Growing pains: Conflict leaves south Lebanon's zaatar farmers feeling the pinch

Many who cultivate the cherished herb have been forced to abandon this year's crop

Mohamed Neemeh has been cultivating the spice for more than 25 years in south Lebanon. Jamie Prentis / The National

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Step into any Lebanese home and you'll find pots, bowls and packets filled with wild thyme, or zaatar, a herb vital to Levantine cuisine that grows wild across Lebanon.

Zaatar is part of a zesty spice mix of the same name that is used widely across the region. Indeed, manoushe, a favourite breakfast meal – or sometimes a late-night snack – comes heavily sprinkled with zaatar mix, while a popular Lebanese fast-food chain takes its name from the plant and spice mixture.

But growers of zaatar in Lebanon's deep south are feeling the pinch from a cross-border conflict between Hezbollah and Israel that has restricted access to their fields and affected agriculture in general through the Israeli military's use of white phosphorus.

A shell fired by Israeli artillery appears to be releasing white phosphorus as it explodes over a house in Al Bustan, a Lebanese village along the border with Israel, on October 15, 2023. AP

It is difficult to estimate how much of the national zaatar production comes from the south, as "there are no figures, no union and no file for zaatar farmers", says Mohammad Hussein, the head of South Lebanon's Agricultural Union.

"It is mostly a family business," he says.

But over the past decade growing zaatar has become more popular in southern Lebanon, renowned for its high-quality produce, as well as in other agricultural regions of the country, as production has become more professional, Mr Hussein says.

"It was traditionally viewed as a wild herb, but because it is so crucial to Lebanese cuisine, some farmers saw an opportunity to make a profit and started formalising their production."

Zaatar is an attractive crop for villagers in the south because it requires very little investment – a major advantage in an unstable region that has been plagued by a series of wars with Israel.

"It's very easy to grow zaatar and it's not expensive. It's a good income," Mr Hussein says. "You don't need much: you harvest, dry, crush, sort it and blend it with sumac and sesame seeds."

Most zaatar producers grow it to supplement their income.

This is the case for Hassan Trad, who has grows zaatar on 10,000 square metres in the village of Dibbine, a mere 7km from the Israeli border.

He usually earns about $2,300 a year from every 1,000 sq m but has had to leave 7,000 sq m untended since the cross-border attacks began in October. He has been unable to harvest most of the rest and estimates he has lost about $20,000 this year.

However, zaatar prices have risen by about 30 per cent because of the steep drop in supply, at least for him, he says. Now a kilo fetches about $20, up from $10-$15, depending on the quality.

Walking through the zaatar field, Mr Trad runs his hands through the plants, rubbing the leaves together with his fingers.

"This plant is for all the Arab people, not just the Lebanese. I'm so proud, I love this plant. All the people eat zaatar – it's cheap, quick to eat, it's delicious," he says.

Hassan Trad has been unable to harvest most of his 10,000 square metres of zaatar fields in Dibbine, about 7km from the Israeli border. Jamie Prentis / The National

His visit to the field on Tuesday was his first in weeks. Since the conflict erupted on October 8, he has avoided making the short trip to the other patch on the opposite side of the hill, where his family home is.

"I don't like to go there. I'm scared," he says, gesturing towards the hill nearby.

He spent about $20,000 on his house last year but now says: "I'm too scared to visit my home."

It has become impossible to find even five workers to help harvest his crop, he says, whereas ideally he would need 20.

Residents have abandoned large areas of the south after repeated Israeli bombing and shelling. The area around Mr Trad's house has not been attacked so far but the uncertainty is the problem, he says.

The neighbouring town of Marjayoun, which has largely been spared Israel's onslaught, is perched on a hill overlooking a valley that houses the often-attacked Lebanese town of Khiam and the northern Israeli settlement of Metula.

"You don't know what could happen, you don't know what they [Israel] are thinking," Mr Trad says.

The relative silence is shattered as two sharp bangs pierce the air – Israeli jets breaching the sound barrier high above in Lebanese airspace.

The Israeli settlement of Metula is visible on the other side of the border from southern Lebanon. Jamie Prentis / The National

White phosphorus

The border conflict has taken a massive toll on a region hugely dependent on agriculture for its livelihood.

"All kinds of farmers left their lands. A lot of the time, the Israeli army is not distinguishing between fighters and civilians," Mr Hussein says.

Areas 5km-7km from the border have effectively been emptied, with the exception of fighters and members of the UN's Lebanon peacekeeping mission, Unifil.

"Another problem is the use of white phosphorus by Israel," Mr Hussein says, referring to the toxic incendiary that has devastated hundreds of hectares of farmland. Its use in south Lebanon has been denounced as illegal by human right groups.

According to the latest update from the National Early Warning System Platform, managed by the National Council for Scientific Research and based on satellite imagery, almost 18 million sq m of land have been burnt in these Israeli attacks.

Even mere exposure to the toxic chemical can destroy the land.

"There are no tests available in Lebanon to determine if a crop is contaminated, so farmers whose zaatar has been exposed to white phosphorus end up discarding their entire harvest," said Mohamed Neemeh, 60, one of the pioneering zaatar farmers in Lebanon, and also one of the most prolific. He spoke to The National from his storehouse near the southern city of Nabatieh, as Israeli warplanes buzzed overhead.

Zaatar plants in Dibbine. Jamie Prentis / The National

Mr Neemeh has been cultivating zaatar in south Lebanon for more than 25 years and has devoted his life to sharing his knowledge of this cherished spice.

Today, he said, the situation for zaatar farmers is tougher than ever and farmers are left behind, as the cash-strapped country, grappling with one the worst economic crises in modern history, is unable to compensate residents for the stinging losses caused by the war.

"There is no such thing as south Lebanon on the political agenda in this country," he said.

Many contributing factors

The conflict has added to the difficulties zaatar growers were already facing, including from an economic crisis that began in 2019.

Nabatieh, where The National met Mr Neemeh at one of his farms, has largely been spared from the conflict, despite the constant sound of jets and the looming threat of aerial attacks.

Even before the current conflict, Lebanon's fragile economy, a lack of state support and the smuggling of cheaper zaatar from Syria, Egypt and Jordan had already harmed local producers, Mr Neemeh said.

The rising cost of electricity and labour had cut into his margins.

Although the uncertainty of the war and unclear economic prospects have created a dire situation for zaatar farmers in the south, some remain hopeful.

Mr Trad says he already has plans to increase his cultivation area in Dibbine when the war ends, "inshallah, soon enough".