Returning to find ruins

The Israeli army has left behind a field of rubble. There is not much left of the centre of the southern Lebanese town of Naqoura, which lies within sight of the Israeli border. The devastation stretches as far as the eye can see. Some buildings are missing façades and some have completely collapsed. A few others have been left standing, but are badly damaged.

The contrast to the peaceful turquoise Mediterranean in the background could not be more striking. It is as if you were travelling through a village destroyed by severe earthquakes. Bent electricity pylons and uprooted trees line the roads. A few vehicles drive slowly along them, their occupants staring in disbelief at the remains of their village. Many film with their phones. It is like driving through an open-air horror museum. 

The Israeli army withdrew from the village three weeks ago. The Lebanese army moved in and spent weeks clearing the main roads and ensuring that there were no unexploded ordnance left. It was only this past weekend that they finally declared the village safe. 

"It will take years to rebuild"

Like over a million other Lebanese, the residents of Naqoura were forced from their homes by the war. Now, the first are returning—usually only briefly—to see their former homes and collect a few things from what is left of them. 

But even that is dangerous, as unexploded ordnance could still be lurking in the rubble. It will be a long time before any kind of life is possible here again. 

In front of the damaged town hall stands its mayor, Abbas Awada, who discusses the next steps with a few other men. "We are facing the complete destruction of infrastructure and public services. 90% of the buildings are totally destroyed, the other 10% are uninhabitable," he says. 

Most of the town was destroyed not by air strikes, he explains, but during the occupation of the village by the Israeli army, who razed buildings to the ground with explosives and bulldozers. "It will take years to rebuild," he says. 

Return as a form of resistance

The Israeli army claims that all this was necessary to destroy Hezbollah's infrastructure. But in the minds of the people at least, Hezbollah remains, as does the conviction that returning to these villages is a form of resistance against Israel. 

In some of the ruins, yellow Hezbollah flags flutter in the wind. Posters of a falling bomb with the English inscription "Made in the USA" are affixed to other buildings.   

Hezbollah uses this open-air horror museum to signal who still calls the shots here. But actual Hezbollah fighters are nowhere to be seen. Instead, Lebanese army jeeps patrol the area. 

Half a dozen men and women sit on plastic chairs outside their badly damaged family homes smoking shisha, as though to prove that they won’t be broken.  

"It’s too dangerous to go inside," says one of them. "So, we decided to chill; there's nothing to do here anyway right now." Before the sun sets, they will return to wherever they have been staying since fleeing. 

The situation in Naqoura shows just how precarious the situation in southern Lebanon still is. A ceasefire has officially been in place between Israel and Hezbollah since the end of November. Last Sunday, a 60-day ultimatum that had been agreed as part of the ceasefire expired. 

According to the agreement, the Israeli army should have withdrawn completely from southern Lebanon by the end of the 60-day period. So far, it has only evacuated a good third of the areas it conquered during the war. The withdrawal from Naqoura remains an exceptional case in the southern Lebanese border region. 

A few days before the deadline, the Lebanese government and Israel agreed, through US mediation, to extend the withdrawal ultimatum by three weeks, in part so that the Lebanese army could take control of more former Hezbollah positions in the south. 

The struggle continues

But Hezbollah didn’t want the original ultimatum to pass without making a statement. On Sunday, they called on people to return to villages still occupied by the Israeli army. One of these is Kafr Kila, located in the eastern part of the border area, about an hour and a half's drive from Naqoura. 

By the early morning, a crowd had gathered at the entrance of the village, including many families, women and children. 100 metres away, an Israeli jeep blocked the road. Snipers could be seen positioned on a few buildings in the village. 

In front of the jeep, an earth embankment had been built, with a Hezbollah flag planted on top. In front of that, a Lebanese army armoured vehicle was surrounded by the crowd. Patriotic Hezbollah resistance anthems blared from a loudspeaker. 

As the crowd waited, coffee was served. The gathering seemed to be more of a protest than a serious attempt to reach the Israeli-occupied village. 

When asked what she was doing there, one of the women present, who wishes to remain unnamed, replied: "I am a citizen of this country. I'm here to return to my village. Don't ask me why I'm here. We’re not taking anything from anyone. Ask the Israeli soldiers what they’re doing here; they have no business being here." 

Shots ring out repeatedly. A woman near the embankment collapses. Another screams sharply. The injured woman is immediately loaded into an ambulance, which drives off with its siren blaring. It is a scene that repeats itself, in one form or another, not only in Kafr Kila but in much of southern Lebanon where Israeli soldiers are still present. 

By the end of the day, there were 24 reported dead and 180 wounded throughout southern Lebanon. Hezbollah had demonstrated its power and demonstrated its ability to still mobilise people. The Israeli army reacted as expected. 

Nobody can now predict what will happen between the Israeli army, which is obligated to withdraw; Hezbollah, which is still present; and the Lebanese military, which is supposed to take control of the south. 

Many have witnessed destruction before

In neighbouring al-Khayam, the Israeli army has already withdrawn. Here, too, the destruction is visible everywhere. Abbas Dawi wanders through the ruins of his family home, which has been levelled to the ground. 

He begins to speak: an uncle and three other relatives died here. Three were found dead, the fourth is still lying under the rubble. Dawi came to salvage anything usable, he says, as he straps the remains of the old water tank to the roof rack of his car. This is the second time his family has had to completely rebuild this house. The last time was after the war between Hezbollah and Israel in 2006. 

"The original house had two floors. The one we rebuilt after the 2006 war had three. Now we’ll rebuild it with four," he says, drawing four imaginary lines in the air with his hand. "And if they bomb it again, we’ll build a new one with five."

Abbas hasn’t placed a Hezbollah flag in the ruins. He doesn’t speak, like many Hezbollah supporters, of "eternal resistance against the Zionist enemy," even though he lost family members and his home to this war. Instead, he expresses his defiance, anger and grief through the number of floors he vows to build. 

This text is an edited translation of the German original.