The bombing, the bloodiest single incident in Israel’s 18-day campaign against Hizbullah, drew instant condemnation from around the world and sparked furious protests outside the UN headquarters in Beirut. The Lebanese prime minister, Fouad Siniora, accused Israel of committing « war crimes » and called off a planned meeting with the US secretary of state, Condoleezza Rice. Israel apologised for the loss of life but said it had been responding to rockets fired from the village.
Mohamad Qassim Shalhoub, a slim 38-year-old construction worker, emerged with a broken hand and minor injuries, but he lost his wife, five children and 45 members of his extended family. « Around one o’clock we heard a big explosion, » he said. « I don’t remember anything after that, but when I opened my eyes I was lying on the floor and my head had hit the wall. There was silence. I didn’t hear anything for a while, but then heard some screams. »
« I said: ‘Allahu Akbar [God is great]. Don’t be scared. I will come.’ There was blood on my face. I wiped it and looked for my son but couldn’t find him. I took three children out – my four-year-old nephew, a girl and her sister. I went outside and screamed for help and three men came and went back inside. There was shelling everywhere. We heard the planes. I was so exhausted I could not go back inside again.
Ibrahim Shalhoub described how he and his cousin had set out to get help after the bombs hit. « It was dark and there was so much smoke. Nobody could do anything till dawn, » he said, his eyes still darting around nervously. « I couldn’t stop crying, we couldn’t help them. »
Said Rabab Yousif had her son on her knee when the first bomb fell.
« I couldn’t see anything for 10 minutes and then I saw my son sitting in my lap and covered with rubble, » she recalled. « I removed the dirt and the stones I freed him and handed him to the people who were inside rescuing us.
« I then started freeing myself, my hands were free, and then went with two men to rescue my husband. We pulled him from the rubble. I tried to find Zainab, my little daughter, but it was too dark and she was covered deep in rubble I was too scared that they might bomb us again so I just left her and ran outside. » She was in hospital with her son and husband, who was paralysed and in a coma. There was no news of her daughter.
Rescue workers were pulling bodies from the rubble all morning, and came across the smallest corpses last, many intact but with lungs crushed by the blast wave of the bombing.
« God is great, » a policeman muttered as the body of a young boy no older than 10 was carried away on a stretcher. The boy lay on his side, as if asleep, but for the fine dust that coated his body and the blood around his nose and ears.
‘They found them huddled together’, The Guardian, 30 juillet 2006.
Est-il possible de même imaginer vivre de tels événements? Comment pourrais-je même contempler survivre à la mort de 5 de mes enfants? Je suis fatigué… Mais c’est quoi cette merde où personne ne veut entrer? Et Harper qui prend ses vacances comme si des centaines d’enfants ne mourraient pas, comme si, de toute façon, il n’y pouvait rien! Et pourtant, il peut, il pourrait! Si seulement mes imbécils de compatriotes n’avaient pas élu un tel pantin comme premier ministre, peut-être que le Canada prendrait-il une place plus importante.
On me dirait ensuite que les élections ne changent pas la vie. Un premier ministre conservateur fait toute la différence. Il parle en mon nom, le salaud! Et pourtant je lui crie Ya Basta! Et pourtant, je lui crie que mon nom, je ne le veux associer avec aucun massacre!
En attendant, je fais ce que je peux… Devant chez moi, vole le drapeau du cèdre.
