Armed for survival: how October. 7 The Hamas massacre changed the gun culture in Israel

In the delivery room of a hospital in Jerusalem, as the contractions intensified and the midwife tried to help the woman in labor get more comfortable, the mother felt something strange.

“He told me something was bothering him,” recalled midwife Erga Froman. “Then I realized it was my gun attached to the rotating belt and sliding forward and touching it.” After the baby was born, Froman’s colleagues at the hospital took a photo of him standing next to the newborn, still holding the gun. “It’s a picture of contrasts,” he said.

Before Oct. 7, Froman, a mother of five who now lives in the Golan Heights in northern Israel, had never considered getting a gun license. He had never fired a gun in his life, preferring non-military national service instead of military service in the IDF. Change came soon after An unprecedented terrorist attack by Hamas On October 7, more than 1,200 people were killed in Israeli communities, and the sense of security many Israelis had long relied on was shaken.

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A civilian emergency team conducts a live fire drill in the town of Kiryat Shmona, which is within range of Hezbollah rockets from Lebanon, March 4, 2024. (Erez Ben Simon/TPS-IL)

Froman told Fox News Digital, “On the evening of October 7th, my husband and I realized that because I was traveling alone at night on the dangerous roads to work – to bring life into the world – I needed protection.” “I applied for a gun license the next morning. Now I hope I never need to use it, but I’m ready if I need to.”

For decades, firearm ownership was uncommon in Israel. Although military service ensured that many Israelis were trained with weapons, personal firearms were seen as more of a liability than a necessity. The rigorous licensing process deterred many, and Israelis relied on the state and its defense forces to protect against terrorist threats, outweighing Israel’s low crime rates.

Mama Erga Froman decided to get a gun license after the October 7 Hamas terrorist attacks.

But after the Hamas massacre on October 7, many Israelis began to see personal firearms as a new and necessary means of protection. a more dangerous reality. “On October 7th, because there were not enough medical personnel, there was not enough protection,” Froman said. “Learning from that, we have a community medical team today, and we’re armed to be the first responders.”

Erga Froman, a midwife from northern Israel, and her husband decided to get a gun license after the October 7 terrorist attacks.

Israel’s Supreme Court is currently hearing petitions alleging that nationalist national security minister Itamar Ben-Gvir’s office issued firearms licenses without proper authority.

More than 260,000 new gun license applications have been submitted in the months since the Oct. 7 attack, nearly matching the total for the previous two decades. More than 100,000 licenses have already been approved, which is a tenfold increase compared to the previous year.

A woman in the Jordan Valley, Israel, April 10, 2024. (Yoav Dudkevitch/TPS-IL)

Ayala Mirkin, a mother from Shiloh, Judea and Samaria, known as the West Bank, better known as the Jordan River, applied for a firearms license after her husband, an Israeli army reservist, was deployed to war in Gaza, leaving her alone with three others. young children. “Driving through the Arab countryside, I felt unsafe and knew I had to do something to protect myself,” he said. “The process was faster than it was before October 7, but it still took months due to the backlog of applications.”

Mirkin now carries a pistol when he leaves town, though he remains in conflict. “I don’t want to own a gun. The day I can give it back will be the happiest day of my life. But I have no choice. It’s a means of survival.”

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For families like Mirkin’s, firearms have become a part of everyday life. He keeps his gun safely locked in a safe and teaches his children never to touch it. “It is a means of protection, not of killing,” he emphasizes. “My focus is not on taking life, but on preserving it.”

Among those who hesitated before applying for a license is Oren Gozlan, a paratrooper veteran and his father. living on Israeli side At the Green Line border near the Palestinian town of Tulkarem, Gozlan decided he could no longer avoid arms. “There’s still the fear of having a gun at home with kids, but the need to protect my family outweighs that,” she says. “October 7th changed everything. It made us realize that we are vulnerable in ways we never imagined.”

Gozlan is frustrated by what he sees as inadequate oversight of the licensing process. “In the police force, I’ve seen people who have never held a gun in their life barely hit their targets. It’s scary to think that these people are now walking around with firearms.”

Saar Zohar, a reserve in the elite division, expressed a similar change. Zohar refused to own a gun for years, believing that it was unnecessary after his service. But a series of terrorist attacks after October 7 made him reconsider. “I couldn’t bear the thought of being helpless if something happened,” she says. “Knowing that I’m trained and able to respond, I feel like it’s my responsibility.”

After the October 7 massacre, Saar Zohar, a reservist in an elite unit of the IDF, decided to get a gun license. (Fox News)

Unlike the US, where gun ownership often associated with fear of crime or the protection of private property, firearms in Israel are seen as a means of combating terrorism. Historically, Israel has avoided occasional mass shootings pressed the United States, but experts warn that the rapid proliferation of firearms could change that. With so many untrained individuals carrying guns, the fear of impulsive actions and tragic mistakes looms large.

The Zohar is haunted by the potential for mistaken identity. “The idea that another armed civilian could mistake me for an attacker terrifies me,” he says, referring to the tragic incident in November 2023 in which an Israeli citizen who opened fire on terrorists in Jerusalem was mistakenly killed by a young soldier.

The psychological toll of this change is evident among the new recruits. Eyal Haskel, a father of three from Tel Aviv, describes the social pressure he faced after October 7: “I never wanted to carry a gun, but my friends asked why I wasn’t armed. It felt like an expectation. duty.”

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Israelis train at a firing range, February 12, 2023. (Gil Cohen-Magen/AFP via Getty Images)

But Haskel is also concerned about what he sees at shooting ranges. “People are treating it like a game, shooting without realizing the responsibility. It’s horrible to think these people are licensed now.”

For many Israelis, reform is a necessary response to an existential threat. However, it also revealed deep flaws in the system. Critics argue that the current approach sacrifices long-term safety for short-term safety, warning of potential unintended consequences, from random shootings to increased domestic violence.

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Gozlan says: “Getting a gun license is easier than getting a driver’s license.” “For a machine, you need classes, tests, and strict rules. For a gun, it’s just some paperwork and a few hours at the range.”

Froman sees things differently. “If someone threatens you, you only draw your gun in a situation of national security. You don’t draw a gun in situations of personal danger, except for terrorists. The rules here are clear – you have to have a safe. I can’t trust my husband’s safe, he’s not allowed to use his gun. The weapon is not for general self-defense, but for defense against those who want to harm us.”

An Israeli soldier patrols near Kibbutz Beeri in southern Israel on October 12, 2023, near the site where 270 revelers were killed by terrorists during the Supernova music festival on October 7. (Aris Messinis/AFP via Getty Images)

Mirkin agrees. “We’re not like America,” he said. “We don’t want guns as a hobby… for us it’s not a choice, it’s survival.”

One interviewee, who did not want to be named, explained how his wife trained him to handle firearms even though he did not have a license. “I never wanted to put him in this situation, but if I’m not home during an attack, he needs to know how to protect our children.”

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As Israel adjusts to this new reality, the societal consequences of increased firearms ownership remain uncertain. For many, the weight of these decisions underscores the delicate balance between protection and liability.

“I hope I never have to use it,” Gozlan said. “But I cannot turn a blind eye to the reality we live in. October 7 changed everything.”