A Day of Terror: Beirut Residents Recall Israel’s Devastating Aerial Assault

It was 2:14 in the afternoon when the first bomb fell, and the sudden sound of crashing metal resembled a heavy truck overturning outside our office. The Israeli strike had hit somewhere nearby in Beirut.

Within seconds, plumes of smoke were rising across the Lebanese capital’s skyline, from the coastal corniche to the city’s busiest intersection, spanning both wealthy neighborhoods and impoverished areas. Boom after boom echoed throughout the city. One staff member ran into the office from downstairs, her face white and lips trembling.

Beirut has endured numerous tragedies over the past decade, including previous Israeli bombing campaigns, the remote detonation of pagers belonging to Hezbollah members, and the catastrophic port explosion of 2020. But Wednesday’s bombardment marked the first time the entire city seemed to collectively gasp for breath.

In just 10 minutes, Israel claims it struck 100 targets across Lebanon, with most concentrated in Beirut. The human toll was devastating: over 300 people killed, including more than 100 women, children, and elderly residents. Late-night television reports compared it to one of the deadliest days during Israel’s 1982 invasion of Beirut, when approximately 300 people were killed during 10 hours of bombardment in August of that year.

Hopes for Peace Shattered

Before Wednesday’s attack, many Lebanese had been cautiously optimistic that a ceasefire announced hours earlier in the Iran conflict might bring a pause to the month-long fighting between Israel and Hezbollah, the Iran-backed militant group. Those hopes were violently dashed.

The precise targets of the Israeli strikes remain unclear. Israel stated it hit Hezbollah command and control centers, but the only Hezbollah official reported killed was an aide to the group’s secretary-general.

As bombs fell across the city, panicked commuters found themselves trapped in gridlocked traffic while attempting to rush home to evacuate their families, uncertain where Israel might strike next. Others made frantic calls on an overwhelmed communication network, desperately searching for loved ones or urging relatives to evacuate. Confused drivers stared at the acrid black and white smoke billowing over the city, trying to determine which roads remained safe.

Scenes of Devastation

In areas directly hit by the bombardment, chaos reigned. People’s faces were covered in black soot as they emerged from damaged buildings. At one of Beirut’s busiest intersections, Corniche al-Mazraa, an Associated Press photographer documented charred cars piled atop one another, with a body crushed inside one vehicle.

On Mar Elias, one of Beirut’s main commercial streets, a blast threw up dust and debris that obscured an entire block. Across the street, Sahar Charara huddled in her apartment.

Since the 2020 port explosion, in which her two children suffered minor injuries, Charara has tried to shield herself from witnessing the aftermath of violence—a sign of how years of accumulated trauma have marked the Lebanese people. But when the dust cleared on Wednesday, she looked outside to see an elderly woman frozen in place, screaming continuously for minutes.

“There was so much horror and fear in her screaming,” Charara recalled.

When she ventured out an hour later, she spoke briefly with a neighbor whose shop was destroyed. His face bore what she described as a “blank look of horror.” She later learned from her building’s doorman that another neighbor had fallen from a balcony and died from the impact.

Buildings Reduced to Rubble

Nahida Khalil witnessed a strike near her home close to the corniche. She then saw smoke rising from the direction of her brother’s building further up the street.

The next 15 minutes felt interminable as she tried repeatedly to reach her brother, with no answer. Finally, his wife answered, screaming that their building had been hit. The family had frantically searched through black smoke filling their apartment to locate their three children. When they finally escaped to the street, they discovered half of their building had been leveled, with the remaining portion slowly collapsing as rescue workers searched for missing residents.

“I lived through all the wars since 1975. I never felt this fear,” said Khalil, who has lived in the same building for decades. “These strikes are meant to terrorize… and to spoil the ceasefire and cause division” among Lebanese.

Several hundred meters west of Charara’s building, motorists swerved across lanes trying to evacuate Tallet al-Khayyat, one of Beirut’s highest points and home to some of the city’s most exclusive apartment buildings. One building disintegrated in seconds after being struck; a resident described hearing the building’s stones grinding against each other before it collapsed.

A Night of Uncertainty and Ongoing Rescue

By nightfall, residents were still assessing losses and trying to determine safe locations. Some families spent the night with members sleeping in different rooms, reasoning that if overnight strikes occurred, at least some might survive.

Rescue efforts continued through the night. At Khalil’s family building in Ain Mreisseh, rescue workers were encouraged after finding a 92-year-old man alive. But by Thursday morning, they were still searching for four or five more bodies. A man whose 23-year-old daughter was among the missing joined the search, standing atop the rubble pile to assist workers.

Hospital staff worked to identify dozens of bodies, some burned or damaged beyond recognition. From death notices and its reporting, the Associated Press identified 61 of the deceased, representing a cross-section of society: a chef from a popular restaurant, a well-known poet, four Lebanese military soldiers, eleven members of two Syrian refugee families, a teacher with her two children, and a doctor along with his wife and three children.

The final strike came shortly after midnight, hitting Beirut’s southern suburbs, which have been regularly targeted throughout the conflict. Mohammed Mehdi’s barbershop, a neighborhood fixture for 30 years, was destroyed.

During the current war, Mehdi and his family had fled their home in Chiyah and were sleeping in a dental clinic near Khalil’s family building. Despite the dangers, he had made a point of keeping his barbershop open, visiting daily to meet friends, have coffee, and occasionally cut hair. He closed on Wednesday as bombs began falling across the city.

“They carried out 100 strikes. Ours was the 101st,” he said Thursday, mourning the day’s devastating toll. “I am still in shock, and I don’t know where things are going. I lost my job and this loss may last for a while.”