fresh start in Germany but eventually returned to Lesbos, the island that first embraced her. Today, she works at a restaurant, preparing Iranian dishes that locals devour, even if they struggle to pronounce the names. Her second child tells her, “‘I’m Greek.’”

“Greece is close to my culture, and I feel good here,” Namjoyan said. “I am proud of myself.”

In 2015, more than 1 million migrants and refugees arrived in Europe — the majority by sea, landing in Lesbos, where the north shore is just 10 kilometers (6 miles) from Türkiye. The influx of men, women and children fleeing war and poverty sparked a humanitarian crisis that shook the European Union to its core. A decade later, the fallout still reverberates on the island and beyond.

For many, Greece was a place of transit. They continued on to northern and western Europe. Many who applied for asylum were granted international protection; thousands became European citizens. Countless more were rejected, languishing for years in migrant camps or living in the streets. Some returned to their home countries. Others were kicked out of the European Union.

For Namjoyan, Lesbos is a welcoming place — many islanders share a refugee ancestry, and it helps that she speaks their language. But migration policy in Greece, like much of Europe, has shifted toward deterrence in the decade since the crisis. Far fewer people are arriving illegally. Officials and politicians have maintained that strong borders are needed. Critics say enforcement has gone too far and violates fundamental EU rights and values.

“Migration is now at the top of the political agenda, which it didn’t use to be before 2015,” said Camille Le Coz Director of the Migration Policy Institute Europe, noting changing EU alliances. “We are seeing a shift toward the right of the political spectrum.”

A humanitarian crisis turned into a political one

In 2015, boat after boat crowded with refugees crashed onto the doorstep of Elpiniki Laoumi, who runs a fish tavern across from a Lesbos beach. She fed them, gave them water, made meals for aid organizations.

“You would look at them and think of them as your own children," said Laoumi, whose tavern walls today are decorated with thank-you notes.

From 2015 to 2016, the peak of the migration crisis, more than 1 million people entered Europe through Greece alone. The immediate humanitarian crisis — to feed, shelter and care for so many people at once — grew into a long-term political one.

Greece was reeling from a crippling economic crisis. The influx added to anger against established political parties, fueling the rise of once-fringe populist forces.

EU nations fought over sharing responsibility for asylum seekers. The bloc’s unity cracked as some member states flatly refused to take migrants. Anti-migration voices calling for closed borders became louder.

Today, illegal migration is down across Europe While illegal migration to Greece has fluctuated, numbers are nowhere near 2015-16 figures, according to the International Organization for Migration. Smugglers adapted to heightened surveillance, shifting to more dangerous routes.

Overall, irregular EU border crossings decreased by nearly 40% last year and continue to fall, according to EU border and coast guard agency Frontex.

That hasn’t stopped politicians from focusing on — and sometimes fearmongering over — migration. This month, the Dutch government collapsed after a populist far-right lawmaker withdrew his party’s ministers over migration policy.

In Greece, the new far-right migration minister has threatened rejected asylum seekers with jail time.

A few miles from where Namjoyan now lives, in a forest of pine and olive trees, is a new EU-funded migrant center. It's one of the largest in Greece and can house up to 5,000 people.

Greek officials denied an Associated Press request to visit. Its opening is blocked, for now, by court challenges.

Some locals say the remote location seems deliberate — to keep migrants out of sight and out of mind.

“We don’t believe such massive facilities are needed here. And the location is the worst possible – deep inside a forest,” said Panagiotis Christofas, mayor of Lesbos’ capital, Mytilene. “We’re against it, and I believe that’s the prevailing sentiment in our community.”

A focus on border security

For most of Europe, migration efforts focus on border security and surveillance.

The European Commission this year greenlighted the creation of “return” hubs — a euphemism for deportation centers — for rejected asylum seekers. Italy has sent unwanted migrants to its centers in Albania, even as that faces legal challenges.

Governments have resumed building walls and boosting surveillance in ways unseen since the Cold War.

In 2015, Frontex was a small administrative office in Warsaw. Now, it's the EU's biggest agency, with 10,000 armed border guards, helicopters, drones and an annual budget of over 1 billion euros.

On other issues of migration — reception, asylum and integration, for example — EU nations are largely divided.

The legacy of Lesbos

Last year, EU nations approved a migration and asylum pact laying out common rules for the bloc's 27 countries on screening, asylum, detention and deportation of people trying to enter without authorization, among other things.

“The Lesbos crisis of 2015 was, in a way, the birth certificate of the European migration and asylum policy,” Margaritis Schinas, a former European Commission vice president and a chief pact architect, told AP.

He said that after years of fruitless negotiations, he's proud of the landmark compromise.

“We didn’t have a system,” Schinas said. “Europe’s gates had been crashed."

The deal, endorsed by the United Nations refugee agency, takes effect next year. Critics say it made concessions to hardliners. Human rights organizations say it will increase detention and erode the right to seek asylum.

Some organizations also criticize the “externalization” of EU border management — agreements with countries across the Mediterranean to aggressively patrol their coasts and hold migrants back in exchange for financial assistance.

The deals have expanded, from Türkiye to the Middle East and across Africa. Human rights groups say autocratic governments are pocketing billions and often subject the displaced to appalling conditions.

Lesbos still sees some migrants arrive Lesbos' 80,000 residents look back at the 2015 crisis with mixed feelings.

Fisherman Stratos Valamios saved some children. Others drowned just beyond his reach, their bodies still warm as he carried them to shore.

“What’s changed from back then to now, 10 years on? Nothing,” he said. “What I feel is anger — that such things can happen, that babies can drown.”

Those who died crossing to Lesbos are buried in two cemeteries, their graves marked as “unknown.”

Tiny shoes and empty juice boxes with faded Turkish labels can still be found on the northern coast. So can black doughnut-shaped inner tubes, given by smugglers as crude life preservers for children. At Moria, a refugee camp destroyed by fire in 2020, children’s drawings remain on gutted building walls.

Migrants still arrive, and sometimes die, on these shores. Lesbos began to adapt to a quieter, more measured flow of newcomers.

Efi Latsoudi, who runs a network helping migrants learn Greek and find jobs, hopes Lesbos’ tradition of helping outsiders in need will outlast national policies.

“The way things are developing, it’s not friendly for newcomers to integrate into Greek society,” Latsoudi said. "We need to do something. ... I believe there is hope.”