The IDF casually gives up on 2,300 soldiers

Approximately 2,300 reservists, recognized as IDF disabled veterans due to Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), recently received notification that their service has been frozen. With one bureaucratic click, thousands of soldiers were frozen. Make no mistake: these are not people who requested an exemption or declared they were unable to serve. These are soldiers who have already passed the required examinations, were re-enlisted, carried weapons, commanded, and fought for long months in the war — and proved their fitness in the strictest test that exists: the battlefield.

And yet, the IDF chose to freeze them in a sweeping decision. This decision is even more disconnected against the backdrop of the manpower shortage in the IDF. On one hand, the system warns of a shortage of soldiers, fights for the extension of mandatory service, and increases the burden of reserve duty days, and on the other hand, it casually gives up on 2,300 experienced soldiers who are fighting for the right to continue and contribute.

There is no argument here about the necessity of a fitness check. On the contrary, the IDF is obligated to ensure that everyone who carries a weapon is fit to do so. But when a soldier has already been checked, returned to service, received backing from his commanders in the field, and proved himself in the most difficult combat conditions — it is hard to understand how one can ignore all of this, freeze him by remote control without examining his personal situation, and ignore the assessment of his direct commanders.

For many of them, returning to the reserves is not just a return to the army; it is a central part of the rehabilitation. It is the evidence that it is possible to return to friends, to functioning, and to a sense of meaning. As described in an interview by a reservist who rehabilitated and has now received the freezing notice:

"Throughout the rehabilitation, I had two dreams — one to return to running and the second to return to serve with my friends in the reserves. It hurts. Suddenly they tell you that you are not serving anymore. It was not that I was not capable of returning to the reserves. No one asked me."

This is exactly the heart of the problem. This decision ignores the person and ignores the reality on the ground. This gap is particularly prominent when looking at the recommendations of the Mor-Yosef Committee, which the government and the defense establishment adopted. One of the core principles of the committee is that the rehabilitation of those injured physically and mentally must be continuous, personalized, and flexible, while taking into account the soldier's desire and his return to functioning. The committee determined that one should not treat the wounded through rigid templates, but rather build for each soldier a path that sees the person.

The consequences of this step are much broader than one private case or another. The message that the defense system transmits to the reservists is dangerous: whoever turns to mental health treatment or asks for recognition of his injury might find himself excluded in the future — even if he succeeds in rehabilitating and returning to serve. Instead of encouraging soldiers to turn to treatment, the system creates a fear that causes soldiers to suffer in silence and hide distress, just so as not to lose their place in the unit.

If there is a doubt regarding a soldier — check. If there is a need for a medical committee — convene it. Consult with the unit commanders who know the soldiers on the battlefield. But do not erase with a sweeping decision from Excel tables the most important test that has already been held. Whoever proved himself on the battlefield deserves to be judged also according to the battlefield.