As the war between Iran and Israel intensifies, spilling beyond conventional battlefields into a domain that targets the human spirit, a quieter but deeply insidious campaign is being waged. It is a war not just of weapons, but of nerves. For many Israelis, the true toll of this conflict is not measured in damage to infrastructure—but in the fatigue of living under constant threat, the strain of broken routines, and the unsettling silence between sirens.
Since April 2025, what began as a fierce military escalation has evolved into something more methodical. The Islamic Republic of Iran, recognizing the limitations of direct military confrontation, has adopted a chillingly effective strategy of psychological attrition. In waves of low-intensity but persistent attacks—sporadic drone incursions, rocket fire from proxies, and cyber interference—Tehran is systematically destabilizing Israel from within.
This isn’t about overwhelming Israel’s air defenses. It’s about grinding them down, emotionally and economically. While Israel’s Iron Dome, David’s Sling, and Arrow systems have largely neutralized incoming threats, the price is steep. Each interception costs tens of thousands of dollars, while many of Iran’s drones and rockets are cheap and easy to replicate. But the true cost lies in what isn’t easily quantified—sleep lost, plans canceled, children frightened, communities fractured.
Tel Aviv, Haifa, and towns near the northern border now live in an eerie rhythm. Sirens scream in the night. People scramble for shelters. Then silence. Rinse and repeat. “I no longer ask if we’ll be interrupted,” said Orly Shapira, a mother of two in Haifa. “I ask when. We've stopped living—we’re just waiting.”
The Iranian government’s approach is neither impulsive nor random. According to Middle East analysts, this is a deliberate and long-term plan to erode Israeli society’s psychological endurance. “This isn’t about defeating the IDF on the battlefield,” explains Dr. Eyal Zisser of Tel Aviv University. “It’s about exhausting Israeli morale. About sowing anxiety, frustration, and eventually dissent.”
In some communities, cracks are beginning to show. In towns like Kiryat Shmona and Metula—frequent targets of Hezbollah’s rockets—residents are voicing discontent publicly. In June, a spontaneous protest broke out near the Lebanese border, where shopkeepers closed in protest over what they saw as inadequate protection. “We feel forgotten,” said Avraham Dayan, a local baker. “The missiles are real. The fear is real. Where is the decisive response?”
Tehran’s tactics reflect a strategic calculus rooted in decades of geopolitical confrontation. The Iranian leadership, including Supreme Leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, has long framed Israel as an illegitimate and destabilizing presence in the region. Accusations of Israeli involvement in the assassination of Iranian nuclear scientists, cyberattacks on critical infrastructure, and covert operations have only deepened Tehran’s hostility. The current psychological warfare campaign is seen by many as a direct extension of that long-standing enmity—an attempt to retaliate without triggering a full-blown regional war.
Importantly, this isn't being conducted in isolation. Iran’s proxies—Hezbollah in Lebanon, militias in Syria and Iraq, and even the Houthis in Yemen—are all operating with synchronized intent. The Islamic Republic is orchestrating these small, sporadic attacks to keep Israel off balance. A drone here, a cyberattack there. Not enough to provoke overwhelming retaliation, but enough to keep society uneasy and leadership on edge.
Inside Israel, the challenge is becoming more complex. Every response must be carefully calibrated. Too soft, and Iran is emboldened. Too aggressive, and the risk of regional escalation—possibly drawing in the United States or destabilizing Jordan and the Gulf—becomes dangerously high. Prime Minister Netanyahu has vowed to “neutralize any threat,” but public confidence is fraying. A recent survey showed that nearly half of Israelis believe the government has yet to craft an effective strategy to end the psychological pressure.
Yet beneath the politics and policy debates, there is the human toll. Families like the Cohens in Ashdod, who have converted a guest room into a bomb shelter. Elderly couples in Jerusalem who now sleep in shifts. Teachers, nurses, delivery drivers—all adapting to a life governed by alarms and uncertainty. “I keep telling my students, ‘Everything will be okay,’” said Miriam Alon, a high school teacher in the South. “But I’m not sure they believe me anymore. I’m not sure I believe it myself.”
That, perhaps, is Iran’s true goal. To steal away that belief. To replace routine with disruption, resilience with resignation. This war, waged with precision and patience, is not trying to break Israel’s walls—it’s trying to seep through its cracks.
And for Israel, the fight now is as much about protecting its people’s confidence as it is about defending its skies. As long as the Islamic Republic continues its campaign of psychological warfare, the sirens will keep sounding, not just as a warning of incoming rockets—but as a haunting echo of the deeper, unseen battle being fought in hearts and minds.