'Nothing is inevitable': Veteran journalist Oren Nahari on Israel, history, and battle with ALS

‘How are you?”

It’s usually the first question you ask someone, especially someone you haven’t seen in a long time. But in the case of Oren Nahari – author, lecturer, and for many years the editor of foreign news at Channel 1 – the question receives a direct answer, one firmly grounded in reality.

“That’s the obvious question,” he says. “A lot of people ask ‘How are you?’ and then get stuck. They feel it’s a ridiculous question. At this point, most of Israel knows that I have ALS. And me? I’m not living in denial about it.”

I have known Nahari since 2009, when I joined the legendary foreign news desk at Israel’s public broadcaster, first as a producer and later as a reporter. Anyone who knows him knows that he never stops. He is always pursuing another piece of knowledge, leading historical tours abroad, lecturing, writing books, and spending time with his wife, Vered, the first person who sensed that something was wrong.

“In May of last year,” he recalls, “I brought Vered her usual 10 a.m. cup of coffee, and she said, ‘Your hand is shaking a little.’ I shrugged it off. But a month later, I told her, ‘I feel a bit weak on my right side. Something feels off.’ So we said, ‘Okay, let’s go see a doctor.’”

The doctor initially reassured him that it was probably nothing serious, but scheduled an appointment with a neurologist for December, just to be safe.

“In the meantime,” Nahari says, “I started experiencing fasciculations – muscle twitches. Muscles shaking. That can happen after intense exertion, after running a marathon or something. But I haven’t run a marathon in a very long time.”

The neurologist also tried to reassure him, but referred him for testing for MND – motor neuron disease.

“Just to rule it out,” Nahari says the doctor told him.

It was then that he made the mistake of searching online. “My world went dark. I immediately understood: this is what I have. I read that around 10% live more than 10 years, while 20% die within a year of diagnosis. And I could already see the deterioration happening – it was frighteningly fast.”

Vered refused to accept it. “She told me, ‘Until a professor or doctor looks me in the eye and explicitly says those letters – ALS – I’m not accepting it. It can’t be true.’”

But Nahari already knew. “The symptoms I was feeling in my body had no other reasonable explanation.”

As he speaks, he demonstrates the limited range of motion he has in both hands.

Anyone who has known Oren for years knows how difficult this must be. It was rare to see him without a book in hand. Even during brief breaks between news broadcasts, he would read another few pages.

“One of the hardest things,” he says, “is losing the ability to do basic actions: scratch your head, turn over, scroll on your phone, read a book.”

Doctors, he notes, emphasize that ALS is highly individual. “Every patient responds differently. Maybe the deterioration will continue rapidly and then level off for a while. Maybe it won’t. Nobody knows.”

He pauses. “Even while talking to you now, I can feel myself becoming hoarser. Breathing is getting harder. My breaths are shallower. That may mean the disease is beginning to spread upward, affecting speech and respiration.”

Nahari first entered the halls of Channel 1 in the 1980s – not as a journalist, but as a security guard. His first reporting opportunity came in the sports department. In 1985, he moved to foreign news reporting, beginning a career that would make him one of Israel’s most respected international affairs journalists.

He helped bring the world’s major events into Israeli living rooms, co-founded landmark current affairs programs focused on international news, and in 1993 became Channel 1’s editor of foreign news.

“During South Africa’s elections, we traveled to a town controlled by the Afrikaner Resistance Movement,” he recalls. “You saw tall blond men in khaki uniforms wearing Nazi symbols. Naturally, I concealed both my identity and that of my cameraman.”

At some point, the men realized the journalists were Jewish.

“They demanded the videotape from our camera. My cameraman, Rami Lital, handed them a blank cassette – and we got out of there fast.”

“I arrived in this legendary city, the setting of countless spy novels, and saw elderly veterans walking around covered in medals. Then, at Moscow’s main synagogue, I met two women who looked exactly like my grandmother.”

The women had served in the Soviet Union’s famous “Night Witches” squadron.

“They flew bombing missions against the Nazis with cyanide pills in their pockets and almost no chance of survival. You look at them and think: what they must have endured....”

Although he no longer works full-time as a reporter, Nahari still follows current events closely.

He admits feeling frustrated when television discussions focus only on the present without historical context.

“When the war with Iran began,” he says, “everyone was celebrating and waving victory flags. On the first day, I posted on X: ‘Don’t you remember previous wars?’ A little skepticism is healthy. Wait and see where things lead.”

He remains concerned about Israel’s strategic position.

“[US President Donald] Trump will eventually look for a way out, and we’ll be left facing Iran alone.”

“At first we submitted a draft covering 50 battles,” he says with a smile. “The publisher told us nobody would buy a 400-page book costing hundreds of shekels, so we cut it down to 30.”

The book explores not only the battles themselves but also the events that led to them and their historical consequences.

“You can’t understand today’s history without understanding the history that came before it.”

Another recent book of his, Democracy on Trial (Hebrew), coauthored with Liav Orgad and published by Kinneret Zmora, examines the global crisis facing democratic systems.

“I feel that in Israel there’s a minority – not the whole public, but a significant minority – that simply isn’t comfortable with democracy,” he says. “Some oppose it for religious reasons and want a state governed by religious law. Others have different motivations.”

Nahari worries about several long-term issues: relations with the Palestinians, demographic and social tensions, Israel’s international standing, and what he sees as overreliance on Trump.

“We need to decide on the Palestinian issue: two states or one state. If it’s one democratic state, prepare for political realities many Israelis don’t want to face. If voting rights are denied, that creates its own moral and political problems.”

He also worries about Israel’s growing international isolation.

“We’re increasingly disliked around the world. We have very few friends. That frightens me.”

One trend particularly pains him.

“I see the children of friends leaving Israel for fellowships, advanced training, and careers abroad. At the top American universities, there are over a thousand Israeli professors.”

And yet, when asked to offer a reason for optimism, Nahari does not hesitate.

“Nothing in history is inevitable until it happens,” he says.

Speaking not as a journalist but as a historian, he reflects on Israel’s past.

“I think there are many people here with good intentions. We need something like the spirit that existed in the late 1940s and early 1950s, when people were building a country.”

The founders, he acknowledges, made mistakes – some very serious ones.

“But despite everything, they created a state that is an extraordinary success story. Look at all the countries established after World War II – nearly one hundred of them. Only Singapore and South Korea are arguably in a better position than we are.”

As our hour-long conversation draws to a close, Nahari returns once more to the subject of life itself. On the computer in his study sits a Word document titled “The Death of Oren.”

“It was one of the first things I did,” he says, “a farewell letter. I keep updating it, although I have less strength now. One of the hardest things about this battle is that there’s death – and then there’s the road leading to death, and all the thoughts that come with it.”

He repeats the words that seem to define his current outlook. “I’ve given Vered very precise instructions. I know what my redlines are.”

Then comes the “but.” “But maybe, when I reach that point, I’ll decide I still want to live. Maybe I’ll be lying there, able only to read with my eyes or watch a television series. But I’ll still want to know what happens next.”