It began as an ordinary Friday in April 2024, just before the Passover holiday. Nir Doron Avraham was making breakfast for his wife, Nofar, and their three small children. Afterwards, he was supposed to go to his job at Bezeq, but told his wife that he needed to get something from the car first. Half an hour later, when Nir had not returned, Nofar went outside to check if everything was okay – but their car was not there. She tried to call his cell phone but he did not answer. Then she noticed that the safe was open and that Nir’s gun was missing – and she called the police. A little later, Nir’s lifeless body was found not far away in his car, the gun by his side. He did not leave a letter.

Nofar can only imagine the emotional turmoil her husband was experiencing during those last weeks, from the moment he came back from Gaza to the moment he decided to take his own life. “Nir was the happiest person on earth,” she says during an interview at her home in Gan Yavne. “If it happened to him, it can happen to anyone. There are ticking timebombs that nobody knows about.”

To a large extent, the stories of the soldiers and reservists who died by suicide in the aftermath of their service in the October 7 war remain untold. At the beginning of this year, the IDF published the number of soldiers killed or wounded in 2023 and 2024. The figures show an increase in the number of soldiers who died by suicide: in 2023, 17 died by suicide and 21 in 2024 – the most since 2011. The figures also show that, over the past year, most of the soldiers who died by suicide were reservists.

The IDF claims that the number is not particularly high, given the fact that the number of reservists called up for active duty has almost doubled. But Prof. Yossi Levi-Belz, the head of the Center for Suicide and Mental Pain Studies at the Ruppin Academic Center, warns that we may yet be facing a wave of suicides. “The suicide rates for 2023 and 2024 are not high, because we know that particularly acute crisis situations reduce suicide rates,” he explains. “With incidents like October 7, people feel like they are not alone, that there is ‘an external enemy’ that is greater than the ‘internal enemy’.”

Which makes the internal enemy less significant?

“When the whole of the population is back to its normal routine, there are many people, like reservists, who find themselves in a state of over-vulnerability because the intensity of their trauma has not diminished and they continue to have to deal with PTSD. So, it’s important to say that the current period is even more dangerous in terms of suicides.”

“God has left me speechless,” says Nofar. “Now I have to start my life over – just from the middle and with three children. Nir was a wonderful husband and a dedicated father. We miss him like mad. I always say that he was dead long before he died by suicide. His soul died in Gaza.”

‘He often disappeared. And then suddenly he was back’

Nofar remembers the morning of October 7 vividly. “I remember Nir leaving the house as if it were yesterday. And I remember myself crying, but I knew there was nothing to be done and that he had gone.” Nofar is now 30 years old. She is an art teacher in a primary school and is raising her three children – aged seven, four and two-and-a-half – alone. She first met Nir nine years ago and they had been together ever since.

Nir was an armored personnel carrier driver in the 8110^th Infantry Battalion in the Givati Brigade. On October 7, he and the other members of his unit were deployed to the Gaza envelope and, a few weeks later, they entered the Strip. After five months of service, Nir sustained a wound to his ear and was released from reserve duty. “He experienced severe hearing loss,” Nofar says. “Because of his injury, even the smallest noise would bother him. One day, he burst out and told us ‘Stop shouting! Don’t you understand my ears hurt!?’”

He rarely spoke about the trauma he experienced during his service. Nofar says that, when he came back from Gaza, it looked like a light had been extinguished in him. “He disappeared a lot,” she says. “He would go out and come back without warning and, when I asked him where he went, he didn’t respond. At work, too, I was told that he would go outside a lot and come back suddenly. That was not characteristic of him.”

Nofar recently received a document from some of the members of Nir’s unit, in which they described what they experienced during the war. “On October 9, we went down to Nahal Oz. When we got there, we found out that the road leading up to the kibbutz was inaccessible because of all the dead bodies. We spend hours moving them. We arrived at the barn where all the cows had been killed by mortar shells. There was nowhere to take cover, so we started to dig trenches. The stench was unbearable. It was only two days later that we realized we had dug in next to the bodies of Thai workers who had been killed in the attack … Along with some other soldiers, Nir was chosen to go out and bring back the bodies of civilians that were located on the other side of the perimeter fence … When the ground offensive began, we were given the order to enter Gaza. Our mission was to clear the area of the village of Khirbet Khuza’a. We encountered a school that had been taken over by UNRWA which, in addition to education, was also a hotbed of activity for terrorists…”

“After all that,” Nofar asks, “how can you expect someone to come back to his home and act normally? We are joyous people, full of faith – but this is something that goes beyond my understanding.”

Dr. Shiri Daniels, professional director at ERAN – a volunteer-based NGO that provides mental health support – offers a broader perspective:“When soldiers are in the midst of combat, their heart rate rises and they experience an adrenaline rush,” she explains. “But then they return from the battlefield, and reality hits them – and that’s when things begin to fall apart. During the war, all of us have gone through sudden transitions between routine and emergency – like a particularly cruel game of Land, Sea, Air. It’s incredibly difficult to adapt to these shifts, partly because the qualities required in war are completely different from those needed at home. In Gaza, they have to focus solely on survival and the mission; at home, they’re expected to operate in a totally different mental state, using an entirely different set of skills. These abrupt transitions can be deeply destabilizing.”

Prof. Levi-Belz has also noted this duality in the experiences of reservists. “A soldier is sent into the field of battle by a society that sees him as someone who is helping it, as someone who is doing the right thing at the right time. These moments of battle are significant moments; there is a lot of solidarity and comradeship between the soldiers. In contrast, returning to civilian life takes them back to a place of great disconnect. On many occasions, reservists report an inability to return to everyday life and that they suddenly feel alienated. There is something about the battle which is understandable.Things are clear there, whereas returning  to civilian life is hugely complicated.”

“Two of his four children have been diagnosed as being on the autistic spectrum and now they have all been left fatherless. It’s not easy for them, because Eliran was a very dominant and active father; he would fool around with them and take them on day trips. The emptiness is very significant.”

‘For days, we gathered hundreds of bodies and body parts’

One of the stories that resonated most with the Israeli public over the past year was that of reserve soldier Eliran Mizrahi, who died by suicide last summer. At first, the Ministry of Defence refused to acknowledge him as a “fallen IDF soldier.” His family fought against the decision until the ministry relented and he was given a full military funeral on June 13, 2024. Mizrahi, a 40-year-old from Anatot, was married and had four children.

“Eliran was an alpha male,” says his mother, Jenny, speaking from her home in Mevaseret Zion. “He was big and strong.” She gestures toward the wall behind her, covered with photographs of her late son, and speaks with pride about his appearance. “You’d never imagine that anything could break him. He always had a smile on his face, and he would never let anyone see that something was wrong. But I do remember that, in the weeks before his death, he always wore sunglasses — even inside the house. I guess he wanted to hide the sadness in his eyes.”

Mizrahi experienced the trauma of the Gaza-border kibbutzim and later served for 187 days in the reserves operating a Caterpillar D9 armored bulldozer in the Gaza Strip. “Eliran and his unit were the breakingforce that cleared the path for all the other units that followed,” Jenny says. “They were in Khan Yunis, Tel Sultan – all of the worst places. During the months he spent in the reserves, he was injured in his knee twice. The third time, he was released from reserve duty.”

After his third injury, Mizrahi realized that he was dealing with emotional trauma and started psychological treatment through the Ministry of Defence. Even though he was about to be diagnosed with PTSD, he was sent another call-up order for reserve duty. On Friday, June 7, 2024, two days before he was due to report back to the army, he died by suicide.

Did Eliran talk about his experiences in Gaza?

“Actually, he talked about Gaza all the time,” Jenny says. “When he came to visit us on Shabbat, we would sit and watch videos he took in Gaza and he would tell us how they captured terrorists and how they got into all kinds of places. But he didn’t talk about his emotional difficulties. We found out a lot of things only after his death – like the fact that he couldn’t sleep at night and that he was having nightmares.”

The chasm left by Eliran’s death is very deep, Jenny says. “Two of his four children have been diagnosed as being on the autistic spectrum and now they have all been left fatherless. It’s not easy for them, because Eliran was a very dominant and active father; he would fool around with them and take them on day trips. It’s hard for them to talk about him or even see his photograph. The emptiness is very significant.”

Speaking on a podcast, Eliran’s best friend, Guy, shone a little light on what they went through during their long reserve service in Gaza. “We spent days collecting hundreds of bodies and body parts. You end up becoming apathetic and indifferent to what you see. The soldier standing next to you takes a bullet to the brain and just explodes – and then you’re being asked to pick up his brains from the ground. It’s your friend! A moment ago we were drinking coffee together and now I’m picking up his body pieces. How can anyone come out of that normal?!”

Eliran, as already mentioned, was eventually recognized as a fallen soldier and given a military funeral, but not until his family waged an uncompromising campaign. According to Defense Ministry regulations, a soldier or reservist who dies by suicide outside of the military framework is not automatically acknowledgedas a fallen soldier. However, since the outbreak of the current war, there have been a number of cases of soldiers or demobilized reservists who were recalled to service – which sparked the onset of their post-traumatic symptoms. Recognition from the Defense Ministry is especially important for the families who remain, since it also gives them the opportunity for state-funded psychological treatment and long-term care from the authorities.

“My brother was a delicate soul and when he came home in the summer, after almost 10 months of service, he was a changed man. He said that he did not sleep well at night and started having outbreaks of rage. I realized immediately that it’s not my brother.”

‘I realized immediately that it’s not my brother’

Elena Sergienko will never forget November 17, 2024, the day she was told that her younger brother, Vladislav, had been found dead. “He was my only sibling. I used to call him ‘my heart,’ she tells Shomrim, with tears in her eyes. We met at a café in Tel Aviv, after Elena paid a visit to Vladislav’s grave in Givat Shaul. She’s 31 years old, five years older than Vladislav, and lives in northern Israel. Since his death, she comes to Tel Aviv once a week to help his widow, Anna, with their children.

“My brother made aliyah to Israel at the age of 20 and immediately joined the Paratroopers. I remember how excited he was to be joining the IDF. We became very close; he used to visit me at weekends and we went out clubbing together,” she says, showing me photos of them dancing and laughing together.

In 2018, Vladislav met Anna – a divorced mother of two small children. They fell in love and moved into an apartment together in Jaffa. “A year and nine months ago, little Avieli was born,” Elena says, showing me a photograph of Vladislav holding his new-born baby, a broad grin on his face.

On October 7, Vladislav got an emergency call-up to the reserves and was deployed to Lebanon as an APC driver. “He served in the reserves for 209 days,” Elena says. “My brother was a delicate soul and when he came home in the summer, after almost 10 months of service, he was a changed man. He said that he did not sleep well at night and started having outbreaks of rage. I realized immediately that it’s not my brother.”

Elena tried to set up a meeting with a psychiatrist for her brother. “I contacted the Rehabilitation Division at the Ministry of Defence. They took down his details but never got back to me,” she says. “Then I contacted the HMO, but there was no appointment in the near future. In the end, I found a private psychiatrist. He prescribed an antidepressant and sleeping pills.” Vladislav started taking the medication and his condition improved somewhat, but not for long. In mid-October 2024, he got another call-up for reserve duty.”

Was he reluctant to return to service?

“No. It was very important to him to defend his country and his family.”

And what happened during his final days?

“There was nothing to set alarm bells ringing for me. I remember that on Tuesday [two days before the incident], I called to ask how he was doing and his voice sounded a little strange. I asked if everything was okay and he said it was. He didn’t contact me over the next few days. On Friday, Anna called his commander. He said that Vladi had been demobilized on Wednesday. When she told him that he hadn’t come home, he told her to call the police. On Friday night, an officer came and told us that they had found Vladi’s body.

“I still find it hard to take in. He’s still on the speed dial on my phone. That will never change. I knew he was struggling over the summer, but it never occurred to me how badly.”

Another tragic incident which recently made headlines is the case of Adi Milo from the West Bank settlement of Karmei Yosef, who died by suicide in December last year. Milo, who was 21 at the time of his death, was a squad commander in the Nahal Brigade. “For some people, the war does not end when the war ends,” said a friend in his eulogy for Milo. “Adi was a sensitive and caring guy. He sang, wrote, composed music and played the piano. His musical talent was extraordinary and he was a pure soul. He spent a year volunteering with the Hashomer Hachadash (an Israeli nonprofit that recruits volunteers to work on farms as security guards) before he joined the IDF. Adi joined my unit for advanced training and right from our first conversation, there was a click between us and I knew I could count on him. The connection and the trust between us got stronger and stronger. I wanted him to become a commander and when he decided not to, I designated him my replacement should the need arise. Adi fought like he did everything in life: with all his heart. He was the first one on the scene to treat wounded comrades, even under fire. On March 14, Adi and I went together to the Mental Health Officer to get a discharge. We went our separate ways but we kept in touch and even met up – but that wasn’t enough.”

Milo was discharged from military service for psychological reasons and was home for eight months and even got psychiatric treatment, but he was still traumatized. One day, he told his parents that he was going to see a friend – and that was the last time they saw him.

One of the songs that Milo wrote was played at his funeral. “Adi, the magical child, fought in Gaza. He returned different, quiet, and since then has been fighting against the great darkness that choked him until he could carry on no more,” wrote Yigal Mosko, a journalist and close family friend, after the funeral. “I saw and heard Adi’s many friends at the funeral; a wounded generation that has buried too many friends. Let us be worthy of them.”

Another shocking incident, the details of which have been made known to Shomrim, involved an IDF officer who died by suicide inside the Gaza Strip. Most of the details of the incident are classified, but it is permissible to report that he died as the result of a grenade blast in Rafah, at a time when there was no operational activity in the area.

‘He was dead long before he died by suicide’

All of the families interviewed in the articles, along with others who do not yet feel ready to share their stories, have one clear message to pass on: there are countless soldiers who are suffering from PTSD and other emotional issues due to the events of the past year and a half – but the authorities do not always manage to identify and help them. “When they leave Gaza, the IDF runs simulations with them, to see who is in distress, but you have to understand that people who are genuinely in turmoil will not always raise their hand when they are asked,” says Nofar Avraham. “The army needs to talk to them a few days later and keep on checking their condition over time. They have to delve deep into their souls.”

Prof. Levi-Belz says that there has been a failure when it comes to moving treatment and follow-up from organization to organization. “Clearly, the interface between the IDF and civilian life is not good enough,” he says, “because the moment a soldier is demobilized, the IDF should contact the Ministry of Health and say, ‘These are the people whom the Mental Health Officer has identified as being at greater risk. Contact them.’ In practice, passing the baton between organizations does not happen smoothly.”

And still, Levi-Belz insists that more people need to hear the message, including soldiers’ family and Israeli society in general. “I wish it were possible to keep tabs on the soldiers, but it seems that’s impossible, so responsibility falls on us, as a society and as family members. This is the time to check in – not with those who are back to themselves, but with those who are still dealing with symptoms of trauma, who, when they lost someone a year ago, everyone helped – but have now forgotten about. In such circumstances, the community has a massive role to play.”

How do you ask someone about such a sensitive subject?

“You mustn’t be afraid to brooch the subject. Just ask straight out: Are you having suicidal thoughts? Are you suffering from trauma? And you tell the soldiers: If you’re suffering from any difficulties, don’t keep them to yourself – because you never know when they could intensify and turn into a life-threatening situation for you.”

Elena has a similar message to relay: “The whole issue of soldier suicides is still such a taboo – and it cannot remain one. Within our society, we are not giving these people a safe space in which to talk, otherwise my brother would have shared and maybe the end would have been different.”

Jenny and Itzik Mizrahi, the parents of Eliran, recently established a foundation in his name, with the goal of helping other families whose loved ones are suffering from post-trauma. “My main criticism is directed at myself,” says Jenny. “How did I not see or notice that Eliran was suffering? But I also have criticism for the army, which did not keep its finger on the pulse and did not give him the solution he needed.”

“God has left me speechless,” says Nofar. “Now I have to start my life over – just from the middle and with three children. Nir was a wonderful husband and a dedicated father. We miss him like mad. I always say that he was dead long before he died by suicide. His soul died in Gaza.”

The IDF Spokesperson’s Unit said in response: “The IDF is responsible for the health of its service members and invests significant resources in preventing suicide cases, under the leadership of commanders in the Manpower Directorate and mental health personnel. Since the beginning of the war, the mental health system has been bolstered with hundreds of mental health officers and approximately 800 therapists have been brought in, most of whom are professional and experienced reserve duty soldiers. This activity has helped return about 85 percent of those treated to the fighting cycle.

“In addition, there is a directive to conduct combat debriefings as part of refresher training within combat units. Furthermore, a clinic has been established to treat soldiers with post-traumatic symptoms.

“The mental health system operates a telephone support hotline, and the IDF and Ministry of Defence’s Combat Stress Reaction Unit provides medical-psychological care to civilians who have been discharged from regular or reserve service and are suffering distress as a result of their participation in combat.

“A soldier in reserve duty is obligated to report any changes in their medical condition to the IDF. This reporting requirement is intended to enable the provision of appropriate medical care, suitable assignment and medical treatment if necessary. When there is a concern of suicide risk, the therapist is obligated to report it to the Ministry of National Security and, accordingly, the soldier’s service will also be frozen.

"The IDF shares the families' deep sorrow and will continue to accompany them."