In the delivery room of a hospital in Jerusalem, as the contractions intensified and the midwife tried to help the woman in labor move to a more comfortable position, the mother felt something strange.
“She told me something was hurting her,” midwife Irga Fruman recalls. “Then I realized my gun was on a swivel belt and I moved forward and touched it.” After the baby was born, Froman's colleagues at the hospital took a photo of her standing next to the newborn, still wearing the rifle. “It's a picture of contradictions,” she said.
Before October 7, Froman, a mother of five who now lives in the Golan Heights in northern Israel, had never thought about getting a gun license. Because she chose to perform non-military national service rather than military service in the IDF, she has never fired a shot in her life. Change came quickly after that Hamas is an unprecedented terrorist movement It attacked Israel on October 7, killing more than 1,200 people and shattering the sense of security that many Israelis had long relied on.
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A civilian emergency team practices shooting in the city of Kiryat Shmona, which is within range of rockets fired by Hezbollah from Lebanon, March 4, 2024. (Erez Ben Simon/TPS-IL)
“On the evening of October 7, my husband and I realized that because I was traveling alone at night on dangerous roads to my job — bringing life to the world — I needed protection,” Froman told Fox News Digital. “By the next morning, I had submitted my application for a gun license. Now I hope I never need to use it, but I'm ready if I have to.”
For decades, firearm ownership in Israel was uncommon. Although military service ensured weapons training for many Israelis, personal firearms were viewed more as a liability than a necessity. The strict licensing process deterred many, and Israelis trusted the state and its defense forces to protect them from terrorist threats, which took precedence over Israel's low crime rates.
Midwife Irga Froman decided to obtain a gun license following the October 7 Hamas terrorist attacks.
But after the October 7 Hamas massacre, many Israelis began to view personal firearms as a necessary safeguard in a new and innovative context. A more serious reality. “Because there were not enough medical teams on October 7, there was also not enough defense,” Vrooman noted. “Accordingly, today we have a community medical team, and we are also armed so that we can provide the first response.”
Irja Froman, a midwife from northern Israel, and her husband decided to obtain gun licenses in the wake of the October 7 terrorist attacks.
The Israeli Supreme Court is currently reviewing petitions against Homeland Security Minister Itamar Ben Gvir, alleging that his office issued firearms licenses without proper authority.
In the months following the October 7 attack, more than 260,000 new weapons license applications were submitted – almost equal to the total number from the past two decades combined. More than 100,000 licenses have already been approved, representing a ten-fold increase compared to the previous year.
A woman shoots in the Jordan Valley area, Israel, April 10, 2024. (Yoav Dudkiewicz/TPS-IL)
Ayala Mirkin, a mother from Shiloh in Judea and Samaria, widely known as the West Bank, applied for a firearms license after her husband, an IDF reservist, was sent to fight in the war in Gaza, leaving her alone with her three children. Young children. “I felt unsafe driving through Arab villages, and I realized I had to do something to protect myself,” she said. “The process was much faster than before October 7, but it took months due to the influx of applications.”
Mirkin now carries her gun whenever she leaves her settlement, even though she is still in conflict. “I don't want to have a gun. The day I can return it will be the happiest day of my life. But I have no choice. It's a survival tool.”
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For families like the Mirkin's, firearms have become a part of everyday life. She keeps her gun securely locked in a safe and trains her children never to touch it. “It is a tool for protection, not for killing,” she stresses. “My focus is on preserving life, not taking it.”
Oren Gozlan, a longtime parachutist and father, is among those who hesitated before applying for a license. Live on The Israeli side On the Green Line border near the Palestinian city of Tulkarm, Gozlan decided he could no longer avoid arming himself. “The fear of having a gun in the house with the children is still there, but the need to protect my family outweighs it,” he says. “October 7th changed everything. We realized we were vulnerable in ways we never imagined.”
Gozlan is concerned about what he sees as insufficient oversight of the licensing process. “In the field, I saw people who had never held a gun in their lives, barely hitting their targets. It's scary to think that these people are now walking around with firearms.”
Sar Zohar, a reservist in the elite unit, expressed a similar transformation. For years, Zohar resisted owning a gun, believing it unnecessary after his military service. But a series of terrorist attacks that followed October 7 made him reconsider. “I couldn't bear the thought of being helpless if something happened,” he says. “Knowing that I've had the training and can respond, I feel like it's my responsibility.”
In the wake of the October 7 massacre, Saar Zohar, a reservist in an elite IDF unit, decided to obtain a weapons license. (Fox News)
Unlike the United States, where Gun ownership Firearms are often associated with fears of crime or the defense of private property, and firearms are viewed in Israel as counter-terrorism tools. Historically, Israel has avoided the mass shootings that have occasionally occurred plagued the United States, But experts warn that the rapid spread of firearms may change that. With so many untrained individuals carrying weapons, the fear of reckless action and tragic mistakes looms large.
Zohar is obsessed with the possibility of his identity being mistaken. “The idea that another armed civilian might mistake me for an attacker terrifies me,” he says, referring to a tragic incident in November 2023 when an Israeli civilian who shot terrorists in Jerusalem was mistakenly killed by a young soldier.
The psychological effects of this transformation are clear among these newly armed people. Eyal Haskell, 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 wondered why I wasn’t armed. It seemed like an expectation, or almost a surprise.” duty.”
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Israelis train at a shooting range, February 12, 2023. (Jill Cohen-Magen/AFP via Getty Images)
But Haskell was also troubled by what he saw at the shooting ranges. “People treat it like a game, shooting without any understanding of responsibility. It's terrifying to think that these people are licensed now.”
For many Israelis, reform represents a necessary response to an existential threat. However, it also revealed deep flaws in the system. Critics argue that the current approach sacrifices long-term safety for short-term security, and warn of potential unintended consequences, from accidental shootings to rising rates of domestic violence.
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“Getting a gun license is easier than getting a driver’s license,” says Gozlan. “For a car, you need lessons, tests and strict rules. For a gun, it's just some paperwork and a few hours at the range.”
Froman sees things differently. “If someone threatens you, you only draw a weapon in a national security situation. You may not draw your weapon in situations that threaten your personal life unless it is a terrorist situation. The rules here are clear – you must have a safe for your family. I cannot rely on a safe My husband; the firearm is personal, I am not allowed to use his gun, and he is not allowed to use my gun to harm us, generally not in self defense.”
An Israeli soldier patrols near Kibbutz Beri in southern Israel on October 12, 2023, near where terrorists killed 270 revelers during the Supernova music festival on October 7. (Aris Messinis/AFP via Getty Images)
Mirkin agrees. “We are not like America,” she said. “We don't want to use weapons as a hobby… For us, it's survival, not choice.”
One interviewee, who requested to remain anonymous, described how he trained his wife in basic firearms handling, even though she did not have a license. “I never wanted to put her in that position, but if I'm not home during the attack, she needs to know how to defend our children.”
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As Israel adapts to this new reality, the social implications of increased firearm ownership remain uncertain. For many, the importance of these decisions highlights the delicate balance between protection and responsibility.
“I hope I never have to use it,” Gozlan says. “But I cannot ignore the reality we live in. October 7th changed everything.”
