‘Everything
is gone’: Israel destroys entire villages in Lebanon
Rights
groups fear tactic of ‘domicide’ trialled in Gaza, where entire areas are made
uninhabitable, is being used again
By
William Christou and Abbas Abdel Karim in Beirut and Lucy Swan
Sun 12
Apr 2026 05.00 BST
The
Israeli military has demolished entire villages as part of its invasion of
south Lebanon, rigging homes with explosives and razing them to the ground in
massive remote detonations.
The
Guardian reviewed three videos posted by the Israeli military and on social
media, which showed Israel carrying out mass detonations in the villages of
Taybeh, Naqoura and Deir Seryan along the Israel-Lebanon border. Lebanese media
has reported more mass detonations in other border villages, but satellite
imagery was not readily available to verify these claims.
The
demolitions came after Israel’s minister of defence, Israel Katz, called for
the destruction of “all houses” in border villages “in accordance with the
model used in Rafah and Beit Hanoun in Gaza” to stop threats to communities in
northern Israel. The Israeli military destroyed 90% of homes in Rafah, in south
Gaza.
The
tactic of mass destruction of homes in Gaza, where Israel has been accused of
committing genocide, was described as domicide by academics, a strategy that is
used to systematically destroy and damage civilian housing to render entire
areas uninhabitable.
The
Israeli military has said they are targeting Hezbollah infrastructure such as
tunnels and military facilities, which it claims the armed group has embedded
in civilian homes, through these demolitions.
Israel
has said that it will occupy vast swathes of south Lebanon, establishing a
“security zone” in the entire area up to the Litani River, and that displaced
people would not be allowed to return to their homes until the safety of
Israel’s northern cities is guaranteed, prompting concern there will be
long-term displacement.
Rights
groups, however, have said these mass remote detonations could amount to wanton
destruction: a war crime. The laws of war prohibit the deliberate destruction
of civilian homes, except when necessary for lawful military reasons.
“The
possibility that Hezbollah may use some civilian structures in Lebanon’s border
villages for military purposes does not justify the wide-scale destruction of
entire villages along the border,” said Ramzi Kaiss, the Lebanon researcher for
Human Rights Watch.
For
residents of border villages, who watched the videos of the destruction of
their houses with horror, the detonations erased not only their homes, but also
generations of memories.
“The
first thing we saw was the town square being blown up. I have a shop there. A
person’s whole life is in that place, their work, their memories, everything.
Suddenly you see it exploding in front of you,” said Ahmad Abu Taam, a
56-year-old construction supply shop owner from Taybeh. “From that moment, I
felt that I had become a refugee. I feel like I have no home.”
Abu Taam
had also been displaced in the 2024 Hezbollah-Israel war. Though much of the
village was damaged in that round of conflict, his return was still a joyous
one. He took a picture of Deir Seryan after its residents returned – string
lights were hung over the town square, lighting up the town.
“I forgot
the displacement then and started rebuilding my shop from scratch – without
even feeling the fatigue. When you arrive, it feels like you’ve found something
you lost. But this time, everything is gone. Everything has been wiped out,”
Abu Taam said.
Ahmad
Ibrahim, a 50-year-old farmer from Deir Seryan, has only a few pictures of his
house. He left the rest back home, leaving them behind as he fled the town on 2
March, expecting that he would collect them when he came back.
“My whole
life is there, I’ve never really left beyond 10-13km. It’s a beautiful, typical
village – at least it was before the war. Its people are kind and generous,”
Ibrahim said.
The
weather in Lebanon is turning to spring and Deir Seryan will be becoming lush,
its flowers in full bloom, after the months of winter rain. Ibrahim mourned the
fact that his children would not enjoy springtime in their homes, but instead
would spend it displaced.
“The
children remember the good times – spring and summer evenings, going out to the
fields, collecting flowers and herbs, having dinner outdoors, making tea over a
fire,” he said. “For the children, it was a beautiful place to grow up.”
Mohammed
Hashem, a 65-year-old doctor, spent 15 years working 18-hour days to save up
enough money to build the Luna motel in Naqoura. The multi-storey hotel was
built in 2012 and hosted foreign travellers, Lebanese vacationers and off-duty
UN peacekeepers, who all flocked to the seaside town, whose residents boasted
of the most beautiful beaches in all of Lebanon.
“In
summer, occupancy would reach 100%. We received good ratings and awards.
Overall, we were happy – living peacefully, with good productivity,” said
Hashem. “It really was a family business.”
When news
of the hotel’s destruction was published, Hashem was overwhelmed by the
outpouring of support from his former customers.
“We
received thousands of likes and comments. People expressed how much they loved
the place. Our guests were always happy – good prices, good service,” he said.
The story
of villages in Lebanon’s south, which has been subject to Israeli invasion and
occupation on-and-off since the late 1970s, is also one of displacement.
Families from border villages are scattered across the world – in Australia,
Africa, Europe – having searched for stability and livelihoods abroad.
These
villages served as an anchor for scattered families. The diaspora used to take
comfort that they could always return home, descending upon old family homes in
droves in the summer and spring, at times doubling border villages’ populations
during holiday season.
“People
would build houses worth a million dollars just to stay for a week or 10 days a
year. The village becomes the centre of the family,” Abu Taam said. “Because no
matter where you go, you always long for your home. The place where you grew
up, where you first felt at ease.”
For many,
that anchor is now gone. “You feel a deep sense of frustration. Like someone
has the power to erase you,” said Abu Taam.
Sem comentários:
Enviar um comentário