Residents of Beirut Suburbs Traumatized by Israeli Strikes

Smoke rises from an Israeli airstrike in the southern suburbs of Beirut, Lebanon, on Saturday. Photograph: Hussein Malla/AP
Smoke rises from an Israeli airstrike in the southern suburbs of Beirut, Lebanon, on Saturday. Photograph: Hussein Malla/AP
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Residents of Beirut Suburbs Traumatized by Israeli Strikes

Smoke rises from an Israeli airstrike in the southern suburbs of Beirut, Lebanon, on Saturday. Photograph: Hussein Malla/AP
Smoke rises from an Israeli airstrike in the southern suburbs of Beirut, Lebanon, on Saturday. Photograph: Hussein Malla/AP

When Israel began pounding the southern Beirut suburb of Dahiyeh in airstrikes that killed Lebanon's Hezbollah leader Hassan Nasrallah, the blasts were so powerful that a pregnant woman feared her baby could not withstand the force.

"I'm 8 months pregnant. The baby wasn't even moving in my stomach and I was so scared that something happened, God forbid. But finally I felt it," said Zahraa.

"God, the missiles we saw yesterday, the fires we saw. We could hear every single strike. We haven't even slept a wink. There's people sleeping in the streets or sleeping in their cars all around us."

Like other residents of Dahiyeh, the family -- Zahraa, her husband and two sons, aged 17 and 10 - quickly packed what they could and fled for other parts of the capital Beirut. The city shook with each explosion, Reuters reported.

Many of the schools used as shelters in the capital were already full with the tens of thousands of people who had fled southern Lebanon in recent days. Those newly displaced overnight said they had nowhere to go.

Hezbollah confirmed that Nasrallah was killed and vowed to continue the battle against Israel.

Nasrallah's death marks a heavy blow to Hezbollah.

It also brings more uncertainty to the inhabitants of Dahiyeh and those who have left for shelter in downtown Beirut and other parts of the city, after an escalation of the nearly one-year-old war between Israel and Iran-backed Hezbollah.

Ali Hussein Alaadin, a 28-year-old Dahiyeh resident, seemed lost after some of the heaviest Israeli bombardment of Beirut in decades. He barely had enough time to grab his father's medicine. One of the strikes hit a building just beside them.

"I don't even know where we are. We've been going around in circles all night. We've been calling NGOs and other people since the morning," he said, adding that aid groups would make constantly changing recommendations about where to seek refuge.

"We called everyone and they keep sending us around, either the number is off or busy or they would send us somewhere. Since 1:00 a.m. we've been in the streets."

Dalal Daher, who slept out in the open in Martyrs Square in downtown Beirut, said Lebanese lives were considered cheap as Israel carries out relentless strikes.

"If a paper plane flew over to Israel, it will cause endless turmoil. But for us, everyone is displaced and the whole world is silent about it, the United Nations and everyone is silent, as if we are not human beings," she said.



With Israeli Tanks on the Ground, Lebanese Unable to Bury Dead

Mustafa Ibrahim al-Sayyed, who was displaced from Beit Lif in southern Lebanon saying there was tank fire around when he tried to venture into his home last week after the truce between Israel and Hezbollah, stands next to belongings in Tyre, southern Lebanon November 30, 2024. REUTERS/Aziz Taher
Mustafa Ibrahim al-Sayyed, who was displaced from Beit Lif in southern Lebanon saying there was tank fire around when he tried to venture into his home last week after the truce between Israel and Hezbollah, stands next to belongings in Tyre, southern Lebanon November 30, 2024. REUTERS/Aziz Taher
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With Israeli Tanks on the Ground, Lebanese Unable to Bury Dead

Mustafa Ibrahim al-Sayyed, who was displaced from Beit Lif in southern Lebanon saying there was tank fire around when he tried to venture into his home last week after the truce between Israel and Hezbollah, stands next to belongings in Tyre, southern Lebanon November 30, 2024. REUTERS/Aziz Taher
Mustafa Ibrahim al-Sayyed, who was displaced from Beit Lif in southern Lebanon saying there was tank fire around when he tried to venture into his home last week after the truce between Israel and Hezbollah, stands next to belongings in Tyre, southern Lebanon November 30, 2024. REUTERS/Aziz Taher

When a ceasefire between Israel and Hezbollah came into effect last week, Lebanese hotelier Abbas al-Tannoukhi leapt at the chance to bury a dead relative in their southern hometown of Khiyam, battered for weeks by intense clashes.

Tannoukhi's cousin had been killed in one of the final Israeli airstrikes on Beirut's suburbs before Wednesday's ceasefire, which stipulated an end to fighting so residents on both sides of the border could return home.

But with Israeli troops still deployed in southern Lebanon, Tannoukhi coordinated his movements with Lebanon's army. Last Friday, he and his relatives pulled into the family graveyard in Khiyam, six km (four miles) from the border, with an ambulance carrying his cousin's body.

"We just needed 30 minutes (to bury her)," Tannoukhi, 54, said. "But we were surprised when Israeli tanks encircled us - and that's when the gunfire started."

Tannoukhi fled with his relatives on foot through the brush, wounding his hand as he scrambled between rocks and olive groves to reach safety at a checkpoint operated by Lebanese troops.

Soon afterwards, they tried to reach the graveyard again but said they were fired on a second time. Shaky footage filmed by Tannoukhi features sprays of gunfire.

"We couldn't bury her. We had to leave her body there in the ambulance. But we will try again," he told Reuters.

The ordeal highlights the bitterness and confusion for residents of southern Lebanon who have been unable to return home because Israeli troops are still present on Lebanese territory.

Israel's military has issued orders to residents of 60 southern Lebanese towns not to return home, saying they are prohibited from accessing their hometowns until further notice.

The US-brokered ceasefire deal grants both Lebanon and Israel the right to self-defense, but does not include provisions on a buffer zone or restrictions for residents.

"Why did we go back? Because there's a ceasefire," Tannoukhi said. "It's a halt to hostilities. And it is a natural right for a son of the south to go to his house."

The Israeli military did not immediately respond to requests for comment.

PEACE OF MIND

The ceasefire brought an end to over a year of hostilities between Israel and Lebanese armed group Hezbollah, which began firing rockets at Israeli military targets in 2023 in support of its Palestinian ally Hamas in Gaza.

Israel went on the offensive in September, bombing swathes of Lebanon's south, east and the southern suburbs of Beirut. More than 1.2 million people fled their homes.

After the 60-day ceasefire came into effect last Wednesday, residents of Beirut's suburbs returned home to vast destruction, and some Lebanese from the south were able to return to homes further away from the border.

But both sides began accusing each other of breaking the deal, with Israel saying suspicious movements in villages along the south constituted violations and Lebanon's army pointing to Israeli tank fire and airstrikes as breaches.

Mustafa Ibrahim al-Sayyed, a father of 12, was hoping to return home to Beit Lif, about two km from the border.

But nearly a week into the ceasefire, he is still living at a displacement shelter near Tyre, a coastal city about 25 km from the border.

He tried to venture home alone last week, but as soon as he arrived, there was tank fire around the town and he received a warning on his phone that his town was in the Israeli military's "no-go" zone.

Sayyed is still stuck in displacement and wants to get home.

"I hope we go back to our town so we can get peace of mind," he said.