Israel expands military footprint in Syria amid detentions and infrastructure destruction

Ahmad Hassan al-Din knows exactly how long it has been. Two years, four months, 24 days, and five hours since he last saw his son. In April 2024, Israeli soldiers took Saddam from farmland near the Golan Heights on an ordinary morning. The boy had just turned 17. He had gone out early to feed the animals, called his father to say everything was fine, and then his father watched—filmed it himself—as soldiers marched the teenager through the fields in handcuffs and shackles. The farmland where Saddam was taken sits in a buffer zone between Israeli and Syrian forces, territory that Syria has worked under UN permit for decades. Israel said the boy was trespassing. Today, Saddam is 19 and believed to be in an Israeli prison. When DW asked the Israeli military what charges he faced and under which legal system, the response was vague: Israel detains Syrians it suspects might wish it harm. No clarification on whether Saddam fell into that category.

Saddam's story is no longer singular. Since the fall of Syria's Assad regime in December 2024, Israel has transformed its military presence in southern Syria from a theoretical arrangement into a sprawling operational footprint. The 1974 disengagement agreement that created the UN-patrolled demilitarized zone—a buffer meant to keep Israeli and Syrian forces apart—was declared void by Israeli politicians. Troops would stay temporarily, they said, to prevent cross-border attacks. That temporary presence has hardened into something else. By November 2025, Israel had established at least 10 military bases in the zone. From these bases, soldiers conduct near-daily incursions into the Syrian provinces of Daraa and Quneitra. The pattern is consistent: armored patrols move through populated areas, temporary checkpoints appear on main roads, civilians are stopped and searched, phones are examined, biometric data is collected. Homes are raided. Businesses and schools are entered. Farmland is fenced off. Water sources are destroyed.

The scale of these operations has accelerated. Between late August and the end of 2025, a Syrian research organization called the Sijil Center documented 818 incidents—45 per week. Since the start of 2026, the center has counted 1,632 incursions, averaging 48 per week. The detentions have mounted as well. Around 200 Syrians have been apprehended since December 2024. Most are released within 24 hours after interrogation, but between 40 and 50 remain in Israeli custody, including a handful detained before the government change. Experts in international law describe what is happening as a breach of sovereignty and a potential war crime. Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch have used similar language.

The human toll is visible in the wreckage. Mousa Khalil, 65, watched Israeli troops destroy his two-story home in Hamidiyah village last year. The building had four apartments. Now he has nothing. At his age, finding work is nearly impossible. He is trying to save money to rebuild while supporting a family of eight. Quneitra authorities have documented the broader destruction: more than 200 sheep seized, drinking water wells destroyed, horticultural areas razed, buildings leveled. These are not the collateral effects of combat operations. These are the deliberate erasure of civilian infrastructure and livelihood.

Israel's stated rationale centers on security. Senior Israeli politicians insist southern Syria must remain demilitarized to prevent attacks and smuggling. A senior Israeli officer told media outlets that the area is a playground for terror organizations and armed groups. But analysts point to deeper calculations. Elizabeth Tsurkov, a fellow at the Washington-based New Lines Institute, identifies the trauma of October 7th as a driving factor—the fear of another cross-border invasion. Israel also views the new Syrian government as hostile and jihadist, despite Damascus repeatedly stating it does not want conflict and has launched no attacks. A Syrian think tank called Etana has identified other possible motives: Israel's control of Mount Hermon, Syria's tallest peak, provides surveillance capability over Lebanon. And Israel now has direct control or access to most of the water-rich areas in Quneitra and western Daraa—a significant strategic asset in a water-scarce region.

Diplomacy has stalled. The United States mediated talks between Syrian and Israeli officials aimed at reactivating the 1974 agreement. Progress was made, according to Syria's Foreign Minister, but Israel walked away in late 2025. Since then, incursions have intensified. This week, Israeli jets bombed the Abu Duhur military airbase in northern Syria, shortly after a Turkish delegation visited. Senior Israeli politicians have begun predicting their next war could be with Syria or Turkey. Syria's Foreign Minister told US media that security cannot be one-sided—that just as Syria considers Israeli concerns, Israel must consider Syrian concerns and address what he called Israel's expansionist policy.

What comes next is uncertain, but history offers a warning. H.A. Hellyer, a senior fellow at the Royal United Services Institute in London, notes that Israeli security zones have historically become permanent occupations or annexations. Syria, facing Israel's overwhelming military superiority, has few options. The government cannot fight. Locals like Khalil complain their own state offers no help. Syria is continuing diplomatic efforts because, as Hellyer puts it, they know they have no military alternative. What is unfolding, he argues, is what scholars call Israeli paramountcy—the condition in which a powerful state overrides a weaker one through sheer force, where laws and rules become negotiable, where consensus is irrelevant. It is a condition that, once established, tends to calcify.