“War was the last thing we wanted”

Soheila speaks quietly, almost breathlessly. Her voice trembles slightly, but behind it lies a firm determination. "I could lose contact in the middle of the voice message. I hear noises, and I don't know how long my VPN will work." Despite the bombings audible in the background and the panicked flight of many people, the journalist remains in Tehran. But the circumstances are dire.

The war between Iran and Israel is entering its second week. Since then, Israel has attacked nuclear facilities in Iran, among other things, killing several military leaders and nuclear scientists. Jerusalem calls the strike a preemptive strike, citing Iran's advanced nuclear program as the justification. Ministers declare that Iran's supreme spiritual leader, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, should no longer exist. In response, Iran fires missiles at Israel, even hitting civilian areas. US President Donald Trump announced on Thursday that he would decide on a possible American intervention within two weeks.

"For the first three days, you don't believe there's really a war going on," Soheila* told WELT. It takes time to get used to it. "Even if your apartment is shaking, your head doesn't want to believe it. At night, you hardly sleep because the bombing continues. They say they're not attacking civilians – but we saw buildings collapse, people die. There's no safe place, neither in the city nor outside."

According to the US-based human rights network Human Rights Activists in Iran (HRANA), 639 people have been killed in the country so far—including at least 263 civilians. The organization relies on official figures and local sources.

Soheila sums up the dilemma: "The majority of Iranians hate the Islamic Republic. We deserve a better future, a better life. But we also hate the bombing war and the Israeli attacks against us. No one knows what's coming. That's the greatest fear."

For days, explosions have echoed through the streets of Iran's capital. Many of the more than 15 million residents have fled. But Soheila has stayed. "I have two cats, Toranj and Meshki. They're keeping me alive; right now they're stronger than me." Her cats are curled up on the sofa. They don't seem to mind the change in noise.

"My parents urged me to move in with them because they live further south. But I don't want to flee. I've covered wars, written about people who had to leave their homes—and often never returned. I have a connection to this city, even though I wasn't born here. I love my home, my friends, even the empty streets now. I don't want to leave; I want to stay here."

Soheila repeats this phrase often. "If I have to die, I'd rather die in my house than be separated from everything I love and care about. No matter what happens, even if they drop atomic bombs on Tehran, I won't leave this city."

As the bombings intensify, the city's landscape is also changing. Lines at gas stations sometimes stretch for miles. Gasoline has now been rationed to less than 20 liters per driver. Those who own a car are trying to leave the city, heading north toward the Caspian Sea or to the east of the country, which is still considered relatively safe. Traffic jams are occurring on the highways.

Niloufar*, who lives abroad, tells WELT that her family spent a night in their car before deciding, with a heavy heart, to leave Tehran for the time being. One of her neighbors is suspected of being a member of the Revolutionary Guard. The fear that their home could be the target of an Israeli attack suddenly became very real.

An official from the Ministry of Education actually wanted to go to Azerbaijan – on advice from his brother in the US. He set off on Sunday with his 82-year-old mother, he told the dpa news agency. "But due to heavy traffic, a shortage of gasoline, and my mother's poor health, we had to turn back. Now we're waiting for better conditions to try again."

Sajjad tells dpa about his escape to Rasht, a green city near the sea. The journey normally takes a good four hours, but he was on the road for more than a day. "Now that we've arrived, things aren't any better. The shops are overcrowded, there's a shortage of food," he says. Accommodation has also become significantly more expensive.

"Last night I cried for the first time since the war began," Soheila recalls her troubled hours in Tehran. "There were explosions at 2 a.m., so close that it felt like the house was collapsing. Even Toranj was scared. I cried for my country, for my home. We fought for freedom for so long."

Soheila is referring to the freedom movement , sparked by the death of the young woman Mahsa Amini in the custody of the vice squad. "But we couldn't achieve it. We didn't want war; we tried everything, but it wasn't enough. Seeing this country burning tears me apart."

Political developments are further exacerbating the situation. An Iraqi militia leader is threatening the US with attacks on American citizens if Khamenei is attacked. Iranian police are arresting suspected Israeli spies, often arbitrarily. Israel destroyed many Iranian missile launch sites on Thursday, but according to a military spokesman, Iran still has 100 more. The danger of a larger war is growing.

Soheila's work as a journalist is dangerous. She has already been arrested once. "If the government finds out that I'm talking to foreign journalists, they could accuse me of being a spy for Israel and the US, imprison me, or even execute me."

As she speaks, her father suddenly calls—he wants to know if she's okay. Shortly afterward, Soheila hears impacts somewhere in the east of the city. She speaks faster, wanting to say everything before the internet goes down again.

Unlike Israel, Iran has neither warning systems for air strikes nor shelters for the civilian population. Many people are sleeping in subway stations, while others simply stay at home, hoping not to be hit. The few aid efforts are coming from neighbors, friends, and volunteers organized privately.

Maryam, an Iranian exile in Vienna, speaks daily with relatives in Iran, as she reports to WELT – when the internet allows it: "The conversations with the family are sometimes sober, because you never know if someone is listening."

At the beginning, she says, hope was high: "People thought salvation was coming. But when it became clear that this wasn't a targeted strike against the regime or the nuclear facilities, but that civilians were also being hit, entire cities were being bombed – that's when we realized: This is the war that has been talked about for 46 years. And with this awareness came fear."

A message from her uncle moved her to tears: "He said that the only thing left for him is the hope of freedom. Because things can't get any worse than what they are."

But for Maryam, it's clear: "This war isn't about liberating the Iranian people from the regime. That's never discussed." In her view, it's more about "preserving Western economic interests." The diaspora is organizing protests to draw attention to the suffering of the Iranian civilian population.

Tehran seems numb, says Soheila. "There are areas in the city that feel completely deserted. At night, there's panic. I hardly leave the house. But last week, I went out to buy food for my cats. The streets were silent."

"My brother, who also lives in Tehran, went to get gasoline in case we had to flee," she says. "And many are leaving with tears in their eyes. They're posting videos saying goodbye to their homes: 'My dear house, I'll be back soon. Please stay safe.'"

When the last sign of life arrives from Soheila before the internet is almost completely shut down by order of the authorities, denying millions of Iranians access to information, she says: "I hope the world remembers us – as people who fought for freedom. Especially the women of this country. For over a hundred years, we have tried to achieve democracy – and never achieved it. War was the last thing we wanted. I hope we survive this, I hope we free ourselves from the Islamic Republic. And maybe one day I will see a free Iran – just as the Syrians experienced the fall of Assad. But not through war. Never through war."

Then contact breaks off. What remains is the loud silence of a city sinking into war.

*Names have been changed to protect the individuals; the real names are known to the editors.