Geared up for survival: How October. 7 The massacre by Hamas changed the gun culture in Israel
In the delivery room at a hospital in Jerusalem, as the contractions grew and the midwife tried to help the laboring woman change to be comfortable, the mother felt something strange.
“He told me that something was bothering him,” recalls Erga Froman, a midwife. “Then I noticed that my gun, which was attached to the revolving belt and went forward, hit him.” After the baby was born, Froman’s colleagues at the hospital snapped a picture of him standing next to the newborn, still wearing a gun. “It’s a metaphor,” he said.
Before October 7, Fromean, a mother of five who now lives in the Golan Heights in northern Israel, had never considered getting a gun license. Having chosen non-military national service instead of military service in the IDF, he had never fired a gun in his life. The change came quickly after Hamas’ unprecedented terror attacks on Israeli communities on October 7, left more than 1,200 dead and shattered the sense of security many Israelis had long relied on.
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“On the night of October 7th, my husband and I realized that because I was walking alone at night on the dangerous roads to my job – to bring life into the world – I needed protection,” Fromean told Fox News Digital. “The next morning, I applied for my gun license. Now I’m hoping I won’t need to use it, but I’m prepared if I have to.”
For decades, gun ownership in Israel was rare. Although military service ensured that many Israelis received weapons training, personal firearms were considered more of a liability than a necessity. A strict licensing process deterred many, and Israelis relied on the state and its security forces to protect them from terrorist threats, which took precedence over Israel’s low crime rates.
But after the killings by Hamas on October 7, many Israelis began to see personal firearms as a necessary defense in a new and more dangerous situation. “Since there weren’t enough medical teams on October 7, and there wasn’t enough defense,” Fromean noted. “Learning from that, today we have a community medical team, and we are equipped to be able to provide a first response.”
Israel’s Supreme Court is currently reviewing petitions against the Minister of National Security, Itamar Ben-Gvir, alleging that his office issued firearms licenses without proper authority.
In the months following the October 7 attacks, more than 260,000 new gun license applications were submitted – almost as many as the total of the previous two decades combined. More than 100,000 licenses have been approved, marking a tenfold increase compared to last year.
Ayala Mirkin, a mother from Shiloh in Judea and Samaria, better known as the West Bank, applied for a gun license after her husband, a former IDF soldier, was sent to fight in the war in Gaza, leaving her alone with the three of them. small children. “I felt unsafe driving in Arab areas and realized I had to do something to protect myself,” she said. “The process was much faster than before October 7, but it took months because of the flood of applications.”
Mirkin now carries his gun whenever he goes out of his residence, although he always argues. “I don’t want to have a gun. The day I get it back will be the greatest joy in my life. But there’s nothing I can do. It’s a survival tool.”
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For families like Mirkin’s, guns have become a part of everyday life. He keeps his gun locked in a safe and has trained his children never to touch it. “It is a tool for protection, not for killing,” he emphasized. “I’m focused on saving life, not taking it.”
Oren Gozlan, a paratrooper veteran and father, is among those who wonder before applying for a license. Living on the Israeli side of the Green Line near the Palestinian town of Tulkarem, Gozlan decided he could no longer avoid arming himself. “The fear of having a gun at home with children is still there, but the need to protect my family is over,” he said. “The 7th of October changed everything. It made us realize that we are vulnerable in ways we never imagined.”
Gozlan is alarmed by what he sees as insufficient understanding of the licensing process. “In the surrounding areas, I’ve seen people who have never held a gun in their life, hitting lightly. It’s scary to think that these people are walking around with guns.”
Saar Zohar, a reservist in the elite unit, echoed the same sentiment. For many years, Zohar refused to own a gun, believing that there was no need after his service. But the series of terrorist attacks that followed on October 7 forced him to reconsider. “I couldn’t bear the thought of being helpless if something happened,” he says. “Knowing that I have training and that I can respond, I feel that it is my responsibility.”
Unlike in the United States, where gun ownership is often associated with fear of crime or the protection of personal property, guns in Israel are viewed as tools to fight terrorism. Historically, Israel has avoided the mass shootings that have plagued the US at times, but experts warn that the rapid proliferation of firearms could change this. With so many untrained people carrying weapons, the fear of recklessness and blunders increases.
The Zohar is plagued by the power of misidentification. “The idea that another armed citizen could mistake me for an attacker terrifies me,” he said, referring to the tragic incident in November 2023 when an Israeli citizen shot at terrorists in Jerusalem and was mistakenly killed by a young soldier.
The psychological trauma of this change is evident in those who are newly armed. Eyal Haskel, a father of three from Tel Aviv, describes the social pressures he faced after October 7. “I never wanted to carry a gun, but my friends ask why I’m not armed. work.”
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But Haskel was also disturbed by what he saw at the shooting ranges. “People take it as a game, they shoot without understanding the responsibility. It’s scary to think that these people have a license.”
For many Israelis, change represents a necessary response to the current threat. However, it also exposed deep flaws in the system. Critics argue that the current approach sacrifices long-term safety for short-term security, warning of potential unintended consequences, from accidental shootings to increased domestic violence.
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“Getting a gun license is easier than getting a driver’s license,” Gozlan said. “With a car, you need lessons, tests and strict rules. A gun, paperwork and a few hours in the area.”
Froman sees things differently. “If someone threatens you, you only draw your weapon in a situation of national security. You don’t draw a gun to face a life-threatening situation unless it’s a terrorist issue. The rules here are clear – you have to have your gun safe. I can’t trust my husband’s safe. I’m not allowed to use his gun to protect those who want to harm us, not It’s just self-defense.”
Mirkin agreed. “We are not like America,” he said. “We don’t want guns as a hobby … for us, survival, not choice.”
Another interviewee, who asked not to be named, described how he trained his wife to handle firearms, even though she did not have a license. “I never wanted to put him in this position, but if I’m not at home during the attack, he needs to be able to protect our children.”
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As Israel adjusts to this new reality, the societal implications of increased gun ownership remain uncertain. For many, the weight of these decisions highlights the delicate balance between protection and responsibility.
“I hope I don’t have to use it,” Gozlan said. “But I can’t ignore the reality we live in. Oct. 7 changed everything.”
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