In many ways, this could be the scene of an ordinary family reunion: Fadia Aliyan, 58, and her brother Fadi, 56, chat on the balcony over a freshly poured cup of coffee and a narguileh as family members pass by, briefly joining the conversation.
In the picturesque old town of Tyre, in southern Lebanon, the sun beats down on the narrow, winding alleys lined with colourful houses. Along the old port, packed with fishing boats, locals sit in seaside cafes, basking in the Mediterranean sun.
But the calm witnessed along the port is deceiving.
Behind the picture-perfect Mediterranean summer lies the grim reality of war, one that locals say they cannot easily forget. On her small terrace, Ms Aliyan recalls with her brother memories of life during wartime. She describes a routine shaped by anxiety, stockpiling and waiting between strikes.
At times, the Israeli army issues forced displacement orders ahead of strikes. But most attacks come with no such warning. “When they say they will strike, I lie down and put cushions over my ears so I don't hear the explosion,” Ms Aliyan said. When they do not warn, no preparation is possible.
This is the first time she has seen her brother, Fadi, who lives in Beirut, since the war resumed between Hezbollah and Israel on March 2. He has avoided making the dangerous journey south until now. But as violence has escalated in Tyre in recent days, he wants to check on his sister, who has already declined his offer to leave for Beirut.
“If you're forced to leave your neighbourhood, part of your soul leaves with it. People say a house is just stones, and maybe you can rebuild it. But what about your memories? Your whole life is tied to that place,” she said.
Like Ms Aliyan, many Tyre residents have decided to stay, although invading Israeli soldiers are only a few kilometres away in villages visible to the naked eye.
With tens of thousands of civilians remaining, the historic city, the fifth-largest in the country, is the only city in the deep south still populated despite the war. Other big cities, such as Nabatieh, have been emptied in recent weeks.
Through its many trips to southern Lebanon, The National has found that Tyre is the only place of this size that still offers glimpses of everyday life against the backdrop of war: locals in cafes anxiously expecting the next explosion, a hospital treating the war wounds of its own staff while also delivering newborns, and a young man enjoying the scenic view of Tyre’s Roman ruins, now littered with wreckage from a strike.
This is also why each strike in Tyre almost systematically results in civilian casualties. “Each strike is a family gone,” Dr Wael Mroueh, head of Jabal Amel University Hospital, told The National.
On Tuesday, an Israeli strike in a residential area known as Popular Housing killed eight people and injured 32. The attack came just before Israel issued a bombing notice for almost the whole of Tyre. “About 90 per cent of those arriving were families. We treated four children and around 15 women and girls,” he said.
Preventing life from returning
The historic city, one of the longest continuously inhabited in the world and known for its sandy beaches, has been subjected to violent bombardment and displacement orders during the war between Hezbollah and Israel.
In recent days, Israel has steeply escalated its attacks on the city. “They are ensuring that life does not head back to normal in Tyre, which was the case to a certain extent when compared to other towns in the South,” Karim Safieddine, a non-resident fellow at the Tahrir Institute for Middle Eastern Policy, told The National.
Mr Safieddine views the latest escalation in Tyre as part of continuing military pressure from the Israeli army in south Lebanon, despite a US-led diplomatic push, which could potentially expand to the erasure model seen in Nabatieh and Bint Jbeil. “It still hasn't reached that extent,” he said.
On Tuesday, Israel issued, for the first time, a forced displacement order that included the largely Christian enclave in the Mina port area, claiming that Hezbollah was operating from there.
These allegations have been strongly denied by locals and the Lebanese Army, which searched the area and found “nothing suspicious”. The army has also set up additional checkpoints around the area, The National observed.
For Mr Safieddine, Israel's threats against the Christian quarter, despite the presence of the Lebanese Army, show that it is not merely disregarding the force but actively undermining it.
Locals said they would not let these allegations trigger sectarian divisions in a city where communities have generally lived well together. “Everything they say about divisions between Christians and Muslims is simply not true. We are all family here,” said Rami Soue, a Christian man from Tyre whose wife is Muslim.
“We live together, and we won't abandon one another. We're all from Tyre. There is coexistence here,” Mr Soue added. Elsewhere in Lebanon, Israel's widespread strikes have sparked a sense of mistrust towards the Shia community amid fears that any of its members could be a potential target.
The war resumed in early March when Hezbollah launched six rockets at Israel in response to the killing of Iranian leader Ali Khamenei and Israel's repeated violations of a ceasefire agreement with Lebanon.
Israel responded with a military campaign that killed more than 3,600 people, displaced well over a million and resulted in a new occupation zone extending up to 10km inside southern Lebanon.
Unprecedented rounds of talks in Washington between Lebanon and Israel, two countries that do not have formal diplomatic ties, have led to the announcement of four ceasefires. None has been respected.
'This is our land'
The entrance to Jabal Amel Hospital can be hard to locate at first; a thin plywood board, which is then prised open to reveal the lobby, sits below the hospital’s partly damaged sign and blown-out windows.
A woman is seen drying her clothes on the floor, while a doctor looks out from a windowless room connected to another, sipping his morning coffee. He assesses the damage caused by a strike on the hospital's facade, which injured patients and staff. The car park, located metres away on the other side of the narrow road leading to the hospital, has its roof partly collapsed on to a dozen crumpled cars.
“We call this death road,” Dr Mroueh says wryly, pointing to the damaged path that leads to the morgue, where ambulances frequently pass with sirens blaring.
“It was a normal day,” he said of the Israeli attack near the hospital in early June that wounded 127 people, including 39 medical staff.
“Then, around 5.30pm, the strike hit. It was a massive blast, accompanied by a huge fireball,” the doctor added, saying three floors were effectively put out of use, including the one housing the intensive care unit for cardiac patients. The hospital ended up treating 80 patients at the same time.
Unlike in Nabatieh or Tebnin, Jabal Amel Hospital is among the only hospitals in the south still providing regular services. The day after the attack, Dr Mroueh said he helped deliver a baby called Fares, 10 dialysis patients received their treatment, and others underwent chemotherapy. “The entire team returned and worked normally. We are proud that we managed to continue.”
“This is our land. This is our home. We want to remain here no matter what happens,” he added, rubbing his exhausted eyes.
As Dr Mroueh speaks, Israeli jets roar overhead while an ambulance siren wails in the distance. He continues walking through the shattered car park, its wall partly caved in yet stuck in an unnerving position.
Shortly afterwards, a loud boom thuds through the air as an Israeli air strike barrels into the vicinity of the nearby Hiram Hospital, only 500 metres away, injuring at least 10 staff members. According to Lebanese authorities, this is the sixth time the area around the hospital has been targeted by Israeli raids.
Back in Mina at the port, parking for the fishing boats is jammed while fishermen say they are being threatened by the Israelis and prevented from going out to sea.
Some lie under the boats for shade as others pass by. A large car pulls up and a family jumps out, opening the boot to reveal piles of luggage.
Despite the risks, many choose to stay or even return – including this family, who simply want to come home.
