This is the story of how I lost everything because of the war in Lebanon

Nour, Human Resources Officer at Action Against Hunger in Lebanon, at the Tyre base, got married the same day the conflict started in 2023. Nour is a humanitarian worker, who keeps on supporting the people affected by the hostilities despite being one of the 1,200,000 people internally displaced as a direct result of the attacks and calls for evacuation herself. Here, she recounts in her own words how her new home, in one of the red zones in Southern Lebanon, was wiped out by an Israeli strike in the last weeks of escalation.

I am Nour. I moved into my home on October 8th, 2023—the day of my wedding and also the day the crisis in Lebanon began. I officially moved in after returning from my honeymoon on October 21, 2023. I always loved this house, and for years, my husband (then fiancé) and I prepared it together, step by step. Every month, we’d put aside a portion of our salaries to make sure every corner of the house was just the way we wanted. It was a beautiful, warm, and comforting place where I always felt safe. The house was fully ready, yet we never felt truly secure because the situation was unstable, and we constantly worried about war breaking out and having to leave our homes. The news hit me hard. I’m still trying to adapt and accept the shock, which is far from easy. I keep wondering what will happen when everything ends, how long it will take to rebuild my house, and how much time I’ll need to start over, especially since we had just paid off the last installment on our mortgage in late September. It was a crushing blow to lose the house so soon after that. Our home was in Bazourieh, in the Tyre district.

During the crisis, I was working from the house we rented after having to leave our home when suddenly my husband came in and told me there had been a strike in Bazourieh. My heart sank, and I had a terrible feeling. I had been hearing about attacks in Bazourieh, but this time felt different, like something was really wrong. We didn’t know where the strike had hit exactly because people were still in the village, many had already fled, and only volunteers were there, clearing debris and opening roads. I continued working for a bit, then I left and asked my husband, “Do you know where the strike hit?” I was shaking as I asked the question. Then, we received a video showing our house had been hit. At first, I couldn’t believe it until I saw the video. “No, that can’t be my house. This isn’t real,” I thought. It was incredibly hard. I cried a lot. It was a devastating moment, but my husband was strong, constantly encouraging and supporting us. It wasn’t just our house—his sister’s and brother’s homes were destroyed at the same time. It was a very tough experience, but I knew how deeply my husband was hurting inside, especially since we were newly married and had barely had time to enjoy it.

We evacuated on September 23, when the hostilities in the south escalated. We moved to an area above Awkar called Deek Al-Mahdi, just like many others who fled. We rented an apartment and kept up with the news on WhatsApp and received updates from people who knew we lived there and from volunteers with the Civil Defense. Sadly, that’s how we found out our house was gone.

As a new bride, there were so many things in my house I hadn’t even used yet, things I loved dearly. You know how you sometimes pay a little extra for a special piece to place in your home, or for a nice bedroom set? It felt like all the hard work and effort we put into choosing every corner of that house was lost. Sure, you can say it’s better to lose a house than a loved one, but it’s still not easy. The objects, the details, the memories—they all hold meaning. We hadn’t even lived there for a year, but there were already so many beautiful memories that made the house feel like a safe space, and now they’re gone.

My manager supported me a lot emotionally, telling me not to work the next day and to take time to rest. She said I could reach out if I needed anything. There was a lot of comfort in the support I received after the loss, especially from people I didn’t expect to hear from. It was touching because we all share the same pain, the same struggle, so everyone is trying to comfort each other since we all have losses.

Before the house was destroyed, I used to tell myself I wouldn’t accept the idea that our house might be at risk, even if it was under or near shelling. I just couldn’t believe it would happen to us. Now that it has, I find myself reflecting on the past. In 2006, my parents’ house was also destroyed. After this latest event, I kept telling myself that as long as my husband, family, and loved ones are safe, then that’s what matters most. Knowing that everyone is okay and that I can hear their voices brings me comfort. Material things can be replaced, even if it takes time to rebuild. I may be a newlywed without a home, but as long as we can reassure ourselves about our loved ones’ safety, it means the world—whether it’s about people or things.

My main concern now is stability. How long will we live like this? When will we be able to settle down again? My hope is to rebuild a house even better than before. I joke that I didn’t really like the old tiles in the house anyway, so maybe I can choose better ones next time. I hope for a better future where I can start a family and provide a stable, secure environment, while also supporting others who are in a similar situation.

On Monday, my organization (Action Against Hunger) decided that employees should work from home due to the escalation overnight. At seven in the morning, the attacks were still ongoing. The situation quickly worsened. That day, I was staying at my in-laws’ place since they’re elderly, and I hadn’t gone home to get my belongings. We all thought it would just be a night or two; no one expected it to escalate to this extent, with such long-lasting hostilities and strikes on civilian homes. It was difficult even on the roads; there was heavy traffic as everyone was fleeing in fear. We owe a big thank you to those who were out there handing out water on the road since there were no stores open. It made the long journey easier, as we were trying to reach a safe place. We ended up staying with my husband’s relatives for a night before moving to our current place in Deek Al-Mahdi.

What we’re going through is far from easy. We need to stay united, supporting each other in every way possible. In the place where we’re staying, people have welcomed us with open arms despite differences in religion or background. They have treated us with humanity, helping us out when they knew we were displaced and emotionally struggling. During this time, we must stand together and help each other, whether we’ve lost homes or loved ones. What matters is that our spirits are intact and our loved ones are safe. That’s worth more than anything else, and I hope that once this crisis is over, we’ll come back stronger and rebuild better than before. After all, clinging to your homeland and land is more valuable than anything else, despite the sacrifices.

In my work with Action Against Hunger, I see the organization’s efforts to support the displaced, especially in schools and areas that desperately need help with mattresses, water, food parcels, and hygiene kits. As a displaced person myself, I understand how much these items are needed. I’m fortunate enough to still have a job and get paid at the end of the month, but others are in much worse situations and need even more help, including medications and other essentials. This crisis has shown me what it feels like to be in a vulnerable position. Even as an employee helping those in need, I realize that I’m not much different from them. We’re on the same level now, and it helps us better understand their needs. As an organization, it allows us to provide the right kind of help.

People are exhausted, and everyone needs support. Since 2019, the Lebanese have not had a break, and it feels like things just keep getting worse. We all hope for a solution that will help us move forward and make Lebanon a better place. The south is a crucial part of the country, and we need the war to end, no matter what it takes, to stop the shelling and protect civilians. There are people sleeping on the streets who need shelter. We hope this crisis will come to an end so that we can rebuild and thrive once again, even better than before.