“Fauda” crosses hostile borders, whilst our public debate seeks to shut every window

There is a void that the fifth series of “Fauda” helps to fill. It is the gap between knowing that something happened on 7 October and being able to imagine what it might have been like. A house transformed into a trap. The door to a protected room (all homes in Israel have a shelter against chemical weapons and other threats) which becomes the final barrier between a family and its killers. The sudden end to the notion that someone will come to save you.

“Fauda” is a drama series. But great storytelling can convey what a chronology leaves out: the terror, the bewilderment, time standing still. It draws us into a wound that, three years on, continues to shape the life of a nation. Authentic footage of the pogrom exists. Much of it was filmed by the terrorists themselves, using body-worn cameras during the assault. The Israeli army compiled a selection of these, which was shown to journalists and political representatives at private screenings. The release of the most harrowing footage has also met with opposition from the victims’ families. Not everything that documents a crime can be turned into a spectacle.

The dead have a right to dignity; those who loved them have a right not to be confronted with their agony every time they pick up their phone. The killers, however, were filming. They wanted the horror to spill out of the homes where they were creating it, to reach other families, to terrorise an entire society. The camera accompanied the weapon. Spreading fear was part of the attack.

Here lies a fundamental distinction. In the terrorist attack of 7 October, civilians were targets to be sought out. In the fierce war waged by Israel, civilians are people one must try to protect or, at worst, tragic ‘collateral damage’: it is necessary to distinguish military targets, assess foreseeable damage, take precautions and refrain from disproportionate attacks.

The tragedy of Palestinian civilians deserves close attention, and any violations must be investigated. The presence of hostages in Gaza made operations more difficult; this does not, in itself, constitute proof that every operation was legitimate. A house on a kibbutz does not become a military target simply because someone, thousands of kilometres away, has decided to label those who break down its door as ‘resistance’.

This is also why ‘Fauda’ helps us understand Israel today. It conveys the trauma, the grief, the anger and the risk that the desire for justice might descend into revenge. A wounded nation preparing to vote carries that very morning with it into the polling booth. There are political responsibilities to be discussed, failures to be investigated, and trust to be rebuilt. Grief does not dictate a single political opinion. It does, however, explain why no opinion can ignore it any longer.

In the week from 7 to 13 September 2026, the fifth series recorded 2.1 million views and 15.9 million hours watched on Netflix, ranking fourth in the global chart for non-English-language series. These figures are for that week only, not the total to date. The series entered the Top 10 in 41 countries. In Lebanon it was number one, in Jordan and Qatar number four, in the UAE number five, and in Kuwait number nine.

Watching it does not mean endorsing Israel. It means, at the very least, agreeing to follow Israeli characters, listen to their language and encounter their fear. The curiosity of those viewers should make us question ourselves. Whilst a series crosses hostile borders, part of our public debate seems intent on bricking up every window.

On the eve of the third anniversary, the Young Palestinians in Bologna announced a university initiative, describing 7 October as “one of the most important acts of the Palestinian resistance”. In Bergamo, a rally has been organised for 7 October outside the Town Hall, with a call to action supporting the resistance in all its forms. For 10 October, the national call relaunched by Infoaut calls for mobilisation in Rome, Milan, Naples, Turin, Bologna and Palermo.

Dates and words matter. An announcement is not an event that has already taken place. And those who demonstrate for Palestinian rights are not automatically celebrating Hamas. This is precisely why we must read what the organisers write and call them to account for their explicit glorification of 7 October. What sort of liberation would have been achieved by killing people in their homes? What sort of future for the Palestinians has been built by taking children hostage?

Why does a section of the country consider that massacre legitimate, or at least justifiable? The question concerns a political culture that selects its victims before feeling compassion. When the Israeli is reduced to the category of ‘coloniser’, his life story disappears. It becomes easier to explain why he deserved what happened to him. The word ‘resistance’ thus ends up absolving any action: simply utter it, and the dead person loses the right to accuse their murderer.

Meanwhile, a disturbing report has emerged from Strasbourg. François-Xavier Bellamy has accused Rima Hassan, a MEP from La France insoumise, of throwing the Israeli and European flags displayed at an exhibition on the victims of 7 October to the ground. The images of the defaced Israeli flag at the European Parliament remind us that anti-Israeli and anti-Jewish hatred exists within the institutions. In the face of the victims’ faces, political dissent ought to know where to draw the line.

Let us not allow 7 October to be swept up in the maelstrom of political controversy. The debate over the draft bill against anti-Semitism shows just how quickly an issue that should be treated with seriousness can turn into a contest of political allegiance. Discussing a text, criticising its provisions and calling for amendments are all legitimate. Turning the fight against anti-Semitism into a suspected act of censorship, even before seriously engaging with the issue, is a convenient way out. In the appeal for 10 October, moreover, the call to withdraw the bill appears alongside the demand for resistance in all its forms. It is a juxtaposition that deserves a few more questions and a few fewer slogans.

One does not need to endorse a single decision by Netanyahu to acknowledge the pogrom. One does not need to renounce solidarity with Gaza to honour those murdered on 7 October. One must be able to see people even when they disrupt the slogan. ‘Fauda’, at least, forces us to look at them. For certain professionals specialising in universal explanations, this simple exercise would suffice: switch off the rally for an hour and switch on the television.

They can then resume instructing us about the Middle East, perhaps after having finally met an Israeli, even if only in a television drama.