Loss has become a constant theme in my life since Israel’s genocide in Gaza which saw war come again to Lebanon. It has remained with me ever since.
On October 13, 2023, my friend Issam Abdalla was targeted and killed by an Israeli missile while reporting on Israel’s early attacks on Southern Lebanese villages. The loss and grief were palpable. The murder of a very dear friend with total impunity, and with whom I shared dreams for the future, brought so much unresolved anger and deep injustice. It is heart crushing to live with this moral outrage every day.
A few months later, I faced yet another major loss, when my mother passed away suddenly from a heart attack. One of the worst things to happen in my life. Another loss to deal with, while watching the world fall apart.
Soon after the passing of my mother war erupted in Lebanon. While I was fortunate enough to live in a sheltered and safe part of Beirut, I watched as my family was forcibly displaced from their homes. My father insisted that he would remain in Dahya in the southern suburbs of Beirut and the worry was constant. For him, leaving was a loss he couldn’t face.
During the war, Israel destroyed my childhood home, a property my grandmother had passed down to my mother, and that she was supposed to pass down to her daughters. I opened X to see the house that I grew up in marked in red on a map, designating it for bombing. My heart broke as I saw my grandmother cry over that house. The last place to hold a deep, physical, bond between her and the daughter she lost.
Going back to Dahya after the 66-day war broke me. I cried as I drove through the destruction. Israel didn’t just destroy my city, but my memory of it and the hope to live a peaceful life within it, close to my family and my mother’s grave.
To cope, I chose resilience. I operated on autopilot, in survival mode, delaying my grief until I was “fit” to face it.
I could never have imagined another war taking place, but it did. I found myself back in the same loop; convincing family members to flee, watching them either refuse or go and be displaced again. I once again live in fear of losing our remaining family house and my mother’s grave.
A dear friend of mine said to me at the very start, “I’m not ready to grieve this time. I don’t have the energy for it. The loss feels greater”.
But grief doesn’t give you closure when you are faced with daily, relentless, killing. The same day as a ceasefire between Iran and the USA was announced, and a week before another ceasefire here in Lebanon came into effect, we saw a new massacre when Israel launched what it called Operation Eternal Darkness. Over a hundred strikes in ten minutes hit southern Lebanon, the Bekaa, and central Beirut, killing 350 people during rush hour.
Going home during this temporary ceasefire felt like I lost my city all over again. More streets have been destroyed and the places I knew are no longer there. The people of Dahye always give me hope. I have seen the city destroyed then rebuilt for the first time in 2006. Today, everyone knows that the war might not be over, but people still manage to go back to clean and fix what has been damaged. Shops have already opened as people take the next handful of days to breathe again and go back to some sense of normal.
Today, I feel privileged. I have a home where my family and I can shelter away from constant threats. But, this feeling is tougher than ever as I watch aunts, uncles and close relatives face displacement and forced to live in schools. Sleeping on thin mattresses, without even the bare minimum of their belongings. What privilege is there in living in war at all?
Despite the short respite this ceasefire brings millions, I realize there is still a very real threat we could lose the land itself or face an invasion that we will be unable to escape as Isreal continues to bomb and occupy the south of my country, despite the deal. I am afraid I will have to cope with new systems and rebuild a new life with no space to heal or rebuild. The fear of a life under occupation.
Healing from the loss and grief of war should not feel like a luxury for a few. Everyone who endured loss in the previous wars, or who still needs to rebuild and plan for what’s next must have time to heal. All of us have been denied this as Isreal once again bombards our cities and forces people from our villages.
Civilians must be protected and should never have to choose between physical harm or displacement. No person should grow to think that escalations are a normal part of life.
The enormous number of people who were displaced and now have no home to go back to poses a challenge for humanitarian organizations, communities, and networks who are on the ground and supporting those impacted by Israel’s aggression within an already over-stretched system. Oxfam and its partners have been working tirelessly to provide support where possible and to respond to this crisis. But the sheer volume of the needs is staggering.
No civilian should be put in the crossfire or forced to experience rounds of loss and grief. Too many dreams have been lost. The ceasefire must be a permanent one, and all of us who have lived through the wars of 2006, 2024 or today must be able to heal and rebuild with dignity.