When the army forgets its own: The tragedy of mental health neglect

Another precious life has been lost. Ariel Meir Taman died by suspected suicide yesterday at his home in Ofakim, after carrying the unbearable weight of identifying fallen soldiers during this devastating war. He was not killed in combat. He was broken by the system that asked him to confront death day after day and then turned its back when the cost of that duty became too heavy.

Taman’s story is not an isolated tragedy. Since the start of this month alone, six soldiers have taken their own lives – three of them active-duty combat soldiers, one in active reserve duty, and two others who had been discharged after long stretches of reserve service during the war. These numbers are not statistics. They are names. Faces. Families torn apart. Lives that could have been saved with real mental health support, compassion, and action.

A Soldier Is a Soldier – Every Role Is Essential

The IDF prides itself on providing soldiers with the necessary equipment to survive—helmets, boots, and vests. But survival is not just about the battlefield. What about the mind? What about the soul? A soldier can be fully armored and still be shattered inside.

And here’s the truth: the military doesn’t seem to grasp that a soldier is a soldier. Whether they are on the frontlines with a rifle, behind the scenes in logistics, or in the heartbreaking role of identifying fallen comrades, each role is essential. Each life matters.

Yet, soldiers in the Military Rabbinate, who handle some of the most traumatic tasks imaginable, are treated as though they are “less than combatants.” They are offered fewer psychological resources, fewer mental health sessions, and fewer days of rest than those on the frontlines.

The absurdity is staggering: a soldier cooking meals in Gaza qualifies for more mental health support than a soldier spending day after day face-to-face with death. Trauma doesn’t care about job titles or combat designations. If the IDF truly values every soldier, its policies must reflect that.

The Writing on the Wall

Those serving in these units are sounding the alarm. They plead daily for the army to understand the magnitude of what they face, for more funding, for more psychological care, and for even a fraction of the humanity they extend to others. Their warnings are clear: “The writing is on the wall. We are breaking, and we need help.”

But instead of heeding these cries, the system continues to fail them. Soldiers are released without follow-up care. Some try to return to their roles, only to be blocked by mental health officers who recognize their suffering—but offer no alternative path to healing. Instead, they are left adrift, their pain ignored until it’s too late.

A Deadly Silence

The military has been reluctant to even publish accurate statistics on suicides among its soldiers, especially since the war began. Why? Because the truth would force accountability. From October 2023 through the end of that year, seven soldiers died by suicide. In 2024, that number jumped to 21. And in 2025? We don’t know. The official numbers are being withheld. What we do know is that Haaretz has confirmed at least 17 more cases this year among active-duty soldiers.

This is not just a mental health crisis—it’s a moral crisis. These men and women risk everything for their country, only to be treated as expendable when the wounds they carry are invisible.

A Call to Action

Enough is enough. Helmets, boots, and vests are not enough! Our soldiers need more than gear—they need mental and emotional armor. The military must be held accountable for the mental health of its soldiers—not just while they serve, but long after the uniform is taken off. There needs to be:

• Equal access to mental health services for all soldiers, regardless of combat status.

• Ongoing follow-up care for soldiers exposed to trauma, especially those in roles like identification and recovery.

• Transparency in suicide statistics and an independent review of every case.

• A culture shift that values mental health as much as physical safety.

If we can prepare soldiers for war, we must also prepare them for the psychological aftermath. Anything less is a betrayal.

For Ariel z”l, and for All We’ve Lost

Ariel Meir Taman’s story should haunt us. It should compel us to examine closely the systems we uphold and the lives they claim. His spirit—dedicated, compassionate, and selfless—deserved better than to be crushed under the weight of neglect.

We owe it to Ariel z”l, and to every soldier who never got the help they needed, to demand change. A soldier is a soldier. Every single one is essential. These lives are not collateral damage. They are the heart and soul of our country, and they deserve to live, to heal, and to be honored—not just in death, but in life.