On September 17, Israel launched a military assault in Lebanon. It began with attacks that caused pagers and walkie-talkies affiliated with Hezbollah to explode, inundating hospitals with thousands of casualties. A few days later, on September 23, Israel unleashed surprise air strikes across the country on a scale unprecedented in recent history, killing more than a thousand people in Lebanon in its first two weeks, including medical workers and more than 130 Syrian and Palestinian refugees, and forcing over a million to flee their homes. South Lebanon, as well as Dahiyeh, a southern suburb of Beirut home to many members and supporters of Hezbollah, are the worst-hit areas.
Over the past year, Israel and Hezbollah had been trading fire across the border, with Israeli bombs killing nearly 600 people in Lebanon and leaving vast swathes of South Lebanon uninhabitable. Dozens have also been killed in Israel by Hezbollah, which began firing on October 8, following longstanding tit-for-tat hostilities. The low-intensity conflict on Lebanon’s southern border changed overnight when Israel escalated last month. Then, over the weekend, Israeli air strikes assassinated Hezbollah’s longtime leader, Hassan Nasrallah, and on Tuesday, Iran retaliated with missile strikes of its own on Israel.
Israel has now launched a ground invasion that it says is intended to push Hezbollah away from the border and north of the Litani River, while authorities have called for the expulsion of Lebanese civilians and the establishment of Israeli control and possible settlement in South Lebanon. Many fear that Israel could re-occupy Lebanon as it did from 1982 to 2000; it was this period that triggered Hezbollah’s original emergence as a group committed to resisting Israeli occupation. Others fear Israel may lay waste to Lebanon in the way that it has done to Gaza. We spoke to people across Lebanon about how they’re living in this moment.
Alaa, Bint Jbeil, South Lebanon, Accountant, 26
On the first day of Israel’s bombings, my cousins were killed. I will never forget the sound of the explosion. My uncle’s wife, their daughter, and my cousin’s wife and her three children were all martyred. They had gone to pick up some clothing before evacuating. They were at the door when the bomb hit. My uncle passed away long ago and my cousin works abroad. The bomb only killed women and children. The house was flattened. Only rubble was left. They were shredded so badly that civil defense found only body parts. They put them in a plastic bag together in a single grave. The same day, another shell hit our neighbors’ house. The entire family was wiped out. That was the most difficult day of my life.
Israel knows who they are hitting. They track everything. I know they know my cousins were there when they bombed their home. The idea that they are only attacking military installations or militants is a lie. My family are pacifists. When we evacuated, we spent 24 hours on the road. Israel was shelling the roads. We were stuck in traffic as the bombs fell on either side of us. A shell fell on a car ahead of us. It was burned to a crisp. The whole family inside was killed. We sat there, stuck on the road, with nowhere to go, choking on the smell of burning flesh. We didn’t have phone service a lot of the time. For hours we lost contact with our family members. We would track the last time we heard from them to figure out where they were, so if that area got bombed, we would know where to send someone to identify the bodies.
People are afraid to spend too much time on their phones. They could blow up. We hear stories from Gaza. That you could be in a group chat with 200 people on WhatsApp, and if someone is under suspicion, it will make you a target, too. Our village has a volunteer group that updates us with local news. Everyone from the village is in it. Now we’re afraid of these groups. We’re afraid to keep in touch. We’re living with more than 20 family members in someone else’s house, far from our village, in the north of Lebanon. So we also have no work or school to keep us busy. But we can’t lose hope. We in South Lebanon have been through many wars.
I work in a company that sells aluminum construction materials. Since the beginning of Israel’s aggression on Gaza, it has been very difficult in the south. We lost about 60 percent of our work. People were afraid to build houses or start projects. They have been very affected psychologically by the constant sound of bombings by Israeli airplanes. We debated whether to leave or not. But we had to work. We needed an income. My mom has late-stage breast cancer. It’s her second time. How are we supposed to pay for her treatment if we don’t keep working?
Elio, Dahiyeh, South Beirut, Filmmaker, 31
I live in Dahiyeh with my parents. Most people have left their homes. The streets are deserted. But my mom and dad are sick. They know that if they leave, they will be strangers wherever they go. They want to stay home. But if things get worse, we’ll have to leave. My cousin’s son was killed in a bombing near Baalbek yesterday, a city about two hours away from us by car. People were too afraid to go to the funeral because of the attack. I’m very upset. My mother is from that village, and there’s no military targets there. But they keep getting bombed.
People in Dahiyeh are very afraid. They remember the destruction and massacres in our neighborhood when Israel attacked in 2006. They know Israel isn’t just hitting Hezbollah; they hit everyone and anyone. It’s total chaos. Hezbollah isn’t just a military. It has doctors, nurses, teachers, ambulances. It’s a mini-state. It’s very hard to separate Hezbollah and society. Israel is attacking civilians with no connection to the military wing. This is a war crime. I’m not with Hezbollah; I’m not defending them. Everything I say is because I’ve lived it and studied it.
The coming days will be very hard for us. I’m an artist. I produce films. Now I’m without income. I’m going to run out of money. Many people are in the same difficult situation. They are depending on aid from Hezbollah or international organizations. Everyone is afraid of what’s coming, especially those with children. Us older folks are used to explosions. But children have no idea what war means. A few hours ago, they hit a building near us and killed a bunch of civilians.
The world needs to understand that Hezbollah is not fighting because Iran tells them to. They are fighting for Lebanon. Israel massacred us here in Lebanon. The situation between us and Israel is not a political struggle; it’s a war for our existence. We are strong, but we are all alone. There is no one with us.
Elias, Beqaa Valley, Winemaker, 43
We were the first place struck around Baalbek, the main city close to us in the Beqaa Valley. We didn’t have time to take precautions. We thought a war could happen. But we didn’t believe it would. And then suddenly it hit us.
A missile struck next to my winery a few days ago. There was a building nearby, about 50 meters from my house, that I thought might belong to Hezbollah. But I wasn’t sure. I had my doubts. The day of the bombing, I got a message on my phone saying that anyone near Hezbollah sites should leave immediately. I told my wife, my mom, and my kids that we needed to go. About 30 minutes later, a missile struck the building. If we had stayed, we would have been killed. It was a huge explosion. It damaged our property a lot; the windows shattered and the roof collapsed.
After the bombing, I moved my family to Byblos. But nowhere is safe in Lebanon. After my family moved there, there was an explosion about five kilometers from us. There were 150 air strikes on Baalbek just last night, creating huge explosions. And Hezbollah rockets fell on our town, too — pieces of shrapnel from misfired rockets aimed at Israel.
But I refuse to leave. I come back and forth to my village in Beqaa Valley while my family stays in Byblos, about two hours away. I am protecting our livelihood. In our village, there’s no medicine, no water, and all the shops are closed. But I decided to stay because it’s the season when we prepare the grapes. I want to work, and I want my employees to work, too. This is part of creating peace, refusing to surrender to war. Creating opportunities for work. We don’t want to be against anyone. I don’t want my kids to have to live in war, like I have or like my father has. I don’t want my people to live in war all the time.
Fatima, Dahiyeh, South Beirut, Photographer, 25
My family is from Houmine al Fauqa, in the south, but we live in Dahiyeh. In the past week, there have been massacres in my hometown and among my friends. I know many young men and girls who have been injured. Many of my neighbors in Dahiyeh were also killed or injured in Israeli attacks. I fled to my grandmother’s house in Beirut with most of my family. I feel like the whole south of Lebanon has come here. There are sounds of war planes above Beirut constantly.
Before the war, I would return home to the south every weekend. After the pager attacks and before Israel’s invasion, I was there taking pictures of a funeral of a family that lost eight people in the first bombing in Dahiyeh. Some of their relatives are still buried under the building. And then suddenly the war escalated. The south is now considered a war zone.
The people of the south know what occupation means. Israel occupied our lands from 1982 until 2000. They say they want to push Hezbollah north of the Litani River, and many believe they want to take over the same zone they occupied before. The people of the South are with the Resistance against Israel, even if some don’t agree with all of Hezbollah’s policies. We know civilians’ lives don’t matter to Israel. We know they will target innocent people. This is not the first war we’ve experienced. Our homes? We can rebuild them. We’ve already rebuilt them many times: In the ’80s, in 2006, and again today. We are the same cause as Palestine. We have a shared path and a shared enemy. I am proud that we stand together. Our blood has become one.
George, Nabatieh, South Lebanon, Doctor, 62
I live in a village south of the Litani River, just outside Nabatieh. We received messages from Israel telling us to leave. Some people left for Beirut or the mountains, but many stayed. Although there are bombings all around our town, they haven’t hit the town itself. I work in Nabatieh, and the situation is very bad there. Many people there have been killed or injured. When the invasion began, people started fleeing. There was so much traffic that it took 15 hours to get to Beirut, which is normally just a two-hour drive.
I work in a government hospital. The first day of the bombing there were a lot of casualties. At least 50 people were killed and there were many more injured. Many who came with injuries died here at the hospital from their wounds. Most were civilians. As a doctor, it’s my humanitarian duty to stay and help people. Depending on the situation, I go home to my village in the afternoon and try to make it back to the hospital in Nabatieh in the mornings. But if there’s too much bombing, I can’t go. I feel solidarity with Palestinians in the face of the genocide they are facing, but we also have to protect ourselves.
Kareem, Beirut, Activist, 26
I grew up in Syria and moved to Lebanon eight years ago. I’m a child of war. This is my second war. Back in Syria, I was with my family. Here I am alone. But I have my chosen community of friends and loved ones. When the bombing started, a friend of mine from the South called me and told me the sounds of explosions were getting louder and louder and she needed a place to stay. She had planned to travel abroad for a new job, but her flight was canceled. So she came to stay with me. For the past week, I have been numb. My life changed overnight.
I’ve been spending my time helping people find shelters. Refugees and migrants are the most marginalized people in Lebanon. Many have been forced to flee their homes but have nowhere to go, or they don’t have as strong of support systems as Lebanese people have. Lebanon is a small country, but it is a dense one. It’s very multicultural. There are Syrian and Palestinian refugees, as well as migrant domestic workers from all over Africa and Asia. Many of them were stranded by their employers, who left the country or fled their homes. They told the women who worked in their houses to stay inside or to find somewhere else to go. Often these women didn’t even have their passports with them. Many face a language barrier because they don’t speak Arabic, and they’re not familiar with Lebanon.
Lebanese authorities and shelters say they have to prioritize Lebanese people. But organizations that helped Syrian and Palestinian refugees have faced budget cuts over the last year. Many Syrians who were injured in the Israeli bombings are fleeing to Syria to receive medical treatment because in Lebanon they are forced to cover a lot of the cost. They’re experiencing double or even triple displacement — first from Syria, now from Lebanon. Going back to Syria is also incredibly risky. People can be arrested upon re-entry, especially if they’re men who haven’t done military service back in Syria, or if they were politically active during the Syrian revolution. The fact that Syrians are taking these risks tells us how dire the situation is here in Lebanon.
Lara, Beirut, Editor, 40s
I haven’t been displaced, but the country is in full panic mode. Everyone is terrified of what might come next: all-out war, invasion, indiscriminate bombing. If that happens, I might leave the city and go to the mountains.
People have been accustomed to taking things one day at a time. It prevents you from having long-term plans and dreams of what the future could look like. On a daily or hourly basis we have to assess what we’re going to do next; whether we leave our homes, whether we commute to work or not, whether we go to a certain neighborhood. If you’re planning to leave or if you’re in a death zone. These decisions have to be made in a split second.
I’m staying put because this is where I do my work. Journalists have a duty and responsibility to do significantly more now than in times of peace. Two journalists were killed just last week. I’m an editor of a publication specializing in long-form journalism. But the events of the past couple weeks have completely shifted how we work. We’ve been breaking every single rule we have. We’ve started reporting on the news and also publishing perspectives and historical context on what’s happening.
Since the end of the 2006 war, Israel has violated Lebanese sovereignty thousands of times. We are constantly threatened by their government officials. For years, Israeli officials promised to return Lebanon to the stone age. They promised to turn off the electricity in every single home. We are consistently subjected to Israeli terror. This is nothing new for us. Lebanon is much weaker than it was in 2006, but what we’ve seen over the last five or six days is the blossoming of mutual-aid and solidarity initiatives. Soup kitchens are popping up. People are distributing mattresses, food, water, and collecting money for diapers and milk. There’s a viral video of a Christian guy with a shirt with a big cross on it distributing his number, offering people whose cars are breaking down free labor and parts. People in Lebanon are accustomed to doing this kind of work because we’ve never really had a strong state that is capable of providing these services. We rely on our neighbors or our family members. So there is a glimmer of hope.
