There are hardly words to describe what it’s like to watch the bravest people you know suffer so deeply.
No period in our modern history compares to this: Thousands of soldiers, survivors, first responders, and civilians have witnessed or been victims of humanity’s most incomprehensible, brutal acts of terror. Since October 7, Israelis have lived with unrelenting trauma, merely surviving in the shadows of who they once were.
We call it post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), but we are not “post-war.” We are still in it. And for many, the hardest battles are just beginning.
Trauma is everywhere in Israel
In our clinical and community work, we are seeing it firsthand. More than a third of Israelis are experiencing severe symptoms of depression or PTSD in the aftermath of Hamas’s massacre. Some still function – going to work, raising children, appearing “fine” – but beneath the surface, they are silently unraveling. Others are completely incapacitated, trapped in flashbacks and panic, unable to escape the darkness of what they lived through.
The trauma is everywhere, and too often, it is invisible. It is in the deaths of soldiers in Gaza, in families being torn apart, in civilians attacked on city streets, and in homes reduced to rubble by missiles. Israelis are caught in a vicious cycle of grief and fear, with no time to process what they’ve lived through – let alone what they’ve lost.
On July 4, five months after being discharged from a lengthy reserve duty where he was a combat soldier transporting the bodies of fallen IDF soldiers, Daniel Edri, a 24-year-old with his entire life ahead of him, burned himself alive to finally escape the horrors he had seen and felt and remembered.
Edri had told his mother that he could still smell and envision the dead bodies, memories of dismembered troops, and the faces of his closest childhood friends whose bodies he found murdered on October 7 at the Nova music festival. Daniel knew he needed help. He sought care. But when he tried to admit himself to a psychiatric hospital, he was told to wait.
By then, it would be too late. The torment was too much to bear, so he subjected himself to agony so great that it can only compare to how many Israelis were murdered on October 7.
Saving lives at risk
A diagnosis is more than a label. It provides validation and a way forward, giving those suffering a sense of hope. Perhaps if someone had helped Daniel, he would still be alive, and his family and nation would not be mourning the loss of yet another brave soul. Perhaps if Daniel had received the care he needed, he could have been happy again someday.
What’s most devastating about Daniel’s story, and everything frightening and unjust and heartbreaking about it, is that he is not alone. We know of at least a dozen reservists who have taken their own lives since October 7. This is in addition to victims and survivors and witnesses of the atrocities.
At this moment, we can’t help but think of Shirel Golan, who took her life a year after surviving, or Asaf Ben David, the uncle of former hostage Mia Schem and father of two young children, who took his life one year and four months later.
In the days since we were finalizing this piece, at least two more IDF soldiers died by suicide. Their names may not have been publicized, but their pain is tragically familiar. We cannot allow that number to continue to increase.
Israel is in the midst of a mental health state of emergency. The system isn’t built for this level of need. On average, it takes more than 250 days to receive full PTSD recognition and treatment. Suicide rarely happens “out of the blue.” As people are left alone with their pain – undiagnosed, untreated, and hopeless – that wait time can be fatal.
Mental health care is as critical as any physical defense mechanism. Trauma must be treated like a battlefield injury: immediate, visible, and real. Israel Friends helps fund PTSD teletherapy through a partnership with Healthy Mind for thousands of Israelis who have received the help within a week of registering. All one has to do is go to a Resilience Center and ask.
Unfortunately, it’s still not enough. The country needs more resources that more people can access faster. We must invest in scalable, sustainable mental health infrastructure. We must treat trauma like any other war injury.
Our soldiers have spent the last 23 months protecting us. Some came back with physical wounds. But many more returned broken in ways we cannot see. Their pain doesn’t show up in X rays or MRIs. But it’s there. The stakes are too high. Suicide is unbearably permanent.
Israelis, and our soldiers specifically, are the strongest, most resilient people we have ever known. They have protected us with everything they have. But for many, the war doesn’t end when they return home or when their physical wounds heal. In fact, the real battle is just beginning.
Let Daniel Edri’s death – and those of Shirel Golan, Asaf Ben David, and too many others – serve as a national wake-up call. Mental health is not a luxury. It is not a secondary issue. It is a matter of life and death.
It’s our turn to fight for them.
Kyle Blank serves as the executive director of Israel Friends, a nonprofit committed to safeguarding the Jewish state, where he draws on his analytical experience and leadership skills to identify urgent needs and scale innovative solutions.
Ori Sukrun is a licensed clinical social worker who received her master’s in social work from Tel Aviv University and currently works with Healthy Mind, treating survivors of October 7.