The worst war returns to Beirut
Israeli planes and drones are flying over the capital, and most of the streets are empty and the shops are closed.
BeirutBeirut trembled once again this Thursday under the constant drone of planes and drones flying over the Lebanese capital. Israeli airstrikes have rekindled a fear that many thought had been overcome. According to the Ministry of Health, there are already at least 217 dead—70 of whom were members of Hezbollah—and nearly 800 wounded. Sirens wailed from south to north, a stark reminder that war has once again become a part of daily life.
The Israeli army has reported that its bombings are targeting Hezbollah's military infrastructure, including barracks, drone depots, and command centers, while the Shiite group continues to launch rockets toward northern Israel. Tel Aviv warns that there is no set end date for the military offensive, leaving millions of Lebanese anxious about how long the catastrophe will last. In southern Beirut, Dahiyeh has ceased to be merely a working-class suburb and has become the strategic and political heart of Hezbollah. Since the 1980s, following the 1982 Israeli invasion, the Shiite group has consolidated its control over the area, displaced other Shiite movements, and established a near-absolute social, political, and military presence. The eastern neighborhoods of Haret Hreik and Ghobeyri concentrate the group's infrastructure, while the waterfront remains more working-class and precarious. This concentration makes Dahiyeh a recurring target, and every bombing directly impacts the civilian population living amidst the group's military presence. Israel's doctrine, which envisions the mass destruction of infrastructure used by Hezbollah, turns civilian space into a target for attacks and leaves residents trapped between violence and the absence of a protective state.
This Friday, the attacks spread beyond the capital, with fatal consequences in the south and east of the country. A total of twenty people were killed in bombings in several southern towns, including entire families and civilians traveling through the area. In the east, an airstrike killed eight members of the same family, highlighting the brutality of the military escalation and its impact on the civilian population. Furthermore, emergency teams are working with limited resources.
Seeking shelter
The military offensive has overwhelmed the country's capacity to receive refugees. In Beirut and its surrounding areas, thousands of families have fled their homes and gathered in public schools, parking lots, and makeshift shelters. Local authorities and humanitarian organizations have also begun converting the Camille Chamoun Stadium in the Sports City into a temporary shelter, in addition to community centers already operating at near capacity. Empty streets and silent avenues display shuttered storefronts and boarded-up windows, as the city slowly empties of those who fear that every drone in the sky heralds a new attack. Tens of thousands of people wait daily for water, food, and medicine, while rescue teams work among buildings damaged by the attacks. Lebanese Prime Minister Nawaf Salam called the situation a humanitarian catastrophe and acknowledged the government's inability to address the scale of the emergency. He also warned that the crisis could worsen if the offensive continues.
Meanwhile, Hezbollah is reinforcing its presence in Dahiyeh, and as social tensions rise, national reconciliation is hindered, leaving Beirut caught between direct violence and institutional impotence. Deserted streets, damaged buildings, and the constant drone of drones paint a picture of a capital trapped in a present marked by emergency and uncertainty about its immediate future. The city, which once dreamed of rebuilding itself after the internal conflicts of the 1970s and 80s, finds itself once again in a territory where daily life and military strategy overlap with no apparent solution.