I’m done serving in Gaza. Will my son have to?

In the Netzarim corridor of Gaza, where I spent the last few months of the war as a tank gunner, tens of thousands of Palestinian civilians now stream freely between north and south. As I watch these developments from my university office, a month after completing my 130 days of reserve duty, I’m haunted by two questions: Was the physical and psychological toll we endured risking our lives worth the strategic gains? And does the Israeli public truly understand what their citizen-soldiers sacrificed?

The morning after Hamas’s October 7 attack, these questions couldn’t have seemed more distant. There was an urgent need to defend our nation against an enemy that had perpetrated unthinkable atrocities against civilians. The moral imperative was clear. But what began as a mission to counter Hamas’s brutality evolved into something far more complex and troubling.

Initially, I viewed this as a classic counterinsurgency operation: separate Hamas from civilians, target combatants precisely, minimize collateral damage – principles that reflected both our military doctrine and our ethical values. Reality proved far more complex. A significant portion of the soldiers I served with rejected this paradigm entirely, seeing no meaningful distinction between Hamas and Gaza’s population – a dangerous oversimplification that risked undermining the very moral foundation that justified our response.

The IDF’s strategy instead shifted from targeting Hamas directly to broader territorial control and infrastructure demolition such that most of my service operations involved demolishing empty houses, one by one. This approach stems partly from necessity: Hamas’s tunnel network makes direct engagement extremely difficult. There was also an argument that only the taking of territory would lead to the defeat of Hamas.

Shifting rules

The rules of engagement illustrate this evolution. During my previous rounds of service including the Second Lebanon War, our directives were crystal clear: engage only armed combatants, with specific protocols even to avoid using deadly force for someone who had just thrown a Molotov cocktail but was now no longer armed. But by the time I arrived in Gaza several months into the war, these rules shifted constantly due to operational concerns. One day, lethal force was justified within a 300-meter security perimeter around a bridge; the next, it was suddenly 800 meters – with devastating implications for civilians caught unaware.

Once, I argued with my tank commander about firing warning shots in the direction of a group who appeared clearly as civilians on the first day of the new 800-meter security zone. I insisted on maintaining a safer distance (of at least 300 meters) while I was urged to shoot closer (100 meters). I just consider myself lucky that I served in the Netzarim corridor as opposed to the heavily populated northern areas of Gaza that saw intense fighting. As armchair commentators hashed out theoretical IDF war rules in the opinion sections of the news outlets, actual soldiers were left to make split-second, life-and-death decisions.

The cost on our side extends beyond the 405 soldiers who lost their lives in Gaza. By my fourth month, our tanks were breaking down constantly, and we received concerning instructions about ammunition: ‘Use these shells despite known defects – we’re running too low to be selective.’ Even basic needs became uncertain, with our cooked meals depending many times on donations and civilian volunteers. The army’s mighty logistical machine was running on fumes, yet we pressed on.

Reservists have served unprecedented deployments, some up to 250 days since Oct. 7. The strain is visible everywhere: careers interrupted, studies abandoned, families stretched to breaking point. I watched young soldiers, mostly in their twenties, putting their lives on hold. Increasingly, they would approach commanders saying they didn’t feel well – not physically, but mentally – requesting breaks to decompress. The army, recognizing this toll, began operating with fewer tanks rather than risk complete burnout.

Perhaps most concerning was the growing disconnect between front-line reality and civilian life. Cross north from Sderot, with its ringside view and constant sirens, to Ashkelon, and you entered what felt like a different country – one seemingly oblivious to the grinding conflict just kilometers away. Every time I transitioned between soldier and parent, between Gaza and my university office, the psychological whiplash became more severe. It’s a disconnection that masks serious questions about our strategy’s sustainability.

This disconnect extends to our mission clarity. As a tank crew, we would carry out operations – often demolishing structures or securing territories – without understanding their broader impact. Even our commanders struggled to explain how specific missions contributed to one of our primary goals of hostage recovery. When questioned directly about the hostages during one briefing, a senior officer admitted we knew their locations but couldn’t reach them without risking their lives. Instead, we were told we were ‘laying groundwork’ – a vague justification that grew increasingly hollow with each passing week.

The initial surge of national unity gave way to growing skepticism. In May, I would say that perhaps 10% of soldiers questioned our mission. By the end of my service in December, that feeling was more widespread and unit attrition became an increasing problem. This isn’t defeatism but perhaps reflects a pragmatic recognition that our current approach may not achieve its objectives at an acceptable cost, both strategic and moral. The legitimacy of our cause demands a strategy that matches the ethical standards that have long distinguished the IDF.

A sustainable strategy

As I end my reserve service at the age of 41, my younger comrades have reminded me of my personal stake in this conflict: ‘You think you’re done? Your son is 13 – in five years, this becomes his war.’ They’re right, of course. This realization makes it even more crucial that we honestly assess our direction. I’ve seen both the devastating effectiveness and the profound limitations of military force in Gaza. We’ve achieved extraordinary tactical successes while drifting further from our strategic objectives.

Israel needs a sustainable strategy that balances security requirements with ethical constraints and human costs. This means clearly defining objectives, establishing consistent rules of engagement, and maintaining force readiness. Most importantly, it means acknowledging that military force alone cannot resolve this conflict. The courage and sacrifice of our soldiers deserve a strategy worthy of their service. Right now, I fear they’re not getting it.

I told my unit I wouldn’t return for another rotation in 2025, that this was their war now. But as I watch the slow trickle of hostages returning home and the flood of Gazans passing through the areas I once guarded, I realize this remains very much my future, my son’s future, and Israel’s future. We owe it to our soldiers and to our society to find a better way forward.