What does it mean when a soldier describes his own life not as a sequence of postings, but as an unbroken continuity between home, border, and operational responsibility? This question sits beneath the account of Eyal Dror, whose introduction does not begin with abstraction but with institutional placement and geographic immediacy. “I’m a lieutenant colonel in reserve,” he states, continuing that he “served 31 years in the IDF,” and that his last active role was as commander of Operation Good Neighbour on the Syrian border.
Lt. Col. (Res.) Eyal Dror is a reserve officer whose professional pathway is rooted in more than two decades of service within the Israel Defence Forces, particularly across coordination, liaison, and operational planning structures that operate at the intersection of military authority and civilian administration. During his 24 years of service, he held senior positions in coordination and liaison units, including serving as Head of the Operations Branch within the Coordinator of Government Activities in the Territories (COGAT), a role associated with managing complex civil–military interfaces in highly sensitive environments. Between 2016 and 2018, he established and commanded the “Good Neighbour” Directorate within the IDF Northern Command. This formed part of a broader operation conducted between 2013 and 2018, which was the largest humanitarian initiative in the history of the IDF and one of the largest undertaken by any military. The operation provided assistance to Syrian civilians affected by the civil war, including medical treatment for thousands of children in Israeli hospitals and the delivery of substantial quantities of humanitarian aid, including food and equipment. He describes this effort as having executed approximately 700 humanitarian aid missions along the Israel–Syria border during the Syrian civil war. In his framing, this period involved sustained engagement in delivering medical assistance, logistical support, and cross-border humanitarian coordination in an area influenced by multiple armed actors, including ISIS, Al-Qaeda, and Hezbollah, while simultaneously cultivating “trust-building relationships in a highly complex reality.”
The role of my unit was not to fight the enemy. Our role was to take care of the civilians living in those enemy countries or enemy places.
He has documented these experiences in his book Embracing the Enemy, which reflects on the operational, organisational, and human dimensions of prolonged humanitarian engagement under conditions of uncertainty and conflict. His academic training includes a bachelor’s degree in Political Science with a specialisation in Strategy and National Security, a master’s degree in Educational Systems Management, and ongoing doctoral research at the University of Haifa focusing on collaboration and inter-organisational learning during crises. He continues to serve as an active IDF reserve officer in the Golan Heights Division and works as an international lecturer delivering talks in Hebrew, English, and Arabic on geopolitics, humanitarian aid, trust-building, and complex operational systems.
Lat Thursday, I sat down with him as part of a series of interviews with experts from Israel.
From the outset, his spatial positioning becomes inseparable from his professional one. He explains that he belongs to “the Bashan Division, which is the division that’s protecting the Israeli-Syrian border,” and adds that he is “living in Kibbutz Dafna on the northern border, not like 1.5 kilometres from the Lebanese border.” The emphasis here is not incidental; it establishes a lived geography in which domestic proximity to the frontier is presented as an ordinary condition. The border is not described as an external line of separation but as an immediate environment that structures everyday life.
Lt. Col. (Res.) Eyal Dror
When asked about his upbringing, he situates his childhood near Tel Aviv, but the narrative quickly shifts towards language and perception. He recalls that he “learned Arabic in high school,” and frames this as an early intellectual orientation towards regional understanding: “I realised that it is important to understand the language of our neighbours, the traditions, habits of our neighbours.” In his articulation, language is not merely communicative but interpretative, a mechanism through which social and political environments become legible. He extends this further when he notes that “to learn their culture, their values,” was necessary because “most of the people around us are Arabic speakers, not English speakers.” Even at this stage, the structure of his reasoning moves between linguistic competence and strategic awareness, where comprehension of neighbouring societies is treated as a prerequisite for navigating proximity.
This interpretative framework continues into his description of early military service, which he situates within the period of the Oslo Accords. He states that he “started to serve in the coordination and liaison position with the Palestinians,” and that this involved long-term engagement across multiple territories: “coordinating with the Palestinians in Gaza, in Hebron, in Bethlehem, through Cairo, all over Judea and Samaria.” The duration of this phase is significant in his telling: “I served for around 17 years in those positions.” The emphasis here is less on episodic events than on institutional continuity, where the role itself is defined by sustained coordination across shifting political and geographic contexts.
When reflecting on the conceptual basis of his early service, he describes an evolving understanding of proximity and complexity. He says, “apparently, some of them are also our enemies, so you have to understand a little bit about your enemies also,” and extends this to an analytical register: “where they are taking their power, their courage, their thoughts, their beliefs.” The phrasing reflects an attempt to describe not only social proximity but also perceived epistemic necessity—the need, as he presents it, to understand the internal logics of surrounding populations in order to operate within the environment.
The transition to his later career is marked by his involvement in what he calls “Operation Good Neighbour.” He frames it as a distinct shift in operational orientation, explaining that it was part of a broader effort conducted between 2013 and 2018 along the Syrian border, and that he was in charge of the operation between 2016 and 2018. He describes relocating as a family to the northern border area and notes, “in the last 10 years, I’m living on the border.” This is not presented as relocation in the conventional sense, but as an alignment of domestic life with operational geography.
The meaning of this alignment becomes more explicit when he contrasts abstract military service with embodied proximity. “When you’re a soldier, people tell you that you are fighting for your country,” he says, “but when you are living on the northern border… you’re literally fighting for your home.” The shift from national abstraction to domestic immediacy is central to his framing. He continues, “because Hezbollah units were shooting towards my community,” and describes his division as responsible for protecting the area. The boundary between civilian life and military responsibility is thus articulated as permeable rather than distinct.
The most challenging one was how I am building a trust with people that for years heard that we are the devil, that we are the enemy. It was not easy, and we did it step by step.
When asked about psychological preparation and the sense of living under persistent threat, his explanation moves into a combination of identity, history, and territorial attachment. He states: “I’m a Jew… this is the land that has been promised to us,” adding, “I’m secular, totally secular.” The emphasis on secular identity is immediately followed by a historical and collective framing: “this is the land that we, generation after generation, we fought for it. We were expelled from it and we came back to it.” He then introduces a comparative reflection, stating, “maybe our lives were easier if we were living in Uganda… or in Australia… but this is our land.” The logic here is not presented as strategic calculation but as inherited attachment to place, articulated through historical continuity and collective memory.
He also acknowledges the presence of adversarial actors in his environment, describing them as “terror organisations and some corrupt leaders that decided… instead of making the world a better place to live and have peace with us… to fight against us.” He situates this within an acceptance of cost, stating, “we are totally aware of the price that we are paying,” and later adding, “we paid a huge price for that… a lot of soldiers, security people and civilians that have been murdered during terror activities.” The language here oscillates between acknowledgement of loss and assertion of necessity, without separating the two analytically.
When the discussion turns to reading and intellectual formation, he is asked what texts might help to understand the psychology of living in Israel. He responds initially with hesitation, saying, “I do not know what is my recommendation for reading,” before suggesting foundational and historical texts. He states, “first of all, I would recommend anyone to read the Bible,” but immediately reframes this non-religiously: “you don’t have to read it like a religious person… understand the meaning of the land.” Alongside this, he references historical military literature, particularly accounts of Israeli wars and battles, noting that such texts help one understand “the spirit and the meaning of being a Jew and being an Israeli.”
He continues by emphasising military history as a lens for understanding societal character: “you understand the initiative, you understand the courage… you understand what it means to be an Israeli.” He links this to a broader claim about collective identity, stating, “we want to live… we are willing to pay the price in order that other Israelis will be able to live their life.” The structure of this reasoning again blends descriptive identity with collective obligation, framed through historical experience rather than abstract theory.
When the conversation turns to Arab citizens within Israel, he estimates their presence and states, “90% of those Arabs are living a great life,” and further argues that their conditions compare favourably to other regional contexts. He says, “if you compare it objectively… you will find that here the Arabs are getting a much better life than in any other place.” He also emphasises civic structure, stating, “they are full civilians… they are getting social insurance and health care exactly like me.” His framing here focuses on institutional inclusion within the state framework, while acknowledging internal diversity and the presence of radicalised elements: “of course there are radicals, but in every society there are radicals.”
As the conversation moves from formative influences into operational terrain, his narrative turns towards an extended account of humanitarian coordination conducted amid active conflict, centring on what he identifies as “Operation Good Neighbour.” He characterises this not as a conventional combat deployment but as a structured system of cross-border assistance. “The role of my unit was not to fight the enemy,” he explains, adding that “our role was to take care of the civilians living in those enemy countries or enemy places.” Within this framing, the military function is re-situated as logistical mediation, where operational success is measured through continuity of civilian access to medical and material support rather than battlefield outcomes.
He repeatedly emphasises that this work involved systematic coordination with medical institutions. He describes how, “with every battalion that was fighting as a terrorist of Hamas, it was an officer from my unit… to take care of coordination to bring fresh supply to the locals.” He extends this further, noting that “if there is someone wounded, to coordinate with the ICRC so that they will send an ambulance.”
The scale of the operation, as he presents it, is expressed in both qualitative and quantitative terms. He states, “we did an incredible job,” and later clarifies the reach of assistance: “it was more than thousands… in Israeli hospitals, in the clinics that were built inside, there was approximately 17,000 people.” Beyond direct treatment, he expands the scope further, claiming that “the aid that we provide… we gave aid to approximately a quarter of a million people.” He differentiates between direct medical intervention and indirect life-saving impact through supplies, stating, “when you are giving baby formula, you might save a life… when you are giving it to a person suffering from diabetes… you save their life.”
A recurring theme in his description is the problem of trust under conditions of historical hostility. He describes it as the central operational difficulty: “the most challenging one was how I am building trust with people that for years heard that we are the devil, that we are the enemy.” He frames this as a gradual process: “it was not easy, and we did it step by step.” Trust, in his account, is not instantaneous but cumulative, dependent on repetition and verification over time. He adds that even after establishing individual relationships, the difficulty persisted: “I built trust with you, but your friend, he doesn’t believe me yet.”
He also situates this trust-building process within a broader conceptual framework of communication and perception management, noting that the challenge was not only logistical but interpretative. In his words, the aim was “to show them and to prove to them that we are not the people that they heard about and we want to help them.” The emphasis here is on epistemic transformation—altering pre-existing narratives through sustained practical engagement rather than rhetorical persuasion.
The naming of the operation is itself presented as culturally embedded. He explains that “the name was decided by the general staff after some meetings with the Syrians,” and that it was called “Good Neighbour” because of a shared regional proverb. He refers to an Arabic expression: “the close neighbour and not the far brother,” explaining its meaning as a prioritisation of immediate relational proximity over distant kinship. He elaborates: “sometimes you prefer that your neighbour, which is close to you, might be much more helpful than relatives that do not care.” The operation’s designation thus emerges, in his telling, from a convergence of linguistic resonance and pragmatic interpretation of social proximity.
We did an incredible job… it was more than thousands. In Israeli hospitals, in the clinics that were built inside, there was approximately 17,000 people. The aid that we provide… we gave aid to approximately a quarter of a million people.
When asked about the scale of lives affected, he differentiates between direct and indirect impact. “Directly it was more than thousands,” he states, adding that “dozens of thousands of people” were saved through combined interventions. He also specifies the logistical breadth of assistance: “we supplied hundreds of tonnes of medical equipment and medicines.” He acknowledges uncertainty in precise accounting, stating, “I don’t know how many lives we saved in any shipment,” but maintains that the cumulative effect was substantial due to repeated interventions over time.
The conversation then shifts towards operational risk and adversarial presence within the Syrian theatre. He notes that assistance was delivered in areas influenced by “Al-Qaeda and ISIS and Hezbollah,” and acknowledges that “there were a lot of tactical obstacles in making it a success without being hit.” However, he frames the primary difficulty not as physical danger but relational fragility: “the most challenging… was how to build trust.” He returns to this repeatedly, describing it as the decisive factor in sustaining operational continuity.
He also reflects on the vulnerability of local intermediaries involved in the process. When asked about protection mechanisms, he responds indirectly, stating that “they were brave people and they were putting their lives at great risk.” He avoids detailing operational methods but acknowledges exposure: “they were at risk and we were at risk.” The structure of this statement places both sides within a shared risk environment, albeit with different forms of exposure and authority.
A further dimension of his account concerns decision-making under uncertainty. He describes operational judgement as occurring without complete information: “it was like a school of taking decisions in terms of uncertainty.” He elaborates that “every decision can be a bad one or a very dangerous one,” particularly in contexts where intelligence is partial and consequences are immediate. He refers to this as a continuous condition of command responsibility, where “you didn’t have all the information, and some of the decisions were taken under stress.”
He gives specific examples of such dilemmas, including medical and humanitarian triage decisions: “whether this child… can we hospitalise them or not,” and whether “a group… can get food or they are lying to me.” These examples are used to illustrate the ethical and procedural complexity of operations that combine humanitarian considerations with security constraints. Despite this uncertainty, he concludes retrospectively, “we succeeded in this important mission.”
The discussion then turns to the interpretation of the operation’s political character. He rejects the framing of it as primarily political, stating, “it wasn’t political… it was a strategic one.” He clarifies that the intention was not covert influence but relational transformation: “we want to build bridges with you… we are providing you with humanitarian aid.” He emphasises that no reciprocal demand was made: “we didn’t ask them for anything in return.”
He frames the initiative as an expression of institutional values rather than transactional diplomacy: “we will do that because we think that it is important, it goes with our values.” At the same time, he acknowledges an implicit strategic expectation that perceptions might shift over time, allowing future de-escalation or improved regional stability. He summarises this as a “win-win situation,” where assistance could potentially alter long-term perceptions of intent.
Lt. Col. (Res.) Eyal Dror
When asked about the fate of those who received medical treatment or assistance, he states that there is no ongoing contact: “we take care of them and they go back to Syria,” and adds, “I am not in touch with those people.” He attributes this discontinuity to political conditions: “Syria is not a friendly country… if I were to call them even after I was released, they would immediately be accused of being Israeli spies.” He expresses a future-oriented hope, saying, “I do hope that one day, when Israel and Syria have some agreements… I will be able to meet some of them.”
The conversation then broadens into regional geopolitics, beginning with Syria’s post-war trajectory. He suggests that Syria is likely to become “a much more religious country,” clarifying that he does not necessarily mean extremist governance but a shift in social and legal norms. He references restrictions such as limits on alcohol sales as indicators of this direction. However, his primary concern is not cultural transformation itself but the potential for renewed radicalisation and instability, particularly in relation to minority populations. He refers to previous violence involving “the Alawites, the Kurds, the Druze,” and argues that such precedents shape Israeli security concerns regarding future governance.
He also comments on ongoing Israeli military positioning near the Syrian border, stating that Israel maintains control over certain positions “very close to the border,” which he frames as preventative security measures. He explains this as a response to lessons drawn from previous attacks: “we’ve seen the lessons of October 7th… we cannot take any chance.” In his framing, the operational logic is preventative proximity control rather than territorial expansion, emphasising that the aim is to ensure hostile forces are intercepted before reaching civilian zones.
Hezbollah is controlling Lebanon, and if you cannot enforce it, it is nothing. We find plenty, tonnes of ammunition in the south. Without dismantling it, the next round is on the corner.
Turning to Lebanon, he describes Hezbollah as a long-term structural threat embedded within the Lebanese political and military environment. He asserts that “Hezbollah is controlling Lebanon,” and argues that dismantling its capabilities is necessary for regional stabilisation. He expresses scepticism regarding official Lebanese claims about disarmament efforts, stating that despite announcements, “we find plenty, tonnes of ammunition” in southern Lebanon. He interprets this as evidence of a gap between declared policy and operational reality.
He further argues that ceasefire frameworks and agreements are insufficient without enforcement mechanisms. “If you cannot enforce it, it is nothing,” he states, suggesting that written agreements alone do not guarantee behavioural change among armed actors. He concludes that without dismantling Hezbollah’s infrastructure, “the next round is on the corner,” framing the situation as structurally cyclical rather than resolved.
When the discussion extends to Iran and broader regional deterrence, he expresses strong scepticism regarding negotiated ceasefires or partial agreements. He argues that “radical Islamist regimes only want to buy time,” and that Western negotiators are often at a disadvantage due to asymmetries in strategic patience and interpretative assumptions. He states that without strict enforcement conditions, agreements risk enabling rearmament and renewed escalation.
He also references missile capabilities and range extensions, claiming that Iranian systems exceeded previously stated limits, and interprets this as evidence of strategic deception. “They are not joking,” he says, framing the issue as global rather than regional, and extending potential impact zones beyond the Middle East.
Despite this, he concludes with a broader reflection on Israel’s internal condition, noting that despite prolonged conflict and crisis, “Israelis are among the five happiest countries in the world.” He attributes this to institutional resilience in the economy, healthcare, and defence sectors. He projects forward, suggesting that in five years Israel may be “among the three happiest countries,” linking this to technological strength and perceived security improvements.
He ends by reiterating a dual expectation: continued preparedness for conflict if necessary, alongside cautious optimism regarding regional stabilisation. The underlying structure of his outlook remains consistent with earlier sections—security as continuity, proximity as condition, and stability as something produced through sustained operational presence rather than abstract agreement.