Pieces on a Board, People in a War

Me and my reserve unit before entering Gaza, 2025

It’s July 29, 2025. I’m currently writing this article from a crowded, partially abandoned home in Rafah, southern Gaza. I’ve been posted with my tzevet (team) for our fourth round of reserve duty, coming off our recent stint on the Syrian border during the Iran conflict. 

I’ll be honest, being here is not fun. We’re 25 guys in a two-story house, no running water, and to top it off, it’s summer in the Middle East. You have multiple shmirot (guard shifts) throughout the day (and night), stray cats are constantly sneaking into our kitchen downstairs and getting into food, and since we’ve blacked out the windows, it’s constantly dark in the house. This is just some of the recurring daily challenges we’re dealing with, but the bigger issue, and the one I think is more important, is my change in attitude regarding the situation more broadly. 

My first steps into Gaza on October 29, 2023 as part of the initial ground offensive of the war truly felt historical and meaningful. The country rallied around the loss and pain of October 7, and everyone felt invigorated with pride and honor for the mission we were embarking on. I was still terrified, of course, but our mission was clear and we knew we were doing what had to be done. The same energy reverberated throughout the diaspora as well, and as a people, we understood the position we had been put in. Now, almost 2 years since I was last here in Gaza, some things have changed, and some things remain the same. 

The loud booms of artillery fire and air strikes still wake you up in the middle of the night, the canned tuna wrapped in tortillas still taste bland, and most conversations still revolve around the political situation or sports. However, things have definitely improved since my last round of reserves. We have access to our phones (granting us the ability to text our parents that we’re okay), we have relatively consistent rotations for time at home, and we’ve built a shower out of water bottles and plastic piping (huge win). 

The biggest change, however, is our spirit. The collective understanding of our mission has faded, and many of us feel more like pawns in a geopolitical chess match whose goal is not to win, rather to just keep moving the pieces aimlessly around the board to prolong the game. I have my own internal conflict, where on one hand, I always feel a sense of immense pride when I put on my uniform and feel the most connected to my Israeli identity in the context of the army. On the other hand, how can I be constantly expected to put my life on pause (this time I’ve been called up for almost 3 months), re-enter the Gaza warzone, and not have a clear idea of why I’m doing it? I’m not doing anything operationally that applies substantial pressure on Hamas to release our hostages, most of the buildings around us are rubble, and we have no indication that we’re advancing any type of grand strategy. How does the army and the government expect to maintain this kind of approach? It’s like clocking into a 9-5 job you don’t really like, but you think the mission statement aligns with your beliefs. However when you show up each day, you’re told to just sit and send emails, have an occasional break, and then repeat. When you finally ask your manager why you’re just doing busy work, all they say is, “it’s just what has to be done”. It’s not that it aligns with the company's mission or that it’s personally fulfilling, it’s just the reality. You’d probably start looking for a new job pretty quick. 

So let’s say you decide not to report for miluim, you “quit” your job. First of all, I can’t imagine a reality in which I don’t show up, and most of my army friends feel the same. But more recently, more and more reservists have decided not to participate in their next round of reserve duty, some based on their personal opinions and some for other reasons. But miluim, by and large, is a numbers game- the more the merrier. So each time one person decides not to report, the workload on those that are present is increased- longer shmirot, less time at home, less hands on deck for daily matalot (assignments). Not showing up is so much more than just not collecting your paycheck, and it has real effects on the people that do continue to show up. These decisions are extremely difficult ones, and we reservists are wrestling with them each time we receive the automated phone call from the army telling us we’ve been called up. 

Writing this piece helped me get some of my authentic thoughts on paper, diverting slightly from my usual commentary on abstract topics. As I mentioned, serving here can sometimes feel like being a pawn in a chess game with no clear end- moving through days filled with uncertainty and questions about the purpose behind each move. Yet, amid the weariness and frustration, there remains a deep pride and connection to something greater than myself. So, whether you wear the uniform or support us from afar, I believe it’s important to hold space for this complexity: to recognize the human cost behind every decision, to demand clarity and meaning in the mission, and to support one another through the unknown. Because ultimately, our strength comes not just from the battles we fight, but from the shared hope and responsibility that keep our purpose alive, even when the game’s goal keeps changing. Let us all pray for the safe and swift return of our hostages, and a victorious outcome for our country.

Sunrise over Rafah, 2025