The first time I tried to take my own life, at 15, it felt like a gamble—a kind of Russian roulette. Either I’d finally get the help I so desperately needed, or I’d die. I was at peace with either outcome. In the end, I didn’t die, but I didn’t get the help I needed, either.
Since then, suicidality has followed me through nearly every stage of my life—almost 30 years now. I grew up in a time when adults seemed to believe that society could be protected from dangers like drugs, sexual abuse or car accidents through short, catchy public service ads. Each issue had its own slogan aimed directly at kids, a promise to educate us into a better future.
One line from those campaigns has stayed with me all these years: “It won’t stop unless you talk.” The message was meant to encourage children suffering abuse at home to speak up, because the only way to end violence was to tell someone it was happening.
Suicidality works the same way. It’s a kind of abuse—the mind turning on itself. When I’m in a suicidal episode, my brain feeds me lies far crueler than any bullying I’ve endured. And, just like with abuse, the only way to fight it is to talk about it.
A national emergency
Suicide is a national emergency. Not just since the October 7 massacre, and not just because of the recent reports of IDF soldiers taking their own lives. It has been a severe, long-standing crisis in Israel for decades.
Media coverage and social networks sometimes make it seem like one person dies by suicide every week here. The truth is far worse. According to a 2020 Health Ministry report, between 400 and 500 people die by suicide in Israel every year—at least one person every single day. Estimates suggest the number of attempts is 10 times higher, if not more.
Suicide claims more lives annually than road accidents, domestic violence, violence within the Arab-Israeli sector and even, in most years, more than the number of IDF soldiers killed—including during wars and major military operations.
A report published by the Health Ministry earlier this year found that suicide is the second-leading cause of death among teenagers in Israel, as well as the second or third among men and women under 35. This is not just a crisis; it’s an epidemic. And these figures only scratch the surface.
Comparing suicide to other causes of death isn’t just about scale. It underscores the urgency for Israel—as both a state and a society—to take responsibility and act. While road fatalities, domestic violence and other social crises are treated as “our collective problem,” suicide is still seen as the burden of individuals and their families alone. But society has immense power to save lives if it chooses to engage.
Breaking the stigma
I grew up in a culture where talking about suicide carried heavy stigma: “It’s just something teenage girls go through; it’ll pass.” “If you talk about it but don’t actually try, it’s not real.” “It’s just for attention.”
Here’s the truth: yes, my first attempt—and the ones that followed—were, in part, cries for attention. They were my desperate screams for help when I felt there was nothing else I could do. What I needed in those moments wasn’t judgment; it was someone who understood that I’d reached the absolute limit of what I could handle on my own.
As a society, we must confront the shame and myths surrounding suicide head-on. The most effective time to save someone is when they are still thinking about it, before they act.
We need to make it safe for people to say, “I’m thinking about hurting myself,” and meet that confession with empathy and listening. We need to make space for someone to admit, “I don’t know how to stop this pain except through death,” without fear of being dismissed. Only then will more people reach out for help.
It’s equally important to keep the conversation going beyond a single attempt. Most people struggling with suicidality also battle ongoing mental health conditions. Suicide is particularly common among those living with bipolar disorder, borderline personality disorder, post-traumatic stress disorder and depression.
To save lives, we must normalize open discussions about mental illness—especially these conditions—so those most in need feel safe seeking support. I live with mental health challenges myself and rely on services provided through Israel’s Health Ministry and its rehabilitation basket, which offers community-based support for people with psychiatric conditions.
When I first began using these services, I received weekly home visits from a counselor who helped me manage daily tasks and, more importantly, stood by me as I tried to rebuild my life.
Beyond the practical challenges of learning how to live again, I struggled to explain to others why I could no longer work the way I once had, why I saw my friends less and why even going to the gym sometimes felt unbearable.
Through “Amitim,” a program that helps people with mental disorders rejoin social and leisure activities, I learned to overcome my fears of re-engaging with society and began reclaiming my sense of belonging. Over time, I not only stopped feeling ashamed of my struggles—I began initiating conversations about them with friends and family.
Today, this has even become my profession. I now use my personal story to support and offer hope to others through “Amitim for Rights,” a program run by the Israel Association of Community Centers (IACC) and the Health Ministry, which helps people navigate mental health rights and resources.
It won’t end unless we talk
These days, I’m marking nearly six years “clean” from suicide attempts and self-harm—something I once believed was impossible after more than two decades of silent suffering.
Noam NovAlong this journey, I’ve been saved by strangers more than once. A fellow passenger on a train who noticed my distress and spoke to me; a conversation like that can be the difference between surviving the night and not.
But our responsibility as a society can’t stop at individual gestures of kindness. If we demand solutions from our leaders for issues that claim far fewer lives, we must demand the same here. This is also a call to the media: stop being afraid. Suicide is not contagious.
Research shows that safe, responsible reporting—focusing on the underlying pain, on pathways to help and on resources available—can reduce deaths and encourage people to seek assistance.
As we were told again and again growing up, the truth still holds: it won’t end unless we talk. We owe it to everyone struggling with suicidality, to the families and friends of those we’ve lost and to those who are still at real, imminent risk.
The author is a rights advocate with the “Amitim” program, run by the Health Ministry and the Israel Association of Community Centers.