TEL AVIV — The conflict between Iran, the U.S., and Israel remains volatile as Iran submits a new 14‑point peace proposal through Pakistan while warning that fighting may soon resume, with Iranian military officials saying the U.S. is not committed to agreements. President Donald Trump has expressed skepticism about Iran’s offer, stating he will review it but doubts it will be acceptable, and polls show most Americans believe the decision to launch military action was a mistake. Meanwhile, Israeli strikes continue across southern Lebanon despite a ceasefire, regional tensions remain high, and disruptions in the Strait of Hormuz continue to affect global energy markets.
Lost in the political and military confrontation among the United States, Israel, and Iran are the everyday people who live with the consequences of decisions they did not make. Civilians — on every side of this conflict — are the ones who carry the fear, disruption, and uncertainty that follow each strike and every escalation.
This week, The Fulcrum’s executive editor, Hugo Balta, reports from Israel with a clear purpose: to humanize war. Rather than focus on the spectacle of Operation Epic Fury, the special coverage will center on the people whose lives are being reshaped by it.
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While Balta does not have access to Iran — and it is acknowledged that civilians there are suffering as well — the reporting will document the toll this conflict is taking on Israelis across the country as they navigate a war that shows no sign of easing.
In the days ahead, The Fulcrum will publish a series of on‑the‑ground dispatches from Tel Aviv, Jerusalem, and communities near the Lebanon border as Israel enters a new phase of tension with Iran. The coverage will follow residents living under the threat of missile strikes and explore how daily routines, civic life, and community networks are being transformed by the constant fear of another attack.
The weeklong series will also examine the continued conflict in Gaza, which has been overshadowed by the confrontation with Iran. Balta will also highlight the experiences of immigrant communities — including Latin American workers and families — whose stories are often absent from broader geopolitical reporting, revealing the layered realities of a diverse country experiencing conflict in uneven and deeply personal ways.
The goal is to give readers a fuller picture of life behind the headlines — a close, human‑centered look at a region on edge and the people trying to endure, adapt, and support one another through a war they did not choose.
Coverage of this report was made possible in part with support from Fuente Latina.
Demonstrators rally outside the U.S. Supreme Court as justices hear oral arguments on whether President Donald Trump can deny citizenship to children born to parents who are in the United States illegally or temporarily, on Capitol Hill, in Washington, Wednesday, April 1, 2026. (AP Photo/Mariam Zuhaib)
Luz Angela Nuñez with her daughter Aisha Quershi Nuñez at their home in College Point, Queens. Photo: Mia Anzalone for Documented.
Kimberly Alvarez, 25, with her daughter Evangeline and her husband John Alvarez in Medellin, Colombia. Photo courtesy of Kimberly Alvarez.Alvarez arrived in New York City in February 2024 with her husband John Alvarez as asylum seekers from Venezuela. In April 2025, Alvarez found out she was pregnant with her first child, a baby girl. Her first reaction, she said, was fear.“How am I going to keep her alive?” she said. “That’s what I was thinking. ‘How am I going to be able to take care of her?’”At the beginning of Alvarez’s pregnancy, she said she was aware of the immigration enforcement occurring around the country, but vowed not to let it deter her from showing up to her doctor’s appointments.“When you went out, you were always on alert because you didn’t know if [ICE] might be around. I never saw anything suspicious,” Alvarez said. “But of course, you feel scared.”In October, when Alvarez was six months pregnant, her husband was detained by ICE agents at 26 Federal Plaza. When the immediate shock wore off, she obsessively checked the Online Detainee Locator System to find out where her husband went. A day later, she discovered that he was being kept at Delaney Hall detention center in New Jersey. Alvarez quickly set up an account to pay for phone calls, and every two days, she would pay about $10 for a one-hour call, updating her husband about the baby, her appointments and how she was doing.“Crying was the only way for me to release the tension,” said Alvarez, who worried that her lack of sleep and bad diet were impacting her baby. “Crying was the only way for me to release the tension.”—Kimberly AlvarezThat tension built up day by day, week by week following her husband’s arrest. Alvarez had stopped her work as a cleaner in the neighborhood’s synagogues two weeks before her husband’s detention because of her pregnancy. The plan, she said, was to rely solely on his income as a maintenance worker for “the food, the rent, everything.” Left with few choices, Kimberley had to rely on her mother’s income as a cleaner. The older woman had moved to New York from North Carolina to assist with Alvarez’s pregnancy. “I feel like I’m supposed to help my mom, not the other way around,” Alvarez said. “I felt powerless because I couldn’t do anything.”On Dec. 9, Alvarez gave birth to a daughter, Evangeline. While her baby was healthy, Alvarez’s anxieties did not go away. While she returned to cleaning synagogues a few months after Evangeline’s birth to help make ends meet, Alvarez and her daughter rarely left home. Alvarez said she felt paralyzed, getting frequent alerts from a neighborhood WhatsApp group when ICE was spotted nearby. One day, she said, ICE arrested her friend’s husband in Sunset Park, in an area where she would sometimes take Evangeline for walks.“I’m so afraid that I’ll go out and run into one of them and that they’ll take her away from me,” Alvarez said. “That’s my biggest fear, that someone will take her away from me and I won’t know where my daughter is.”In March, her husband decided to voluntarily remove himself from the United States and move back to Colombia, where he is originally from. It was a family decision, but it was not a happy one — hiring immigration lawyers was too expensive, Alvarez said, adding that staying in the U.S. felt too uncertain. 
Sharice Davids, who is also Kansas’ first LGBTQ+ member of Congress, is in her fourth term. (Michael Brochstein/SIPA/AP)
Deb Haaland was the first Native American secretary of the Interior, and if elected in New Mexico this year, she would become the country’s first Native American woman governor. (Drew Angerer/Getty Images)