Newsroom
Fear quickly spread throughout Lebanon. Some rushed to unplug their devices, while others disconnected transformers and solar systems powering their homes.
Many kept their phones at a distance, refusing to answer calls. Baby monitors, TVs, laptops — everything was viewed with suspicion. Could these be the next devices to explode unexpectedly?
After two consecutive days of attacks, in which communication devices exploded across Lebanon, killing dozens and injuring thousands, anxiety ran high. The explosions appeared to target Hezbollah members, the powerful Shia group based in Lebanon, in what was seen as an Israeli assault. Yet, the attacks left the broader population on edge, fearing for their lives.
"Maybe tomorrow lighters will explode too," said Hussein Awada, a 54-year-old private driver. "If you light a cigarette, it might just blow up in your hand."
On Wednesday, Awada witnessed the second wave of attacks on Hezbollah, when walkie-talkies belonging to members of the group exploded, following a previous blast that destroyed thousands of Hezbollah pagers. Awada saw a man lose his hand to the walkie-talkie he was holding.
The explosions were part of a complex Israeli operation targeting Hezbollah’s supply chain, according to officials briefed on the assault, although Israel neither confirmed nor denied involvement.
On Thursday, Lebanon's Civil Aviation Authority banned pagers and walkie-talkies on all flights departing from Beirut’s airport.
The attacks heightened fears of a wider war between Israel and Hezbollah, amid ongoing exchanges of rockets and missiles between the two since the start of the Gaza conflict last October.
For Awada, the booby-trapping of Hezbollah’s devices and the brazen scale of the assault seemed surreal. "I saw things today that you only see in movies," he said.
At least 32 people were killed in the attacks, with Hezbollah confirming a significant number of its members among the dead. However, children and healthcare workers were also reported among the victims. More than 3,000 others were injured as of Tuesday evening, many with injuries to their hands or faces.
Hezbollah is Lebanon’s dominant military and political force and is classified as a terrorist organization by Israel and the U.S. Yet, for many Lebanese, it is a deeply rooted institution providing social services and welfare programs across the country, filling the gaps left by Beirut's struggling state.
In the aftermath, almost everyone seemed to know someone affected. "In Dahiyeh, it’s hard to find anyone who doesn’t know someone impacted," said Murtada Smaui, 30, a local business owner, referring to Beirut’s Hezbollah-dominated southern suburbs where many explosions occurred. "It’s either your friend, relative, or acquaintance, so the sorrow and anger are real."
After the first attack on Tuesday, Smaui rushed to a nearby hospital, responding to calls for blood donations. There, he saw chaos unfold: bodies wrapped in bloodied sheets, frantic relatives searching for loved ones, and the cries of wounded victims being turned away for lack of beds.
Still, Smaui recalled a moment of unity in Lebanon after the first wave of attacks, with citizens of all sects and factions coming together to clean streets and donate blood — so much so that hospitals had to turn donors away. "I felt there was a sense of solidarity," he said.
That feeling crumbled by Wednesday, as he once again faced carnage. "Buildings are burning right in front of me," Smaui said minutes after the second round of explosions, watching an apartment complex engulfed in flames.
Dr. Salah Zaynuddin, head of the American University of Beirut Medical Center, described the attacks as "beyond any disaster" he had ever faced. Nearly 200 patients flooded the hospital within three hours after the first wave of explosions, overwhelming the facility.
"There have been so many tragedies and mass casualties in Lebanon, but this was the first time we saw so many victims in such a short time," Zaynuddin said.
By Wednesday, more victims were still being treated when the second wave hit. "People in the streets were screaming," said 61-year-old Adnan Bero. "It was chaos. There was so much blood – on their hands, faces, everywhere. I’ve never seen anything like it."
[Information sourced from The New York Times]
