The IDF Killed an American Peace Activist. Her Husband Is Still Looking for Answers.
The morning of December 16, Hamid Ali prepared to tell the story of his wife’s death.
It was a Monday, and over the following 48 hours, I watched Ali—a lean man with glasses and a short beard—crisscross Washington DC, in search of accountability for his spouse, Ayşenur Ezgi Eygi, a peace activist and American citizen killed by an Israeli soldier in the occupied West Bank.
Ali spoke with politicians, government officials, and the media. Each time, he calmly explained Eygi’s life. Each time, he asked for the United States to do more to investigate her death. I witnessed this ritual nearly a dozen times. Often, as he began to speak of Eygi, he anxiously clutched a green woven scarf from her closet.
“I like the idea of her literally being around me,” he told me, “keeping me warm.”
It had been 101 days since Eygi’s death. On September 6th, she joined Palestinian protesters in the West Bank town of Beita, where Israeli settlers had spent decades attempting to seize land. Five weeks before Eygi’s arrival, the International Court of Justice had declared the settlers’ advances—backed by the Israeli Defense Forces—a violation of international humanitarian law. But, as in Gaza, strong words from international bodies have largely failed to deter Israeli violence in the West Bank.
Eygi, a recent college graduate from Washington, came to serve as a witness and document the protests. In 2024, Israeli settlers carried out at least 1,400 attacks on Palestinians or their property in the occupied West Bank, the highest number on record since documentation began two decades ago.
On Eygi’s third day, Palestinian protesters began to walk toward an Israeli settlement. The IDF responded with tear gas and live ammunition. The protest initially dispersed. But about twenty minutes later, after the maelstrom seemed to have ended, a soldier from hundreds of meters away shot Eygi in the head. She was killed at 26 years old. The IDF said she was hit “indirectly.” A witness on the scene told Mother Jones she believed the shot was “intentional.”
The Israeli military police say they are currently investigating the shooting. And the United States called Eygi’s death a “tragedy.” But the Biden administration has stopped short of its own investigation of Eygi’s death. “We expect [Israel’s] process to be thorough, transparent, and to be as robust as it can be,” State Department spokesman Vedant Patel said in mid-September.
Ali—along with Eygi’s older sister, Ozden Bennett, and her father, Mehmet Suat Eygi—had come to DC to push for more. The most important part of the visit would be a meeting with Secretary of State Antony Blinken. (Getting on Blinken’s schedule had delayed the trip. The meeting was originally planned for six weeks earlier, but the State Department canceled. Eygi’s family later found out that Blinken was speaking at a conference on artificial intelligence that day.)
The trip, now falling only 35 days before Biden left the White House, would be the last chance to ask Blinken the question on Ali’s mind: Did the United States care that an Israeli soldier killed his wife?
The first day, I sat with Ali and the Eygi family over breakfast in the lobby of their hotel. Their schedule was packed: a spreadsheet texted to the family detailed press conferences, meetings, TV appearances, and an end-of-day vigil. The nitty-gritty of the day grounded Ali. The details calmed his nerves. He asked what type of room they would meet with the Secretary of State Blinken in, what order they should sit in, and which portions of the prepared talking points he would speak on.
Their lawyer, Brad Parker of the Center for Constitutional Rights, ran through the minutiae. In the background, Ozden’s husband, Steve Bennett, entertained his two young children. Christmas music played over the speakers.
“The deference that [Blinken] is giving to the Israelis to create the narrative, create the inquiry,” Parker said, was the “top line point. No Israeli investigation means anything to us. Because it’s not impartial, it’s not independent.”
Parker and the family went over specific bits of information they might wrangle out of the State Department: the name of the IDF unit that killed Eygi, the name of that unit’s commander, a timeline of Israel’s investigation. Ali turned to his sister-in-law.
“Ozden, do you want to be frustrated?” he asked.
She said yes. And like that she was assigned to articulate the family’s anger with the State Department’s inaction.
For Ali, those sorts of feelings were “harder to access”; anger had been difficult. This, he had learned, was common. The Eygis are not the first American family forced to put on suits and ask the US government to investigate the killing of a loved one by the Israeli army. Before the Eygis came the family of Shireen Abu Akleh, a Palestinian-American journalist killed by an Israeli soldier in the West Bank in 2022; before Abu Akleh, there was Rachel Corrie.
Corrie, a young, American protective presence activist like Ayşenur, was run over by an Israeli army bulldozer in 2003. Over decades, her parents and sister have asked unsuccessfully for an independent investigation.
Within days of Eygi’s death, the Corries reached out to Ali. In Eygi’s family, the Corries saw a reflection of what they had endured.
“I know how badly I and Cindy and our family wanted to talk to somebody that had been in the same situation,” Craig Corrie told me. “There wasn’t anybody to talk to.”
Ali reflected on that conversation when he thought about his own emotional impasse. “I actually remember Sarah Corrie, Rachel Corrie’s sister, talking about this,” he said. “For like two, three years, [she] couldn’t really feel anger.” It helped him feel less strange to hear this. “That was affirming,” he said. “I felt weird about not being angry enough. I think…loss and grief have taken the place of that anger.”
Ali told me he also wasn’t sure who exactly to be angry with. There were so many people to blame. “It’s such a cloud of things that’s contributed to this,” he said. Decades of history built towards that moment in Beita on September 6th, and the list of those at whom he might direct his anger was long: the US government, for failing to sanction Israel; the IDF, for its reportedly trigger-happy West Bank rules of engagement; the soldier who shot his wife; the people who trained that soldier; the settlers, whose expansion in Beita she had come to stand against. “There’s so many people,” Ali said. “I’d have to be angry at everybody, and that seems unsustainable.”
There were also the slim odds that anger would change anything. He knew it was unlikely the government would see his wife’s death as a reason to shift policy. The Corries’ quest had been arduous. Decades later, the exact same gatekeepers were in place.
It was current Secretary of State Antony Blinken—then a national security advisor to then-Vice President Joe Biden—who was assigned in 2011 to correspond with the Corries.
He wrote them a letter telling them that he’d raised their case with the Israeli ambassador to the United States. He told them he taken steps to prevent a recurrence. “I continue to hope that in the years to come, your family will find some measure of peace,” Blinken said then. But there was little movement beyond words. When the Corries pushed for details, or a plan, nothing happened.
“Along the way…we felt that we did find allies within the State Department. Secretary Blinken was one” Cindy Corrie told me. His concern for their family seemed genuine.
But he was not able to deliver on his promises of accountability. By 2015, the Corries had stopped trying to meet with him. “We completely understand the frustration that Ayşenur’s family is feeling, because you’re on this path, and it goes on for months and months, and then years and years,” she said.
“And what we are seeing,” Craig Corrie continued, “is that the conversation continues to be circular.”
Ayşenur Eygi’s family showed me a copy of the letter Blinken sent the Corries. Thirteen years later, they had carried that same letter to Washington for their own meeting with the Secretary of State. They hoped to remind him of the promises that he had promised to work to ensure a death like Rachel Corrie’s— a death like Ayşenur Ezgi Eygi’s—did not happen again.
After breakfast, the day began, and we piled into a Toyota Highlander and headed across town to the State Department. Parker, the lawyer, ticked off the participants in the meeting on his fingers. “It’ll be Secretary Blinken; Tom Sullivan, and the Chief of Staff…”
But the car got quiet as we passed the Washington Monument.
“It’s very surreal,” Ali said, breaking the silence. “I mean, I’ve never seen DC, so it’s kind of nice, it’s like a tour…but I’m thinking about what we’re about to go do.”
Soon, Ali would have to face off against the Secretary of State. “When something like this happens,” he said, “the government shouldn’t be able to not be questioned about it.”
The press gathered outside the State Department building in the rain. When the family emerged from their meeting with Blinken, they were solemn. “Unfortunately, [Blinken] repeated a lot of the same things we’ve been hearing for the past twenty years,” Ali said to a gaggle of reporters. “We hoped that things would be different this time.”
The family told the press Secretary Blinken did not promise any action and did not provide any meaningful updates on what happened that day in Beita. No unit name, no timeline—and no plans for a US-led investigation. Instead, Blinken told Eygi’s family they “should be proud” of everything she accomplished in her short life, and said he brought up rules-of-engagement changes during his recent meeting with Yoav Gallant, the ousted Israeli Minister of Defense. He said he’d been told the Israeli government was “close” to finishing its investigation, and offered to ask them about it once again—though he added that he wouldn’t put any deadline on such a request. “It felt like he was saying his hands were tied,” Ali said.
The only thing that was “really surprising,” Ali said, was “that [Blinken] would think that that was something that would be sufficient.”
After speaking to reporters, Ali sat down with me. He told me being inches away from Blinken was surreal: “I’ve seen this guy on TV a lot over the past year.” The ornate curtains in the meeting room reminded him of his grandmother’s. And this helped the novelty of sitting next to one of the most powerful men in the country fade quickly. “It felt like…oh, this is just another person, who’s saying things that I’ve already heard before.”
There are multiple paths the US government could use to pursue accountability in cases like Eygi’s, Brian Finucane, a former State Department legal advisor and analyst with Crisis Group, told me. When a US citizen is killed abroad by a foreign soldier, the State Department can assign their case to the Office of Special Prosecutions, which handles suspected war crimes and torture. “They’re the ones who brought War Crimes Act charges against Russians who tortured a US national. They’ve been involved in bringing charges against Syrian officials for torture and war crimes against a US national,” Finucane explained. That office could also refer the case to the Federal Bureau of Investigations—or the FBI could simply investigate the case themselves.
“The bottom line here is: The US has a criminal justice mechanism which, in principle, may have jurisdiction over offenses that were committed in connection with the killing of this American,” Finucane said.
When Shireen Abu Akleh was killed in 2022, the FBI opened an investigation and interviewed eyewitnesses. This is a step farther than it seems either the Corries or the Eygis have gotten. In both of their cases, the US government has maintained that the Israelis will conduct their own investigation.
“Further fact-finding would be prudent,” Finucane said, “and I don’t think it’s adequate for the US government to simply defer to the force that killed her in the first place, particularly given their track record and general lack of accountability.” (As I previously reported, internal investigations of IDF violence against Palestinians and their supporters in the West Bank seldom lead to indictments.)
That neither Biden nor Blinken has initiated such a fact-finding mission is not a matter of complexity, but a matter of political will, say people supporting the Eygi family. “If the President of the United States were to call for an independent investigation that would happen,” explained Congresswoman Pramila Jayapal (D-Wash.), “and it is very clear to me that if the Secretary of State were to call for an independent investigation that would happen. But there appear to be no red lines in these instances where it involves the Israeli government.”
The Eygis’ day scrambled on. After the meeting with Blinken, they were set to be interviewed by CBS. But as they were walking to the interview, they learned it had been canceled. A teenager had shot eight people at a school in Wisconsin. News shifted. Another American death.
So, the family ate lunch in a food court and then headed to more meetings. Some left them hopeful. Senators and members of Congress promised to amplify Eygi’s story. “These people are human, and they do care,” Bennett, Eygi’s sister, said. “Sometimes, being in this environment, you feel like—these are all corrupt, evil, people. But when they hear the story, they do want justice for Ayşenur. I think we’re getting better at telling it.”
Around 5:10 PM, they got a WhatsApp message saying their efforts bore some small fruit. On September 24th, Congressman Adam Smith (D-Wash.) had sent a letter with 102 colleagues asking the United States to “independently investigate whether [Eygi’s death] was a homicide.” The letter asked for Blinken’s prompt response by October 4th. Over two months past that deadline—and less than a day after meeting with the Eygis—Blinken’s office officially replied.
A clean, procedural page-and-a-half, the letter reiterated the same thing the family spent all day hearing: that the United States will wait for Israel to investigate its own army’s killing of a US citizen. “We continue to urge the government of Israel to conduct a swift, thorough and transparent investigation,” the State Department’s spokesperson wrote. “A US citizen killed at the hands of those charged to protect is not acceptable.” It near-exactly echoed Blinken’s letter to the Corries from a decade ago: then, as now, the US “urged” Israel towards “a thorough, transparent, and credible investigation.”
Was it a sign towards progress? “It’s a sign towards process,” Parker, the lawyer, said.
His weary answer spoke to the years he has spent doing this work. He worked with Shireen Abu Akleh’s family, facilitating meetings with legislators; his law firm, the Center for Constitutional Rights, has represented the Corries. And here he was, calling a car to bring the Eygis to a vigil in honor of Ayşenur. “They don’t tell you the hardest part is all the logistics,” he said, jabbing at his phone to select an Uber XL.
At the vigil that evening, Palestinian Youth Movement representatives spoke passionately of an arms embargo; Rep. Rashida Tlaib invoked Eygi’s desire to be an advocate for others. Attendees lined up to light candles beneath a mural of Ayşenur Eygi and Rachel Corrie’s faces.
One guest limped in and spent most of the vigil watching from the sidelines. It was Daniel Santiago, a teacher from Jersey City, who in August was shot by IDF forces on the same hillside as Eygi. Santiago was luckier: he was only hit in the leg. He told me he took the day off work and took a bus down to DC to be with the Eygis.
“I wanted to see if they needed anything,” he said.
He leaned on a walking stick given to him by young activists in Beita. In frigid, damp weather like this, he said, the place the bullet tore through his leg still ached.
As the vigil ended, the rain turned from a drizzle to a downpour. Ali wrapped his wife’s scarf around his neck.
Over and over throughout their time in DC, Eygi’s family repeated Biden’s words: “If you harm an American, we will respond.” But reducing the discussion of Eygi’s life to her citizenship—to show uncertain legislators that her killing merited an American response—obscured her personhood. “She was also a human being,” Tlaib said, “who deserved to live.”
That very human-ness seemed the hardest thing to prove, no matter how many anecdotes the Eygis produced. “I stood in this exact same place with the family of Shireen Abu Akleh,” Tlaib remembered. The pattern repeated. “If [the family] told a little bit more about Shireen Abu Akleh’s life, would [officials] care more? If they just share another story about Ayşenur, will [the government] care more? And yet, here we are. Twenty years later we are still waiting for justice for Rachel Corrie.”
Two days into his trip to DC, after trying over and over again to prove his wife was human, Hamid Ali began to find his anger.
“I have been forced to sideline my grief in order to scrape and beg daily, for the past three months, to plead with the Biden administration to seek justice for my wife,” he said, after another round of meetings with legislators. He told Eygi’s story—her short life, her violent death—to so many people. Each time, he received condolences, but few commitments.
“Awaiting details of an Israeli investigation with no foreseeable deadline for the past 100 days is not a response,” Ali insisted. “Continuously framing this unjust killing as an unfortunate accident to our grieving family is not a response.” The anger had arrived, and it mixed with heartache and self-doubt.
“I always hate when they ask me things like, ‘tell me about Ayşenur,’” Ali said on his final day in DC. “Because I don’t feel like I ever do a good job.”
Any single story failed to capture who she was: he could tell them about Ayşenur the activist, who raised tens of thousands of dollars to feed people in Gaza. He could tell them about her fierce love for her family, or about her sense of humor, or about the way she’d act out imaginary reality TV cooking competitions in her kitchen. He could tell them about the time she might have spent with her seven-month-old nephew, had she lived. “It’s like, what do you really want to hear?” he asked.
He wanted them to understand that Eygi was anything but a symbol. He wanted them to know her life meant more than the terrible pattern of her death.
It’s hard to predict where Eygi’s case will go over the next four years, Brad Parker told me in early January. “It could be there’s no change at all, and it just isn’t treated as a priority,” he said. Trump might take the case up out of sheer animosity towards Biden—or act more outwardly hostile towards hearing the Eygi family than his predecessor.
“There’s no short path in sight,” Parker said. But he is not entirely without hope: in the 23 years since Rachel Corrie’s death, American public opinion has shifted dramatically. Half the people in this country support ending weapons shipments to Israel, according to a recent poll, and thousands have participated in protests on behalf of the Palestinian people. In Ayşenur Ezgi Eygi, many young Americans cannot help but see themselves.
These changes were brought about, Parker said, “in part because the individual stories the families have been telling, measured against the systemic violations that are increasingly visible through social media, show the human impact of occupation.”
Ali called those small changes “the ripples.”
“[The Corries] said they didn’t know it, but all their efforts—all their work they had done to get justice for Rachel—was not for her,” Ali said. “She wouldn’t benefit by it anymore. It was for the next person. It was for Ayşenur. They just didn’t know her name yet.”
This was the end of “one chapter.” But it was also, if the experiences of the Corrie and Abu Akleh families are anything to go by, the beginning of another very long story.
“Ayşenur is not going to benefit from the efforts we have made. I have little hope,” Ali said. “So it’s for the next person—so the next family won’t have to go through as much.”
“It doesn’t get easier,” Ali remembered Craig Corrie telling him months earlier. “You just get stronger.”
Najib Aminy contributed reporting.