My name is R, and today I will enter military prison, because I refuse to take part in the atrocities.
Growing up in a state that enters a new round of combat every few years, in an environment that reduced the consequences of war into news reports of the soldiers and the Gaza envelope, has prevented me from asking myself basic questions: ones of goal and value, reason and solutions in a time of crisis. I believed that the status quo was a certainty, and that there is no use questioning it.
Growing up in a country where choosing to not enlist is illegal, in an environment in which attempting to avoid service is seen as a cowardly and selfish act, made it clear that the question was not “will I serve?” but “what will my service look like?”. I believed that military service was a given, and there was no point in delving into my lack of accord with the military’s actions.
I served in a rearguard role: I wasn’t proud of the army or the country i was property of – but I was proud of my personal achievements, and in the feeling that at least my position was close to civilian work. I despised the more prominent crimes committed by radicals in the system, and I even acknowledged that a system that attempts to control a population through violence was to blame – but I saw this situation as a given, and myself too weak to create profound change. In my day to day life i was disconnected from combat and for me that felt comfortable. I was learning a trade and in a friendly environment. I had every reason to avoid thinking critically: when my commanding officers told me to “trust the decision makers, because they probably know better than us”, it didn’t matter what my response was. I worked in an environment which fostered obedience and mediocrity, so I took pride in my professionalism and I ignored the actual results of my actions. I was told explicitly: “don’t call it a war machine, consider how one malfunction might hurt the soldiers using it, and you are protecting them” or even “ignore the machine itself, look only at the electric circuits” (my area of work being electricity). I knew doubting the military would make me seem strange and different, and I knew I wasn’t the only one in denial of his worries to get through the day or to promote himself.
I focused on trying to do good at “home”: green initiatives, minimizing racist discussions, and complaints of minor corruption around me. All to relieve the dissonance I felt from giving years of my life to a regime I oppose.
In the days following the 7th of October, the totality of war fed into my helplessness. On my way to the base, I took down signs that hung in front of HaKirya, that spoke of revenge in Gaza. I felt disgust toward the vengeful belief rising in the streets, but while being faced with the same rhetoric around me in the military, I didn’t know how to respond. Despite still feeling it was meaningless, I avoided work directly related to combat more and more, until I stopped working entirely and only came to the office for half days, and even then I wouldn’t work. I started protesting, and I could not keep quiet in personal discussions anymore. The more I recognized my feelings, the more I saw that my actions did have consequences: the people around me dared to speak up like me, other people started doubting the prospects of war because of me; my commanding officers started excusing and hiding my dysfunction from each other. I tried to get discharged quietly anyway I could and it was made clear to me that the only way would be going back to repressing like before or to start fighting, and I understand that in this choice there’s an opportunity. I know there are many people facing the same dilemmas as I, and if we have no choice but to fight, we might as well fight together.
The nightmare we lived through these past two years: the October 7 attacks, the genocide in Gaza, and the war of aggression with Iran which led to missiles falling around where i lived, has proved to me that life as a part of an oppressive occupying system is unnatural, our situation has changed for the worse, which shows it can change for the better.
The return of the hostages proves to us that strikes and mass protests are more meaningful than the small minded interests of the ruling class. But this isn’t the end. I will not serve in a military that sees the opposite of war as – “a war between wars” instead of peace. I will not serve in a military that for two years subordinated all of our lives to carry out a massacre and a famine and to start false wars – and even during the ceasefire that could have been a bridge for peace, looks for excuses and chances to violate. The system seems Kafkaesque, bureaucratic and inhuman. But it is built only by the people who maintain it. And so, we have the power to overthrow it – change it from its core.
Today I refuse to serve in the military. I protest and organize – not because I stopped believing in my own power to change the military, and not because I think the army takes more damage from me if I refuse to serve. I refuse despite understanding that no matter what I do, I am only a small and insignificant part.
I refuse because the choice now is whether to take a seemingly insignificant part in starvation, extermination, and exploitation or to take a seemingly insignificant part in relief, rehabilitation and humanity.
And from this understanding, the choice is simple.
I refuse because I know there are more small and insignificant parts in the system, and I understand that when we come together we will become the significant part.