In Israel, an unfolding military scandal has become a mirror held up to a society that seems determined to look away from its reflection.

The protagonist is Maj. Gen. Yifat Tomer-Yerushalmi, until recently the chief legal officer of the Israel Defense Forces. At the end of October, Tomer-Yerushalmi wrote in a public resignation letter that she had authorized the leak of a video showing a Palestinian detainee being abused by Israeli soldiers in 2024. A few days later, at the start of last week, she was arrested.

The fact that Tomer-Yerushalmi was arrested should have been an opportunity for national soul-searching. But almost no one asked the most fundamental questions: Why did her transgression happen? Why was she the person to bring the abuse to light?

The answers, I think, tell a grim story about the state of Israel’s national conscience.

The official story, repeated endlessly in the Israeli press, is that Tomer-Yerushalmi violated secrecy laws, obstructed justice, and lied about her role when questioned by the authorities and the Supreme Court. All of those claims may be true. She herself has admitted to authorizing the leak and later trying to hide it.

Television studios hosted panels on whether Tomer-Yerushalmi had disgraced the army. The prime minister’s spokesman, before her detention, issued a statement calling for her arrest. But the widespread outrage has focused overwhelmingly not on what the video revealed, but on the fact that it was leaked.

Why?

Restraint and legality are supposed to distinguish Israel from its foes. The video does not demonstrate those qualities. In it, soldiers at a military detention facility called Sde Teiman, in southern Israeli, escort a blindfolded Palestinian detainee into a tent, largely shielding themselves from the camera’s view. At points, the detainee they surround can be seen pinned against a wall and lying on the floor.

Five reservists were eventually indicted for “severe abuse” of a detainee in relation to the video, with military prosecutors alleging that the victim sustained broken ribs, a punctured lung, and internal injuries consistent with a stabbing by a sharp object.

Wars are ugly, and the enemies Israel faces are real. No one doubts that Hamas and other militant groups have committed barbaric acts. But for Israel to sanction or ignore such abuse against captives would be for it to betray its own moral foundation.

Highly vocal yet minority factions of Israeli society demanded that the reservists be freed and minimized the issue. There was a protest by far-right Knesset members at the base where they served; on social media, some dismissed the gravity of the charges, suggesting that with Israel engaged in so dire a war against so rabid an enemy, the finer points of the law are absurd.

That’s not the only reason that the outrage over Tomer-Yerushalmi’s actions seems shockingly disproportionate. Also important is that across many different administrations, the prime minister’s office has been known to leak as a matter of routine — to almost no protest whatsoever.

I can report from experience that the PM’s office routinely leaks information about classified meetings of the Security Cabinet under absurd conditions. Successive governments have used controlled leaks to shape narratives, deflect blame and undermine rivals. Journalists in Jerusalem and Tel Aviv live off an endless stream of “sources familiar with the matter” or “officials close to the prime minister,” many of them senior officials.

The sanctity of secrecy, apparently, only becomes a principle when someone leaks for moral reasons, rather than political ones. Tell me if that calculus seems reasonable to you.

In a healthy society, I think, people would be much more alarmed by the reasons Tomer-Yerushalmi chose to leak the video, rather than the leak itself. She seems to have believed that the army would bury the incident, or that investigators would be pressured to look away.

Was she wrong? The record suggests not. Look to the West Bank, where hundreds of Palestinians have been killed in recent years amid almost daily violence. Soldiers who allegedly bore responsibility for the deaths — the details of which can be absolutely brutal — have rarely faced serious punishment. The military and state have convicted exactly zero soldiers for abuses during the war.

When the army’s own legal chief suspects a cover-up, she’s raising an alarm about the system she served. The fact that Israel is apparently refusing to listen is telling, and terrifying.

What this episode truly exposes is the extent to which Israel’s moral instincts have been replaced by bureaucratic ones: Maintain the facade, contain the damage and punish the breach. A society that talks more about the propriety of a leak than the content of the leak is a society in denial.

This distortion did not emerge overnight. It is the product of the almost 60 years of occupation that have habituated Israelis to controlling another people; the two-year trauma since Oct. 7 that has consumed our empathy; and the political culture, under Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, that has trained us to prize survival over principle. The result is a public sphere where accountability feels like betrayal, and secrecy masquerades as patriotism.

No one expects a country under constant threat to be saintly. But the essence of a liberal democracy is its willingness to look unflinchingly at its own sins. Israel’s founders built institutions precisely for that purpose: a free press, an independent judiciary, a military legal corps charged with enforcing law in the fog of war. Israel’s current leadership — and to a degree, its media as well — is betraying that legacy.

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Former Israeli Ambassador to the US Ron Dermer attends a special session of the Knesset, Israel’s parliament, to approve and swear in a new right-wing government, in Jerusalem, Dec. 29, 2022. Photo: REUTERS/Amir Cohen/Pool

Israel’s Strategic Affairs Minister Ron Dermer, who played a leading role in negotiations during the Gaza war and was a close confidant of Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, resigned on Tuesday.

His departure follows weeks of speculation in Israeli media and marks the end of a tenure that began in late 2022, when he was tapped for the post after years as Israel’s ambassador to Washington.

“I am writing to inform you of my decision to end my position as minister for strategic affairs,” Dermer wrote in a two-page letter to Netanyahu released to the media.

There was no immediate response to a request for comment from the prime minister‘s office.

The US-born Dermer wrote that when he became minister of strategic affairs in December 2022, he promised his family he would serve for no more than two years and twice he extended it with their blessing.

He wrote the first time was to work with Netanyahu to remove the existential threat of Iran’s military nuclear capability in June and the second was to negotiate a ceasefire in Gaza in October and the return of Israel’s hostages held in Gaza.

“What I am to expect in the future I don’t know but one thing I know for sure: In all that I will do, I will continue to do my part to secure the future of the Jewish people,” he wrote.

Dermer was one of Netanyahu’s most trusted advisers, negotiating the October ceasefire with both the Trump administration and Arab countries.

Dermer was ambassador to Washington from 2013-2021. His service there overlapped with Republican President Donald Trump’s first term from 2017-2021.

For Negin Nader Bazrafkan, Yiddish lessons have been an unexpected perk of moving into her Upper West Side apartment.

Her roommate — and unofficial Yiddish teacher — is 96-year-old Rebecca Schull, a retired actress best known for her roles as Fay Cochran on the sitcom Wings and as protagonist Mike Ross’ grandmother on Suits. From Schull, Bazrafkan has learned words like chutzpah, schmuck, simcha, klutz, schmutz, and faynshmeker. Her favorite is tuches, slang for buttocks, a word that makes them both laugh and their cheeks flush.

The unlikely roommates’ 61-year age gap might raise eyebrows on its own. But for some of Bazrafkan’s friends, it’s the fact that she’s Muslim and Schull is Jewish that stands out most.

“A lot of people ask me, ‘Isn’t it hard, after October 7, to live with a Jewish person with Israeli roots?’” she said. “And I tell them, ‘No, it’s really not hard at all.’”

In fact, Bazrafkan had hoped to live with an older Jewish woman. During the Iran-Iraq War in the 1980s, her parents fled Shiraz, Iran — a city once home to a significant Jewish community — and resettled in Denmark, where she grew up. Her mother often reminisced about her childhood Jewish friends and encouraged her daughter to connect with people from different backgrounds.

So when Bazrafkan moved to New York City in January 2023, she made it a priority to experience Jewish culture firsthand. While pursuing a Master of Laws at Fordham University, she worked at both the American Jewish Committee and Fordham’s Center for Jewish Studies; often, she was the only Muslim in the room.

“I could stay in my own lane. I could have Muslim friends, European friends and all of that, but I already have that,” she said.

About two years ago, Bazrafkan posted online that she was looking for a room on the Upper West Side, preferably with an older Jewish roommate. The New York Foundation for Senior Citizens matched her with Schull, who had a spare bedroom in her two-bedroom apartment with views of the Hudson River.

It was also an ideal fit for Schull, who didn’t want to live alone after her husband, Gene, died in 2008.

The two women clicked immediately.

“It’s like destiny,” Bazrafkan said. “That’s what I felt.”

Schull and Bazrafkan welcomed me into their apartment where they served baklava, toast, jam and assorted fruit — in the same living room, Schull noted, where her grandson had his bris. “This apartment has a lot of history,” Schull said.

The two quickly outgrew the label of roommates, forming a bond they describe more like that of an adoptive mother and daughter. They walk together in nearby Straus Park and bond over old movies like Ninotchka, a 1939 romantic comedy about a Soviet diplomat played by Greta Garbo who is sent to Paris. Bazrafkan cooks for Schull and files her fan mail; in exchange, Schull braids Bazrafkan’s waist-length ombré hair.

“It’s nice to be with somebody who’s not on their phone, watching reels, or worrying about a Tinder date,” Bazrafkan said. “People nowadays — they don’t even read a book anymore!”

Schull’s daughter Elly Meeks also described Bazrafkan as a member of the family.

“She has a joie de vivre [joy for living], an openness, an incredible caring, compassionate nature,” Meeks said. “It’s beyond a blessing.”

Bazrafkan has also brought touches of Persian Jewish culture, teaching Schull about Queen Esther’s Persian roots and cooking gondi — a Persian Jewish chicken soup with chickpea flour dumplings — for a Passover Seder they hosted last spring.

“We do it by the book,” Bazrafkan said.

“Well, sort of,” Schull said and laughed. “We took a stab at the Haggadah.”

Bazrafkan’s curiosity about Jewish heritage extends to Israel. Schull told her about her family’s deep commitment to Zionism: Her mother grew up in what was then Palestine, and her father was the first executive director of what’s now the American Technion Society — a nonprofit that fundraises for an Israeli university and was co-founded by Albert Einstein, whose signed portrait hangs in Schull’s apartment.

A small Israeli flag sits on a cabinet, and the walls are lined with paintings of Jerusalem by the Israeli artist Nachum Gutman.

None of that bothers Bazrafkan, who said she believes deeply in coexistence and is holding out hope for a two-state solution. Living with Schull, she said, has helped her process the Israel-Hamas war and tensions surrounding the New York City mayoral election — because it keeps her from growing overly pessimistic.

“In these times of war, there’s something healing about it,” Bazrafkan said. “I think I would feel worse if I didn’t live with Rebecca.”

If a pair of roommates can bridge decades and faiths, she added, perhaps it’s a small sign of hope for the world.

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