adam zivo: 'this is the big war' — israelis stoic as iran counterattacks
in tel aviv, we wait
4 minute read
a man loads groceries in the back of his car as he stocks up with supplies in tel aviv on june 13, 2025. (photo by maya levin/afp via getty images)
tel aviv — israel launched a devastating strike against iran’s nuclear program early friday morning, with missiles and drones devastating military targets throughout the country. although iran has vowed revenge — and indeed launched missiles on friday — and already retaliated with more than 100 drones, the mood in tel aviv remains remarkably ataraxic.
as munitions soared towards tehran in the middle of the night, a blaring emergency alert was sent to every phone in israel, warning residents to obey further government instructions “in preparation for a significant threat.” rumours had been swirling in the preceding days that an attack on iran was imminent, so many recipients immediately understood what was happening, even without confirmation from the government announcements that came shortly afterwards.
in the building where i am staying in downtown tel aviv, civilians quickly gathered in the staircase: “this is the big war. it’s going to be really big,” said my next door neighbour, a burly man with his hair in a bun, as we descended into the basement bomb shelter. yet the dingy room was sparsely filled and, of the dozen or so israelis who had taken refuge there, none seemed particularly scared — anxious and irritated, perhaps. most of them texted and scrolled on their phones, bleary-eyed.
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after ten minutes or so, many relocated to an adjacent alleyway, where the air wasn’t stifling and the data reception was better. there, i bumped into two young, female students — shira and shivan — who had arrived from a nearby building that had no shelter of its own.
“i feel pretty safe. the chance of something really bad happening, like a rocket falling, is very small, usually, because we have an air force and defence system,” said shivan, an aspiring actress. hours before, she had been visiting her parents outside tel aviv, who had worriedly told her to avoid the city, but she told them, “we have tons of rehearsals, so i cannot miss anything.”
after an hour passed and no retaliatory iranian strike had yet materialized, everyone returned to bed. meanwhile, the government’s official safety app warned that public gatherings, along with most workplace and educational activities, would be prohibited until further notice.
the tel aviv pride parade was originally supposed to take place friday, but, in lieu of convulsing rainbows and techno, the streets were unsettlingly quiet. only a few cafes and grocery stores operated throughout the morning, with many customers buying small stockpiles of necessities. pedestrians were rare and, for the most part, either walking their dogs, rushing to leave the city (miniature luggage in tow) or returning home with full grocery bags.
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“if we’re going to die, we’d rather die with our friends,” said a beautiful woman, laughing behind her sunglasses, as she and her photogenic boyfriend, who was carrying several bags, prepared to stay with relatives outside the capital.
down the street, three russian expats sat on a bench, smoking a joint and grinding cannabis. a tattooed woman warned that iran’s drones were expected to arrive in seven minutes — at 10:30am — and advised that i find a bomb shelter. but the skies remained clear as the deadline passed. the swarm of iranian drones had evidently been intercepted and life returned to the city more fulsomely after that point.
there was a crowd of young israelis cheerfully loitering outside a popular cafe. a young man played guitar, while another bohemian read a book beside him. i asked two young women, who were donned in pastel-coloured leisurewear and gold jewelry, how they were preparing for iran’s potential retaliatory attack. “coffee!” they exclaimed. attacks like this were not new to them: “there’s nothing you can do. the situation is not going to change.”
another young man, benjamin, described visiting a grocery store at 4:30 am — 90 minutes after the strike on iran — only to discover that it was swamped with gay tourists who had migrated from the city’s abruptly-shuttered bars and clubs. they were evidently “not sober” and possibly high on drugs.
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“do we continue to party? should we go hide in the shelter? should we be buying tuna? is gay pride canceled?” he had wondered to himself. “you’re like, f**k this, i guess i gotta go to bed. and then three hours later, you wake up again to more news. drones are coming. drones are not coming. nobody knows.”
at another cafe, 26-year old yonathan said, in a thick israeli accent, that iran’s goal is to “terrorize my mind” so he’d rather stay in bed than go to the bomb shelter: “you know, if i’m dying, i’m dying like that.” he said that his childhood in jerusalem had been filled with “wars and missiles,” so this was just “a regular morning. i’m sitting here having my beer. you know, chilling.”
two muscular shirtless men drinking coffee on the patio — tamir and daniel — said that they were having a “weird friday.” daniel had slept through his mother’s phone calls at 5am, leading her to send him a “very dramatic” message about being at war with iran. “i assume that there is a personal responsibility to make sure that we have whatever we need if something does happen, but we’ve been here before,” he said, citing october 7. “there’s not much we can do about it,” concurred tamir.
a canadian-israeli sitting nearby, whose cheeks were painted with rainbows, said that the morning was “pretty chill” and that iran’s so far weak response had surprised him — but then his friend, a young idf soldier who had served extensively in gaza, interrupted him: “don’t jinx this.”
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turns out that was too late, as israelis were told, again, to seek shelter friday evening after iran fired dozens of missiles.
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