[Beirut] After her workday, Sally El Charbaji has a habit of going to the gym. There, she finds herself; it is her place of disconnection and was her safe place until Tuesday. “I heard everything as if they were in the same room,” she told The Media Line, still with a hint of uneasiness in her voice. Small explosions sounded in the space of just a few minutes. And then, in unison, the screams of pain and panic. “We all ran out because we were afraid that the glass windows might explode,” this young Lebanese translator said.
The Lebanese are accustomed to tragedy. Years of conflict and military aggression have instilled the survival instinct in the DNA of every Lebanese citizen. Even with rapid response tools built into their bodies, they still couldn’t have imagined such an attack.
As a Lebanese people, we deserve to live in peace. I feel like we are living in an American action movie, and every person who uses technology has become insecure.
“As a Lebanese people, we deserve to live in peace,” Elie al Maalouli told The Media Line. “I feel like we are living in an American action movie, and every person who uses technology has become insecure,” said the 62-year-old Lebanese Christian. The movie came to life on Tuesday when thousands of pagers, many of them in the hands of Hezbollah members, exploded simultaneously. At least a dozen people were killed, and nearly 3,000 were injured.
The next day, as if it were the script of a spy movie, hundreds of walkie-talkies detonated in unison. Some did so during the funerals of the previous day’s victims. In total, in less than 24 hours, at least 37 people, including children, died from injuries caused by the explosions. Hospitals were overwhelmed by the arrival of more than 3,000 victims with very complicated injuries.
Israel has not claimed responsibility for the attack, although the evidence leaves no doubt as to who was behind it.
It was a catastrophic day, truly catastrophic. The hospital was prepared, but this is something we had never seen before.
Dr. Charbel el Feghaly sits exhausted behind his desk. Only three days have passed since the attacks, but he still feels the adrenaline running through his veins. “It was a catastrophic day, truly catastrophic,” this plastic surgeon told The Media Line. “The hospital was prepared, but this is something we had never seen before,” he said, traveling back in time to the tragic non-war-related explosion at the port of Beirut on August 4, 2020.
That day, 220 people died and around 7,000 were injured. The hospitals themselves suffered damage. “That day was horrible, but what happened this week has been something truly incomparable,” explained this young Christian who plans to move to France in the coming months as part of the endless exodus in the medical sector that Lebanon is suffering.
But, no matter how many days pass, Feghaly is still in shock. “These wounds were not made to kill but to incapacitate many people,” he said with traces of tiredness under his eyes. “The pagers beeped and exploded after a few seconds so that these people had time to put them near their eyes; we have dozens of cases of people who lost their sight,” he explained in detail, trying to convey the evil that can be sensed behind an attack of this nature.
Others have lost hands or have injuries that have left them disabled for life, which will have terrible consequences for Lebanese society. We have done what we could, but these people will have to undergo various operations throughout their lives.
“Others have lost hands or have injuries that have left them disabled for life, which will have terrible consequences for Lebanese society,” the doctor said. “We have done what we could, but these people will have to undergo various operations throughout their lives,” he added.
Since Tuesday afternoon, every resident in Lebanon has been looking with suspicion at their electronic devices. On Wednesday, not only walkie-talkies exploded but also computers, mobile phones and even solar panels. Messages of fear circulated among the Lebanese population asking their loved ones to disconnect the Bluetooth on their phones.
“It was a moment of great panic,” Sally recalled. Days after the shock, compounded by the country’s deadliest bombing in Beirut on Friday, which killed 31 people, including women and children, paranoia has gripped Lebanon.
We have to think twice before using technology.
“We have to think twice before using technology,” Health Minister Dr. Firass Abiad told BBC News. The Lebanese Civil Defense asked its workers to turn off their devices and remove the batteries until further notice.
Lebanon’s civil aviation has banned the carrying of pagers and walkie-talkies on all planes taking off from Beirut’s Rafic Hariri International Airport “until further notice.” Some Lebanese have decided to sleep with their phones in another room. In addition, Education Minister Abbas al-Halabi has decreed the closure of all educational institutions next week.
“No one can know what will happen now, but I sincerely hope that all this ends soon before we forget what it means to live a normal life,” Charbaji admitted. “To be honest, I am always worried about my loved ones in case the situation gets worse; the fear of losing someone close never goes away,” said this young Muslim woman.
The memory of the last war is all too present in her life. “My house was completely destroyed in the [Israel-Hezbollah] war in 2006 when I was only 10 years old, and not only me, but my entire family is still suffering from the mental and other after-effects to this day,” she explained, with the vivid image of the ruins of her home still fresh in her mind.
No one is really prepared to live through something like that again; of course, I am afraid of a full-scale war in Lebanon. I don’t want to prepare for a war; I just don’t want to leave my house.
Sally admitted: “No one is really prepared to live through something like that again; of course, I am afraid of a full-scale war in Lebanon.” But even though the incendiary statements of Israeli leaders may be in favor of that scenario, Sally refuses to accept it. “I don’t want to prepare for a war; I just don’t want to leave my house,” she said.
The young translator was engaged for years until just over a year ago, following the Lebanese custom of having a well-furnished house before she could get married. “My husband and I have worked very hard for years of our lives to build it; we built it with love, and we are not ready to leave it; it is our house,” she said from this home that she reveres, and that protects her.