A man looks at the destruction at the site of an Israeli airstrike in the Bir el-Abed neighborhood of Beirut's southern suburbs, on Oct. 1, 2024. (Credit: Anwar Amro/AFP)
Ibtissam lived the longest night of her life in Ain Arab, in the Marjayoun district, a few kilometers from the Lebanese-Israeli border. All she was waiting for "was for the sun to rise, so I could flee." On the night of Monday, Sept. 30, the Israeli air force first carried out a series of strikes targeting several localities throughout southern Lebanon, before starting incursions at around 2 a.m.
"I've never been so scared in my life. It's indescribable... They just kept hitting everywhere," she recounted over the phone. Her house was shaking, the windows were shattering. With her parents, they try to find the safest corner to take refuge. Through the window, she then saw a military tank.
"I was afraid they would kill us, that I would see my parents die before my eyes... But it wasn't the Israelis," she continued.
Around 9 p.m., the Lebanese army announced it had repositioned its troops in southern Lebanon after Israeli incursions were announced. The next day, around 7 a.m., her family and many neighbors hastily left the area. "We didn't take anything with us," she continues. Ibtissam headed to the Bekaa Valley, targeted daily since Sept. 23, while clashes between Hezbollah and Israel were mainly confined to southern Lebanon until then.
"The Bekaa Valley is not safe, but we will be less in danger than at home," she said, as she looked for a school to accommodate them.
Israeli raid on Beirut's southern suburbs, Oct. 1, 2024. (Credit: Mohammad Yassin/L’Orient-Le Jour)
On the heights of Mari, a predominantly Druze village in the Hasbaya district, at the foot of Mount Hermon, the residents could "see and hear everything" from the bombardments that fell in the distance "Our region is safe, but for the first time, we felt like we were at war," said Salman Abo Oula, the local mokhtar, to our correspondent.
During the night, flares light up the sky. The whistling of bullets is incessant. The air raids do not stop. "We were afraid, most of the residents didn't sleep," he recounts, adding that the Lebanese army was still present in the locality.
"It reassured us, but the fear and anxiety were still there," he recounted. This Tuesday morning, some of the thousands of villagers decided to leave.
"We were expecting it."
On Monday afternoon, the mokhtar of Wazzani, Ahmad Chehadeh al-Mohammad, received a call from the Israeli army, speaking in Arabic. The residents have two hours to evacuate, otherwise, they risk "facing death." Sari, a farmer from this locality in the Hasbaya district, fled with his three children, aged 9 to 11. "People started crying. The mokhtar tried to negotiate with the Israeli army, asking for more time so we could evacuate with our livestock. That's how we make a living... but nothing."
He then jumped into the car with his family and speeds down the road to Saida. "My children were so scared... There was always smoke around," he recounted. In less than 45 minutes, he arrived at a friend's house.
But during the night, the Ain al-Hilweh camp, on the outskirts of the city, was targeted for the first time by an Israeli strike. The claimed target, the leader of the Al-Aqsa Martyrs Brigades, the armed wing of Fateh, Mounir Maqdah, reportedly escaped this assassination attempt. This strike killed at least eight people, including four children, and injured several others.
"My wife told me: we fled because we were scared, and we are experiencing the same thing here," he recounted. This Tuesday morning, Sari is on edge. He fears he has lost everything: his house, his two cars, his livelihood.
"We had to leave everything behind. I've never been so sad. I don't want to stay in Saida." he said on the phone while stepping out of his friend's place to "catch his breath."
In the camp, Mohannad, in his thirties, was woken up by the strike, around 3 a.m. "Everyone woke up, and even the city outskirts heard it," recounts the resident. "Many rushed to help," he recounted. The next morning, a team of rescuers was on site.
In a video he sent, rubble litters the ground and a building has been severely damaged, with its facade ripped open. "My brother lives right next door, he decided to stay like me," he said, even as he expects the largest Palestinian camp in the country to be targeted again.
"We knew our turn would come... For now, the situation remains easier than in other areas," he added.
The southern suburbs of Beirut were also targeted during the night. After issuing an evacuation order for three different neighborhoods, the Israeli army carried out at least eight strikes, including areas not mentioned in the evacuation statement.
Saad al-Ahmar, director of the regional civil defense center in Burj al-Barajneh, and his teams intervened 30 minutes after the strikes, around 2:30 a.m., at the Mreijeh level. "They targeted the 'al-Amir compound.' At least eight buildings collapsed," he reported over the phone this Tuesday morning.
On-site, in the dark, with the southern suburbs having become a ghost town, the buzzing of drones does not cease, he and his men try to find victims under the rubble.
"Smoke was coming out of it. We had to put out the fire, but it was uncontrollable. Luckily there was no one left," he recounts, denouncing the targeting of residential buildings. "On a mission, I only pulled civilians from under the rubble. Children, a concierge... only civilians!"
That night, Layal*, a displaced woman from Ghobeiri, went to bed with a tight knot in her stomach. For several days, she has watched her city being bombarded. "It's surreal, I’ve lived my whole life in Dahyeh. It's my only home," she said. Before sleeping, she feared waking up to discover that the Israeli army's incursion had reached Saida. But Layal is not reassured by that: "I don't believe for a moment that it will be limited to the border," she sighs. "I am living the worst days of my life. It's an endless nightmare."
*The name has been changed for anonymity.
