Itamar Greenberg is an 18-year-old Israeli conscientious objector who has been repeatedly jailed, and has served five consecutive sentences at Neve Tzedek military prison in Central Israel, for refusing to enlist in the Israeli army after being summoned for compulsory military service. Here he describes why he refuses to serve in the Israeli army.
Hi, I’m Itamar Greenberg, an 18-year-old activist for reconciliation, equality, and justice. Two weeks ago, I was released from Israeli military prison after serving 197 days for refusing to enlist in the Israeli army.
I was born into a Haredi (ultra-Orthodox Jewish) family in Bnei Brak. The Haredi community in Israel, which makes up 14% of the population, is an insular community. In my environment, military service was never even considered – strictly for religious reasons.
At age 12, I realized that the only way for me, as a Haredi child, to belongto mainstream Israeli society was by joining the army. The journey from that realization to my recent release from prison was filled with deep reflection and internal conflicts -between nationalistic propaganda and rational, ethical thinking.
I started asking questions- not only about the religious faith I was raised in but about humanity and its consequences.
For most Israelis, military service is not only a legal obligation, but almost a necessity – a marker of pride and prestige. But as I learned more about the Israeli army’s role in controlling and suppressing millions of Palestinians, I understood that enlisting wasn’t just a gateway to Israeli society -it was an active participation in a system of violence, domination and oppression.
I realized that if I joined, I would become part of the problem. I understood that for me, it was a choice: mainstream Israeli society or morality. I chose morality.
This decision wasn’t the result of a single dramatic moment but rather the culmination of a long process of learning and moral reckoning. The more I learned, the more I knew I couldn’t wear a uniform that symbolizes killing and oppression.
All of this relates to refusing in the context of the occupation. But in my case, refusing to serve also came in the context of genocide: I refused because I did not want to be involved in perpetrating genocide. I am what is known as a genocide refusenik [a term used in Israel to describe conscientious objectors].
In Israel, refusing to serve for political and moral reasons carries a heavy personal cost. Socially, it may entail ostracization and shaming. Legally, because military conscription is mandatory – with certain exemptions, including for Palestinian citizens of Israel, or on specified grounds – refusing to enlist on conscientious grounds is punishable with prison time. I was repeatedly sentenced to military prison by an Israeli army colonel. In total, I served 197 days, spread over five separate terms. Until the final hours of my detention, I had no idea how many more months of prison awaited me.
Conditions in military prison are harsh. There were days I was placed in isolation due to threats from other inmates. Every day, I was forced to stand at military attention for around four hours.
Yet, I read, I thought, and I wrote. And because of that, my mind was clear. I knew I was doing the right thing, with a deep sense of peace.
At any moment, I knew I could walk free—all I had to do was agree to serve. But how could I, when outside, a campaign of ethnic cleansing and destruction was underway?
Mass killings and apartheid are not, and can never be, a path towards “security” – they are crimes against humanity
Itamar Greenberg, Israeli conscientious objector
Children live in constant fear for their lives, in existential terror—not because of anything they did, but simply because they were born Palestinian. I chose to enter a prison cell as an act of solidarity with these children, and I had no intention of asking for my release before them.
Or maybe I entered the cell so that I wouldn’t kill them.
In any case, my imprisonment lasted as long as it did because I refused to ask for anything, such as exemption on medical or mental health grounds. I didn’t feel I could ask them for anything except to stop the massacre in Gaza. In the end, they [the Israeli military] gave up. They realized I wouldn’t lie about my mental state or submit any other requests for release.
Refusing also came with practical costs. In Israel, the army isn’t just a military institution—it’s the gateway to society. Those who don’t serve are automatically treated as second-class citizens. Doors close, opportunities shrink, and the message is clear: if you’re not part of the system, you have no real place here.
My refusal wasn’t just a personal choice—it was a political statement, and Israeli society reacted accordingly.
On the one hand, activists and members of the radical left expressed support. On the other, the vast majority of the Israeli public sees me as a traitor. I’ve been called antisemitic and a terrorist sympathizer.
Even within my close circles, it wasn’t always easy. A small number of my friends struggled to accept my stance and cut ties with me.
But I don’t see my refusal as just a personal struggle. It’s part of a broader fight—against militarism, against oppression, against a reality where violence is the default response.
And violence should not only cease to be the default—it should be off the table entirely.
In general, the difference between humanists and fascists is—unsurprisingly—the belief in humanism.
But as we know, even those who believe in fascism have a seed of goodness within them.
Their belief in fascism does not, of course, grant us the right to deny them basic human rights—because we do not want to become, well, fascists ourselves.
Our right to fight for justice comes from our commitment to act justly.
The reality between the river to the sea only reinforces how critical this struggle is. We cannot build a just society on the barrels of guns.
Mass killings and apartheid are not, and can never be, a path towards “security” – they are crimes against humanity.
As I write these words, Israel “opened the gates of hell on Gaza” once again, launching massive air strikes across Gaza on 18 March, killing children and entire families in their sleep.
Around the world, people will talk about the genocide Israel is committing. Reports, articles, and investigations will continue to come out.
The international community cannot settle for “expressing concern”.
Weapons exports to Israel must be halted. Israeli leaders responsible for international crimes must be prosecuted. And genocide and apartheid must be brought to an immediate end.
At this point in the piece, there should be some words of hope.
But we don’t have time to dream.
Now is the time to resist.
To join Amnesty International’s call to end Israel’s genocide against Palestinians in Gaza take action here