Anger, sadness in southern Lebanon city almost abandoned after Israeli attack

Conversations are now underway in Tire, southern Lebanon, in a hurry. It’s unwise to hang around in the streets, and there are fewer and fewer people to talk to.

The rumble of Israeli bombing or the sound of Hezbollah rockets could attract incoming fire, interrupting the chat.

Israeli drones buzzed overhead.

You drive fast, but don’t speed because you know there are eyes in the sky. Most of the time, you’ll be the only car on an empty road, which can make you a target.

This knowledge is always with us, just like the body armor we wear now.

But civilians here have no armor plates to protect them, and many Lebanese no longer have a roof over their heads. According to Prime Minister Najib Mikati, more than one million people have been forced to flee.

The war created a vacuum here – sucking the life out of an ancient city that prided itself on its Roman ruins and golden sandy beaches.

The streets are deserted and shops are closed. The beach is deserted. Windows rattled from Israeli airstrikes.

The local civil defense headquarters was abandoned – rescue teams were forced to evacuate to save themselves after receiving a phone warning from Israel.

The Israeli attacks are getting louder and closer to our hotel – several attacks in recent days on the hill across from us appear to have used Israel’s most destructive bombs, weighing up to 1,000 pounds.

There is also the Hezbollah factor. Although the armed group attempts to prevent Israeli forces from invading Lebanese territory, it controls international media in the city of Tyre. It limits our actions, although it cannot control what we write or broadcast.

In the hospital, doctors looked exhausted and overwhelmed. Many people no longer return home because traveling is too dangerous.

Instead, they care for patients like nine-year-old Mariam, whose left leg is in a cast and her arm is thickly bandaged. She lay sleeping in a bed at Hiram Hospital, her dark hair covering her face.

“She was part of a family of nine,” said Dr. Salman Adibi, the hospital’s chief executive.

“Five of them also received treatment. We operated on Mariam and her condition is much better. We hope to send her home today. Most of the injured are given first aid and stabilized here before being sent to other centers , because this hospital is located on the front line.

He said the hospital was treating about 30-35 injured women and children every day, which was taking a toll on staff.

“We need to maintain a positive attitude while working,” he said. “Remember, when we stop and think, we become emotional.”

When asked what might happen in the future, his response was a sigh. “We are in a war,” he said. “A devastating war against Lebanon. We want peace, but we are prepared for every eventuality.

Hassan Manna was also prepared for the worst-case scenario. As the war intensified, he remained in Tire. The small coffee shop he has run for 14 years is still open. Locals still stop by here to chat and soothe themselves over small plastic cups of sweet coffee.

“I will not leave my country,” Hassan told me. “I will not leave my house. I stay in my place with my children. I am not afraid of them (Israelis).

“The whole world is on the streets. We don’t want to be humiliated like this.

“Let me die in my house.”

Five of his neighbors were killed in their home in an Israeli airstrike last weekend. Hassan witnessed all this and was thrown into the air by two incoming Israeli missiles.

He managed to walk away, leaving behind only a wounded arm.

Are there Hezbollah targets there? We don’t know. Hassan said the dead were civilians and members of a family, including two women and an infant.

Israel says it targets Hezbollah fighters and its facilities, not the Lebanese people. Many people here believe otherwise – including doctors and witnesses like Hassan.

Israel says it is taking steps to minimize the risk of harming civilians and accuses Hezbollah of hiding its infrastructure among civilians.

“There is nothing there (no weapons),” Hassan insisted. “If there were, we would have left the area. There is nothing to bomb. The woman is 75 years old.

After the strike ended, he dug through the rubble for survivors until he collapsed and was taken to hospital.

His voice choked with anger and sadness as he spoke of his neighbors – and his eyes filled with tears.

“It’s not fair,” he said. “It’s totally unfair. We know the people here. They were born here. I swear I wish I could die with them.

Ten days ago we had a view in the Christian Quarter near the border.

A local woman who asked not to be named told me that everyone lives on edge.

“The phone just keeps ringing,” she said. “We never knew when the (Israeli) attack was coming. It was always tense. Many nights we couldn’t sleep.

We are interrupted by the sounds of Israeli airstrikes and smoke billowing from the mountains in the distance.

She listed a number of villages close to the border – now abandoned and destroyed after a year of tit-for-tat between Hezbollah and Israel.

She said the damage in these areas had far exceeded that of the five-week war in 2006. “If people want to come back later,” she said, “there’s no house to go back to.”

“There is not a family that has not lost a loved one,” she said, “whether close or far away. All of them are Hezbollah.”

She told me that before the war, armed groups always “bragged about their weapons and said they would always fight Israel.” “Privately, even their followers are now shocked by the quality and quantity of Israeli attacks.”

Few here dare to speculate about the future. “We’ve entered a tunnel,” she said, “and until now we can’t see the light.”

From Tel Aviv to Tehran to Washington, no one is sure what will happen next, or what the Middle East will look like the day after tomorrow.

Additional reporting by Mohamed Maadi