Sofia Orr has just spent 85 days in military jail after refusing to enlist in the IDF. Now released after being recognized as a conscientious objector, the 19-year-old talks about why she did it, the attacks from both left- and right-wing extremists, and about what she heard from her fellow inmates

Sofia Orr has been free for nearly two weeks. The 19-year-old sits on the balcony of her family's apartment in the northern Israeli town of Pardes Hannah, and the view stretches for miles. From here, she can sometimes hear gunshots from the basic training army base nearby. Now, though, it is silent, warm and scenic.

She is alone in the house. "In jail, you have very little privacy," she says. "At a certain point, I thought to myself that the only thing I want when I get out is to be alone for a bit, and to try to process and internalize everything that happened."

On her draft date of February 25, Orr arrived at the Israel Defense Forces induction center near Tel Aviv and declared that she would not be doing her mandatory service.

"I refuse to enlist in order to show that change is needed and that change is possible, for the security and safety of all of us in Israel-Palestine, and in the name of empathy that is not restricted by national identity," her statement of refusal read. "I refuse to enlist because I want to create a reality in which all children between the Jordan River and the [Mediterranean] sea can dream without cages."

She was sentenced to 20 days in military jail, and still refused to draft. She was then sentenced to another 20-day stretch. In April she received a third sentence of 45 days and 15 days probation, after which a committee found her to be a conscientious objector and exempted her from service after 85 days in jail.

"I never really had thoughts about enlisting," she says. "I never thought I would enlist, because I didn't feel a strong sense of commitment to the country. I felt a sense of obligation to the people around me, and I didn't see the army as the best way for me to contribute to the people around me."

As she got a bit older, her decision took on a political tinge. "I think around the age of 12 or 13, I started to ask more questions that I think are very important for every teen in Israel to ask themselves: What is the army for me? If I now go and serve in the army for two years, what does that mean for me? Do I feel like I'm using that time well? Do I feel it's something I'm investing time in because I believe in it?

"I realized that the army doesn't stand for the basic values I grew up with: of resolving conflicts with dialogue, of empathy, and of solidarity and equality – not in how it treats its own soldiers and not in how it conducts itself externally in the occupation and war. It's a system that is inherently very aggressive and violent, and I cannot take part in any such system."

It is not unheard of for youngsters wanting to avoid the draft to seek out mental health exemptions, even if they are not unwell. Some then go on to do a year or two of official national service, which is often community focused and confers the same benefits as military service.

For Orr, this charade was not an option. "As I see it, it's a matter of honesty," she says. "The reasons I can't serve in the army aren't necessarily mental health reasons. It's also important to me to declare that to the army, to go before them and tell them: 'No – this is the way the system behaves, this is what this system is doing in this country. I don't want to serve because of this.'"

She continues, "I think it's also important to show that this is possible. That's why I wanted to do this publicly and not have it be a private thing between me and the army, but to do this in the open, where people can hear what I have to say, see what I'm doing, see what I'm willing to sacrifice for this. And maybe that'll make them think – maybe it'll teach them something."

There were no refuseniks in Orr's close circle. Her father had done his military service and reserves duty, while her mother and sister had received exemptions. Despite this, her family was supportive of her decision – something she does not take for granted.

"I'm very lucky to have a family that really supports me and stands behind me," she says. "Not everyone who refuses or wants to refuse gets such support. A lot of people can't afford to say no [to being drafted], because they know they could lose their family because of it. And that's why it's also important for me to do it – because I can afford to do it. I want to be here for all the people who can't let themselves refuse."

The messages that matter

The general public's reaction to Orr's declaration was less sympathetic. "Inside Israel, the absolute majority of reactions are very, very violent," she says. "Whether it's simply calling me a traitor or cursing me in all kinds of creative ways, or saying that they should send me to Gaza and bombard me there – all kinds of threats against my life, rape threats. Sometimes it was belittling, like 'The army doesn't need you' or 'You're just a little girl who doesn't know what she's talking about.'"

Every once in a while, though, she would receive a message or response telling her that her decision made someone think or reconsider their own position. "As far as I'm concerned, when there's one reply like that out of a thousand, then the other thousand don't matter," she says. "And when you see, for example, that one of the refuseniks who's currently in prison [Ben Arad] decided to refuse to serve after he saw Tal go to prison, it shows that this matters, that it does something."

The Tal she is referring to is Tal Mitnick, the first draft refuser since the Gaza war began on October 7. He was imprisoned in late December, receiving a particularly long initial sentence of 30 days, and has been repeatedly sent back to military jail. Mesarvot, a network of draft refusers that has supported both Mitnick and Orr, has organized protests on Mitnick's behalf and advocated for his release as a conscientious objector. As of June, he has been sentenced to 185 days in jail.

Orr says some pro-Palestinians abroad write to her: "You're a settler, if you really supported the cause you would have left Israel, or you would support Hamas." To her, "It's the same as the extreme right in Israel, just from the other side. The same dividing of people into them and us."

Ben Arad was the third young Israeli to refuse to draft since the war began; he was sent to jail in April.

Abroad, the public has generally been supportive of Orr's decision – with some exceptions. "You also have the other side of the coin: [messages saying] 'If you really wanted things to get better and if you really supported the cause, you would have left the country because you're a settler, or you would support Hamas.' Things like that," Orr says.

"It's the same thing that the extreme right in Israel says, just from the other side. It's the same dividing of people into 'them' and 'us,' which is the most important thing for me to speak out against – against dehumanization, or 'us versus them.' There is no us and them. It's not that one person needs to defeat the other side, or a matter of who is our enemy. I don't see any enemy. The enemy of goodness and the future, of peace and security, isn't a 'side' or a nation, but the violent mind-set of war and of continuing to use violence as a solution. The leadership, both Hamas and in our government, have for years been promoting this mind-set alone, and have been influencing each other."

Political conversations

Orr served her sentences in the Neve Tzedek military prison, in its sole women's company. "My first day in jail was very difficult – you're in shock. I've never been in a military framework. I went to alternative schools, I'd never been in a rigid environment in my life," she says. "Military prison is different from regular prison. From what I've heard, it's more like basic training than anything else. But it's very isolated. There are no phones. You can [only] watch TV at night – sometimes they don't even put the news on, so you can't know what's going on in the world. You only have seven minutes' worth of phone calls a day."

Her days started early, before 6 A.M., and there was little to do but read and talk to her fellow prisoners – five of whom she shared a cell with. Most of the young women who were there were draft dodgers, deserters or absentees; she was the only refusenik in the group. Through conversations with them, she says she learned about how the army views its manpower.

"I was asked [by the committee] about situations in which the army saved me: 'Am I thankful for what the army did on October 7 and glad that it fought off Hamas?' I said I can be thankful, but not be happy about it, and still think that the real solution will never be a violent or military one."

"The female soldiers who deserted or evaded the draft couldn't afford [to go to the army] because of their mental health, or their economic situation, or their home life or their family's health. It's usually girls who come from a low socioeconomic position who have many difficulties in life, or girls who were badly harassed at their bases and weren't given any help or allowed to transfer bases.

"The army couldn't provide them with what they needed, because the army also sort of dehumanizes its soldiers. When a soldier has a problem, then they're not a person with a problem; they are the problem."

Several of those who refused to go to their courses or deserted were spotters, Orr says, referring to the grueling job that demands undivided attention to screens showing Israel's borders, scanning for threats. Before October 7, some of these field observers had warned of a pending invasion by Hamas – and been ignored. From the Nahal Oz base on the Gaza border, 15 were slain and seven taken hostage.

"When I had conversations with these girls, I would talk to them about the connection between a system that dehumanizes some people – that is, them – dehumanizes everyone. A system that dehumanizes Palestinians will eventually dehumanize its soldiers. It's part of the same system that operates on power," Orr says.

Even though political discussions are forbidden in the army, and especially in military prison, she found ways to help others understand her views.

"I was surrounded all the time by people who were very different from me. They judged me for refusing to draft and for the things I believe in," she says. She found herself returning to the issue of "us" versus "them."

"I support humanity. I support all of us living in peace and security. I'm not pro-Palestinian and I'm not pro-Israeli; I'm pro-all of us as people and our right to live well. That was sometimes difficult to express. But there were also girls who didn't agree with me who said they could see where I'm coming from, or could see that I had good intentions even if they don't agree."

'I don't even step on ants'

Last month, she was brought before a committee composed of army officers and one civilian – a philosophy professor. They were to determine whether she is indeed a conscientious objector or whether she would receive more time in jail.

"I was asked questions about situations in which the army saved me: 'Am I thankful for what the army did on October 7 and glad that it [fought off Hamas]?' I said I can be thankful, but not be happy about it, and still think that the real solution will never be a violent or military one. The problem is political and human," she recounts.

"I didn't think I'd get an exemption when I walked into the room. But when I left the committee, I thought I'd get it. I saw that I convinced them that I fit their definition of 'conscientious objector.' That the things I said and how I said them, who I am and how I grew up, really helped convince them that I fit the definition."

Orr and Mitnick had stood before the committee on the same day. Orr was given a military exemption; Mitnick was not. He was sentenced to a fifth prison sentence of 35 days.

"There's a very particular definition for pacifism that you need to meet in order to get an exemption," she says. "I'm vegan. I went to an alternative school. I love animals – I don't even step on ants. I think that made it easier for me to meet their definition of a conscientious objector. But I don't think that Tal Mitnick is less of a conscientious objector."

Orr is preparing to start her degree in political science at Tel Aviv University this fall. "This has taken a lot of time. [My original draft date] was August 2023, and then it was pushed off until November 2023, and then February 2024. I've been putting my life off for a long time around this, and I'm still ahead of most Israelis by two years," she says, referring to the time most Israelis take to complete their army service.

When she's ready, she'll go back to activism and protests. In the meantime, she's spending time with her family, seeing friends – including ones she made in jail – and cherishing her time alone. She's also waiting for Mitnick and Arad to be freed.

"I'm proud of them, and I support them, and I'll do all I can to get them the exemptions they deserve," she says. "I'll also tell them what my father wrote to me in a note to read in jail. He wrote a lot of things, but what stayed with me was what this system would try to tell me, and what the people around me would try to tell me, and the judgment and aggression and violence around me – don't let it get to me.

"In the end, I'm doing the right thing, and that makes everything very simple," she says. "Tal and Ben are doing the right thing, and they deserve to be freed. They're doing something good in the world."

She also has a message for anyone who may be on the fence about taking the same leap as she did. "The most important thing I can tell them is to ask questions. Don't take things for granted. Ask what things mean to you. Think critically and hold tight to your humanity and your empathy, as well as to solidarity and attempts to hold dialogue. Only through guarding our humanity and not falling into dehumanization – no matter of whom – can we find a solution."