The laughter of children returned this week to the place where, exactly one year ago, it was silenced by war. On July 27, 2024, a Hezbollah rocket struck a football pitch in the Druze town of Majdal Shams during a summer match. Twelve children were killed instantly. Dozens more were wounded. The field—once a gathering place for joy and play—became a site of unbearable grief.
On August 6, 2025, it became something else: a place of memory, resilience, and community defiance.
The renovated pitch and adjoining playground were inaugurated in a ceremony attended by the victims’ families, Druze leaders, foreign guests, and the two main donor families who funded the reconstruction: the Arbib family from Canada and the Carrai family from Italy.
I still come here every day. For me, it’s as if that day never ended.
“This was the heart of his life,” said Taher Halabi, father of 11-year-old Naji, one of the victims. “Every day, he would come here to play with his friends. He loved football. He wanted to be a star. Today, I still come here every day. For me, it’s as if that day never ended.”
Our response was clear: we asked for no revenge. Only peace. That the war ends. That the hostages return. That our region finds rest.
Halabi had lost his own father the day before the attack; his son died the next day. “It was the heaviest blow of my life,” he said. “But even from that moment, our response was clear: we asked for no revenge. Only peace. That the war ends. That the hostages return. That our region finds rest.”
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Twelve white balloons were released into the sky as the children’s names were read aloud. There were no government speeches, no slogans. At the families’ request, the event remained local, dignified, and focused on remembrance. A circle of silence surrounded the field as parents embraced and visitors laid flowers at the memorial wall, where twelve portraits now face the pitch.
Jack Arbib, one of the donors, told The Media Line the project reflected a broader commitment to shared society. “We support initiatives that bring people together, especially minorities. This was a tragedy that called for action,” he said. “I’m not even a football fan, but everyone understands football. It’s a universal language. These children were innocent. They weren’t doing anything wrong. We lost not just lives, but futures.”
Arbib traveled from Jaffa with a group of residents from mixed backgrounds, including non-Jewish youth, in a gesture of solidarity. “Israel is divided right now,” he said. “But wherever we can create shared spaces—especially for children—we should.”
Marco Carrai is Catholic, Jack Arbib is Jewish, and the children who were murdered were Druze
Also present was former Israeli Ambassador to Italy Naor Gilon, representing the Carrai family. “Marco Carrai is Catholic, Jack Arbib is Jewish, and the children who were murdered were Druze,” Gilon said. “This is not a political story. It is a human one. These donors care about Israel and all its communities. And when they saw what happened here, they felt they had to help.”
Gilon emphasized the depth of the gesture. “This was not charity. It was solidarity. A recognition that the Druze don’t just stand with Israel—they are part of Israel. And the idea of ‘brotherhood’ must be more than a slogan. When the Druze give their blood for this country, we owe them our presence, our resources, and our respect.”
When the Druze give their blood for this country, we owe them our presence, our resources, and our respect
Families stood together throughout the event, many still overwhelmed by the memory of that day. The attack, widely attributed to Hezbollah by Israeli and international intelligence sources, targeted a civilian area with no military presence. Hezbollah has denied responsibility, claiming an Iron Dome malfunction. But multiple independent investigations confirmed the strike came from Lebanese territory and matched Hezbollah’s weapons profile.
What remains is not the forensic debate, but the void left behind. Twelve young lives ended on a field that now bears their names. What also remains is the determination of their parents that this memory be honored—not politicized.
We believe in the journey of the soul. There are things we cannot speak about openly. But this field is sacred now.
“We believe in the journey of the soul,” said Halabi. “There are things we cannot speak about openly. But this field is sacred now. And every person who visits, every child who plays here again, keeps something of them alive.”
The new playground now stands where 12 children were lost. No plaque or monument could restore what was taken—but the sound of children playing again speaks louder than any inscription.