The soldiers sat on a hill overlooking Jerusalem, the Israeli flag snapping in the wind above them.
For once, no one was giving orders. No one was running toward an alert. No one was scanning the horizon for the next threat. For a few hours, these members of the Israel Defense Forces—many of them reservists pulled away from families, businesses, classrooms and ordinary lives—were allowed to do something war rarely permits:
They stopped and reflected.
During a recent visit to Israel, I had the privilege, as executive director of ZOA-Michigan, of participating in and speaking at powerful programs for IDF soldiers struggling with the emotional wounds of war. Organized together with our Israeli partners, the goal was simple but urgent: to give soldiers carrying the burden of combat a place to breathe, connect and begin processing what they have endured.
The program combined hands-on activities, including working the land and planting trees, with shared meals, music and group discussions around a campfire. As the evening unfolded, soldiers gradually opened their hearts. Some spoke freely. Others said little. But even silence felt meaningful.
When the people sitting beside you understand what you have seen and experienced, silence does not feel empty. It feels shared.
The visible war is easy to recognize. It has uniforms, sirens, rockets, weapons and funerals. The quieter war is harder to see. It begins when a soldier comes home.
Throughout the program, we heard stories that were both heartbreaking and familiar. One soldier spoke about sitting at the Shabbat table with his fiancée but feeling emotionally miles away. Another described staring at a page in class and realizing that he had read the same paragraph 10 times without absorbing a word. A successful business owner shared how, after months of reserve duty, decisions that once came naturally now felt overwhelming.
Several soldiers described sleepless nights, recurring nightmares, anxiety and the feeling of being constantly on guard, even in places that should feel safe. A slammed door. A crowded room. A firecracker going off. Ordinary moments that most people barely notice can instantly trigger memories of the battlefield.
These are not signs of weakness. They are the very real symptoms of trauma.
And Israel is facing them on a staggering scale.
Israel’s Ministry of Defense has reported that more than 22,000 wounded soldiers have been treated since the Hamas-led terrorist attacks on Oct. 7, 2023. Of those, approximately 58% are coping with PTSD or other mental-health conditions. Roughly 63% are reservists—ordinary Israelis who stepped out of everyday life and into history.
Mental-health professionals and military officials have warned of a significant rise in psychological distress among soldiers since the war began, highlighting the urgent need for expanded treatment, rehabilitation and long-term support.
Behind every statistic is a person who answered when Israel called. A son. A daughter. A husband. A wife. A parent. A friend. Someone who stood guard so others could sleep. Someone who carried the weight of Jewish survival on young shoulders.
One of the most moving moments of the program came when the soldiers learned about the efforts of American Jewish communities to support Israel and combat antisemitism. Many expressed profound gratitude. They understood that Israel’s struggle is not fought only on the battlefield. It is also fought in the media, on college campuses, in our communities and in the halls of government.
They wanted us to know that our support matters.
True solidarity means standing with Israel’s soldiers not only when they march into battle, but also when they begin the long journey home. The war may end for many of them when they leave the battlefield. The healing often takes much longer.
