Civil war in Israel is not unthinkable

At that stage of the war, there were only a few hundred of them, and the guard duties were undertaken by reservists of the Military Police Corps, while interrogators from the Intelligence Branch Unit 504 were in charge of questioning them.

Three weeks later, the ground campaign began and with it the arrests of thousands of suspects.

The Military Police did not have the manpower to guard them and the Prisons Service, under Itamar Ben-Gvir’s National Security Ministry, despite receiving hundreds of millions of shekels to expand its prison wings, was not prepared to accept more than a few hundred.

The IDF Operations Directorate hastily assembled a group of reservists, under the command of a major, who adopted the name “Force 100”.

“Just like too many other aspects of this war that the government and the IDF High Command didn’t focus enough on, the personnel of Force 100, their training and conduct, was something they failed to pay attention to until it was too late,” says another IDF officer.

There were too many other pressing matters to attend to in the long months of war, and petitions by doctors and the testimony of Palestinians released back to Gaza about meagre rations, lack of medical attention and beatings were dismissed.

A petition to the Supreme Court by Israeli human rights groups finally spurred the IDF to action and the number of detainees in Sde Teiman was reduced. Some were released, others transferred to slightly less crowded prisons. But there were still hundreds there.

It was the report from a senior Israeli doctor who treated a prisoner who showed all the signs of having been sexually abused that finally led to an investigation by the IDF’s CID and the arrest on Monday of nine soldiers from Force 100, including its commander.

The arrests caused angry riots and protesters burst into Sde Teiman, along with members of the Netanyahu government. They later turned on the Beit Lid base, where the suspects had been taken for questioning. “There were plenty of soldiers among them, some of them carrying rifles and with face-masks,” said a soldier currently serving at Sde Teiman. “I’ve seen a lot of terrible things in this war, but this was the first time I saw IDF soldiers confronting each other. This time it ended in a bit of shoving. If the generals and the politicians don’t get their act together, it could end differently next time.”

Tragedy up north

Driving through Majdal Shams – you can walk, of course, but the steep mountainside will soon tire you out – is always like driving through two countries, or two periods in history.

As you approach it from south, along the northern Golan plateau, it looks almost like any other small Israeli town, with chain stores and petrol stations, their signs all in Hebrew, and new public buildings festooned with Israeli flags.

Then, driving up the Mount Hermon slope, past the town square with its statue of moustachioed Druze warrior and into the winding narrow streets of the old town, you’ll see the Israeli flags disappear.

Only a handful of the businesses – mainly family-run restaurants – have signs in Hebrew.

Until about 15 years ago, you could still see the odd Syrian flag here. These have all been removed since the civil war, during which Syria’s Druze community was on the rebel side, but the “Israelisation” of the Golan Druze is still taking its time coming up the hill. Though full Israeli citizenship has been on offer since 1982, when Menachem Begin’s government extended Israeli sovereignty to the Heights, only about 25 per cent have so far accepted it. Although, as one local resident says, “the number will grow now because many young couples having children have become Israeli”.

When the bodies of the 12 children killed on Saturday afternoon in the Hezbollah rocket attack were brought to town early the next morning for burial, the local council’s original plan had been to start the funeral procession in the large football pitch, next to the smaller children’s one where they had been killed.

The sports grounds are near the new, government-funded recreation centre in the “Israeli” part of town. Rows plastic chairs had already been set out.

Then, out of respect for the elders, the location was changed and the funeral took place uphill, outside the old city hall.

“Majdal has to be united in this tragedy,” said one relative of the victims. “So we’re conducting the funeral as a private affair of our community, though some of the children were Israeli citizens.” Israeli ministers who asked to attend were requested politely to stay away.

A few who arrived nevertheless, such as finance minister Bezalel Smotrich, were angrily turned away.

“No one here is happy with this government,” said another resident. “The older generation are still hostile to Israel, and the younger generation in Majdal, people like me who see ourselves as Israeli, blame the government for not protecting us against Hezbollah. After all, why did we become Israeli?”

The next day, Benjamin Netanyahu arrived, though the mourning families of the dead children refused to meet him.

The prime minister was pictured speaking to locals on the football pitch and then met the local council leader in a building nearby.

Outside a crowd gathered in an angry protest and shouted “murderer” but even here it was possible to see two different groups.

On the left stood those who were protesting over the deaths of Palestinians in Gaza.

On the right were those angry about the deaths of Israelis, from October 7 to last Saturday. All were blaming Netanyahu. In so many ways, it was a very Israeli protest.