We’re still alive, despite last night. They were busy bombing Gaza, South Lebanon and Baalback, until 3:14 am — that was when they started hitting the outskirts of Beirut. Twelve, thirteen air strikes? I stopped counting at the twelfth strike and fell asleep. Don’t ask me how, I don’t know. My husband and “my refugees” were out on the balcony trying to locate the new targets, but I stayed in bed. I had a terrible migraine and couldn’t even open my eyes. I’d open them only with every new explosion, and listen to the correspondent on TV specifying the number and targets of each. They were all falling on Ouzai, south of Beirut. Read more about We're still alive, despite last night
At 7:00 am this morning the enemy’s air strike got us out of our beds, devastated. The Israeli air force hit the Maameltein bridge which is around 500 meters away from my house. The ceiling felt like it was going to collapse over our heads! Less than 30 minutes later, and while I was standing on my balcony still overwhelmed by the first bombardment, another strike hit the Casino Du Liban bridge right before my eyes. And in the hour that followed, they hit the bridges in this chronology, Maameltein bridge, casino bridge, Halat bridge (complete destruction), and Madfoun bridge (not to mention the rest of the bridges that connect Mount Lebanon, Beirut to the south and the Bekaa). Read more about Birth of the New Middle East?
Last night … last night … I don’t even know where to begin … It seems the bombs are getting louder. Perhaps they are the new ones from the US expedited delivery. They hit everywhere last night. Beirut, Jounieh, roads leading to the north, bridges in the north; the only highway left, leading to the north, the last escape route to Syria, was hit. We are all trapped now. Waiting … waiting … The bombs started around 1 am in Dahiye. We had some friends over. Everyone was in a state of panic. We waited a bit and then everyone made a run for it, to go home. Read more about And it gets worse ...
It’s taken me a while to get used to being back in Nablus and my sleep on the first few nights was broken regularly by bangs, explosions and the 4 AM call to prayer. Lying in bed on the first night, I moved my mattress away from the window, feeling too exposed to the soldiers who have a large base at the top of the hill. In 2003 there was safety in my nationality to some degree - the Israeli soldiers were not so likely to randomly shoot internationals. Now, this feeling of protection doesn’t feel quite so strong in the light of what the Israeli military have been doing in Lebanon, indiscriminately killing anyone regardless of nationality, status (civilian or combatant) and age. Read more about Bombs and tanks in the night
Despite the threats of Beirut being blown up today, here were people working … here were everyday people, coming together to help in any way they could. I was filled with so much love, being around such passionate people. Something changed tonight. I guess when you are looking at death, straight in the eyes, you find a new kind of courage. You realize how important it is to hang on to what you have. You fight for life with a new kind of passion. I have spent the last three weeks mourning the loss of Beirut … mourning the loss of my dreams and my work. Now, it’s time to accept what is happening and take charge of the situation. Beirut, she will never die. Read more about Beirut will never die
I was just released from prison. It has taken me a few days to sit down and calmly write about this experience as I have been slightly shocked and dazed. For safety purposes I am choosing to leave out the details of my arrest. It is enough to say that the reason for my detention was that I was “suspected of being a spy for Israel.” The ultimate crime: treason. And who but me to be a spy for Israel! I have been trying to tell my story, what I was doing, why I had been here or there, all of it, but every time I begin writing I feel like I am speaking, again, to my interrogators; I don’t like that feeling. Read more about A prisoner in my own land
I just came from the south of Lebanon. I went to Tyre, to Hannaoui, Qana, Siddiqinne, Srifa, Bint Jbeil, Aitaroun, and Ein Ebel and many villages on the way. I so want to write but I still have no words. This was Tyre after all, the lovely city and its beach that I always wanted to call home. These were the villages at which I made friends, aided in tobacco harvesting and drank the best tea ever. I still haven’t cried, I feel I am not entitled too — if I were to cry, what would I leave to the people that have lost loved ones and houses full of memories? Read more about South Lebanon: I still have no words
Coming into consciousness of, or bearing witness to, a massacre only a few kilometers removed from one’s being (or home), feels very much like the experience of being in the proximity of a very powerful explosion only at an extremely, extremely slowed motion. Taking stock of the information on time, place, and the toll of victims, watching televised transmission of rescue workers piling a kindergarden in rigor mortis, is identical to the astounding sensation of the air being sucked from all around, that typically precedes the explosion. And at some point, it all sinks in … Read more about "There was a massacre at Qana"
Just got home … was driving like crazy. Word on the street is that Israel is threatening to hit Beirut now. I feel so helpless. I called Maya, she said that if she dies today that i could keep her DVDs that I’m borrowing. I told her the same. I called my husband and told him to come home right away. If I die, I want to be in his arms. My little brother is here with me. He is 20 years old. He is making some tea now. He believes it is going to be ok. We are supposed to be discussing a plan he has to make t-shirts with slogans on them to raise money for the relief shelter he is volunteering at. Read more about I refuse to say goodbye
“Yousef, Yousef, Yousef!” was how Aziza Mughari of the Alburaij refugee camp first reacted when news of her son’s death spread in her local community. Her son was being treated in the Israeli hospital of Ekhelof in Tel Aviv for critical injuries he sustained during an Israeli army incursion into the nearby refugee camp of Maghazi almost ten days ago. Because the hospital is inside Israel, Aziza was not able to visit her dying son. “Who will bring me my medicine, who will do errands for me? Son, where are you? I don’t believe you are dead, they are liars,” Aziza, a sick mother, called again on Yousef, but Yousef was no longer there. Read more about Yousuf was no longer there
