Getting your Trinity Audio player ready...
Deep inside Ayalon Prison, behind high walls and heavy iron gates, lies one of Israel’s most hidden and unusual medical facilities—the Israel Prison Service hospital.
The entrance resembles that of any maximum-security wing: thick metal doors, barred windows and prison guards stationed along the corridor. But once the door shuts behind you, a very different reality comes into view. Large rooms lined with orderly hospital beds, medical monitors beeping in the background and carts of equipment scattered through the hallways.
Ninety-eight patients—both sick and wounded—are currently hospitalized here. Despite the steady hum of the machines, this is no ordinary hospital. No one here is being discharged home.
On the upper floor are dangerous terrorists, including members of Hamas’ elite Nukhba force involved in the October 7 massacre in southern Israel. Below them is the nursing ward, where the most severely ill criminal inmates are housed—prisoners whose conditions cannot be managed in the standard clinics within the prisons where they are serving their sentences.
“The law on medical release is extremely strict and requires proof that the inmate is in his final moments,” explains Deputy Commissioner Dr. Dmitry Klutzky, the hospital’s director, addressing why these inmates are not released rather than establishing a dedicated facility for them.
“I have a cancer patient in grave condition, but since he might live another six months, I can’t release him. Sometimes, even the inmates themselves don’t want to be released—because they have no family support system waiting for them.”
Treating a Nukhba terrorist
In recent months, Israel Prison Service Commissioner Kobi Yaakobi has directed efforts to position the prison hospital as a leading and advanced facility—aimed in part at minimizing the need to transfer security prisoners beyond the prison walls.
“We’re launching several new initiatives,” says Dr. Klutzky. “Instead of sending security inmates to outside medical appointments, the prison is developing the capacity to treat them internally. We’ve built a comprehensive medical system here, including the ability to administer blood transfusions, to prevent terrorists from being moved outside. With the help of a major hospital, we receive blood units directly at our facility.”
According to Dr. Klutzky, “There are also quite a few security inmates who need orthopedic surgery. Per the current policy, they undergo procedures in public hospitals, but after a short recovery period, they return to our inpatient ward and are not kept outside the prison. We’re doing everything we can to protect public safety while still remaining human.”
That final remark reflects the deeply complex situation faced by the staff since October 7, 2023. “The nurses here treated terrorists who carried out the massacre in the south,” Dr. Klutzky says. “There were sessions with psychologists to process it—because it breaks you from within. And still, we’re doctors. Despite how difficult it is, we save lives.”
The hospital director, who joined the Prison Service 21 years ago and calls the facility “home,” is aware of public sentiment: “When people ask me how I can save the life of a Nukhba terrorist, I answer that we are not judges and we do not carry out sentences—we are physicians. Even when it’s hard to accept, the medical duty takes precedence above all. My job is to save lives, regardless of who is lying in the bed.”
Defense officials say this life-saving work also has security value: a living, functioning terrorist can be interrogated and may provide valuable intelligence—such as the location of hostages or the plans of terror groups and other operatives.
“In the first days of the war, we had a lot of moral questions—how do we treat them? Is it right to treat them?” says Yulia. “We cried, we were in pain, but in the end, we told ourselves this is the mission the system gave us, and this is what we must do. We serve in a hierarchical organization, and we do our jobs just like we did before. My professional duty won out.”
Yulia and her team are among those caring for Nukhba terrorists, some of whom suffer from severe orthopedic injuries, with shattered limbs stabilized by metal rods. They require full-time nursing care—from changing bandages and assisting with basic needs to monitoring vital signs. “I know that the hand whose blood pressure I’m checking, whose pulse I’m measuring—committed atrocities,” she says.
Yulia recalls that “one of the first Nukhba terrorists brought to our hospital was bedridden, unable to lift his head. I had to hold his water cup so he could swallow a pill and help him sip—and it broke me. To show compassion to someone like that, knowing what he did, was unimaginable. He’s a rapist and a murderer—and still, we treated him. That’s a moment I haven’t recovered from. I remember walking out of the room after caring for him and just breaking down in tears.”
Since learning the fate of Shiri Bibas and her children, Ariel and Kfir—murdered in captivity—Yulia says the emotional burden has only deepened. “After all our hopes that maybe the family would make it out alive—something in me broke,” she says. “I walk into the ward now, and it’s even harder. If there was a purpose—where is it now? These are questions no one can answer.”
'This is my last time in prison'
On the lower floor of the hospital inside Ayalon Prison sits its criminal ward. Here, among the beds, it's not only medical staff who move about—but also other inmates, including those serving long sentences, who choose to spend their time providing close care to severely ill prisoners. They feed them, bathe them, and assist with daily needs. Known as “support inmates,” their presence serves as a reminder that prison is not only a place of punishment—it also has a rehabilitative role, meant to prevent inmates from returning once released.
“It’s hard to find people willing to take on this role,” says Dr. Klutzky, “but there are inmates who feel it gives their time meaning. They’re certainly not doing it for the money.”
Y., a criminal inmate from East Jerusalem serving a four-and-a-half-year sentence for weapons trafficking, is one of these support inmates. This is his third time behind bars, but he claims the role has changed him.
<< Get the Ynetnews app on your smartphone: Google Play: https://bit.ly/4eJ37pE | Apple App Store: https://bit.ly/3ZL7iNv >>
“On the outside, I used to hassle people, but something happened to me here,” he tells Dr. Klutzky. “I sat alone at night thinking about what I’ve been through, and I realized—why cause harm, when I could help instead?”
“You need incredible mental strength to change a diaper or care for someone helpless,” he says. “But then I realize—not only am I doing it, I actually enjoy it.”
Dr. Klutzky listens as the inmate continues: “I have four kids, and I’ve never changed a single diaper for any of them. And here I am, caring for elderly and bedridden detainees, doing everything for them from A to Z. One is 70 years old, another is disabled and can’t move—I’m the one taking care of him. People have told me I could be a caregiver on the outside, and it no longer sounds far-fetched.”
“Maybe when I get out, I’ll go back to school and become a nurse,” he says. “I hope this is it, my last time in prison. Something in me changed. Even my family is surprised by the way I talk now. I feel like someone took everything that used to be in my head and threw it in the trash. I recommend other inmates join this program, but it’s not for everyone. It’s a heavy responsibility. It changes you.”