As word of Israel starting its invasion into south Lebanon filtered out Tuesday, the Lebanese gathered their collective breath for another tumultuous chapter in a country that has never lacked for them.
In Beirut, people woke up to new columns of smoke ringing the Hezbollah-dominated suburbs known as Dahieh, from which an estimated 700,000 people have fled in recent days. One man, who had fled the Dahieh district days ago and was now living in his car parked at a hill overlooking the area, called his son, who was in their apartment gathering some of their belongings.
“Hurry up. Just get a few things and leave, don’t stay long. I can hear the drones buzzing overhead,” he said.
In the southern city of Tyre, a gaggle of scooter drivers gathered around the only gas station still open, jostling to fill up tanks, gallons and even plastic water bottles with fuel.
“Stand in line! You can’t come this way!” shouted the attendant, while a rescue worker took charge of setting up a queue.
The city’s beaches lay deserted, with the one hotel still open already booked to capacity by journalists and its patio bristling with cameras trained at the Israeli border.
On the road, the main coastal highway connecting south Lebanon to Beirut was almost completely deserted, save for a few cars teetering under tall piles of household goods and bedding. Every few miles, they encountered the remains of destroyed buildings or blackened husks of cars.
Israel, which began a ground invasion Tuesday, has launched thousands of airstrikes and warned residents in numerous areas to evacuate immediately because more were on the way. Israel’s air assault has so far killed more than 1,000 people and injured thousands more, authorities say. An estimated 1 million have already been displaced.
The Israeli military says it is targeting Hezbollah weapons caches and positions across the country, but especially in Hezbollah’s heartland areas in Lebanon’s south, east and parts of the capital. Nevertheless, the civilian death toll is mounting, Lebanese authorities say.
At noon Tuesday, relatives gathered in a cemetery in this southern Lebanese city to bury some of those killed in an Israeli airstrike on the nearby village of Ain Al-Deleb.
Though the strike — which destroyed two apartment buildings — happened Sunday, rescue crews didn’t finish getting all the bodies out until Tuesday. The death toll was at 45, but likely to rise, authorities said.
Lebanese driven from their homes by Israeli airstrikes settle at a waterfront promenade in the southern port city of Sidon on Tuesday.
(Mohammad Zaatari / Associated Press)
Inside the cemetery prayer hall in Sidon, family members gathered around 12 open caskets. One of the women, her eyes puffy from long hours of crying, sat by a casket labeled “Deniz Al-Baba” and put her head on the body bag. With her hand, she reached out to the casket with the body of Ali Al-Rawaas, Baba’s son.
Sitting on a nearby chair with crutches at his side was 62-year-old Abdul Hamid Ramadan. He had been injured in Sunday’s strike, which also killed his daughter, 28-year-old Julia, and his wife Jinan Al-Baba.
“Israel came and changed the course of my life all at once. My wife, my daughter, the house I paid for over the last 20 years,” he said.
His anger building, he blamed America, excoriating its leaders for “saying they want a cease-fire then sending Israel 1 million — a million! — tons of ammunition.”
A man sleeps on a makeshift pallet near the waterfront in Sidon, Lebanon.
(Mohammed Zaatari / Associated Press)
He stressed that he had no allegiance — to Hezbollah or anything else — other than his family.
“I worked hard all this time, to say I sacrificed myself for my family, and no one else,” he said. “And now my wife, my life partner, is gone. And Julia, the smile of our house, is gone.”
