The Border Zone with Lebanon: A Refuge for Syrians Fearing ‘Change’

The Jdeidet Yabous Syrian border crossing, where images of Assad and his father appear to have been defaced (Asharq Al-Awsat).
The Jdeidet Yabous Syrian border crossing, where images of Assad and his father appear to have been defaced (Asharq Al-Awsat).
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The Border Zone with Lebanon: A Refuge for Syrians Fearing ‘Change’

The Jdeidet Yabous Syrian border crossing, where images of Assad and his father appear to have been defaced (Asharq Al-Awsat).
The Jdeidet Yabous Syrian border crossing, where images of Assad and his father appear to have been defaced (Asharq Al-Awsat).

The road from Beirut to Damascus is now lined with unfamiliar scenes. In just a few days, everything has changed for those traveling to the Syrian capital by land from Lebanon. Once an economic lifeline for Damascus, the route bustled with visitors—Syrians and Lebanese alike—and large trucks carried goods from Beirut’s port to Syria, a necessity brought on by international sanctions that have forced the country to rely on this corridor.

The journey to Damascus via Lebanon begins at the Masnaa border crossing, which, during the early days of Syria’s upheaval, saw unprecedented traffic heading into Syria. While outbound traffic has returned to normal—or even declined—inbound activity has surged again. Hundreds of Syrian families line up at the border, hoping for “humanitarian exceptions” to enter Lebanon. However, the influx has clogged the route for everyone, even those eligible for entry. For days, the road was virtually impassable until Lebanese authorities intervened to reopen it. Still, complaints from Syrians about alleged abuses at the border prompted General Security chief Major General Elias al-Baysari to launch an investigation into these violations, followed by measures to reduce the number of entries to just a few hundred.

Some Syrians leave after being denied entry, only for others to arrive, clinging to the hope that Lebanon might eventually open its doors. Entry is now restricted to those with valid residency, travelers transiting through Beirut’s airport, or individuals with official documentation.

Families wait in cars, with children and women inside while men gather around fires outside. Ayman, a man in his fifties from rural Damascus, anxiously waits for permission to cross after being denied entry by the checkpoint. He mentions receiving a promise that his case will be reviewed. “We are in danger. I won’t take my children back to die,” he says, refusing to elaborate on the exact threat. Determined, he vows to remain in the deserted zone indefinitely if necessary.

Despite no reports of targeted violence against former regime supporters or religious minorities—especially Shiites—fear remains pervasive. Bilal, a Syrian from the predominantly Shiite town of Zahraa near Aleppo, recounts how a relative was killed and claims that his name is on a wanted list. “I’ll never go back,” he says firmly.

The scene repeats itself just past the first opposition-held checkpoint, opposite the abandoned Syrian passport office. Crossing is straightforward and no longer requires ID for Lebanese citizens, unlike in the past. A friendly greeting and a wave from the armed guards suffice, often accompanied by a smile and “Welcome!” This is a stark contrast to the past, when multiple military checkpoints, infamous for soliciting bribes in the form of bread, cigarettes, or cash, made travel cumbersome.

Now, entering and exiting Syria via land is remarkably easy—no paperwork, no questions, and no inspections.

Near a victory arch along the road, adorned with images of deposed Syrian President Bashar al-Assad and his late father Hafez, stands a young man. His old car is parked nearby, with his wife and three children—all under ten years old—waiting inside. Hesitantly, he approaches a Lebanese traveler, asking whether he can enter Lebanon without the “yellow card” once issued by Syrian authorities for outgoing vehicles. Syrian border guards had turned him away, warning that Lebanese authorities might confiscate his car.

The man, from the Shiite-majority village of Foua near Idlib, is determined to reach Lebanon. “I’ve arranged for work with someone there, and I need to leave as soon as possible,” he explains nervously. Though he insists no one has harmed him, his unease is evident as he prepares to leave.

The Assads’ towering portraits remain intact, likely due to their height, while those at ground level have been torn down or trampled. Military checkpoints have been vandalized or destroyed.

Abandoned vehicles litter the roadside, some still smoldering, while others have been stripped of all valuables—tires, parts, and accessories. Military vehicles, tanks, and armored carriers, some still loaded with ammunition, lie deserted along the route from the border to Damascus. These remnants tell the story of a collapsed regime and an uncertain future.

Scattered among the wreckage are vehicles destroyed by Israeli missile strikes targeting Syrian air defense systems, including anti-aircraft launchers mounted on military trucks.

The stretch of abandoned military hardware extends from the Syrian border to the outskirts of Damascus. These vehicles were once meant to defend the capital but now lie powerless, deserted by soldiers who left their uniforms discarded along the roadside as they fled. The old Syrian flag lies tattered and forgotten in multiple locations, untouched—neither reclaimed nor mourned.



Father of Six Killed ‘For Piece of Bread’ During Gaza Aid Distribution

 Palestinians carry the body of Hossam Wafi who, according to family members, was killed in an Israeli strike, during his funeral in Khan Younis, southern Gaza Strip, Monday, June 2, 2025. (AP)
Palestinians carry the body of Hossam Wafi who, according to family members, was killed in an Israeli strike, during his funeral in Khan Younis, southern Gaza Strip, Monday, June 2, 2025. (AP)
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Father of Six Killed ‘For Piece of Bread’ During Gaza Aid Distribution

 Palestinians carry the body of Hossam Wafi who, according to family members, was killed in an Israeli strike, during his funeral in Khan Younis, southern Gaza Strip, Monday, June 2, 2025. (AP)
Palestinians carry the body of Hossam Wafi who, according to family members, was killed in an Israeli strike, during his funeral in Khan Younis, southern Gaza Strip, Monday, June 2, 2025. (AP)

Cries of grief echoed across southern Gaza's Nasser Hospital Monday as dozens came to mourn Hossam Wafi, after the father of six was killed while attempting to get supplies to feed his family.

His mother, Nahla Wafi, sobbed uncontrollably over her son, who was among 31 people killed by Israeli fire while trying to reach a food distribution site the previous day, according to the Palestinian territory's civil defense agency.

"He went to get food for his daughters and came back dead," said Nahla Wafi, who lost two sons and a nephew on Sunday.

Hossam Wafi had travelled with his brother and nephew to a newly established distribution center in the southern city of Rafah.

"They were just trying to buy (flour). But the drone came down on them," his mother said, as she tried to comfort four of her granddaughters in the courtyard of Nasser Hospital in Khan Younis.

Israel has faced growing condemnation over the humanitarian crisis in the war-ravaged Gaza Strip, where the United Nations has warned the entire population faces the risk of famine.

-'Go there and get bombed'-

The International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC) said that its field hospital in Rafah received 179 cases on Sunday, including 21 pronounced dead on arrival.

The ICRC said that all those wounded "said they had been trying to reach an aid distribution site", and that "the majority suffered gunshot or shrapnel wounds".

Israeli authorities and the Gaza Humanitarian Foundation, a US and Israeli-backed outfit that runs the distribution centers, denied any such incident took place.

The military instead said that troops fired "warning shots" at people who approached them one kilometer away from the Rafah distribution site before dawn.

A witness told AFP thousands of people gathered at the area, known locally as the Al-Alam junction, between 2:00 and 4:00 am (2300 GMT and 0100 GMT) in the hopes of reaching the distribution center.

At Nasser Hospital, Hossam Wafi's young daughters called out for their father, kissing his body wrapped in a white shroud, before it was taken away.

Outside the hospital, dozens of men stood in silence before the body, praying. Some cried as the remains were taken away, one of them holding the father's face until he was gently pulled away.

His uncle, Ali Wafi, told AFP he felt angry his nephew was killed while trying to get aid.

"They go there and get bombed -- airstrikes, tanks, shelling -- all for a piece of bread," he said.

"He went for a bite of bread, not for anything else. What was he supposed to do? He had to feed his little kids. And the result? He's getting buried today," he added.

- Militarized aid -

The deaths in Rafah were one of two deadly incidents reported by Gaza's civil defense agency on Sunday around the GHF centers, which the UN says contravene basic humanitarian principles and appear designed to cater to Israeli military objectives.

There have been several other reports of chaotic scenes and warning shots fired in connection with the distribution sites over the past week.

The UN's humanitarian agency (OCHA) published a video of one such distribution site in central Gaza's Netzarim corridor on Thursday.

A large crowd is seen gathered around four long corridors made from metal fences installed in the middle of an arid landscape, corralling men and women into files to receive flour.

The distribution site and its waiting area sit on a flattened piece of land surrounded by massive mounds of soil and sand.

It is manned by English-speaking security guards travelling in armored vehicles.

Palestinians exiting the distribution area carry cardboard boxes sometimes bearing a "GHF" logo, as well as wooden pallets presumably to be repurposed as fuel or structures for shelter.

In the large crowd gathered outside the gated corridors, some men are seen shoving each other, and one woman complains that her food package was stolen.

Hossam Wafi's uncle Ali said he wished Gaza's people could safely get aid.

"People take the risk (to reach the distribution site), just so they can survive."