Over the past 12 days, I have documented the daily scenes of Iranian missile strikes in Israel, which have occurred mostly at night. To some I arrived just minutes after impact, while the fires were still burning and the wounded were being pulled from the rubble. 

Arriving in the dark is always deceptive — you don’t see much besides the ambulances and fire trucks. Gradually, with the first light of day, the true scale of the disaster site is revealed: how many homes, vehicles, and windows were damaged, over what radius, and whether people are still buried under the rubble. Hours after the impact, residents return to try to salvage some of their belongings while neighbors and curious onlookers arrive to inspect the damage.

At the deadly scene in Bat Yam where nine people were killed, rescue teams worked for days to clear the debris and retrieve all the bodies. The collapsed buildings, gaping crater, ash-covered trees and cars, and people fleeing in pajamas with their children and belongings in their arms eerily resemble the images Israelis have seen coming out of Gaza over the past two years — even despite the media’s self-censorship.

Unlike the scenes of past shooting attacks or rocket strikes across Israel, where the slogan “Death to Arabs” is often ubiquitous, I haven’t encountered any calls for revenge or chants of “Death to Iranians.” Perhaps it’s the shock, perhaps it’s Israel’s role as initiator of the war, or perhaps it’s a deeper reckoning with the limits of Israeli power. This is, after all, Israel’s first war against a sovereign state since 1973, and the first it initiated against a state since 1967. 

A fragile ceasefire has taken hold since the morning of June 24 — though not before an Iranian missile struck a residential building in the southern Israeli city of Be’er Sheva, killing four people. Whether or not the ceasefire holds, Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu can already take credit for one major achievement: shattering Israelis’ sense of immunity. 

Indeed, this war — which has taken the lives of at least 28 people in Israel — has made tens if not hundreds of thousands of Israelis, especially in Tel Aviv and its surrounding suburbs, genuinely fearful for their lives. For some of them, it’s the very first time. 

Fear has always accompanied life in Israel — whether from shootings and stabbings, intifadas, or “rounds” of fighting with Hamas and Hezbollah. But this time feels different. It’s not just existential anxiety; it’s an immediate, personal fear, especially in the country’s center. People feel death close by, in the sound of missiles exploding and the extent of the devastation that follows strikes that weren’t intercepted.

What could previously be repressed or managed through some semblance of routine now requires confronting head-on. The killing, destruction of homes, and halting of daily life all point to one conclusion: Israel’s policies are making the country unlivable for its own population. 

Visceral fear

Beyond the physical damage, the psychological toll is also crushing. Over the past two years, Israelis have grown accustomed to sirens and bomb shelters. Yet when the Houthis fired missiles and drones at Israel and issued evacuation notices mimicking those of the Israeli army in Gaza, many Israelis mocked them. The rockets of Hamas and Hezbollah, meanwhile, have certainly caused damage in Israel’s south and north, respectively, but they are easier for the army’s missile defense systems to intercept. 

Iran’s missiles are a different beast, and the sober public mood reflects this. The streets of central Tel Aviv have been virtually deserted, in scenes reminiscent of the COVID-19 era — only without the safety of being out in the open air. And while most Jewish-Israelis have bomb shelters in their apartment blocks or access to nearby public shelters (Palestinian citizens, meanwhile, have been left chronically unprotected), many have instead headed to underground parking lots, knowing that anything above ground could be obliterated by a direct hit.

By the middle of last week, the humid parking lot of the Dizengoff Center shopping mall was filling up with tents, mattresses, beach chairs, and electric fans. A similar scene took shape in the 16,000-capacity public shelter beneath the Central Bus Station in south Tel Aviv, which was unlocked for the first time since the Gulf War of 1990-91.

“I came here because the Iranian missiles are much bigger, louder, scarier, and more destructive than those of Hezbollah and the Houthis,” 30-year-old Mali, who was sheltering with her cat on level -4 of the Dizengoff Center, told +972 Magazine. “I decided it’s better to be safe and stay here.”

Pnina, 46, said she was sheltering in the Dizengoff Center parking lot because the shelter in her building isn’t safe. “Seeing the damage in other places pushed us to come here,” she explained. “Volunteers brought us tents. I go home to work and study during the day, but I sleep here every night.”

The visceral fear that Israelis are experiencing isn’t happening in a vacuum. In the wake of the Hamas-led attacks of October 7 — which terrorized thousands of residents of Israel’s south — Israel has pursued a policy of making life hell for anyone deemed an enemy: through the destruction of Gaza, ethnic cleansing in the West Bank, and airstrikes on Lebanon, Yemen, Syria, and now Iran. 

The “Gaza doctrine” has been copy-pasted to Iran, complete with bizarre statements from the IDF Spokesperson about “evacuating” entire neighborhoods in Tehran, along with justifications for bombing a TV station for “incitement to genocide” and a university for being “affiliated with the Revolutionary Guards.” And the collateral damage of this drive for “total victory” has been to make life for ordinary Israelis unbearable. 

As in many past cases, those who see the situation most clearly are the ones who have lost everything — who can see the larger disaster through their own personal tragedy. Attorney Raja Khatib, who lost his wife, two daughters, and sister-in-law in a direct missile hit on his home in the northern city of Tamra, told +972 after their funeral: “We finish [fighting] in Gaza and then start in Lebanon; finish in Lebanon and start in Syria; finish in Syria and start in Iran; finish in Iran and start a third or fourth Lebanon War — we don’t even remember what these wars are for anymore.”

Only two days before the disaster, Khatib and his family had returned from a vacation in Italy. “I have a home there on Lake Garda,” he explained. “I see how people live — waking up in the morning with hope, with love for others, thinking how to live well, earn a decent living, plan their vacations. And here, what are we dealing with? Wars and victims. Take it from me: let there be no more victims. Stop this cursed war, by any other means — sit at the table, prevent more casualties.”

Freedoms restricted

After October 7, most of those who left Israel didn’t flee the Hamas attack itself, but the reality created by Israel’s response: a war of revenge, the abandonment of the hostages, and the collapse of the social contract between the government and its citizens. The Israeli government immediately launched an unprecedented crackdown on the freedom of expression of those opposing the war, especially targeting Palestinian citizens of Israel. Now, the entire public is experiencing some of that suppression.

The clearest manifestation of this is the ban on leaving the country by air and the extreme warnings about the danger of crossing by land into Jordan or Egypt, effectively turning Israel into a ghetto. Another manifestation has been the attack on press freedom in the form of official directives by the Israeli military censor not to publish the locations of missile strikes, leading to residents and relatives having to play guessing games amid a flood of rumors on social media.

At the same time, incitement against the media has intensified. Right wingers now chase and harass photographers and camera crews at the scene of missile strikes. At the impact site in Be’er Sheva on June 24, several residents gathered around a Channel 13 reporter, accusing him of working for Al Jazeera — a refrain that has become a common slur for any media outlet that isn’t the far-right Channel 14, particularly after Israel banned the Qatari network. “You serve the enemy,” a nearby business owner told me as I took photos.

Last Saturday night, police raided a Haifa hotel used by several television networks and confiscated the cameras of three Arab journalists working for foreign outlets. The officers checked their press credentials and summoned them for questioning. According to a witness, the journalists pointed out that Al Jazeera was still broadcasting live despite the seizure, but police responded, “Say that during the investigation.” The journalists’ equipment has not yet been returned.

A day earlier, the military censor issued familiar guidelines. But in its English version, the Government Press Office (GPO) added a controversial clause requiring foreign journalists to seek prior approval from the censor for what they publish — a demand that goes beyond the censor’s legal authority. 

Communications Minister Shlomo Karhi defended the move, stating that national security outweighs press freedom. However, Attorney General Gali Baharav-Miara reportedly objected and demanded explanations from the ministers involved. Officials have privately claimed no major policy change, but acknowledged inconsistent enforcement and advised journalists to seek prior approval as a precaution.

Regardless of legal debates, it’s clear that incitement on the ground is having an effect on freedom of the press. “People think we’re Al Jazeera,” said one Arab journalist (who requested anonymity for fear of reprisals) who broadcasts in Arabic for an international network. “They say, ‘We’ll behead you.’” He explained that he even considered wearing a sign reading “I’m not Al Jazeera” to avoid harassment. 

“People feel they have a minister and the police behind them, and a weak state they must defend,” he continued. As a result, he added, journalists now try to keep their time reporting in the field as brief as possible.

After striking Iran, the Israeli government banned all protests, with police systematically crushing even the smallest demonstration over the past week and a half. The long-running demonstrations for a hostage deal have been entirely abandoned, with the ban serving to disappear the issue from public consciousness. 

Last Sunday, around 20 protesters gathered silently with anti-war signs in Tel Aviv’s Habima Square, spacing themselves far apart to avoid violating the ban on public gatherings. Within a minute, a police unit — equal in number to the protesters — arrived, tore up the signs and made violent arrests. 

The next day in Haifa, police detained several protesters, claiming that their anti-war T-shirts were illegal. Later, police detained two people overnight including the anti-Netanyahu activist Amir Haskel, who stood on a sidewalk in Tel Aviv holding a sign that read, “53 hostages in Gaza — their time is running out.” The Human Rights Defenders Fund has provided legal support to 12 protesters who were arrested since Israel first struck Iran.

After 12 days in which many Israelis have feared for their lives, the population is exhausted. People are relieved that the ceasefire, should it hold, will allow them to return to their regular routine — and will mark the end of a war that many supported but also feared Netanyahu would drag out for months or longer, as in Gaza. Some with less faith in the ceasefire are not returning home just yet, preferring to stay outside of the country’s center or close to shelters. 

Even as Netanyahu declares that Israel has “removed an existential threat” with its attacks in Iran, the “routine” that Israelis are returning to is still one of perpetual war, as their army continues to wreak catastrophe in Gaza. The end of Iran’s missiles may restore Israelis’ feeling of safety, but the sense of immunity they felt two weeks ago will take much longer to return.

A version of this article was first published in Hebrew on Local Call. Read it here.