For Years, Israelis Trusted the Army to Defend and Inform Them. Now Many Feel Abandoned 

10 October 2023, Israel, Sa'ad: Israeli forces patrol areas along the Israeli-Gaza border as fighting between Israeli troops and Hamas gunmen continues. (dpa)
10 October 2023, Israel, Sa'ad: Israeli forces patrol areas along the Israeli-Gaza border as fighting between Israeli troops and Hamas gunmen continues. (dpa)
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For Years, Israelis Trusted the Army to Defend and Inform Them. Now Many Feel Abandoned 

10 October 2023, Israel, Sa'ad: Israeli forces patrol areas along the Israeli-Gaza border as fighting between Israeli troops and Hamas gunmen continues. (dpa)
10 October 2023, Israel, Sa'ad: Israeli forces patrol areas along the Israeli-Gaza border as fighting between Israeli troops and Hamas gunmen continues. (dpa)

It was, they thought, an ironclad social contract. Israeli citizens would serve in the military and live along enemy borders. In exchange, the army would defend them.

That contract was shattered Saturday when hundreds of Hamas fighters breached Israel’s defenses from the Gaza Strip, pouring in by air, land and sea on a rampage that would leave hundreds dead. The infiltration caught Israel’s storied high-tech army completely unaware and stunned a country that prides itself on military prowess.

Further shocking Israelis was how long it took the military to respond. As thousands in southern Israel suddenly found themselves besieged, their cries for help went unanswered for hours. Holed up inside homes and safe rooms as militants rampaged, they turned in desperation to social media, to journalists and to friends, beseeching the army to save them.

The weekend attacks and the military's response brought an unsettling new sense of vulnerability and abandonment. Thousands of families had no idea whether loved ones were alive or had been taken as captives to Gaza. At the height of the violence, there was no one to turn to for guidance or information. Contact centers were eventually set up, but the focus was on soliciting information from families rather than offering it.

Six members of Jonathan Silver's family are missing, and he approached authorities for help. At least three relatives are captive in Gaza, he said, and the others are assumed to be there, too. He saw video of a cousin and two children taken hostage from their kibbutz, Nir Oz.

But the family has received no information, Silver said.

"We tried to reach everybody – the homeland command, police, friends, acquaintances, people on the kibbutz," he said. And for hours, "there was no one to talk to."

He's particularly concerned for his aunt, who has Parkinson’s disease and needs her medication. He's frustrated, but he also said now is not the time to criticize too deeply.

"I have a lot of questions and a lot to say. The day of reckoning will come," he said, but "now I prefer to stand beside the army."

In Israel, military service is compulsory for most Jewish men and women. In the eyes of many citizens, it is the glue that keeps the country together in a region widely hostile to its presence, and it's recognized worldwide for its technological advances and intelligence-gathering capabilities.

That it could be taken so completely by surprise by an armed group is something Israelis are hard-pressed to fathom.

For Merav Leshem Gonen, a feeling of helplessness gripped her when her daughter called in a panic from a music festival that was attacked.

"Mommy, we were bombed. They shot at us. The car was shot, we cannot drive, everybody here is hurt," Gonen recounted her daughter saying.

"She was talking to me and said, ‘Mommy, help us, we don’t know what to do.’ And I’m saying, ’We love you, and it’s OK. We are trying to find a way to take you out of there. We are sending people,’" Gonen told a news conference outside Tel Aviv. "And I know I’m lying because we don’t have answers, and we didn’t have any answers. Nobody had."

Journalist Amir Tibon had good fortune that many others didn’t: While the army struggled to regroup, his 62-year-old father, a retired general, entered the breach. Noam Tibon headed from his home in Tel Aviv to Nahal Oz, a kibbutz where his son, his wife and their two young daughters were hunkering in a safe room. On the way, he connected with another retired general and a group of commandoes.

After firefights with gunmen along the way, the elder Tibon extricated his son and family. More than a dozen others at Nahal Oz did not survive.

"The terms of the contract between us and the state had always been clear: We protect the border, and the state protects us," Amir Tibon wrote in an article retelling the rescue for his newspaper, Haaretz.

"We fulfilled our share of the deal heroically. For all too many of our beloved friends and neighbors, on this black day of Saturday, October 7, the state of Israel did not fulfill its share."

Maayan Zin said she learned that her two daughters had been abducted when a relative sent her photos from a Telegram group appearing to show them sitting on mattresses in captivity. She's among dozens of distraught families who say there's been a lack of support from Israeli authorities about their loved ones held in Gaza.

"There is no information. No one has contacted me since yesterday. Not the army, not the government, not the police," she said.

At first, she couldn't believe what she saw in the images. "I thought it was Photoshopped," she said.

But videos she found online confirmed her worst fears. Dafna, 15, and Ella, 8, were shown weeping and terrified. Their father, her ex-husband, was seen being taken across the border into Gaza, his leg bleeding heavily.

"Just bring my daughters home," Zin pleaded. "Bring everybody home."



Nobel Laureate Narges Mohammadi to Publish Two Books

Narges Mohammadi has been jailed repeatedly over the past 25 years - AFP
Narges Mohammadi has been jailed repeatedly over the past 25 years - AFP
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Nobel Laureate Narges Mohammadi to Publish Two Books

Narges Mohammadi has been jailed repeatedly over the past 25 years - AFP
Narges Mohammadi has been jailed repeatedly over the past 25 years - AFP

Narges Mohammadi, the Iranian 2023 Nobel Peace Prize laureate, will publish her autobiography and is working on a book on women held like her on political charges, she said in an interview published Thursday.

"I've finished my autobiography and I plan to publish it. I'm writing another book on assaults and sexual harassment against women detained in Iran. I hope it will appear soon," Mohammadi, 52, told French magazine Elle.

The human rights activist spoke to her interviewers in Farsi by text and voice message during a three-week provisional release from prison on medical grounds after undergoing bone surgery, according to AFP.

Mohammadi has been jailed repeatedly over the past 25 years, most recently since November 2021, for convictions relating to her advocacy against the compulsory wearing of the hijab for women and capital punishment in Iran.

She has been held in the notorious Evin prison in Tehran, which has left a physical toll.

"My body is weakened, it is true, after three years of intermittent detention... and repeated refusals of care that have seriously tested me, but my mind is of steel," Mohammadi said.

Mohammadi said there were 70 prisoners in the women's ward at Evin "from all walks of life, of all ages and of all political persuasions", including journalists, writers, women's rights activists and people persecuted for their religion.

One of the most commonly used "instruments of torture" is isolation, said Mohammadi, who shares a cell with 13 other prisoners.

"It is a place where political prisoners die. I have personally documented cases of torture and serious sexual violence against my fellow prisoners."

Despite the harsh consequences, there are still acts of resistance by prisoners.

"Recently, 45 out of 70 prisoners gathered to protest in the prison yard against the death sentences of Pakhshan Azizi and Varisheh Moradi," two Kurdish women's rights activists who are in prison, she said.

Small acts of defiance -- like organizing sit-ins -- can get them reprisals like being barred from visiting hours or telephone access.

- Risks of speaking up -

She also said that speaking to reporters would likely get her "new accusations", and that she was the target of additional prosecutions and convictions "approximately every month".

"It is a challenge for us political prisoners to fight to maintain a semblance of normality because it is about showing our torturers that they will not be able to reach us, to break us," Mohammadi said.

She added that she had felt "guilty to have left my fellow detainees behind" during her temporary release and that "a part of (her) was still in prison".

But her reception outside -- including by women refusing to wear the compulsory hijab -- meant Mohammadi "felt what freedom is, to have freedom of movement without permanent escort by guards, without locks and closed windows" -- and also that "the 'Women, Life, Freedom' movement is still alive".

She was referring to the nationwide protests that erupted after the September 2022 death in custody of Mahsa Amini.

Amini, a 22-year-old Iranian Kurd, was arrested for an alleged breach of Iran's dress code for women.

Hundreds of people, including dozens of security personnel, were killed in the subsequent months-long nationwide protests and thousands of demonstrators were arrested.

After Mohammadi was awarded last year's Nobel Peace Prize, her two children collected the award on her behalf.

The US State Department last month called Mohammadi's situation "deeply troubling".

"Her deteriorating health is a direct result of the abuses that she's endured at the hands of the Iranian regime," State Department spokesman Vedant Patel said, calling for her "immediate and unconditional" release.