Smoke and fire erupt from the site of an Israeli airstrike on Beirut's southern suburbs on June 5. Photo: Ibrahim Amro/AFP/Getty Images.
Beirut (OrinocoTribune.com)—The streets of Dahye, a densely populated district in South Beirut, are never silent. But on the night of June 5, 2025, as Israeli warplanes and drones circled overhead, an eerie quiet settled over the neighborhood. The only sounds were the distant hum of drones, the occasional explosion, and the hurried footsteps of families fleeing their homes with nothing but the bare essentials.
This is not war. This is terror.
Mariam, a resident of Dahye and a member of the Orinoco Tribune team, recounts the ordeal she and countless others endured during Israel’s latest bombardment, a campaign of psychological and physical violence, deliberately timed on the eve of Eid al-Adha, one of the holiest nights in the Islamic calendar.
A night of displacement and desperation
“We left our home and just wandered the streets for hours until we could get picked up by someone willing to risk their lives to come get us,” Mariam says. Families with no cars and no means of escape walked aimlessly, guessing where the next strike would land.
Israel issued only four evacuation warnings, yet the number of strikes far exceeded that. “Whether it be actual missile strikes or ‘warning’ drone strikes, they kept us waiting for hours after the evacuation notices, as psychological torture,” she explains.
At some point, many families, exhausted and humiliated, chose to stay in their homes rather than sit helplessly on the streets near already-destroyed buildings. But for Mariam’s family, staying was not an option. Two of the four warnings had been issued directly behind their building.
Calculated cruelty
The timing was no accident. “On the night before Eid? One of the holiest nights to be at home, preparing and making dua and with family. It’s on purpose.”
The silence in Dahye was deafening. “Dahye is never quiet. It’s literally one of the most populated places, but the streets were dead silent, despite people still being there.”
Mariam suspects that “Israel” may have been testing new weapons. “Some of the drones and missiles did not sound like anything I’d heard before.” The air, when they finally returned home, smelled of chemicals and gun powder—a grim reminder of the destruction left behind.
Abandoned by the state, betrayed by the world
“The worst part is that this is normal now. We experience this every few weeks. We have no army to defend us, and our government truly are rats in power. Traitors and criminals.”
Even the Lebanese army’s presence felt performative. “They were on my street. Not sure what they do though?”
As for the United Nations: “My family went to vote in the south of Lebanon a few weeks ago, and the UN was there as well. For what, no one knows. They’re useless.”
Israel Kills Four in South Lebanon Attacks, Threatens New Strikes in Beirut
A vow of resistance
Despite the terror, Mariam’s conviction has only grown stronger.
“And if the Israelis—or anyone else—believe that we will stop supporting the resistance, they are sorely mistaken,” she says. “Even if we have to lose our comfort, our wealth, or our lives, there is nothing worse than what we have already lost. We lost our beloved Sayyed Hassan, anything we lose after that feels meaningless.”
“Our lives are not worth more than Sayyed’s was, or our martyrs.”
This is not a lone sentiment. Among many in Dahye, the loss of figures they hold dear, and the ongoing siege of their communities, has only deepened their sense of purpose and defiance.
Mariam returned home around 2 a.m. after hours of displacement. But the ordeal didn’t end there.
“The days that have followed have been the same, but also different. The numbness is the same as always, but this time I’m angrier,” she explains.
It’s an emotion rarely discussed, but widely felt. The trauma of repeated attacks brings not only fear and grief, but deep rage.
“No one ever talks about the anger,” Mariam says. “The anger for the children who have to experience a childhood like this. People losing their homes in a moment without any time to process their grief. And the normalization of a reality like this one.”
She speaks to a growing frustration shared by many in the same situation. How the devastation of their lives has become an accepted, even expected, norm in international discourse.
“This would never be accepted for anyone, except us. Because as Arabs, and as Lebanese and Palestinians, bombing us has become normal. Like this thing that we deserve and that we can handle. But no, just because it’s been happening for a long time doesn’t mean we’re able to handle it.”
Behind her voice is a reminder: the people under bombardment are not statistics or symbols, they are human beings.
“We’re human beings. We love and feel and desire the same way others do. Why aren’t we human enough for the Western world?”
The pain, she says, is not about fear of death. It’s about the cruelty of how and when these attacks are carried out.
“The pain is not about fear. We all understand that martyrdom is a possibility, and most of us in Dahye welcome it. It’s the rage that the Israelis purposely time these to be on special or holy occasions. And there’s no one to hold them accountable. They’re insane. No one realises how insane this all is.”
Each time the bombs fall, so too do calls for peace and negotiation from the western world. But for Mariam, such calls ring hollow.
“Every single time this happens, and I hear lectures from Western pundits and politicians about a two-state solution and peace in the Middle East, I get angrier at the thought. I would never make peace with my people’s murderers and oppressors. People who have done nothing but make my life and my people’s lives harder.”
For her, resistance is not only necessary, it’s sacred and necessary.
“Every time this happens, I crave justice more. I love the resistance more. And I am more motivated than ever to fight for my homeland, and to die for it. My idol is Sayyed Hassan, and he lived up to his promise of being martyred over being humiliated. I, like him, choose martyrdom over humiliation.”
She doesn’t mince words when speaking of those responsible.
“Israeli society is sick and twisted. Their crimes are innumerable. The Western world’s lectures will never work. We know the devil we’re fighting against. We want our homelands back. We will never let go of our honor and our beliefs. They can’t guilt trip us into it, it won’t work.”
“There is nothing radical about wanting to live on your native land. It’s our right. We don’t look to the west to give us permission.”
Defiance in the face of indifference
Despite the horror, there was a moment of resilience. “Once it ended, we all came back. And we came back together.”
“This is the price you pay for standing with humanity, according to those psychopaths in Washington and their master Netanyahu. Not even animals are treated the way we are,” Mariam wrote.
For Mariam and the people of Dahye, this is not fear, it is the painful realization that the world has forsaken them. “No one cares about us, and no one can help us. Only the resistance.”
Despite everything, they remain steadfast. Because home is not just a place, it is resistance.
Special for Orinoco Tribune by Mariam
OT/ME/JRE/DZ
