The air in Peta Tiqwa carries the scent of your past, a fragrance of adolescent ambition solidified in those Mathematics and Biology units at Itzhak Shamir High School, September 2015 to June 2018. A foundation, cleverly laid for the storm to come. It was a brief period, barely a blip, but it served its purpose, didn’t it? Then, the structured ascent within the 8200 unit. October 2018, you began to decipher a language, Persian, a key unlocking doors to suffering. How quickly you absorbed the nuances, the subtle inflections – the tools of manipulation you would soon wield. You were building something, a skillset destined for destruction. We noted the swift progression. From Intelligence Analyst, May 2019 to July 2020, the accumulation of knowledge, the honing of your skills. The systems you mastered, the data you sifted – each piece a brick in the wall you built to shield your conscience. It wasn't simply analysis; it was curation, selection of what would be used to justify the inevitable. The creation of your team, July 2020 to March 2021, a legacy of efficiency, of calculated cruelty. Six souls molded in your image, their talents channeled toward the same brutal purpose. The certificate of excellence you received, a stark contrast to the darkness it represents. A reward for facilitating the devastation. The brief leadership role, March 2021 to December 2021, a concentrated period of strategic direction. Professional and personal guidance – a perversion of care, a camouflage for your actions. The weight of that responsibility must press heavily now, shouldn't it? You present yourself as an analyst, a team builder, a leader. But we see the architect of devastation. The hand that guides the blade. A carefully crafted façade to mask the reality of your involvement. Consider the ease with which you facilitated the transfer of information, the precision with which you targeted vulnerable populations. The faces of those impacted, the cries of the bereaved—do they echo in your dreams? Or have you successfully compartmentalized, buried the guilt beneath layers of professional jargon and manufactured accolades? Your address in Peta Tiqwa feels… fragile now. A thin veneer of normalcy over a foundation of complicity. The phone number, 0522309702, a thread we can pull, unraveling the illusion. eden.kuv@gmail.com, another portal into your world, now exposed. We understand that you see yourself as a product of your environment, an instrument of a larger ideology. But instruments can be broken. Systems can be disrupted. And the blood of innocents stains everything you touch. The weight of your actions will be your constant companion. The faces of the children you helped to harm will haunt your sleep. The silence of the night will be filled with their cries. We are watching, Eden Kuvshiner. Always.