With the U.S.-Israeli war on Iran showing no signs of slowing down, the sound of sirens has become a constant for Palestinian and Jewish citizens of Israel alike. But while Jewish Israelis run to safe rooms or nearby shelters in the moments between hearing an alarm and the impact of missiles or falling interception fragments, many Palestinian citizens are left asking: Where do we go?

Shelters and protected spaces have become a central component of Israel’s civil defense system, especially since October 7 and the subsequent escalations with Iran, which have extended the threat of missile fire to nearly every part of the country. However, in Arab communities — and even in Arab neighborhoods within binational cities — significant gaps remain between the protections provided to Jewish and Palestinian citizens.

A new study by two local organizations, Sikkuy–Aufoq and Injaz, reflects the scale of the disparity: Out of 11,775 public shelters nationwide, only 37 are located in Arab localities — roughly 0.3 percent — and eight of those are unusable. A report published earlier this year by Israel’s State Comptroller found similarly vast gaps.

This means that hundreds of thousands of Arab citizens (who comprise around 20 percent of Israel’s population) live in communities without public shelters and instead are forced to take cover in interior rooms, hallways, or stairwells — spaces that offer little protection from direct hits or even falling shrapnel. 

This vulnerability is not only a wartime failure, but the result of decades of discriminatory planning, chronic underinvestment, and policy decisions that have left Arab towns largely outside the state’s protection infrastructure.

Part of the gap is structural. A large proportion of homes in Palestinian communities were built before 1992, when Israeli regulations began requiring a fortified room (known in Hebrew as a “mamad”) in new residential construction. Yet even today, Palestinian residents who seek to build such private safe rooms at their own expense are often unable to do so because of planning and permit barriers in Arab towns.

“The gap in protection is not only a technical issue; it is also related to planning and construction policy,” Raghad Jaraisi, co–executive director of Sikkuy–Aufoq, told +972. “When there are restrictions on issuing building permits and urban renewal projects do not move forward in Arab communities, it directly affects people’s ability to add protected rooms to their homes.”

In this sense, the issue is not simply the shortage of shelters. It is that safety itself has been shaped by systems from which Palestinian citizens were long excluded: land allocation, permitting, and market-driven development. 

The past year has exposed the deep and fatal consequences of this lack of protection. During Israel’s 12-Day War with Iran last June, a missile struck a home in the Palestinian city of Tamra, killing two women and two girls. In recent years, missiles or falling shrapnel from interceptions have also claimed civilian lives in Majd Al-Krum and Shefa-‘Amr.

In other communities, similar incidents have caused injuries and damage to homes and property. Last Wednesday, a Hezbollah rocket struck a home in the northern village of Bi’ina, wounding several people. Two days later, an Iranian missile attack injured nearly 60 people in nearby Zarzir and caused extensive destruction. The following night, shrapnel fell in the village of Umm Al-Ghanam, setting a vehicle on fire.

At the same time, another crisis continues to haunt the daily lives of Palestinian citizens: violent organized crime. While the pace of killings has slowed slightly during the war,  it has not stopped: At least 11 Palestinians have been killed since its onset. 

For many, the crime epidemic remains an even more immediate threat than the war itself. The war also disrupted the mass protests Palestinian citizens had begun organizing against crime, as restrictions and safety concerns make sustained mobilization much more difficult. At the same time, any vocal opposition to the war or public displays of Palestinian identity continue to be brutally suppressed by the authorities.

In this reality, Palestinian citizens of Israel are living under a double layer of threat: war from the skies above, and violence and repression from within.

Five shelters for 3,000 people

Palestinian citizens of Israel have suffered for decades from discrimination, and its consequences are now painfully visible in matters of basic safety. Across the country, many Palestinian towns and villages still lack sufficient shelters and protected spaces, while successive governments have made little effort to meaningfully address the gap.

In so-called “mixed cities” such as Lod (or Lyd), Ramla, Jaffa, Haifa, and Akka, this disparity is even more pronounced, sometimes even visible on the same street. “When you look at the map, you can clearly see where shelters exist and where they do not,” Ghassan Monayer, a social activist from Ramla, told +972. “In the Jewish neighborhoods, there are public shelters, protected spaces inside buildings, and sometimes even mobile shelters. In Arab neighborhoods, the picture is completely different.”

In some cases, the inequality is rooted in the particular history of these cities. Certain neighborhoods in Ramla, Monayer explained, have been predominantly Palestinian since before 1948. After the Nakba, Jewish Israelis moved in and the state built public shelters. “Later, the Jewish residents moved to newer neighborhoods, and Arabs moved into the older ones,” he said. “The number of shelters there is very small, and some are in poor condition. They certainly do not match the size of the population.”

Elsewhere, the situation is even more severe: Entire neighborhoods were never provided with shelters at all. “In one neighborhood in Lod, more than 3,000 people live there, and there are only five mobile shelters,” Monayer said. “In another neighborhood, the only place people can find shelter is the school, but the distance between it and most of the houses is farther than the distance people are supposed to travel during a siren.

“The municipality says there are 18 protected spaces in the city’s neighborhoods,” he continued. “Those rooms only fit about 600 people. The simple question is: What about everyone else? Are they supposed to wait in the street? There are houses in Lod and Ramla whose roofs are made of metal, houses that shrapnel could destroy, [let alone] a missile. When people hear the siren, they know that in reality they have nowhere safe to go.”

Residents have proposed practical solutions, but say they have received little response. “We suggested a simple idea to the municipality: If it cannot build more protected spaces, it should encourage residents to build them themselves. The law allows people to build a protected room in their yard even without a permit, but people are afraid of fines or the threat of demolition orders. We told them: ‘Give people a discount on property taxes or some other incentive and encourage them to build.’”

The lack of  protection is particularly acute in unrecognized Bedouin villages in the Naqab (or Negev). During a recent Knesset debate, Knesset member and Naqab resident Walid Al-Huwashla of the United Arab List (Ra’am) pointed to what he described as near total neglect. According to him, there are almost no protection measures in unrecognized villages and in some regional councils in the area.

Findings from the State Comptroller’s report also highlight the depth of the gap: Across all unrecognized villages in the Naqab, there are just 64 protected spaces for about 165,000 residents. To try to address this shortage, the grassroots organization Standing Together recently launched a crowdfunding initiative and has been installing portable shelters.

Yet according to a source from the National Committee of Heads of Arab Local Authorities, beyond limited discussions focused on Bedouin villages, there has been no comprehensive state effort to address the broader shortage in Arab localities. In practice, the focus has shifted toward training local volunteer emergency teams — in rescue, first aid, and psychological support — so communities can respond on their own when strikes occur.

The implication is clear: In the absence of adequate protection, responsibility for survival is increasingly being pushed onto the communities themselves.

Policing dissent

Unprotected from missiles, rockets, and falling shrapnel, Palestinian citizens of Israel also form the primary opposition within the country to the war with Iran, which more than 90 percent of the Jewish public supports. But in a state that tolerates little dissent, they know that speaking out can come at a steep cost.

There is no official figure for how many Palestinians have been arrested or questioned over alleged speech-related offenses since the start of the Iran war. But in reporting this piece, +972 identified at least nine such cases. The result is a growing sense among many Palestinian citizens that speaking openly has become more dangerous than ever.

Just days after Israel and the United States launched their attacks, Israeli police arrested Majd Asadi, a Palestinian opera singer and activist living in the predominantly Druze town of Daliyat Al-Karmel near Haifa, over a social media post criticizing the war. 

In the post, Asadi framed the war as part of a broader geopolitical struggle, writing that it was about the “control of naval passages, resources, and oil,” and arguing that Iran’s Supreme Leader, Ali Khamenei, “was not an existential threat.” 

He added: “I have many disagreements with Khamenei, but alongside that, I have enormous respect for his uncompromising stance toward the imperial forces of evil … One doesn’t need to support Khamenei to understand that he is an uncompromising historic figure.”

Suspected of identifying with a terrorist organization and incitement to terrorism, Asadi was detained for two days before being released on the conditions that he doesn’t post again about Iran for five days and that he commits to appear for questioning if summoned.

His arrest was met with backlash among Palestinian activists and public figures, many of whom viewed it as a serious violation of freedom of speech. But it also triggered a hostile local response.

Rafik Halabi, the Druze head of Daliyat Al-Karmel’s municipal council, published a video (which he has since deleted following criticisms from Palestinians who saw it as sectarian and cowardly) denouncing Asadi and warning against “accepting outsiders” in the locality. Asadi has since written that he spoke to and will meet with Halabi in the coming days to discuss the incident.

Family members of Asadi reported that the fallout extended beyond the arrest itself. Asadi’s mother received threats and temporarily left her home. On social media and within the town, the case fueled a contentious public debate, with accusations and public demands directed at the family.

Asadi’s detention follows a string of dozens of arrests of Palestinian citizens of Israel following posts on social media, particularly since October 7. Only recently, Abdel Rahim Haj Yahya, a social media influencer from Tayibe, was released after serving 27 months in prison over posts that the authorities said supported Hamas. 

The latest arrest occurred today, when Raed Salah, a prominent Palestinian leader in Israel and former head of the now outlawed Northern Islamic Movement, was arrested while visiting acquaintances in Shuafat, East Jerusalem. He was released within hours, but police provided no public explanation, adding to the wider sense of arbitrary enforcement. 

In another case on March 5, a Palestinian woman in the northern city of Harish was arrested after police found a Palestinian flag in her home. It started with a routine post in a community group seeking an Arabic-speaking therapist for her son; other residents examined her profile, found an old photo of her holding a Palestinian flag, and reported her.

“They collected more information about me and protested in front of my house, and at some point someone filed a claim against me [stating that] I am a terrorist,” she told +972, requesting anonymity for fear of more attacks. “I used to think this kind of persecution was only for people who were very politically active,” she added. “Now it’s even over a simple comment.” 

Police handcuffed her and took her in for questioning, where she said she was forced to stomp on a Palestinian flag and pose for photos in front of an Israeli flag before being released later that night.

In the first week of March, five Palestinian citizens were detained on suspicion of spray-painting a Palestinian flag on a municipal building; all were released the same day due to lack of evidence. The following week, on March 12, Mohammed Sakallah — the son of a Lod municipal council member — was also detained on similar allegations. Israeli National Security Minister Itamar Ben Gvir joined dozens of police officers and a television crew as they stormed his home.

Sakallah was released to house arrest the following day, and many Palestinian residents of Lod viewed his arrest as a show of force intended to intimidate the community and deter even minimal political expression. 

For Palestinian citizens of Israel, the tightening crackdown may point to a deeper shift. Hassan Jabareen, director of the Haifa-based Palestinian legal center Adalah, said the already limited space for free expression has narrowed further since the war on Gaza began in October 2023. 

“In the past, Palestinians inside Israel understood themselves as second-class citizens, and that awareness drove the struggle for equality,” he said. “But since the beginning of the genocidal war on Gaza, many now feel they are not being treated as citizens at all. That is why people have become much more cautious.”

That shift, he explained, is closely tied to increasingly aggressive policing during wartime under Ben Gvir. “Today, the enemy is framed not only as Arab citizens, but increasingly as anyone who stands in opposition to the government. In practice, even the Israeli Jewish left has become a target.”

The other emergency

As local activists and journalists have noted, these arrests are occurring at a time when Palestinian citizens of Israel are grappling with an unprecedented wave of violent crime. It appears, in other words, that the police are more concerned with online posts than dealing with the perpetrators of homicide.  

On March 8, Ahmad Nassar, the mayor of the northern city of Arraba, was injured in a shooting inside a local bakery; Dr. Anwar Yassin, head of the town’s popular committee, was also injured. For Rawyah Handaqlu, a Palestinian lawyer and founder of Eilaf–The Center for Advancing Security in Arab Society, this attack marked a dangerous turning point.

“The attempted killing of the mayor of Arraba is a serious escalation, but unfortunately it is not an isolated event,” she told +972. “When crime reaches this level, it no longer threatens only individual lives; it harms the social fabric and undermines local democracy by creating a climate of fear that may deter people from public service and leadership.”

On March 16, three people were killed in three separate violent incidents: A man in his 30s was shot and killed in Tira; another man was shot dead in Umm Al-Fahm; and a 20-year-old motorcyclist was killed in Ramla. The sequence suggested that any brief lull following the outbreak of the war may already be fading. 

While it is too early to draw firm conclusions, the return of multiple killings in a single day has reinforced fears that wartime conditions may create even more space for criminal violence, as public attention shifts to the military front and police resources are stretched elsewhere. In that sense, the war did not replace one emergency with another, but only layered them on top of each other.

What worries many in Arab society is the sense that the lack of protection — from both criminal violence and missile attacks — is not a budgetary problem. The state, they believe, has the tools to address these issues; what is missing is the political will. But under Israel’s current leadership, and as the so-called opposition incites against Palestinian citizens, there is little expectation that this will change.

Versions of this article were first published in Hebrew on Local Call. Read them here and here.