Nothing will bring back my son: How 10 minutes of Israeli bombing reshaped lives in Lebanon

Nothing will bring back my son – In the southern Beirut suburbs, the Hay el Sellom neighborhood once thrived as a vibrant community. Now, it stands as a stark testament to destruction. Collapsed concrete, twisted metal, and exposed wires litter the streets, while homes lie in fragmented heaps. Staircases, once pathways to safety, lead into voids. The usual hum of life is replaced by an eerie silence, a silence that echoes the trauma of a day that changed everything.

The Calm Before the Storm

Residents of Hay el Sellom had endured Israeli strikes in other parts of the southern suburbs, where Hezbollah maintains a strong presence. Yet, they described this area as relatively untouched until the afternoon of 8 April. Evacuation orders had been issued, but few left, as the neighborhood had become their last refuge. “We had nowhere else to go,” said one resident, who declined to be named. “The hope was that this place would remain safe.”

That Wednesday, the tranquility was shattered. Mohammed, a father of three, recounted the moment his son Abbas was taken from him. “He was asleep in his room when the strike hit,” Mohammed explained. “The floors above crumbled like paper, falling into a single space. They all came down together… on top of him.” The attack was part of a broader assault that began at 14:15 local time, with Israeli forces targeting multiple sites across Lebanon within a ten-minute window. According to Israeli reports, this period marked the deadliest day of the conflict so far, with over 100 targets hit in rapid succession.

A Wave of Destruction

The strikes left a trail of devastation, surpassing any previous day in the war. While the official targets were Hezbollah command centers and military installations, the impact was felt by countless civilians. Lebanese authorities confirmed a death toll of 361, with more than 1,000 injured. In the heart of Hay el Sellom, the toll was particularly severe, with over 80 lives lost. Our analysis indicates that at least 15 of those victims were children, their innocence lost in the chaos.

One of the first to reach a nearby hospital was Ghassan Jawad. “I suddenly found myself underground,” he said, describing the moment the building collapsed around him and his family. “I thought I was dead.” The sounds of screams and the cries for help lingered long after the dust settled. Residents, trapped beneath rubble, sent messages and waited for rescue. The narrow, tightly packed streets of Hay el Sellom hampered efforts to extract the injured, prolonging their suffering.

Uncertainty in the Targeting

After the attack, Mohammed’s grief was profound. “This is the second home I’ve lost,” he said, standing amidst the ruins of his apartment. “In the last war, I lost one. And now, this one. I wish it was just my home that was gone, and my son had survived.” He emphasized that all the victims were residents of the building, not combatants. “If I thought even one Hezbollah member lived here, I wouldn’t have stayed,” he said. “I would never risk my son’s life for a chance that someone else was targeted.”

His words reflected the confusion surrounding the strike. While some Israeli media reported that Ali Mohammed Ghulam Dahini, a senior Hezbollah figure, was among those killed, no confirmation came from the Israel Defense Forces (IDF). The IDF did not respond to our inquiry about whether Dahini was a specific target in Hay el Sellom. A memorial poster, however, described him as a Hezbollah fighter, fueling speculation about the purpose of the attack.

The Regional Conflict and Its Aftermath

The attack occurred during a fragile ceasefire between the United States and Iran, a pause in a wider regional war that had already redrawn the Middle East. Despite Israel’s assurances that Lebanon would not be directly involved, the ground-level hope of safety was short-lived. The strikes targeted Hezbollah, which had launched rockets into Israel on 2 March in retaliation for U.S. and Israeli actions against Iran. This retaliation had triggered an Israeli occupation of southern Lebanon and intensified efforts to dismantle Hezbollah’s leadership.

In the weeks following the attack, the BBC visited the devastated areas to uncover the full extent of the damage. The interviews with residents revealed a shared sense of loss and bewilderment. “We were waiting for the war to end,” said another survivor, whose voice trembled with emotion. “But it wasn’t over. It just became worse.” The narrative of Hay el Sellom, once a symbol of resilience, now carries the weight of sorrow and unanswered questions.

The conflict’s intensity has left a lasting mark on the community. Families mourned the dead, and survivors grappled with the reality of their changed lives. “Nothing will bring back my son,” Mohammed repeated, his voice steady yet filled with sorrow. The destruction was not just physical—it was a rupture in the fabric of daily existence. For those who had relied on the neighborhood as a sanctuary, the attack had become a reckoning.

As the dust cleared, the focus shifted to the scale of civilian casualties. The Lebanese health ministry’s data confirmed that the neighborhood bore the brunt of the violence, with many ordinary citizens caught in the crossfire. The uncertainty about whether Hezbollah members were present in the building added to the anguish. Residents, including Mohammed, questioned the decision to remain in their homes, weighing the risks of staying against the impossibility of leaving.

Hay el Sellom’s story is emblematic of the broader toll of the war. The brief ten-minute assault had unleashed a wave of destruction that would haunt the region for months. As the community rebuilds, the memory of Abbas and the others who perished remains a central part of their grief. “This brick can be rebuilt,” Mohammed said, “but nothing will bring back my son.” His words linger, a testament to the irreversible loss and the enduring impact of the strikes.