Israel is sick with war

Special Envoy to IsraelThe war, and not just any war, is 70 kilometers away, but Tel Aviv is an open-air party. Boom, boom, boom. Electronic music reverberates at an imperial beat at the Shalavata nightclub. The crowd goes wild: cannons shoot fire and colored smoke into the sky. There are go-go dancers on podiums. Someone is handing out red roses. Longing glances flicker between dancers. Drinks cost 25 euros. A friend told me that the motto of Tel Aviv nightlife is that there is no tomorrow.

"Have you come here to do some sightseeing?" some girls queuing at the bar ask me.

—I'm a journalist. I'm here for work.

—Well, write that Israel is fucking amazing.

The war, and not just any war, is 70 kilometers away. Boom, boom, boom. What's playing now isn't electronic music. These are the bombs that the Israeli army launches at imperial pace against the Gaza Strip.They can be heard clearly from the Tel Aviv seafront, where the Shalavata nightclub is located. You have to step outside the club to notice the real explosions. Inside, the music is so loud it bombards your thoughts.

"Have you heard?" asks a young Israeli who works as a public relations officer at one of Tel Aviv's many nightclubs.

—Is that bombing in Gaza?

—Of course. We're too close to Gaza.

—It's strange to hear them from here.

—Why? Are you pro-Palestinian?

—I'm a journalist. What do you think about the war in Gaza?

—That it is necessary to be able to live in peace. They attacked us, and they'll do it again when they can. I lost many friends on October 7th.

The next day we learned that, during the night, Israeli bombing of Gaza killed some thirty people, according to authorities in the Hamas-controlled Strip. It's a figure that means nothing to us. It is estimated that nearly 55,000 people have died as a result of Israeli attacks. Several international organizations accept the estimates and assert that a significant proportion of the victims are civilians. And children. If the motto of the night in Tel Aviv is that there is no tomorrow, what is the motto in Gaza?

The clubs are packed, but Israel is a country at war.

A year and a half after the Hamas attacks of October 7 and the subsequent all-out offensive against the Gaza Strip, Israeli society remains scarred by the grip of the conflict. There is a sense of victimhood and incomprehension from the international community, which is accused of having forgotten October 7th and of having bought into Hamas's narrative. A message also abounds: this war was started by Hamas when it decided to attack Israel, and it is Hamas that continues to hold the hostages. A fear abounds: that if Hamas is not defeated, there will be more October 7ths in the future. Open wounds abound: the horror of October 7th generated a trauma that will last for years. Many Israelis have changed their perception of the Palestinian population living in Gaza. Fewer Israelis have raised their voices against what the UN International Court of Justice investigates as genocide.

Boom, boom, boom... The war continues. From a small hill two kilometers from the Gaza border, you get a macabrely privileged view of what's going on inside. It's impossible to count all the explosions you hear. It's impossible to imagine what those experiencing them must feel. It's rare to be able to watch it from a distance, live. From time to time, columns of black and white smoke rise into the sky. In the background, the Mediterranean Sea. Israeli warplanes fly in and out. The roar of drones is constant.

"Good work, good work... Thank you, thank you, thank you..." A man walking a dog approaches and interrupts the interview with a group of Israeli soldiers. He shakes their hands and thanks them for their work in Gaza. The four soldiers, all young men, have fought and will fight again in the Strip. Now the man with the dog turns to me, annoyed: "I heard you were asking them about civilian casualties in Gaza. Want civilian casualties? Here are all the ones from October 7th."These are the civilian casualties." One of the soldiers, a sergeant, tries to calm things down and continues answering questions. His name is Evan. He doesn't want to give any further details about his identity. The Israeli army warns soldiers not to speak to the press. Those who do agree to speak do so with limited answers.

—I can assure you that we try to minimize the number of civilian casualties as much as possible. Before each bombing, we announce where we will attack.

—Images of massacres of civilians are reaching Europe.

—Hamas uses civilians as human shields. They use civilian infrastructure as operations centers, as weapons depots...

—What is the war in Gaza like?

-It's a very difficult war, it's an urban war. You have to be alert all around because Hamas has many hiding places and they can ambush you at any moment.

—What do you think of Hamas?

—They hate us. Their goal is to make Israel disappear.

The conversation with Sergeant Evan takes place on the esplanade where the Nova festival was held. On October 7, 2023, some 3,000 people, mostly between 20 and 40 years old, attended this electronic music festival, just a few kilometers from Gaza. Hamas militants stormed the esplanade and killed as many people as they could. Dozens of people were also kidnapped. Aside from the deaths—estimated at nearly 300 there alone—the Israeli government reported rapes, dismemberments, and burning of bodies. This was one of the worst scenes on October 7. But it wasn't the only one.

The Nova festival esplanade is now a giant memorial. A tree has been planted in honor of each victim. There's also a kind of stake with a photograph of each victim. They're photographs of very young people. In many cases, they'd posted them on their Instagram accounts. Beneath each photo, there's a quote that represented them. "Live in the moment as if the world were about to end"; "You are like the sun in an autumn world"; "There's no time for drama"; "Every day is a dream come true"; "Smile at the world as only you know how"... And beneath the quote, there's a text, written by family and friends, explaining who they were and how they died. They are sad stories.

Libby Cohen Meguri, 22 years old: Libby called her parents when the sirens started wailing. We told her to take the car and take the highway toward Tel Aviv. She and her friend Ady tried, but the highway was clogged with chaos and hundreds of cars trying to flee. They were stuck; a death trap that made things very easy for the terrorists. After a while, Libby called us again to tell us that her friend Ady had been shot in the head. She was lying dead next to her. "I've also been shot in the stomach and hand, and I'm losing blood." Her father told her to play dead. Libby understood that it was too late and that it was the end: "I love you. Can I sit down? I love you." After eight minutes of calling, without hanging up, Aby told us they were coming back for her: "I think they're coming back to shoot me." A series of gunshots and horrifying noises echoed through the phone before Libby's voice was silenced forever.

At the memorial, you can read dozens of stories like this one. In Israel, almost everyone knows someone who attended the Nova festival or was a victim of the October 7 attacks. The Netanyahu government has turned October 7 into a symbol to justify the war. Hamas killed some 1,200 people—soldiers and civilians—and kidnapped 251 that day. Fifty-eight people remain kidnapped in Gaza. Thirty-three are believed to be dead.

"We came here to remember why we're fighting in Gaza," a young Israeli couple, who asked to remain anonymous, told me. The nearby sound of explosions in Gaza adds to the uniqueness of the scene. I wonder how many trees to honor corpses should be planted in Gaza? I wonder if there are memorials for the victims in Gaza.

"Why do they hate us in Barcelona?"

"October 7, 2023, is literally the worst day in the history of Israel's 77 years of independence," says Ephraim Lapid, a former Israeli army spokesman, reserve general, and military analyst.

—Does October 7 justify the current war in Gaza?

—Not everything is black and white. The Israeli society is diverse. There are many Israelis who disagree with how the Netanyahu regime is waging war in Gaza. But I also believe that the majority of Israelis understood on October 7 that Hamas must be destroyed to ensure Israel's future.

—Does Netanyahu have the support of the Israelis?

—Israeli politics is polarized. Half support Netanyahu, and the other half are in the opposition. The problem is that the opposition isn't valid because it's completely divided and therefore unable to stand up to Netanyahu.

—What is Netanyahu looking for?

—I think he has an interest in continuing this war. Basically, because he's surrounded by legal proceedings that endanger his regime. He's been in power for 30 years; that shouldn't be an acceptable number in politics. In addition to all the external threats facing Israel, there's also an internal one: democracy is at risk.

It's nighttime and the air raid siren sounds in Tel Aviv. It's shrill. It sounds like wolves howling.

A good portion of Israelis continue to heed the warning, and every time the alarm sounds, they head for the bunkers or the security rooms found in most homes. Modern buildings must have a bunkered room for each dwelling. They are ordinary rooms, which everyone uses as they wish, but which are built to be bomb-proof. In the most modern buildings, there are even systems for protection against chemical attacks. We'll find out later, but the siren sounded because a missile launch from Yemen has been detected, where the Houthis continue to bomb Israel in response to the Gaza war. Almost all the projectiles are intercepted by Iron Dome, Israel's sophisticated air defense system. The siren stops wailing. From the Tel Aviv beach, all you can hear now is the roar of the planes. Those coming in from the sea are commercial aircraft and will soon land at Ben-Gurion Airport. Those passing parallel to the beach are military aircraft. They are headed for Gaza. Boom, boom, boom. Wars sharpen the ear.

Israel is a country at war. Israel is a militarized country.

It's easy to find young people doing compulsory military service everywhere: two years for girls and three for boys. There are posters and adhesives of the victims of October 7 and of the dead soldiers in Gaza: their faces are attached to large murals in cities or the airport, or in such everyday prints as in a restaurant, on the walls of the plants or in the sinks of a coffee bar. The Israeli army has offered families of fallen soldiers in Gaza the option of extracting and freezing sperm from the corpses so they can become post-mortem parents. The current war has accentuated the sense of historical grievance that accompanies Israeli society.

"Why do you hate us in Barcelona?" a woman, Maya, asks me at a gas station a few kilometers from the Strip. She's a volunteer in a tent used to "look after the children," meaning the soldiers who enter and leave Gaza. The soldiers rest, eat, drink coffee, and play chess. The soldiers barely want to talk. The woman speaks.I have seen that Barcelona has broken relations with Israel. I don't know how he can do this. Europe, and especially Spain, is buying Hamas's rhetoric. "You love Israel, right? You love Israel, right?" He's wearing a T-shirt with the Israeli flag. Israeli flags abound all over Israel.

For the first time after a year and a half of war in Gaza, some leaders, especially European ones, are beginning to question Netanyahu's brutal military offensive in the Strip and, especially, the humanitarian tragedy unfolding within it. This change of tone, for the moment, has not translated into practical measures. Netanyahu continues to enjoy the support of Europe and, above all, of the United States, his great ally..

Another woman speaks. This time from a central square in Tel Aviv.

“You Europeans don’t want to understand us. I’m starting to hate Europeans.”

“Why?”

“Look at Barcelona City Hall. This is very serious. It’s an attack on the Jews. If Putin ever attacks you, everyone will want Israel’s air defenses and will come looking for us. Maybe then we won’t help him.”

Antisemitism is a recurring word in some speeches. It’s also a way of blurring the lines between politics and religion; between being Israeli and being Jewish.

Netanyahu himself, who often speaks of anti-Semitism when criticized abroad, has a familiar diplomatic practice: the first activity he usually offers visiting international leaders is a tour of Yad Vashem, Israel's official memorial to the victims of the Holocaust.

'It's a boy!'

"It's a boy!". A few weeks ago, a video recorded by Israeli soldiers in the Gaza Strip went viral. It showed them blowing up a building, followed by blue smoke. Someone had rigged the explosive so that, when it detonated, the smoke would turn blue. It was one of the baby shower: a Yankee party held to discover the gender of the unborn child. One of the soldiers present must be the father. The smoke rising from the destroyed building is blue. "It's going to be a boy," the soldiers say. They laugh. Boom, boom.

I send the video to Gidi Hammer, a 30-year-old Israeli who, until recently, was in the ranks of Netanyahu's army.

Gidi decided to abandon the war and now lives in Portugal. The army didn't give him any problems when he told them he wanted to leave. "I had a very good relationship with my superiors; they understood me. Besides, they want people who are committed. And they have no problem finding people who are committed." Let's talk via video call from Jerusalem to Lisbon.

—On October 7, seeing the horrors Hamas had committed, I felt the need to take action and join the army. Friends of mine were killed.

—Where were you assigned?

-My brigade and I were deployed to the north, on the border with Israel, to fight Hezbollah.

—When do you decide to leave?

—There are times when I wonder what I'm doing there, and I can't find any answers. I grew up in a very Zionist and religious family. From a young age, they instilled in me the idea that our people are threatened and must survive. At school, for example, they talked to us a lot about the Holocaust. I think I was brainwashed.

—What do you think about what's happening in Gaza?

—It's genocide. Absolutely. We must stop the war immediately. The army says it minimizes civilian deaths as much as possible. Maybe that's true, maybe not. All I know is that many civilians are dying. And that war brings more war. There has to be another answer.

—In Lisbon, did you explain that you were a soldier?

—Yes, I don't hide it. It's part of my life. Look, in Berlin I participated in a pro-Palestinian demonstration. I found it strange. I'm in favor of ending the war, but I don't agree with the way Israelis are being stigmatized. I think that, in general, people outside the country don't understand the full complexity of the situation. Not everything is black and white.

These critical voices are also present in Israeli society. Like the families of the hostages who are asking Netanyahu to end the war and reach an agreement to free them. Or like the much smaller but existing protests in support of the Palestinian population in Gaza and the West Bank.

"Welcome to Israel. Your life will never be the same," I read on a billboard at Tel Aviv airport. I distract myself with my phone in the queue for the plane. On Instagram, a video appears of a boy from Gaza whose father has just been killed. "Father, father, father. Oh God, dear father," he cries, crazed with rage and pain. His life will never be the same. Nor will the lives of the victims of October 7. Wars, above all, change people's lives.

The return flight to Barcelona is pretty empty. The outbound flight, from Barcelona to Tel Aviv, was even emptier. The war is felt in the arrival of international tourists. Israel is a country at war. The war also travels to Barcelona.

Sitting next to me is a 27-year-old Israeli. His name is Sean Bar. He later explains that he's a soldier and that he fought in Gaza for seven months. He comes to Barcelona to attend Primavera Sound.

—I love Primavera Sound.

—Is this your first time?

—No, I've been there for the last three years. I love Barcelona. It rained last year, but I see the weather is going to be spectacular this weekend.

—Can I ask you about what's happening inside Gaza?

—Horrible things happen. Too horrible.

There's a brief silence. Sean Bar speaks again: "You know what? Nobody can like wars. I don't like wars. I want to live in peace."

Sean Bar says he's looking forward to seeing British singer Charlie XCX live.. Performed on Friday. Electronic music. Boom, boom, boom.