Many residents scrambled for safety when Iranian missiles started to fall on Israel. As people rushed into bomb shelters, sirens erupted all over the nation.
Doors were knocked shut by some Israeli Palestinian citizens, or roughly 21 percent of the population, by neighbors and fellow citizens rather than by the force of the explosions.
During the worst nights of the Iran-Israel conflict to date, many Palestinian citizens of Israel found themselves excluded from life-saving infrastructure because a majority of them reside in cities, towns, and villages within Israel’s internationally recognized borders.
The reality of that exclusion for Samar al-Rashed, a 29-year-old single mother who resides in a mostly Jewish apartment complex close to Acre, was revealed on Friday night. Samar and her 5-year-old daughter Jihan were at home. She grabbed her daughter and ran for the shelter of the building as sirens pierced the air to warn of incoming missiles.
She recalled that she didn’t have enough time to pack anything. “Just water, our phones, and my daughter’s hand in mine,” my reply.
The panicking mother gently encouraged her in soft-spoken Arabic to keep up with her rushed steps toward the shelter while the other neighbors climbed down the stairs as well as to ease her daughter’s fear.
She claimed that an Israeli resident had blocked their entry after hearing her speak Arabic and shut it in their faces at the shelter door.
She said, “I was stunned.” I can communicate clearly in Hebrew. I made an effort to explain. But he just said, “Not for you, I,” and looked at me contemptuously.
The deep divisions of Israeli society were exposed at that time, according to Samar. She was terrified by both the sight and the neighbors’ inability to collide with the ground when she returned to her flat and watched the distant missiles that were flashing up the sky.
a history of exclusion
Israeli citizens who are Palestinians have long experienced systemic discrimination in terms of housing, education, employment, and state services. They are frequently treated as second-class citizens and their loyalty is frequently questioned in public discourse despite having Israeli citizenship.
More than 65 laws directly or indirectly discriminate against Palestinian citizens, according to Adalah-The Legal Center for Arab Minority Rights in Israel. By defining Israel as the “nation-state of the Jewish people,” a move that critics claim institutionalized apartheid, the nation-state law passed in 2018 reinforced this disparity.
That discrimination frequently grows in the middle of a war.
In times of conflict, Palestinian citizens of Israel are frequently subject to discriminatory policing and restrictions, including being detained for posting photos on social media, being denied access to shelters, and being verbally abused in mixed cities.
Many people have already reported experiencing discrimination.
When his phone rang on Saturday evening while he was working at his mobile repair shop in Haifa, the alerts started to ring. He waited until he could finish fixing a broken phone. The next public shelter, beneath a structure that surrounds his shop, was where he ran before he could close the shop. He entered the shelter, and he discovered the sturdy door locked.
“I tries the code,” he said. It was ineffective. I slammed on the door, demanded that the doors be opened, and patiently waited. He claimed that no one opened. Moments later, a missile detonated nearby, causing glass to shatter across the street. I believed I was going to pass away.
“After a quarter of an hour, all we could hear were the sounds of the police and the ambulance,” the witness said. He continued, referring to the 2020 Beirut port explosion, “because the scene was terrifying, as if I were living a nightmare similar to what happened at the Port of Beirut.”
Mohammed hid in a nearby parking lot as the chaos unfolded, and soon enough the shelter’s door opened. He was ensnared by his fear and shock. He paused to watch the people who were inside the shelter as they began to leave.
He claimed that “we don’t have any real safety.” Not from the people who are supposed to be our neighbors, but rather from the missiles.
discrimination in the availability of shelter
Theoretically, all Israeli citizens should have access to bomb shelters and other public safety facilities on equal footings. The picture is very different in reality.
Palestinian towns and villages in Israel have significantly fewer protected areas than Jewish communities. More than 70% of homes in Palestinian-occupied areas of Israel lack a safe room or space that is up to code, according to a report from Israel’s State Comptroller in 2022, according to Haaretz, compared to 25% of Jewish homes. Older buildings often go without the necessary reinforcements, and municipal governments frequently receive less funding for civil defense.
In densely populated cities like Lydd (Lod), where Jews and Palestinians coexist peacefully, inequality is still pervasive.
Yara Srour, a 22-year-old nursing student at Hebrew University, resides in Lydd’s abandoned neighborhood al-Mahatta. The three-story structure owned by her family, which has been around four decades old, lacks official permits and a shelter. The family attempted to flee to a safer area of the city early on Sunday after the intense Iranian bombardment they witnessed on Saturday evening shocked the world around them.
Yara said, “We went to the new area of Lydd where there are proper shelters,” noting that her 48-year-old mother, who has weak knees, was unable to move. They refused to let us in, though. Additionally, Jews from less developed regions were denied entry. Only the “new residents,” which are mostly middle-class Jewish families living in the contemporary buildings, were allowed to enter.
Yara vividly recalls the horror.
She claimed that “my mother couldn’t run like the rest of us because she had joint issues.” We were begged and knocked on doors. However, as we saw the sky explode with the fires of intercepted rockets, people kept looking at us with peepholes and ignored us.
Fear, trauma, and rage
Samar claimed that having her daughter rejected from a shelter left a psychological scar.
She said, “That night, I felt completely alone.” What’s the point in me not reporting it to the police, you ask? They “would not have done anything.”
Four women from the same family were killed when a villa in Tamra was struck later that evening. Samar observed smoke pouring into the sky from her balcony.
She said, “It seemed like the world was about to end.” We are still viewed as a threat, not as people, even when we are being attacked.
She has since relocated with her daughter to the Lower Galilee’s Daburiya neighborhood where her parents reside. They can now co-work in a more spacious room. Samar is considering fleeing to Jordan because the alerts are coming in every few hours.
“I wished to safeguard Jihan. She is still learning about this world. I also opted not to leave my home. We must choose whether to survive or endure suffering.
The reality on the ground told a different story than what Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu said following the attacks, which included Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s claim that “Iran’s missiles target all of Israel, Jews and Arabs alike.”
Prior to the war, Israeli citizens who were Palestinian were disproportionately detained for expressing political views or making comments about the attacks. Some were detained solely for using emojis on social media. In contrast, online forums frequently advocated for vigilante violence against Palestinians.
In a war, Mohammed Dabdoob remarked, “The state expects our loyalty.” We are invisible when it comes time to protect us, though.
The message to Samar, Yara, Mohammed, and thousands of others is clear: they are real people, not strangers.
Yara remarked, “I want safety like everyone else.” “I want to be a nurse,” I said. I’d like to assist people. But how can I serve a nation that won’t protect my mother?
