No shelter, no excuse: A plea for Arab citizens’ safety

“I can’t believe we’re having this same conversation all over again.” 

That was the first thing a dear colleague said to me once we finally managed to reconnect. “We’ve had this exact conversation twice before, and now we’re having it a third time. First in 2020 when COVID broke out, then again on the morning of October 8th, and now – yet again – we’re talking about emergency response in the unrecognized Bedouin villages of the Negev.”

Both of us are Jewish Israelis who have been working closely with Bedouin communities in the Negev for two decades, particularly in the unrecognized villages. Time and time again, we find ourselves in disbelief, confronted with what can only be described as the state’s ongoing neglect of its own citizens.

I write these words not only as the co-CEO of a civil society organization that has worked for decades to promote resilience, equality, and shared society between Arabs and Jews in the Negev – but also as someone who has spent the better part of my life walking alongside Bedouin communities through moments of struggle, hope, and far too often, abandonment.

Today, as war rages between Israel and Iran and civilians across the country brace for missile attacks, the gaping disparity in civilian protection is no longer just a moral failing. It is a national emergency.

Let us start with the facts. Nearly half – 46% – of Arab citizens in Israel have no access to a protected space, whether it be a reinforced room (Mamad) or a communal shelter. In 60% of Arab municipalities, there are no public shelters whatsoever. The situation in schools is just as dire: 30% of state-run Arab schools lack adequate protection, compared to just 11% of Hebrew-speaking and religious Jewish state schools.

Yes, the worst of these gaps are in the Bedouin communities of the Negev, where unrecognized villages and planning failures have led to an almost total absence of shelters. But these disparities are not limited to the South. In cities like Nazereth and Tamra, where four women were killed when a missile launched from Iran struck their home Saturday night, families live in densely populated neighborhoods with no access to any protective infrastructure. The reasons? Complex legal restrictions, lack of building permits, and a long history of neglect.

In recent days, as sirens have wailed and missiles have fallen, we at AJEEC – along with a network of committed civil society organizations and volunteers – have utilized partially fortified schools and community centers to shelter families. We are doing what we can to protect lives where the state has not. These efforts are not a replacement for state responsibility. However, they do highlight the critical role that civil society plays in narrowing gaps. Volunteers are not only hosting families – they are disseminating emergency instructions, translating life-saving information into Arabic, and providing emotional support to communities living under threat.

Language barriers

The lack of physical shelter is only one part of the story. There is also a glaring absence of linguistically and culturally adapted emergency guidance. Many residents do not receive timely alerts or do not fully understand the official Hebrew-language instructions. Even basic questions – when to leave, where to go, what to do – remain unanswered in many Arab localities. Our volunteers, many of whom are young leaders from within the community, are trying to fill that gap. But this, too, should not fall solely on their shoulders. Public preparedness campaigns must include Arab society, in language and in substance.

In the reality of social media saturation, false information spreads like wildfire, especially when people are desperate for answers. We are seeing dangerous rumors circulate in WhatsApp groups and TikTok videos, many of them fear-mongering or outright fake. Again, we find ourselves in the position of being the trusted messengers, the ones translating official information and correcting falsehoods. It should not be this way.

The cost of this neglect is measured not only in material terms. Young people in these communities, already vulnerable to poverty, marginalization, and lack of opportunity, are facing this war with no frameworks of support. No emergency programming, no mental health outreach, no spaces to process fear or trauma. Without intervention, we risk losing an entire generation to despair, unemployment, or worse, falling into informal or even criminal economies that thrive in chaos.

It is important to say clearly: the vast majority of Arab citizens, including in Bedouin society, oppose violence. Yes, there have been isolated and deeply disturbing expressions of support for our enemies. But these voices do not represent the whole. In fact, what we have seen on the ground are Arab mayors building emergency teams, preparing schools, and showing up for their residents. At a time when it is easy to retreat into fear and suspicion, we must remember the values that motivated us and brought us together on October 6th. Jewish-Arab partnership is not a slogan. It is a lifeline.

A plan of action

This moment calls for action, not excuses. The government must take several immediate and systemic steps. First, a comprehensive mapping of civilian protection infrastructure in Arab localities is needed to fully understand the scale of the gap. Next, it is imperative to allocate resources for the rapid construction of temporary shelter solutions in communities that currently lack any form of protection. Additionally, emergency communication must be made fully available in Arabic and be culturally tailored to meet the needs of the communities it aims to serve. Arab local authorities and civil society organizations must be fully integrated into national emergency response planning, ensuring that local knowledge and community trust are part of the strategy. Finally, investment in youth resilience is critical. This includes funding for mental health services, educational support, and community preparedness programs that help young people develop the tools they need to face future crises.

I have spent much of my adult life believing in this country’s ability to do better. To care for all its citizens. To extend safety, dignity, and compassion beyond the lines of ethnicity and politics. Today, I ask you to stand with us. To see the gaps in shelter not as a Bedouin issue, or even an Arab issue, but as an Israeli issue. As a human issue. If we want a resilient society, we must ensure that no child, no elder, and no family is left exposed. Not in the Negev, not in Nazareth, not in Tel Aviv. Only then will our security mean something. Only then will our humanity be whole.