IDF soldier breaks silence on violence against civilians in Gaza, refuses to fight
Some soldiers suggested using violence in ways I could never imagine. Shockingly, they claimed killing the children in Gaza represented a religious commandment as they would grow up to become terrorists.
- 5 days ago
November 9, 2024
After serving in the Israel Defense Forces, 28-year-old Max Kresch has chosen to step back from duty, prioritizing his personal ethics amidst the ongoing conflict. | Photo courtesy of Max Kresch
JERUSALEM, Israel — On October 7, 2023, the Hamas attack shattered my life. The following day, I joined a convoy heading for Lebanon and spent over two months there, which felt like an eternity. The cold air bit sharply at the border while constant shelling shook us to our core. Yet, what truly pierced through was the unshakeable reality that we remained trapped in a senseless war.
At first, I kept reminding myself we were there to defend our home and protect what we loved. However, deep down, I recognized this was no longer true. The conflict pulled us into something darker and crueler. Consequently, an emptiness within me expanded, consuming my thoughts as I continually asked myself, “What am I doing here?”
Read more stories out of Israel and Gaza at Orato World Media
Young man leaves U.S., seeking faith and purpose in Israel
In 2014, at 18 years old, I left Massachusetts and arrived in Israel, filled with hopes and dreams. With an idealistic mindset and a strong sense of purpose, I believed I stepped into the life I always envisioned. Eager to contribute to my ancestors’ land, I joined a program for the religious Zionist community. I felt certain my destiny included created something meaningful. With passion and unwavering dedication, I prepared to give it everything I had.
That first year in Israel unfolded layer by layer, revealing breathtaking landscapes, deep scars, and rich stories. While immersing myself in education, I absorbed each lesson intensely and often lay awake at night, too energized to rest. Gradually, Jerusalem became my sanctuary as I devoted a year to yeshiva studies, immersed in intense faith and a deep sense of belonging.
While studying, I also volunteered with Magen David Adom, Israel’s emergency medical service, where I first felt the profound weight of responsibility. Saving lives filled me with purpose as I believed I found my lifelong calling. Soon after, with a strong desire to safeguard what I valued, I decided to make Aliyah [full immigration to Israel] and join the Israeli army. Seeing our dream come to life, my family eagerly decided to join me. Accepted into the prestigious Egoz reconnaissance unit, I began training as a military medic. I felt everything aligned perfectly as if I each step was preordained.
Serving in the West Bank: “I lacked the will to pull the trigger and kill someone”
Soon after, reality shattered my illusion. I watched as the clear and linear dreams I clung to unraveled one by one, revealing a harsh maze filled with doubts, contradictions, and unforeseen choices. Unprepared for the complexities ahead, I confronted a journey twisted in unexpected and painful directions.
Since I could not take a life, authorities moved me to the battalion clinic, a decision that might seem strange to some. I lacked the will to pull the trigger and kill someone, even in the name of defending my country. Each time I considered it, something inside me broke. An invisible barrier held me back from crossing the line. Nevertheless, I remained steadfast, determined to protect what I learned to love.
Over the last few years, as a combat soldier in the West Bank, I struggled to complete many assigned missions. Each operation tested my conscience. As time passed, I found it increasingly difficult to ignore the inner voice warning me something was wrong. My doubts became unbearable when the government started undermining the judiciary. Honestly, I considered giving it all up, resigning, and acting on my principles, but the opportunity never arose. Fear and inertia kept me bound. Day after day, I stifled my intentions, allowing them to remain mere thoughts.
Soldier confronts life and death on the Lebanese border
After the Hamas attack on October 7, 2023, I moved to Israel’s border with Lebanon to join the combat. As the war began, danger quickly pressed in, heavy and thick with every breath we took. The Israel Defense Forces (IDF) stood tense and alert, anticipating Hezbollah’s feared Radwan Force may soon cross the northern border. We advanced, fully aware of the risks. Each step carried us closer to the Lebanese border and deeper into the unknown.
The front line marked more than a physical boundary; it became the threshold between life and death. Stepping forward, we challenged fate with every move, as each heartbeat vividly reminded us of life’s fragility. My companions and I exchanged a heavy silence, sharing an unspoken understanding of the danger. We knew we were heading toward what could easily turn into a massacre. Amid the uncertainty, I felt death’s shadow loom close.
That evening, I prepared myself for the risk of not seeing another sunrise. Within hours, I realized I could vanish and become just another name on a list. I feared that the men around me—my fellow soldiers, my brothers—might also fall. Looking at their faces one last time, I imprinted each expression in my memory, knowing this could be our final moment alive.
The first night at the border left a deep mark on me. The ground felt unyielding beneath me, cold and dry, and despite my exhaustion, sleep eluded me. Every sound around me, from faint rustles to the distant rumble of explosions, sent my heart racing. My companions struggled in the same way, but we remained silent. Unease gripped me as I acknowledged I had to confront both the enemy and my inner battles to survive the war.
At the border, soldiers confront the bitter reality of war
At the border, the air tasted bitter, mixed with dust, rising with every gust of wind. As the fear of being trapped in something more dangerous washed over me, I felt lonely, even in the presence of my companions. After 10 days, although bombs still fell and anti-tank missiles continued to fire, the existential threat started to dissipate.
The next day, a younger fellow soldier shared a confession I will never forget: “I’m not afraid of the attacks,” he said, his voice cracking. “What terrifies me is what I will become after all this.” His blank stare and trembling voice lodged firmly in my mind. A chilling blend of resignation and determination marked soldiers’ faces. Some muttered silent prayers to prepare for the inevitable. On the other hand, others stared at the horizon, lost in thought, wondering if they would ever return home.
I believed war may transform us into heroes or martyrs, granting us an identity of honor and sacrifice. Yet, witnessing the harsh realities, for the first time, I realized war could also take something far more profound. It could strip us of our identities and rob us of our very humanity.
IDF soldiers claim killing Gaza’s children is a religious commandment
Shortly after, I saw Israel in decline, while the army grew harder and more radical with each passing day. At the same time, my loyalty began to crack. Surprisingly, what initially appeared as a solid unit started to fragment. My combat comrades grew more intransigent, hardening in their opinions and increasingly radicalizing. As a result, the war transformed us in ways I never imagined, forging a sharp division—not on the battlefield, but within our own ranks.
I noticed a disturbing change among my comrades. Conversations once brimmed with dreams, aspirations, and anecdotes about life before the war took on a darker tone. Our hopes transformed into discussions about finishing off the enemy by any means necessary. Some soldiers suggested using violence in ways I could never imagine. Shockingly, they claimed killing the children in Gaza represented a religious commandment as they would grow up to become terrorists.
“They’re all the same,” they said, referring to the Palestinians. “If you let them grow up, they will kill you tomorrow. Better to finish them off now.” I firmly opposed this ideology, as it struck me as sinister. Their words chilled my blood. I gazed into their eyes and found them unrecognizable. In silence, I wondered if the war was instilling in me the same hatred I saw in them. To isolate myself, I avoided those conversations, but I found it impossible to escape the pervasive atmosphere surrounding us.
There are still soldiers who question their role in civilian casualties in Gaza
One day, during our conversation, a comrade shocked me with a confession. He revealed commanders rarely questioned soldiers’ decisions to open fire, which led to the deaths of innocent civilians who later appeared in reports as fallen Hamas militants. He pointed out the field reports often lacked clarity as no one challenged them. No one asked whether the individuals involved were armed, as everyone simply assumed they were not civilians, even when it was evident they were.
Almost every report of engagement with someone on the other side ended the same way: “We shot them.” This narrative emerged as we logged it as one militant dead. As we discussed the civilian casualties in Gaza, we confronted our painful normalization of indifference, as if the suffering of others no longer impacted us. The prevailing mindset suggested soldiers viewed the person being shot as either a militant or not. In many instances, soldiers chose to fire, and at worst, they would take a single Palestinian’s life.
Some soldiers even confessed to destroying entire houses in Gaza without justification. Devastated, I questioned whether anyone truly cared about it. Undoubtedly, this approach violated international humanitarian law, which mandates armed conflicts must always distinguish between civilians and combatants. As I looked around, profound pain engulfed me as our shared humanity vanished. Alarmingly, they struggled to find words to describe the devastation they caused in Gaza.
Man’s Facebook post advocating peace provokes hostility among fellow soldiers
Amid the rising debates, the government’s messianic speeches resonated more loudly among the ranks as some comrades framed the war as a sacred mission. Hatred and fear emerged as our new language and anyone who dared to question it risked becoming labeled a traitor. However, I could not ignore my growing concern as we lost ourselves in a maelstrom of violence fueled by fanaticism.
With each passing day, my loyalty eroded further. Deep down, I recognized I no longer shared the same ideals as those around me. Yet, I also understood voicing my doubts marked me as a pariah in their eyes. With no turning back, one day, I decided to take a stand. I posted on my Facebook page: “Now is the time to embrace our Arab and Palestinian friends.” Openly, I opposed those who called for the destruction of Gaza, declaring, “The extremists demand that we raze Gaza to the ground, but this pains me more as people are giving up on peace. I have not given up, and I will never give up on peace.”
Immediately, my post went viral and ignited anger within my unit. Someone shared my post with the entire unit, exclaiming, “Did you see what Max posted? Isn’t it wrong?” They questioned me in every possible way, making the situation extremely uncomfortable. In response, they kicked me off my team, implying they no longer wanted me and could not trust me. I even recall someone saying they felt unsure I would act during a critical moment.
At that moment, something inside me snapped. I felt the ground beneath me crumble as if everything I once considered solid vanished. The war became personal for me. It no longer represented merely a conflict between two sides but embodied total and senseless destruction. At night, I struggled to sleep as I grappled with questions swirling in my mind. “Why are we here,” I thought, “Why must we lose so much for a war that feels endless and purposeless?”
After leaving the battlefield, soldier endures criticism and isolation
When I returned home, it did not bring the relief I hoped for. I thought leaving the border behind would banish the nightmares, but they persisted. Each time I slept, the darkest moments of the war enveloped me. I woke up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, my heart pounding in my ears as if I still lay at the border. Initially, I believed resuming civilian life may bring some calm. Yet, reality proved starkly different. I paused my studies, ended my relationship, and watched my life unravel in an instant.
The days at home stretched endlessly as I struggled to get out of bed. Each time I attempted to engage in activity, the weight of my decision and the rejection from those who labeled me a traitor pushed me deeper into despair. Eventually, I began to doubt everything: my choices, my loyalty, and even my worth. People labeled me a deserter and an enemy, and their words pierced me with a cold, sharp pain, like a stab to the chest. Within just a few days, the criticism escalated into a storm of hatred. Strangers bombarded me with messages on social media, insulting me and questioning my loyalty to Israel.
Amid the growing threats, right-wing voices, fueled by inflammatory speeches from ministers and opinion leaders, left no room for doubt. They labeled me a traitor, declaring, “You are a disgrace to Israel.” Some even called for my imprisonment. As I shared my experiences with several other members of the IDF, they insisted people like me deserved to face trial as criminals. Despite my dedicated service and perfect attendance during reserve duty, those who once stood by me now regarded me with contempt.
Dissenting soldiers face backlash from Israeli government
Gradually, the Israeli government joined the chorus of criticism. Netanyahu and his extremist allies, who view the war as a means to consolidate power, publicly labeled us saboteurs of national security. Hearing their words struck me like a series of blows. They understood many Israelis wholeheartedly supported the conflict, enabling them to portray us as a cancer that needed to be excised from the IDF. In their speeches, they depicted us as outsiders, suggesting our questions about an endless war posed a greater threat than the conflict itself.
Shortly, I felt my isolation grow beyond the physical, severing my ties to everything I valued. I looked around and no longer recognized Israel which welcomed me from Massachusetts, filled with hope and ambition to build a life. Guilt and confusion crept in as I grappled with my fragile identity. The Israel I once fought for vanished, transforming into a country rejecting dissent and viewing questioning as betrayal.
Then, unexpectedly, a shift began to occur. As the criticism intensified and the pressure mounted, other voices of reservists and active soldiers started to rise in support of decisions like mine. Their testimonies echoed the same weariness and pain of witnessing our country engulfed in an endless war. As I read and heard their words, an indescribable relief washed over me. It felt as if many shoulders suddenly began to share the weight I carried.
Over 130 Israeli reservists write open letter demanding end to war and hostage release
After a year of war, a turning point emerged when rumors surfaced the government was not genuinely working to recover the hostages in Gaza. The Netanyahu government, steeped in the rhetoric of holy war, prioritized the conflict over the lives of our citizens. Determined to oppose the war, I knew I could no longer stay silent.
On October 9, 2024, I joined over 130 other Israeli reservists to write an open letter to the Prime Minister, urging him to negotiate for the hostages’ release and to end the senseless war. We knew many would view our action as a betrayal. However, we recognized remaining silent meant betraying our values. As I signed my full name, I accepted that this decision cost me much more than merely losing my place in the army.
When the letter became public, silence enveloped me. Some comrades glared at me, while others avoided speaking to me. Their reproachful looks reminded me I crossed an unwritten boundary. Yet, despite the heavy burden of rejection, I felt I made the right choice. On the other hand, each message of support and every statement from those opposing the war shone like a small ray of light piercing through the darkness. Handwritten letters began arriving, and in each one, I felt the love and sincerity of the carefully crafted words. These messages conveyed honesty, connecting directly with my heart.
Reservists reject war and forge a path to peace
As others supported me, I realized despite feeling lonely on my journey, I was not alone. My resignation opened a space for resistance and hope, a path many wanted to follow but few dared to take. Additionally, knowing others shared my convictions strengthened me. For the first time, I recognized my act of renunciation forged a path forward. It created an opening for others like me, who could no longer endure being part of a conflict driven by political interests.
As I refused to continue my service, I broke the silence many wanted to shatter. Together, we forged a path toward a different Israel. While I did not know how far this new path would go, I recognized my alienation from former friends sparked a flame of resistance. Through renunciation, I uncovered an inner peace immune to scorn and threats. Netanyahu promises no resettlement in Gaza. Yet, how can anyone trust him when his government supports the expansion of settlements in the West Bank? How can we believe him when some of his ministers openly call for establishing settlements in Gaza?
This reality reveals their intentions clearly. I struggle to envision a future of peace as long as such intentions persist. At present, I find myself trapped in a heartbreaking dilemma. I can either refuse service and accept all the consequences that come with it, or I can participate in a war leading to another Israeli occupation in Gaza. I cannot accept the occupation. Urgently, we need a cease-fire.
Seeing this urgent need treated as a mere formality feels devastating. We require a solution deeper and more lasting. Otherwise, this moment will only pause, then another tragedy will unfold. Without a peaceful resolution, devastation will persist in affecting Palestinian society. Today, the war continues, transforming a country I sometimes struggle to recognize. I once sought to protect Israel. Today, I see a nation fading into the flames of a conflict that must end.
