By Julia Conley / Common Dreams
As the Biden administration issued its latest assurance that officials are pushing Israel to be “precise” in its selection of targets in Gaza, an investigation into the Israel Defense Forces’ use of a previously undisclosed artificial intelligence system found that the mechanism has replaced “human agency and precision” with “mass target creation and lethality.”
Four months after +972 Magazine and Local Call, detailed the IDF’s use of an AI system called the Gospel, which generates dozens of buildings and structures for the military to target in a single day, the two Israeli media outlets revealed that another AI machine called Lavender, which has also played a part in Israel’s slaughter of at least 32,975 Palestinians since October.
Unlike the Gospel, reported +972‘s Yuval Abraham, “Lavender marks people—and puts them on a kill list.”
Abraham spoke to six Israeli intelligence officers who have served in the IDF during Israel’s current assault on Gaza and have had “first-hand involvement with the use of AI to generate targets for assassination.”
“Lavender has played a central role in the unprecedented bombing of Palestinians, especially during the early stages of the war,” wrote Abraham. “In fact, according to the sources, its influence on the military’s operations was such that they essentially treated the outputs of the AI machine ‘as if it were a human decision.'”
“It was known in advance that 10% of the human targets slated for assassination were not members of the Hamas military wing at all.”
The system was designed to mark suspected military operatives in Hamas and Palestinian Islamic Jihad (PIJ) as potential bombing targets.
But the IDF gave “sweeping approval for officers to adopt Lavender’s kill lists” in the early days of Israel’s bombardment campaign, and gave “no requirement to thoroughly check why the machine made those choices or to examine the raw intelligence data on which they were based.”
Before bombing the houses of suspected armed group members, the intelligence officers did a brief assessment of the data to determine that the AI-selected target was male.
“A human being had to [verify the target] for just a few seconds,” a source identified as B. told +972. “At first, we did checks to ensure that the machine didn’t get confused. But at some point we relied on the automatic system, and we only checked that [the target] was a man—that was enough. It doesn’t take a long time to tell if someone has a male or a female voice.”
“I would invest 20 seconds for each target at this stage, and do dozens of them every day,” B. added. “I had zero added value as a human, apart from being a stamp of approval. It saved a lot of time. If [the operative] came up in the automated mechanism, and I checked that he was a man, there would be permission to bomb him, subject to an examination of collateral damage.”
B. and the other sources acknowledged that the system was prone to error.
If the target had given his phone, which Lavender used to identify Hamas and PIJ suspects, to “his son, his older brother, or just a random man,” said B., “that person will be bombed in his house with his family. This happened often. These were most of the mistakes caused by Lavender.”
The system marked 37,000 Palestinians—and their homes, with family members potentially inside—as targets in the first weeks of the war, when the IDF “almost completely relied on Lavender.”
The intelligence officers told Abraham that the IDF was “not interested in killing [Hamas] operatives only when they were in a military building or engaged in a military activity,” despite Israel’s persistent claims that they are targeting military outposts and other noncivilian infrastructure.
“On the contrary, the IDF bombed them in homes without hesitation, as a first option,” an officer identified as A. told +972 and Local Call. “It’s much easier to bomb a family’s home. The system is built to look for them in these situations.”
As a result of the military’s reliance of Lavender, wrote Abraham, “thousands of Palestinians—most of them women and children or people who were not involved in the fighting—were wiped out by Israeli airstrikes, especially during the first weeks of the war.”
The investigation also found that, according to two of the sources, the IDF decided in the early weeks of the war that “for every junior Hamas operative that Lavender marked, it was permissible to kill up to 15 or 20 civilians”—an unprecedented approach by Israel to so-called “collateral damage.”
“A ratio of 20 civilians killed for one target works out to about 95% civilian deaths,” said enterpreneur Arnaud Bertrand.
For senior Hamas officials that were targeted, the army authorized the killing of more than 100 civilians.
IDF officers, including the sources, accepted that Lavender’s calculations about targets were accurate only 90% of the time, +972 and Local Call reported.
“In other words, it was known in advance that 10% of the human targets slated for assassination were not members of the Hamas military wing at all,” wrote Abraham.
One source defended the military’s use of Lavender, saying investing “manpower and time” in analyzing whether a suspected junior militant is a legitimate target was not worthwhile.
“In war, there is no time to incriminate every target,” said the intelligence officer. “So you’re willing to take the margin of error of using artificial intelligence, risking collateral damage and civilians dying, and risking attacking by mistake, and to live with it.”
While collateral damage has long been a reality in violent conflicts, parties are bound by international humanitarian law that states they must distinguish between civilians and combatants.
Alex Hanna, director of research for the Distributed AI Research Institute, said the report illustrated the possible “future of AI warfare” for the U.S. and other powerful countries.
Bertrand suggested the “disturbing” report called to mind the Nazis’ methodical massacre of Jewish people during the Holocaust.
“It’s industrialized extermination,” said Bertrand, “the likes of which we haven’t seen since… you know when.”
By Zehra Imam / Mondoweiss
As Palestinians are slaughtered by the thousands in Gaza and violently attacked during night prayers in the al-Aqsa Mosque by Israel, the West Bank endures massacres that at times go unnoticed during this holy month. I have spent my Ramadan in conversation with a friend from Jenin.
Much has changed since I visited Aseel (not her real name) in August 2023. There are things I saw in Jenin that no longer exist. One of them is my friend’s smile and her spark.
Usually, they say Jenin is a small Gaza. During Ramadan, because the attacks generally happen at night, people are an easy target because they are on the streets late at night. In the past, it was rare for the IOF to enter during the day. Now, they attack during the day; their special forces enter, and after people discover them, their soldiers come within minutes.
Every 2-3 days, there is a new attack in Jenin. In our minds, there is a constant ringing that the IOF may come. We don’t know at what time we will be targeted or when they will enter. There is no stability in our lives.
Even when we plan for something, we hedge it with our inshallahs and laugh. There are a lot of ifs. If they don’t enter the camp. If there are no martyrs. If there is no strike.
On the second day of Ramadan, they attacked my neighborhood again. We thought it was a bombing because it started with an explosion, but the house was shaking. We were praying fajr, and everyone was screaming outside. The sound of the drone was in our ears. “No, these are missiles,” we realized.
There was panic in the streets. Women fainted. People had been walking back from praying at the mosque, and some were still in the street. Alhamdulillah, no one was hurt, we say.
The balcony to the room at my uncle’s house where we slept had fallen. It no longer had any glass, and a bullet entered my uncle’s bedroom and reached the kitchen. The drone hit the trees in front of our house. The missiles destroyed the ceiling, and the rockets reached my neighbor’s house on the first floor, exactly in front of our house.
Since October 7, Jenin has become a target. There is a clear escalation in the camp and the city. The IOF has used many different weapons to kill us here. They have even been aggressive toward the infrastructure, as though every inch of our city was resisting them.
They destroyed much of the camp, and there is no entrance now. The arch is gone, and there is no sign reminding us that Jenin refugee camp is a temporary place. There is no horse. Only the street is left. You have the photographs. You were lucky. They changed the shape of the camp, and everything has been destroyed.”Aseel
The first time Aseel and I met in person was in Nablus at the Martyrs Roundabout. As we caught up, we ate a delicious concoction of ice cream, milk, nuts, and fresh fruit that was a perfect balm to the heat. She took me to some of her favorite places nestled within the old city of Nablus. A 150-year-old barber’s shop that felt like you had entered an antique store where plants reached the ceiling and where the barber was a massive fan of Angelina Jolie. A centuries-old house now called Tree House Cafe looked like a hobbit home from Lord of the Rings, where we hid away as she sipped her coffee and I drank a mint lemonade. We visited one of the oldest soap factories in the world with ingredients such as goat’s milk and olive oil, jasmine and pomegranates, even dates and Dead Sea mud.
We happened to chance upon a Sufi zawiya as we walked through a beautiful archway decorated with lanterns, light bulbs, and an assortment of potted plants, after which we saw a cobalt blue door on our left and an azul blue door with symmetrical red designs, and Quranic ayat like incantations on our right as doors upon doors greeted us.
The air was welcoming yet mingled with the memory of martyrs whose memorials took over the landscape, sometimes in the form of larger-than-life portraits surrounded by complex four-leafed magenta-white flowers; posters above a water spout next to a heart-shaped leaf; a melted motorcycle that, too, was targeted in the neighborhood that hosted the Lions’ Den. We stopped to pray at a masjid, quiet and carpeted.
After a bus ride from Nablus to Jenin, on our walk before entering Jenin camp, Aseel showed me the hospital right outside the camp. She pointed out the barricades created to keep the occupation forces from entering specific streets. This is the same hospital that the occupation forces blocked during the July 2023 attack, which now seems like a lifetime ago.
What caught my eyes again and again were the two Keys of Return on top of the entrance of Jenin Camp that symbolized so much for Palestinians.
“This is a temporary station,” Aseel read out loud to me. “That’s what it says. We are supposed to return to our homes.”
“Netanyahu said he is planning another big attack, so the resistance fighters are preparing because it can happen any day,” she had told me that evening as we shared Jenin-style knafeh, baked to perfection. Then she stopped, looked at the sky, and said humorously, “Ya Allah, hopefully not today!” And we both laughed because of its potential reality.
Dinner on the terrace at her uncle’s home was a delicious spread of hummus, laban, fries, cucumbers pickled by her aunt, and arayes — fried bread stuffed with meat. Then we moved the furniture to sleep on mattresses in a room that extended to the rooftop terrace with a breeze, overlooking Jenin Camp and the rest of Jenin City. We could hear gunshots in the distance. The drones were commonplace, and the heat did not relent. Temperatures soared, and the electricity was out when we woke up at 5 a.m. I heard her pray, and later, as we sipped on coffee and had wafters in the early morning at her home, my eyes went to a piece of tatreez, or embroidery, of a bird in flight framed on the wall. Her eyes followed mine and when I said I loved it.
“It used to be my grandfather’s,” she told me. “Of course it’s beautiful — the bird is free.”
Unexpectedly, Aseel’s mother gifted me a Sprite bottle full of olive oil beholding the sweet hues of its intact health, which I would later ship secretly from Bethlehem all the way to Boston. And then Aseel came to me with a gift, too: a necklace that spoke succinctly about the right to return and live on this earth. Mahmoud Darwish’s poetry was held together with intricate calligraphy carved in the shape of Palestine’s landscape, and I was completely overwhelmed.
“You are in Palestine, my dear,” she had smiled. “And you are now my family. This is your country, this is your second home, really.”
When I ask her about what brings her hope these days, Aseel tells me about her eight-year-old nephew.
He wanted to eat two meals. I told him that in Gaza they don’t have food. He was complaining about the food, and I told him, they don’t have water. And he heard me because he said, “today, we will only have one meal.”
I’m amazed at how mature he is. He even said, “We won’t make a special cake on Eid because of the Gazans.” For me, this is a lesson to be learned. He is only eight years old, but he knows.
We have lost a lot of people in Gaza, but here in the West Bank, we are succeeding because our new generation knows a lot. Ben Gurion would not be happy. He said of Palestinians, “the old will die and the young will forget.” No, the young ask even more questions. The new generation brings us hope. Hope is the new generation.
/sp
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Julia Conley
Julia Conley is a staff writer for Common Dreams.