July war 2006: A story behind the story
6 Min Read
On July 15, 2006, I arrived in South Lebanon after a desperate and dangerous journey; little did I know that tragedy was about to strike closer to home.
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16 people were reportedly massacred in the brutal Israeli airstrike on July 16, 2006, in Aitaroun, South Lebanon
In the summer of 2006, Lebanon became a fiery battleground as “Israel” launched a military aggression against the Middle Eastern country, waging a month-long war. Amid the chaos and devastation, I ventured into the heart of the battlefield to report on the unfolding events and provide the world with firsthand accounts of the Israeli aggression against my country and my people.
As the war escalated, I embarked on a journey into the South of Lebanon, where a big part of Israeli hatred was unleashed, driven by a deep commitment to uncover the truth and convey the human stories often overshadowed by geopolitical narratives. The air was thick with tension as I entered war-torn villages, unsure of what lay ahead. I passionately joined a group of foreign and Lebanese journalists on the 5th day of the war in a press vehicle determined to shed light on the untold stories and give voice to the affected communities.
As a journalist, I had covered conflicts and wars across the globe. With a camera and notebook in hand, I had become accustomed to the chaos and devastation that often accompanied my assignments. But nothing could have prepared me for the heartbreaking discovery I would come across while reporting on the brutal Israeli airstrikes on Lebanon during its aggression in July 2006.
On July 15, 2006, I arrived in South Lebanon after a desperate and dangerous journey. The streets were filled with an air of uncertainty, as the echoes of explosions reverberated in the distance. I felt a mix of apprehension and determination as I embarked on a mission to capture human stories.
As I delved into the lives of the affected communities, I encountered families who had lost everything. Their stories resonated with me, but I maintained a professional distance, focusing on documenting their struggles and sharing their voices with the world. Little did I know that tragedy was about to strike closer to home.
On July 16, 2006, I arrived in Aytaroun after reports about an Israeli airstrike that wiped out whole families. It is worth noting that at least 16 people were reportedly massacred in the brutal Israeli airstrike that day. As I rushed alongside other journalists and international human rights activists to interview survivors in a makeshift shelter, a woman caught my attention. The woman's eyes were filled with pain and sorrow, and her voice quivered as she recounted the events of the tragic afternoon. I couldn't help but notice the striking resemblance between the names of the family the woman was calling out in mourning and those of my second cousin's family. Something deep within me urged me to investigate further.
Driven by a mix of fear and curiosity, I discreetly asked the woman for the names of the members of the massacred families. The woman's response sent shivers down my spine. Panic gripped me as I desperately sought confirmation. I introduced myself hoping for a different answer to no avail.
With a trembling voice, she confirmed my worst fear. The entire family of my second cousin was killed by "Israel": Amira Mahmoud Reslan (24 years), Ali Mahmoud Al-Akhrass (a Montreal pharmacist 35 years old), Saja Ali Al-Akhrass (7 years), Zeinab Ali Al-Akhrass (5 years), Ahmad Ali Reslan (4 years), Salam Ali Al-Akhrass (11 months), and Manal Mahmoud Reslan (Amira's 17 year-old-sister). As tears welled up in the woman's eyes breaking the sorrowful news to me, the ground beneath me seemed to crumble as I struggled to comprehend the enormity of the tragedy that had befallen my own flesh and blood.
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The entire family of Ali Al-Akhrass was massacred during the July War.
My world came crashing down around me as I grappled with the conflicting roles of a journalist and a grieving family member. The lines seemed to intertwine as my professional composure gave way to overwhelming sorrow. At that moment, I felt the weight of every story I had ever covered and every tragedy I had witnessed pressing down upon me.
Torn between my personal anguish and my professional duty, I made a difficult decision. I knew that I couldn't remain impartial any longer. With a heavy heart, I turned off my camera, put down my notebook, and embraced my role as a bereaved person. My priorities shifted, and I found solace in being present for my family during their tragedy.
The war continued to rage, and the stories of those affected went untold through my lens. But in that moment of personal tragedy, I realized that my greatest responsibility was for the people I loved. Through my grief, I discovered the importance of human connections and the fragile nature of life. The tragedy was immense.
My experience in the July War forever changed my perspective on journalism and the weight of the stories I carried. At the time, I vowed to continue reporting, not just as a detached observer, but as someone who understood the profound impact of wars on individuals and families. The trauma became a catalyst for me to advocate for the victims and to ensure that the human stories behind the headlines were never forgotten.
I emerged from the pain of my personal tragedy shortly after the July war, channeling my grief into a renewed commitment to journalism. The memory is inscribed as a constant reminder of the lives lost and the urgency of my mission. With each story I tell, I hope to honor Amira and Manal and all those who lost their lives.
In the aftermath of the July War, my reporting took on a new purpose. Through my words, I sought to bring awareness to the human cost of battles filled with war crimes, to give voice to the voiceless, and to inspire empathy and understanding among my audience. I became a witness to the pain and resilience of those affected by the Israeli aggression, reminding the world that every casualty had a name, a face, and a story to tell.
18 years now, my journey as a journalist is still ongoing, forever shaped by the personal tragedy perpetrated by the savage Israeli airstrikes and by the image of the lifeless body of a mother who clung tightly to her youngest children. In my pursuit of truth and justice, I carried the memory of the everlasting symbol of the lives lost in the chaos of war. And with each story I tell, I hope to bring healing, empathy, and ultimately, a world that holds "Israel" responsible for its crimes.
