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Residents across Israel are increasingly raising alarm over the lack of accessible bomb shelters as missile attacks continue to threaten civilian areas, forcing some people to seek refuge in unsafe locations during emergency sirens.
Although Israel has long been known for its extensive civil defense infrastructure, many older neighborhoods still lack proper protective spaces. As missile threats escalate, these gaps are becoming more visible and dangerous.
Israeli law has required communal bomb shelters in residential buildings since 1969. In 1993, regulations were strengthened to require mamad — reinforced safe rooms — in newly constructed homes.
Despite these measures, the Israel Builders Contractors Association estimated that as of 2024, roughly 56 percent of homes in the country still lack a mamad. Separate data cited by The Media Line in 2023 suggested that nearly 28 percent of Israelis do not have access to a bomb shelter within their immediate vicinity.
For residents of historic neighborhoods, the problem is especially severe. Nataly Blenford, who moved from London to Israel eight years ago, lives in Kerem Hateimanim, a historic Yemeni neighborhood in Tel Aviv established in 1906.
While she appreciates the community’s character and heritage, Blenford said the area is “famously known for having no bomb shelters.”
She moved into her apartment in March last year, believing the regional security situation had begun to stabilize. However, renewed conflict and missile launches have dramatically changed daily life.
When air raid sirens sound, Blenford and her neighbors rush to a nearby parking garage for protection. The structure offers some cover, but it was never designed to withstand direct missile strikes — particularly ballistic missiles that have recently been launched toward Israeli civilian areas.
“When I moved here, I knew I didn’t have a shelter,” Blenford explained. “But I thought I could always run somewhere if needed.” However, the frequency and severity of recent attacks have made that assumption far more risky.
The parking garage also lacks the basic amenities normally found in communal shelters, such as mattresses, emergency supplies, or stored food and water. Residents cannot leave belongings there permanently, making extended stays during prolonged alerts uncomfortable and stressful.
The situation became even more difficult when Blenford’s 79-year-old mother, Carol, arrived from London shortly before the latest escalation began. Carol, who has limited mobility, struggles to move quickly during sirens.
The pair initially tried staying in hotels that offered protected spaces, but the cost of long-term accommodation quickly became unsustainable.
“People thought it would only last a few days,” Blenford said. “But how long can anyone stay in a hotel? Eventually almost everyone had to go back home.”
Helping her mother respond quickly to the alarms has become one of the most stressful aspects of the situation. Blenford explained that during alerts there is often little time to reach safety, yet her mother needs additional moments to move comfortably.
After each trip to shelter, the elderly visitor often takes up to twenty minutes to regain normal breathing due to stress. The lack of nearby shelters has also raised broader concerns about urban development policies.
Blenford said that while parts of her neighborhood are undergoing redevelopment, new public shelters are rarely included in those projects. Instead, most safety infrastructure is left to private developers constructing modern residential buildings.
“Why isn’t the municipality requiring public shelters as part of redevelopment?” she asked. She suggested that authorities could build large communal shelters beneath new developments or public spaces such as playgrounds, ensuring older communities are protected as well.
Similar challenges are being reported in other historic areas. Tamarah Rosenberg, a teacher living in the old section of Jaffa, must travel several blocks to reach the nearest shelter every time a siren sounds.
Her route includes crossing busy streets and walking through multiple courtyards, making each alarm a stressful race against time. To shorten her response time, Rosenberg has stopped sleeping in her loft bed and now rests on her couch closer to the door.
Even with those adjustments, the constant interruptions have taken a toll on her sleep and mental clarity. “It feels like being foggy all the time,” she said. On one occasion, Rosenberg was caught in the shower when a siren suddenly sounded, forcing her to run to the shelter partially dressed.
Despite the challenges, she said the most difficult moments come while teaching online classes. During one lesson, she had to abruptly leave students mid-session when a siren went off. While heading to the shelter, she worried that her students might think she had been injured.
“That thought really got to me,” she said. The experience has led both Rosenberg and her daughter, who lives nearby, to reconsider their housing plans. Although they love their neighborhood, access to a secure shelter has become their top priority when choosing future homes.
Experts say retrofitting older buildings with shelters is expensive and often complicated by the need for agreement among residents. Rosenberg believes stronger government involvement is necessary to overcome these obstacles and ensure civilians are protected.
As missile threats persist, many Israelis are now calling for broader public investment in shelters — particularly in historic neighborhoods where aging infrastructure leaves residents exposed during moments of crisis.
