Israel's raids and arrests in southern Syria are pushing the population to the brink

Survivors recount brutal prison conditions, enduring beatings, restraints, and psychological abuse by Israeli soldiers.

QATNA, Syria – In the living room of his home, Ahmed describes in a low voice how he was beaten and tortured in an Israeli prison after being arrested at a checkpoint set up by the Israeli army on a street in his Syrian village.

"They stopped me, asked my name, asked where I was from," he says. I gave my name and village. They said, "You must come with us for five minutes and we will bring you back."

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The end of his list says that he spent more than a year in Israeli detention after that. He was handcuffed for 90 days and described being thrown to the floor of the cell, beaten with a stick while his hands were held behind his head.

"They tighten the sleeves by tapping them with their feet, until the cuffs bite into the flesh of your wrists as well as your hips," he says. Sometimes they leave them stiff for a day or two so that your hands swell up a lot. "Your hands turn green and you can't feel them at all."

After his release this month, dozens of people gathered outside his home to congratulate him on his return and ask for any information about their relatives who are still missing. Al Jazeera has confirmed that at least 51 Syrians are still being held inside Israel. Many were held at the notorious Sde Teiman military prison, but have since been transferred to facilities run by the Israel Prison Service. Al-Jazeera has confirmed that the Syrians have been moved to Afar, Al-Jalmah (Kishon) and Megiddo. A few have been released.

The impact continues. Mahmoud - a pseudonym - had been at home for nine days when Al Jazeera interviewed him. "I've been feeling unstable ever since; I'm not normal. Sometimes I feel crazy at night. I go to look at my kids because I can't believe I'm actually home."

Mahmoud pauses as his six-year-old son carries a tray of tea glasses and carefully places them on the carpeted floor. The glass rattles and the window shakes. Children turn their heads towards the sound of the ball. Since early August, the Israeli army has fired bullets into fields most days, preventing farmers and shepherds from working, occasionally killing livestock, and regularly terrorizing people. In September, the Sijil Center, a Syrian organization that monitors Israeli activities, recorded 280 violations of the 1974 agreement between the two countries, including invasions, raids and arrests, as well as artillery and machine-gun fire.

UN forces have patrolled the demilitarized zone between the Israeli-occupied Golan Heights and the rest of Syria since a 1974 agreement, but Israel immediately seized more territory from Syria after the fall of Bashar al-Assad's regime in December 2024. Peacekeeping forces remain, but are limited in their ability to contain Israeli military activity, which continues to increase.

In one incident in late August, two Israeli tanks and five other armored vehicles descended from one of their hilltop bases, blocking the only access to the 37th UN observer base near the village of Jabta al-Khashab. A man who works for the local council called the UN base, which is home to a peacekeeping mission established in 1974 to maintain an Israeli-Syrian ceasefire, and asked if they needed help.

"I think they were insulted," he laughed. And they told me, "No, stay where you are, don't you or anyone else come here. We'll get help from another base if we need it."

UNDOF confirmed to Al Jazeera that the movement of its personnel continues to be "restricted" by the IDF and that Israel's practice of erecting roadblocks and checkpoints "prevents UNDOF from carrying out its scheduled and mandatory patrolling activities".

Residents sometimes get help from peacekeepers when people are detained at checkpoints, but they can't do anything about midnight raids.

Mahmoud was arrested at 3:30 a.m. when Israeli forces surrounded his home, calling him names and circulating a photo of him on social media. Nine days after his release, he is crouched, kneeling and pressing his forehead to the ground with his hands behind his head.

"They make us sit like this for hours, infectious sores on our knees from the floor of the cell," he says. He has scars on his wrists and ankles from being restrained.

"They handcuff you so you can't move and then they release the dogs," he says. "They have muzzles, but they hit us like a body slam." He explains that metal muzzles make the impact stronger and cause bleeding.

"I want to tell you about 'The Disco Room,'" he says. This is a room full of speakers; "They put prisoners there and the music is very loud." He described the Syrian, Palestinian and Lebanese prisoners making noise when they were allowed to leave.

Mahmoud was never charged and says he does not know why he was released. He says he was never allowed access to a lawyer during his detention. The Red Cross has been denied access to detainees in Israeli detention centers since October 7, 2023, the date of Hamas' attack on Israel and the start of Israel's next genocidal war in Gaza.

They make sure that you know from the moment you enter that all your rights have been waived; They will tell you this clearly.

Al Jazeera has reached out to the Israeli military for comment, but has yet to receive a response. Israel says the occupation of Syrian territory and further invasion of Syria is necessary for security reasons and to defend Syria's Druze community, which officials in Syria say are under threat - a claim the Syrian government denies.

Ahmed was confused by this behavior. He told Al Jazeera that he was not even interrogated before that, nearly five months have passed since his arrest. He was asked if he, or anyone he knew, was a member of Hezbollah, Hamas, ISIS (ISIS) or a list of other unrelated armed groups that fought on opposite sides during the war in Syria.

"Even the barber who cuts my hair knew his name and address," he said. "They told me they knew everything about me. Every question they asked, they already knew the answer and knew if I was lying."

But when the questions came, it was general. The Israeli officers seemed to know everything about him except what he was accused of. Mohammed told Al Jazeera that one of the officers admitted that he had been arrested based on false information, which he attributed to reports made by people in his community who were informing on Israel.

The consequences of Israel's military activity are wide-ranging. Impromptu checkpoints mean many residents are afraid to leave their homes. Road closures have an impact long after Israeli soldiers leave: students who need to go to university need to move to Damascus to ensure they can attend classes, and people with health conditions worry about being denied access to care.

The Syrian government is in a difficult situation. Israel has prevented its forces from operating in the south and does not have the military power to confront its neighbor even if the authorities wanted to. Instead, they are trying to negotiate a security agreement, but talks have largely stalled since the start of the US-Israel war against Iran.

Residents have lost patience and started to protest. In Qatna, local sheikhs gathered after Friday prayers.

"They tested our patience in Daraa," Sheikh Mamdouh Tahan said, referring to an incident in Abedin where local people clashed with Israeli soldiers. As a country, we do not have the ability to go to war with Israel, but as a people, we are ready."

The families of some detainees feel abandoned by their government. They complain of a lack of legal or financial assistance, noting that with the loss of their breadwinners, they owe hundreds of dollars to local grocery stores.

The families have created a WhatsApp group to exchange news and information, and sometimes look for signs in the sky, which is accompanied by the sound of low-flying Israeli warplanes and the steady buzz of a spy drone. One of the mothers says: "I have been listening and hearing the drone since morning. "I imagine that since the drone is down, it might be released today."

For several weeks in a row, people were released on Wednesdays. It has become a painful waiting day. Hassan Ahmed's son, who was 16 at the time, was taken to Israel in April 2025. Israeli forces razed 400 of his olive trees shortly thereafter. He has been instrumental in organizing protests and scavenging with other parents — in October, Israeli forces again raided his farm and destroyed the solar panels. He sits on his balcony, the late afternoon sun streaming through the leaves of a walnut tree, playing the audio notes of other parents who descend every minute or so.

Another mother explains: “Since this morning, every message that pings on the phone, every new notification I check, is hoping that someone has been released. "Our hearts are on fire. We wait."

"I am full of sadness," Hassan says as he hangs up the phone. "I can never describe the pain, it's so hard. Even trying to describe it makes my heart hard. I feel like my heart is going to stop. I feel like I'm going to explode."