‘We felt death’: Survivors recount Israel’s massacre in Beirut

The first thing Abdelwahab noticed was the silence after the blast.

Then came the smoke, the screams - and the realisation that the bodies he was pulling from the rubble belonged to people he knew.

It was shortly after 2pm on Wednesday when across Lebanon, Israeli warplanes had launched a heavy wave of air strikes on densely populated areas, including in Beirut, its southern suburbs, the eastern Beqaa governorate and southern villages. 

The simultaneous strikes killed more than 300 people and wounded over 1,150, according to the Lebanese health ministry. 

In Corniche el Mazraa, a busy working-class neighbourhood, Abdelwahab, who gave only his first name, had been selling bottled water from his kiosk near Cola roundabout. The 15-year-old was trying to earn money for his mother’s cancer treatment when the explosion hit.

There was so much smoke - black and white - and dust, he told Middle East Eye. 

As the air cleared, he ran towards the blast site near a branch of Rifai Nuts - a renowned Lebanese roastery shop -  where surrounding buildings and a car park had been torn apart.

What he saw stopped him: a severed, burned arm among the debris. Then he began to help.

“There was nothing to do but help. Even a one-year-old would try,” he said. 

'He was a nice man. I knew him because he bought water from me every day. What did he do to deserve this?'

- Abdelwahab, street vendor 

Abdelwahab carried bodies from the wreckage, half-closing his eyes so the blood and devastation would not slow him down. He kept going even after the civil defence teams arrived.

“I wore a mask, but I could smell the smoke - and the dead,” he said.

He saw dead bodies of men, women, elders and toddlers. Among those killed was Nader Khalil, who had worked at Rifai Nuts for 35 years.

“He was a nice man. I knew him because he bought water from me every day,” Abdelwahab said. “What did he do to deserve this?”

That night, he made up stories to his sick mother as to where he was, so as not to burden her with what he witnessed. 

The next day, he returned to his kiosk. But the street was quieter. Shops were shuttered, and traffic was thin. Whether from fear or a declared day of mourning, the neighbourhood felt hollow.

“There is nothing here but businesses and everyday people,” he said, gesturing to the empty road. “Now, there’s no one.”

‘We felt death’

Not far from Abdelwahab was Samir Assaf, 47, a Palestinian refugee who moved to Beirut after fleeing the Yarmouk refugee camp in Syria during the civil war.

He makes a living selling packets of tissues to drivers and passers-by, working the traffic lights to support his wife and two children.

On Wednesday afternoon, he had stepped aside for a brief rest. The light had turned red, traffic paused, and with no customers in sight, he moved into the shade.

Seconds later, the blast threw him to the ground.

When he got up, he said he couldn’t see anything. The whole parking lot in front of him was black.

Through the smoke, one detail remained unchanged: the red traffic light, still glowing in the distance. Everything happened in seconds, he said.

“I was able to call my wife to tell her I’m alive. But many people who work nearby didn’t make it,” he told MEE.  

The owner of Bella Flora, a flower shop, the doorman of this building, and a sheikh passing by were all killed. 

The patients of a children's clinic on the second floor were also killed. 

“We felt death, we felt it. May no one ever feel it,” Assaf said. 

The following day, Samir was forced to return to Corniche el Mazraa with his wife, Wessam Assaf, and their children. They had received an Israeli notice telling them to leave their neighbourhood in Jnah - a warning that often precedes further strikes - and sought temporary refuge with relatives nearby.

But they also came back to see what remained of the street corner where Samir had built his routine, his livelihood.

For Wessam, the destruction stirred painful memories.

“The sight of the buildings saddens me,” she said.

“We escaped the Yarmouk refugee camp because of the bombardment, and now we are here and there’s bombardment again. This place reminds me of Yarmouk." 

Silent wait 

The scenes Wessam described were repeated across Beirut.

In Ain el Mreisseh, near the city’s corniche, a residential block known for its old Beirut charm was struck by an Israeli air strike. Witnesses said the building remained standing for just seconds before half of it collapsed, taking with it the lives it once sheltered.

“There was no air, just dust,” said Yousef, a resident of the neighbouring building who gave only his first name. 

“Some people were able to get out, others were not so lucky.”  

Rescue efforts began immediately and stretched into Thursday evening. Civil defence teams set up floodlights and used excavators to sift through the rubble, searching for survivors and the missing.

The air hung heavy with dust and grief. One side of the building had been torn away entirely, exposing the private interiors of homes to the street. Each floor told a story - fragments of lives suspended mid-moment: a dress hanging in a wardrobe, a lamp still upright, a piece of art clinging to a broken wall, tiles intact beneath the wreckage.

By nightfall, all but one body had been recovered.

“My niece,” a middle-aged man said quietly when asked who was still missing. She was 26-year-old Sara.

As the search continued into the night, her uncle stood atop the debris, watching as the excavator shifted rubble from one side to another. 

When crews believed they were close, the heavy machine slowed to a near-delicate precision - its movements careful, almost graceful - as operators tried to uncover her without causing further harm. 

At times, they stopped altogether, turning to shovels and their hands. By Friday morning, they still hadn't found Sara. 

Around him stood others - relatives of the dead, neighbours, strangers - remaining long after their own losses had been recovered.

They stayed beside him in silence, an unspoken act of solidarity, ensuring he did not carry the wait alone.