A Muslim Israeli Soldier’s Perspective: We Answer Your Questions on 𝕏

In a world so often reduced to black-and-white narratives, the story of Yahya Mahamid might catch you off guard. Just consider this: he’s a practicing Muslim soldier in the Israeli Defense Forces (IDF). For many, that’s a cognitive jolt. How can it be, you might ask, that a Muslim would choose to wear the uniform of the Jewish state’s army, especially in a region where centuries-old tensions feed a narrative of mutual exclusion?

Yahya’s journey might not fit anyone’s pre-packaged template. Born in an environment where hatred of Israel came as naturally as breathing, he spent much of his youth believing that Jews and Muslims stood in irreconcilable opposition. But as circumstances changed and he put on the IDF uniform, Yahya started seeing the world through a more nuanced lens. On a platform like X (Twitter), where every faction shouts its truth into the digital void, we invited you to ask him direct questions—no filters, no polished press releases, just raw curiosity.

“I never betrayed my religion. Israel never demanded I forsake my faith. Serving the IDF simply meant standing for shared values and protecting everyone living here.”

Yahya Mahamid

IDF Soldier

Identity and Faith in Uniform

The first queries hammered at his identity. Was he Muslim first or Israeli first? Yahya’s answer: “I’m an Israeli who happens to be Muslim.” Let that sink in. In a region too often simplified into “us” and “them,” here’s a man standing with one foot in both worlds, unashamed and unafraid to confuse the script. It’s a potent reminder that not everyone and everything fits into neat categories.

Next came the expected religious questions, like “Do you know the Quran?”—as if service in the IDF somehow stripped away his spiritual credentials. Of course he knows the Quran. He was raised devout, even once considered traveling abroad to convert non-believers. But reality and time shape faith differently. When asked about the Quran’s verses that seem to forbid friendships with unbelievers, Yahya points out the obvious: we live in 2024, not a millennium ago. Context matters. Scholars evolve. Faith adapts.

Culture Clash and Moral Compass

Another curveball: “Do you scream ‘Allahu Akbar’ before engaging the enemy?” Yahya shrugs it off with humor—he jokes about saying it in the shower, not on the battlefield. It’s a subtle hint that he won’t let stereotypes define his actions. In this war-torn region, ritual battle cries and inflammatory chants aren’t prerequisites for courage or conviction.

Then came the ugliest accusation: “Do you kill children?” In some corners of the internet, it’s become a standard slur against Israeli soldiers. Yahya is blunt: Israel doesn’t target children. Collateral damage, while tragic, isn’t a stated goal or tactic. He sleeps well knowing that he protects innocents rather than preying on them.

The Faith Factor in the IDF

“How did your service affect your faith?” The answer: it made life more complicated, not less. Praying as a known Muslim supporter of Israel can be tricky. Some imams might be wary, some mosques less welcoming. But he’s seen another side, too—other religious leaders opening doors, and even devout Muslim women joining the IDF to protect the nation. Change is possible, even in the world’s most entrenched conflict zones.

When asked if the IDF makes room for Muslim prayer times and fasting, Yahya says yes. The army is built to accommodate varied faiths and backgrounds. And the darkly comic question about “72 virgins if you fall in battle”? Yahya laughs it off. No mythology or stereotype dictates his faith or his service.

Palestinian? Second-Class Citizen?

What’s in a label? Yahya’s grandmother once proudly called herself Palestinian, an identity forged in an era when boundaries and allegiances were stark and unmoving. Yahya? He’s chosen a different path. Identities evolve, molded by personal experience and the contours of each new generation. Some might ask if he’s a second-class citizen in a state that boldly calls itself both Jewish and democratic. But Yahya pushes past the easy assumptions. Each morning, he stood beneath the Israeli flag, raising it high, saluting not just a symbol, but a nation that embraces him as its own. In his view, any Arab who genuinely wants to integrate can find limitless horizons. It’s not about relegation or exclusion—it’s about stepping forward and claiming a place at the table.

Temple Mount, Opportunities, and Apartheid Claims

The Temple Mount, a sacred flashpoint, sparks another rhetorical minefield. Should al-Aqsa be demolished to build the Third Temple? Yahya’s moral compass says no. People of different faiths must find a way to pray side by side. Faith isn’t a zero-sum game—one temple’s construction can’t hinge on another’s destruction.

So what has Israel done for him? It’s given him safety, stability, and a platform to thrive. Apartheid state? Not in Yahya’s eyes. He sees a society where the “Apartheid” label is a lazy narrative, not a lived reality. If anything, this conflict was never truly about Palestinian welfare, he argues, but about eroding Jewish sovereignty. If that’s off the table, Hamas or others will find another excuse to hate.

When asked if he’s a traitor, Yahya flips the script: IDF service halts smuggling, violence, and drug trade that plagues Israeli Arab communities. If stopping chaos is betrayal, then what does that say about the values of those who scream “Traitor!”?

Family Ties and a Future Vision

The IDF, mindful of complexity, avoids placing soldiers in areas where they have relatives. It’s a quiet nod to personal connections and moral burdens. Should Israelis build houses in the West Bank? Yahya notes the hypocrisy: if living on disputed lands is wrong, what about the 2 million Arabs living in undisputed Israel? The questions often miss the bigger picture: every decision affects everyone.

A Palestinian state? Yahya doesn’t dismiss the idea, but first, the guns must fall silent. Only then can a future take shape. Hamas leaders? He’s on record: release the hostages, choose love of your people over hatred of Jews, and maybe we can see a genuine leader emerge—one who values life more than death.

A Tapestry of Contradictions and Hope

Yahya’s story isn’t neat and tidy. It doesn’t wrap up with a moral of total harmony or a sudden peace treaty. But that’s the point. The Middle East’s reality is complex, layered, and sometimes contradictory. Yet, in Yahya, we see that shared service, respect for pluralism, and personal faith can intersect within a single individual—and that might be a clue to a broader understanding.

At a time when social media outrage drowns out nuance, Yahya’s voice stands out. He’s a reminder that the human mosaic of Israel, with its Jews, Muslims, Christians, and Druze all serving in the same ranks, can defy simple narratives. And maybe, just maybe, the quiet strength of such stories can inch the region a bit closer to understanding—or at least show that not all paths are predetermined.

Yahya didn’t betray anyone. He just refused to follow a script written for him. If we’re looking for hope, that’s as good a place as any to start.

Stefan Tompson

Founder - Visegrad24