Lebanon Journal
BEIRUT — There had been a tide of refugees into the Beirut area, taking shelter in schools and in parks. But now, that has stopped since all the roads and bridges to southern Lebanon have been cut by Israeli airstrikes and artillery. There are still many more who want to flee, but there is no way out and the roads are considered far too dangerous to use there, even if they were passable.
I visit a school in central Beirut packed with Shiite families from the south. (There are no fighting-age men around) They vent their emotions on me: "This is between two armies, not civilians," says one. "But they target us anyway. We only want the return of our prisoners and the Israelis to stop the occupation of the Sheba farms."
Mohammed, 15, is with his mother, two sisters, and a grandmother. They are living in a classroom. He is from the town of Haret Hreik in Beirut's southern suburbs, which is Hezbollah land. He will not say where his father is—he probably doesn't know as he likely is a Hezbollah fighter. "We go home during the day sometimes to get some clothes and food. Our apartment is not bombed."
On several visits to Haret Hreik, it looks much like it does on TV news. Apartment blocks near one of the many Hezbollah compounds and Hezbollah's al-Manar TV studios are destroyed. On Sunday, Um Ali (Mother of Ali) stands in the debris of her home, crying and looking through the rubble for articles of clothing. She begins to scream at the air as if there are Israeli jet fighters above. "Allahu akbar, Allahu akbar" (God is great). She pumps her fist over and over again. An unidentified woman with her in a black abaya and headscarf of the devout Shiite begins to chant: "With our blood and souls, we will redeem you, Sayeed Nasrallah." Hassan Nasrallah is the leader of Hezbollah; Sayeed is an honorific given to clerics who trace their direct lineage from the prophet Mohammed.
It's a moonscape in Haret Hreik. Hezbollah fighters are the only ones staying inside the neighborhood, while some families come in during the day to check on their apartments and get clothes covered in dust and rubble. The Hezbollah guys are getting less friendly about access; early on they acted as if they were winning. Not so much anymore. They have bunkers underground they stay in, and that's what the Israelis continue to try to hit.
On Tuesday, they don't even let us out of the car and tell us to keep moving. Unlike the previous visits, they look tired and a little worried. The sense is that the bombing is getting on their nerves. While they looked defiant before, today they look resigned. They're not ready to quit, but they hardly have the "bring it on" attitude. And winning sides usually want the media around. They don't.
To the west of Beirut, the Bekáa Valley is a beautiful area, lush with vineyards and farms as far as the eye can see. But as you cross the mountains now, you can look out over the valley and literally watch the airstrikes from afar. They were pounding the daylights out of it Tuesday when I went. Smoke plumes rise up and, after a few seconds, I hear giant roars.
As I draw closer to the city of Baalbek and its famous roman ruins, there are destroyed buildings on either side of the road. Gas stations, homes, a dairy production center, offices. Craters in the road, which is deserted except for occasional motorists speeding out of there. It's completely eerie, with the smell of smoke and shattered concrete. Five civilians are killed; everyone else has fled for the mountains or for Christian villages.
I encounter Abu Ali (father of Ali) as he loads his SUV with boxes outside a restaurant. Everything is closed except for one small fast-food stand selling shawarma and hamburgers to police and Hezbollah guys. Abu Ali is the area commander for Hezbollah. We chat, mostly about security issues, such as when are more airstrikes coming and where can we go to not die, etc. He says they evacuated civilians but many went up smuggler trails to get into Syria and were killed in airstrikes. Others went to Christian villages.
The trails are covered with burned-out cars and he'd take us there but, really, it's way too dangerous. Israeli jets are up and periodically pound targets in the distance. We pass on the offer. He says that so far they have only hit Hezbollah offices and facilities in the town.
Another Hezbollah man, who won't give his name, tells me that many people who work the fields and tend the animals during the day then sleep in a series of caves in the surrounding ridges. I can come back and sleep with his family if I want, but the caves are full of Hezbollah fighters, and the Israelis are trying to hit the caves themselves at night. Again, I pass on the offer.
Mitchell Prothero is a freelance writer in Beirut.