‘We are the miracle that does not die’

Dear reader,

For today’s weekly newsletter, we wanted to bring you something a bit different, a step back from the day-by-day battle recaps and diplomatic chess games of the past two weeks.

This time, L’Orient Today’s correspondent in south Lebanon, Muntasser Abdallah, reflects on war, home and losing his relative and fellow journalist Issam Abdallah.

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Though it’s been 14 days since the gradual escalation began in the south, having multiple sources on your phone isn’t enough in wars. You have to be at the scene, watching, listening, monitoring and waiting. You have to be present to convey the reality and the truth, which sometimes requires taking risks. At times, you’re on a hill watching the bombardment, hearing the clashes and simply observing. You roam the border villages, checking on the people.

In wars, human emotions sometimes fade, especially when you interview the victims, or the scared, or the displaced, or the injured. If you could ask the dead how they died, you would.

For a moment, you talk with those fleeing their homes without noticing their fear ; with the injured without feeling their pain ; and with the dead without looking into their eyes.

It’s as if there’s no life, as if there’s no humanity.

It feels like you’re in a dream.

But after you finish your report and everything calms down, suddenly, it’s as if you wake up from a dream, and the memories come flooding back. Your emotions begin to hurt you to the point of tears, and you realize the magnitude of what's happening.

There’s a thin line between your profession and your humanity. Maybe it’s not in the best interest of either to dominate the other.

Click here to read Muntasser’s full testimony.

In case you missed them, here are our must-read articles from this week: