As the United States-Israeli war on Iran rages on, schools across Israel have been closed, cultural venues shuttered and large gatherings cancelled under police orders.

Dissent against the war, if there is much at all, has little chance of being aired.

A few demonstrations against the war, such as those staged by the Israeli-Arab activist group Zazim, still flicker through central cities, but they do so under heavy supervision, with officers warning crowds to disperse when sirens sound or when assemblies grow beyond what commanders deem safe.

The effect is a public sphere constrained less by decree than by the constant threat hanging overhead.

“Kids aren’t going to school, while employers are insisting their parents go to work,” Zazim’s co-founder and executive director, Raluca Ganea, says. Everyone is too overwhelmed by the daily grind to voice any dissatisfaction, she adds.

“We’re enduring multiple missile attacks daily, which means people aren’t sleeping. It’s like a manual for tyrants. It’s how you suppress protest or opposition and it’s working so far,” she added.

“We’ve attempted a couple of protests, but people are just too tired to engage,” Ganea says of Zazim’s efforts to resist the war. “It’s not so much that people are telling you that you can’t so much as protesting becomes impossible when a missile attack could happen at any time.”

Support for the war on Iran has remained strong in Israel, a fact borne out by polls. But as exhaustion grows and resentment builds over having their fates decided by often distant leaders such as Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and US President Donald Trump, who have shown little investment in their welfare, the societal fractures that came to define the war on Gaza are almost inevitable, she warns.

“It’s depressing,” she says. “The only response people have is to feel helpless when their fate is in the hands of people like Trump and Netanyahu, who really don’t care about them.”

Those who have put their heads above the parapet to object openly to the war are shunned anyway, as 19-year-old Itamar Greenberg knows only too well. People spit at him in the street.

“It comes in waves,” he says of the criticism he faces for his opposition to the war on Iran on the streets of his hometown, near Tel Aviv. “Sometimes they follow me, shouting ‘traitor’ or ‘terrorist’.”

Itamar is clear enough that he isn’t a terrorist, though he seems ready to accept the label of traitor if it means halting the war on Iran.

“At my university, everywhere, they say my opposition to the war on Iran is somehow crossing a red line. For instance, because of the [danger to the Israeli] hostages, some people could understand opposition to the genocide on Gaza, but opposing the war on Iran, the great evil, is somehow too much,” he says.

Rising censorship

Across Israel, journalists and activists like Itamar describe a pervasive atmosphere of self-policing and censorship that, they say, has left people less informed about the consequences of the war than the citizens in Iran, whom many in their media encourage them to pity.

In a country largely unified against a threat that, for generations, politicians have told them is existential, criticism, dissent or opposition is, for the majority, beyond the pale.

This way of thinking is baked into Israeli society. The systems employed by the country’s military censor today to curtail media reporting predate the establishment of Israel in 1948.

Furthermore, new wartime restrictions on what can and cannot be broadcast of the Iranian missile barrages targeting Israel, where they land and what damage they have done – introduced on March 5 – mean these largely go entirely unreported, Israeli journalists say.

Reporting on the new media restrictions in mid-March, the Israeli magazine +972 documented one instance when journalists were permitted to report on debris that had hit an educational facility, but did not mention the actual strike by an Iranian missile, which had successfully hit its intended target nearby. Nor were they allowed to examine the site.

In another case reported by +972, journalists photographing damage to a residential block said they were approached by a man they believed to be linked to a security agency. He asked police to stop reporters from recording the real target of the attack, which was located behind them. The police officer replied that the journalists would not have noticed that site at all had it not been pointed out, since the visible destruction was concentrated on the civilian building.

The censorship, which had been growing more relaxed in recent years, had been tightened once more during the current war, Meron Rapoport, an editor at +972’s sister paper, Hebrew language Local Call, told Al Jazeera, “We don’t really know what is being or with what explosives,” he said, “The IDF [Israeli army] announcements always refer to strikes being on ‘uninhabited areas,’ which is peculiar, because there aren’t that many uninhabited areas in Tel Aviv. It’s a very compact city.”

Indeed, Iran has launched multiple missiles at Tel Aviv, some of which have resulted in damage and injuries – either by the missiles themselves or by debris falling following interception. Most recently, on Tuesday, missiles triggered air raid sirens in the city, where gaping holes were ripped through a multistorey apartment building.

Israel’s Magen David Adom emergency medical service said: “Six people were lightly injured at four different sites.”

“It’s curious,” Rapoport says. “Israeli commentators are always saying how the Iranian public has no real idea how badly they’re being hit. The irony is that they probably have a better idea of how hard Israel is being hit than most Israelis.”