On the night of October 7, the Panda Resort on the foot of Mount Hermon, in the Neve Atif settlement in the occupied Golan, the autumn wind outside was knocking on the windows of the luxurious suite designated for the Israeli Prime Minister, who had sneaked in at night unsuspectingly from the demonstrators around the hotel, sweeping away the leaves with them. It hastened to fall, and the remains of the leaflets of Israeli demonstrators who had been standing around the hotel a few days ago to protest the judicial amendments that he is fighting to approve, which would undermine the authority of the Supreme Court in his favor, and to disturb his vacation, just as they did two months ago in August.
Nothing was disturbing the seventy-year-old man’s sleep except the whistling of the wind outside, and the back pain that afflicted him from sitting in the prime minister’s chair for seventeen intermittent years. Whenever Netanyahu closed his eyes, he was frightened by six eyes staring at him with anger and disappointment, eyes whose owners he knew. This frowning young man was his brother Yonatan, and that one. The mortal old man with the bushy eyebrows, who was raised over a hundred by his father, Ben Zion, and that short, reserved person, Zeev Jabotinsky, the leader of Revisionist Zionism and the spiritual father of the Likud Party. But what is the reason for their discontent when he dedicated his life to following in their footsteps? Benjamin fights insomnia until he falls asleep, only to wake up to the calls of his devices.
The separation fence with the Gaza Strip has been breached, communications with its battalion have been cut off, and the fate of dozens of soldiers and hundreds of settlers in the settlements south of the occupying state, known as the Gaza envelope, is unknown. The man would quickly learn that dozens of his soldiers had been captured, and that many more of them had been killed at the hands of the elite Izz al-Din al-Qassam Brigades, the military wing of the Islamic Resistance Movement Hamas. It would not take long for him to realize the true secret of his sleeplessness, and the looks of disappointment that he saw between his waking and sleeping hours. The “iron wall” that his father lived for had fallen, his brother was killed for it, and he had spent five decades protecting it and caring for it, but this was not the beginning of the story.