Upcoming: What's Left
A small group of Israeli teenagers dares to dream of a society without war and occupation.
They are what’s left of Israel’s refusenik movement. But are they really alone?
A group of refusers as they walk back from a protest on Kaplan Street.
Photo by Chris Caurla​
On his last day of freedom, Itamar Greenberg woke up looking forward to his arrest. His best friend still slept on the couch. The room smelled of pizza and beer, still lingering from a night spent talking about life, politics, and religion, just like they always had as classmates at a pre-military college. Although their lives followed a similar path, from that day, they diverged in opposite directions. He took a picture of his friend and walked out past his father's military awards. The trophies propped up hundreds of religious volumes he had once so diligently studied – a fitting exit for someone who had rejected both faith and, now, the military.
"Why don't you want to enlist?" asked the head of the committee tasked with deciding his fate, while an officer typed on a computer. Next to that small office, there was a prison cell Itamar knew was destined for him.
"I want to be a good citizen," Itamar responded, "and for me, the moral thing to do is not to serve in this army."
"Please step out," said the head of the committee. "From this moment, you are officially detained.​​​​​
Itamar's prison cell
From that moment, he was also a conscientious objector. In Israel, they call him a refusenik. They also call him a traitor. In the eyes of most Israelis, objecting to the draft means betraying the nation. It means ostracization. Often, it means prison time. In a country that’s been almost constantly at war, the line between nationalism and militarism tends to blur. The security ethos permeates schools, politics, and national holidays, elevating military service to the most untouchable of Israel’s sacred values.
Refusing is the ultimate act of disobedience. If enough people did it, Israel's military would cease to function. The government, which has so far managed to absorb or deflect pressure, would be in no position to continue the war or the occupation. It may seem far-fetched, but such pressure wouldn't be anything new. The refusal movement has been a political force to be reckoned with since before Israel's funding. Refuseniks played a key role in Israel's decision to withdraw from Southern Lebanon in 1982, and from Gaza in 2004. Today, the increasingly oppressive occupation and the pressure to resume the most controversial war in the country's history may yet stir the refusal movement.
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Ella on the left, Itamar on the right. Both went through two coming-outs. Itamar left religion and the military. Ella will become the first public transgender refuser ever in March.
Photo by Chris Caurla​
Over the last six months, I have gained unique access to the group of friends at the centre of the movement. They are all young, they are all friends, and they defy all norms around them. They share the keys of each other's apartments and the bond of those who found family in a society they despise––and that despises them in return––both questioning each other’s right to exist. While their classmates prepare for the enlistment test, refuseniks study the list of things they are allowed to take to prison. Refusing is a rite of passage, being arrested a badge of honor.
But these fighters of the Philistine camp are no Goliath. In a country of ten million, with an active army of about 170,000, and 65,000 new recruits each year, the number of refuseniks hardly reaches double digits. Since the start of the war in Gaza, only 11 Israelis required to serve have publicly refused. Yet, these teenagers are just the tip of the iceberg. While their defining act is carried out by a tiny minority, the principles behind their refusal are spreading. Beneath the surface, the movement may be larger than ever.
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Picture of a Jewish settler caught from Itamar's car. He attacked as they were protecting Palestinian farmers
Photo by Chris Caurla
​Their story was covered in some outlets, but no one interviewed all the refuseniks. I spent about a month following them wherever they went, including during protests, imprisonment, and settler attacks. I built an especially close relationship with Itamar and have also interviewed his brother, mother, and father, who is a highly decorated military officer. His life is a perfect lens to explore the contradictions of Israeli society, and what it takes to challenge it. I plan to use it as the narrative backbone to tell the definitive story of Israel’s refuseniks, weaving in important historical and cultural context as well as some of the intersecting stories of others in the refusenik fold.
I have been reporting on this story for over six months and have also recorded over fifty hours of conversations, as well as hundreds of photos and videos that I would be happy to use in support of the main article.
Itamar and another refuser (on the left and center) walking with a Palestinian kid (on the right) during a protected presence in the West Bank.
We spent the night with Bedouins and were attacked by Jewish settlers in the morning.
Photo by Chris Caurla