Israeli jets completed air strikes on military and missile sites in Iran in the early morning hours of Saturday which it described as retaliation for an October 1 Iranian ballistic missile attack on Israel.
The move appeared calibrated to avoid pushing the Mideast closer to all-out war between two of its strongest military powers, with no casualties immediately reported.
Combat pitting the Jewish state against Iran-backed Lebanese Hezbollah and Palestinian Hamas has ratcheted up in recent weeks, bringing Iran and Israel into more direct confrontation.
Multiple explosions were heard in and around Tehran at around 2:15 am local time and several hours later again in the capital and in two southwestern cities.
The Israeli military said "The retaliatory strike has been completed and the mission was fulfilled," adding that "aircraft struck missile manufacturing facilities used to produce the missiles that Iran fired at the State of Israel over the last year."
Targets also included surface-to-air missile and anti-aircraft capabilities, the military added.
“Iran reserves the right to respond to all attacks and there’s no doubt that Israel will get a proportionate response to any action” IRGC-affiliated Tasnim news agency quoted an informed source as saying.
They added that "initial assessment shows the Zionist regime’s actions were weak.”
The United States, Israel's main political and military backer, described the attack on their mutual archenemy in the region as self-defense.
"We understand that Israel is conducting targeted strikes against military targets in Iran as an exercise of self-defense and in response to Iran’s ballistic missile attack against Israel", US National Security Council spokesman Sean Savett said in a statement.
Jonathan Harounoff, International Spokesperson for Israel at the United Nations told Iran International Israel had to respond to Iran's missile barrage.
"Israel has a right and a duty to defend itself from a regime that has continued to attack Israel relentlessly over the past year, directly and through its terror proxies," he said.
Iran's Oct. 1 ballistic missile fusillade against Israel came in response to Israel's likely assassination of Hamas leader Ismail Haniyeh in Tehran in July and killing of Hezbollah chief Hassan Nasrallah last month.
It was the second direct attack by the Islamic Republic on Israel this year after an earlier salvo in April which also caused minimal damage or casualties and was repelled with US help.
Israel's strike on Iran unfolded in three stages, Israel's public broadcaster said.
Blasts were also heard in the southwestern cities of Ahvaz and Abadan in Khuzestan province, residents told Iran International.
Mizan News agency in Iran reported sounds of renewed explosions in central Tehran.
Strikes hit Parchin, a large area of military factories for missiles and drones, according to Beni Sabti, an expert on Iran from the Israeli National Security and Strategy Institute (INSS).
Sabti used to serve as a Persian spokesperson for the Israeli government on Iranian issues and is in frequent contact with senior Israeli officials.
The Israeli military announced the completion of its retaliatory strikes against Iran around 6am local time, saying they damaged Iran's military infrastructure - including air defense systems and ballistic missiles capabilities.
Israeli military officials told reporters in a briefing that dozens of fighter jets participated in the attack and have all returned to their bases safely.
The operation was code named "Days of Repentance," and marks the first time Israel took responsibility for an attack in Iran.
Yet, what remains largely unseen is the reality of where their days end—curled up in the backseat of their cars, parked under bridges, in quiet corners of affluent neighborhoods, or alongside the city’s busy terminals.
High living costs and astronomical rents have turned their cars into homes, making Tehran’s streets a refuge for those who can no longer afford even the most basic shelter. Annual inflation has soared to over 40% in the past five years, pushing many lower middle class Iranian into poverty.
Reza’s nightly struggle: Azadi bus terminal
It’s past midnight near the Azadi Bus Terminal in western Tehran. The last buses have long departed, and the once-bustling station is now eerily quiet. In the shadows, a row of cars belonging to internet taxi drivers—working for Uber-like services called Snapp and Tapsi—sit idle. Their drivers, including Reza, rest inside, preparing for a few hours of broken sleep before the grind begins again.
“This is where I sleep most nights,” Reza says, motioning to his car. The terminal feels slightly safer than parking on random streets, but it’s far from secure. He pulls a thin blanket from the back seat and tucks a worn pillow into the corner. Before settling in, Reza locks his doors carefully, constantly on alert for theft or assault.
“A few months ago, a driver was stabbed over a stolen radio,” he explains. "People are desperate out here."
Originally from Zanjan, Reza, 54, left his family behind to earn a better living in Tehran. But now, trapped in this cycle, he questions the sacrifices. “I wanted to send more money home, but every night I sleep here, I wonder what I’m really gaining,” he says, gazing at the terminal’s flickering lights. “All I think about is going back home, but what’s left for me there?”
Mahmoud’s makeshift home: Ariashahr Square
Ariashahr Square, in western Tehran, remains lively even as the night deepens. Beneath a nearby bridge, Mahmoud, seemingly in his forties, parks his car—the bridge’s underbelly has become his home. Despite the dangers, he’s built a small community with other drivers and laborers who share his plight.
“It feels strange to call this home, but it’s all I have,” Mahmoud says quietly, pulling his jacket tighter against the cold. He drives long hours each day, making barely enough to survive—around 7,000,000 rials ($10). By the end of his shift, he’s too exhausted to speak.
“I use the park’s toilet, and I cook dinner on a portable gas stove on the sidewalk,” he explains. When asked about showering, he sighs. “Sometimes I go a week without one. Other times, I find a public bath.”
Mahmoud recounts a night when he woke to the sound of a fight between two drivers over a parking spot. “It’s the stress,” he says. “Living like this makes you territorial over nothing.”
Still, Mahmoud’s heart remains with his family back in Lorestan, hundreds of kilometers to the south. “My kids think I have a small place here,” he says, his voice heavy. “If they knew I was living like this, sleeping in my car, how would they look at me?”
Mahmoud explains that, with no job opportunities in his hometown and the wages being too low, he was forced to borrow money to buy a car and work as a driver in Tehran.
Kamran’s silent struggles: Saadatabad
In the wealthier district of Saadatabad in northern capital, the contrast between affluence and struggle is stark. Kamran, 31, parks his car in the shadows of a high-rise apartment block, feeling both safer and more invisible.
“I park here because it feels secure,” Kamran says. “But I also feel like I don’t exist. The people here don’t notice you. They don’t want to.”
After a long day of driving passengers through the city, Kamran’s loneliness deepens at night. “Sometimes I close my eyes and imagine I’m at home,” he says. “But when I wake up, I’m just parked on a street, alone.”
Though Saadatabad offers relative safety, the isolation takes its toll. “There are moments I feel like I’m disappearing,” Kamran says. “If something happened to me, no one would even know.”
A growing crisis: Tehran’s underpass communities
Mahmoud isn’t alone beneath Tehran’s bridges. As he speaks, other drivers begin to gather, sharing cigarettes and quiet conversation. Ali, a driver who’s been sleeping under another bridge near Enghelab Square in central Tehran for over a year, describes the camaraderie among those forced to live in their cars. “We look out for each other,” he says. “It’s dangerous, but at least we have that.”
An economist in Tehran, who requests anonymity for fear of government reaction, explains how the cost of living has pushed low-income workers, like these drivers, to the brink. “Housing prices in Tehran are so inflated that these drivers have no choice but to live in their cars,” he says. “They are the invisible workforce keeping the city running, yet they live in the shadows.”
The economist calls this trend the “underpass phenomenon,” where hidden corners of Tehran become makeshift communities for the working poor, including taxi drivers and day laborers. They struggle to afford even basic shelter in the city they help keep alive.
The emotional toll
Psychologist Soheil Rezaei highlights the emotional toll of this forced lifestyle. “Owning a home gives a person a sense of belonging. Without that, people feel lost,” he explains in an interview with Ebtekar daily. “When you’re constantly moving, without a stable place to call home, it damages your spirit.”
Rezaei adds that even renters often avoid personalizing their spaces, knowing they’ll eventually have to leave. For those sleeping in their cars, like Tehran’s internet taxi drivers, the displacement is even more profound. “They’re living only half a life, without stability or peace,” he says.
The emotional damage can be severe. Rezaei has seen rising rates of depression, anxiety, drug addiction, and even suicide among individuals living in such precarious conditions. “We’re facing a future where more and more people are living without a sense of belonging,” he warns, “and this creates a deep societal crisis.”
Mohammad Mashinchian, Senior Governance Researcher at Pittsburgh University, told Iran International in an interview that the Iranian government's approach to managing the country has failed, leading to new forms of poverty.
"This governance is deeply intertwined with the Islamic Republic’s ideology, making it resistant to change or reform. When the government fails to recognize citizens' rights, it creates an environment where working becomes unprofitable for everyone," he said.
Invisible at night, vital by day
For drivers like Reza, Mahmoud, and Kamran, each night in Tehran is a fight for survival. They spend their days navigating the city’s chaos, ferrying passengers from one end of the capital to the other, but at night, they fade into invisibility. Whether parked near Azadi Bus Terminal, under a bridge in Ariashahr, or in the quiet streets of Saadatabad, these drivers are simply trying to make it through another night.
Their resilience is a testament to the human spirit, but their plight reveals the failures of a system that leaves them with no other choice. Tehran’s streets have become their home, and the human cost is growing, one sleepless night at a time.