Rainbow Over Bint Jbeil
A "Wounded Town" in
Ramadan |
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| Islam Online |
| Wednesday, October
18, 2006 |
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A rainbow stretches over the fields
leading down from Bint Jbeil to Tyre
(photo by Serene Assir) |
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In Lebanon,
particularly in the
mountains, when the rain comes, it is unexpected. For
all the good it brings, in other less painful years, to
the farmers, whose income drives the economy of South
Lebanon, this year, the first rains felt only cruel to
Umm Ali.
As she sought shelter at the entrance to one of Bint
Jbeil’s few open shops one afternoon, nearing the end of
Ramadan, she was at first steadfast in her refusal to
enter — she was waiting for the downpour to cease.
"My shoes are dirty now. I don’t want to come in," she
told the shopkeeper as he invited her and her husband
in. But the sound of thunder, amplified by the echo
wrought by the town's positioning between the mountains
of Jabal Amel, caused a change of mind, and her eyes
quickly filled with tears. "The thunder, it sounds like
bombing. What a terrible sound!" She went inside, sat
down nervously, and waited.
"Usually in Ramadan, our children, relatives, and
friends visit us every day," said Umm Ali, who did not
wish to reveal her full name. "But our house has been
destroyed. How are they going to visit us?"
She and her husband Mohamed agree that the most
important thing is that they have lived to see through
the 33-day Israeli bombing that tore so many areas of
South Lebanon, as well as the southern suburbs of
Beirut, to shreds. "We are grateful to be alive now, and
Ramadan has given us some hope, no doubt," Mohamed said.
"Ramadan is not about the visits or even the
celebrations, but rather has a sanctity which we are
glad to partake in, whatever the conditions.
"But this year, there is also so much sadness, so much
sadness.”
According to damage assessments conducted by the United
Nations soon after the cessation of hostilities, an
estimated 1,200 houses in Bint Jbeil were destroyed by
the bombing of a total 1,500. As a result, less than
half of the town’s population has been able to return
despite an obvious will to do so. "I suppose we are
among the luckier ones; we have people to stay with
here, even though our house is now mere rubble," said
Mohamed. "Most people have had to seek refuge with
relatives in Tyre, Beirut or other towns until their
houses are rebuilt, if they haven’t rented a house
elsewhere instead."
No doubt, Ramadan this year in South Lebanon,
particularly in border areas, is like no other. What is
usually a festive month featuring daily family visits,
outings with friends in the evenings, time for
reflection and relative relaxation, has taken on an
entirely new dimension this time round.
Maryam Bazzi, 19, has "never experienced a Ramadan like
this."
"On the one hand," she said, "it is more sacred than any
other Ramadan, because we are still alive and still
free, and we all know how thankful we are for that, now
more than ever. On the other hand, Ramadan caught us by
surprise this time; we had no time to prepare, and it
has been difficult for us to gather the spirit we’d
usually have. People aren’t in the mood to celebrate as
they usually would."
And alongside the honesty with which residents of Bint
Jbeil expressed their anxiety and sadness, they equally
clearly showed a gentleness and grace of spirit that is
hard to match — and in so doing captured the essence of
all faith.
Mustafa Bazzi is a writer and historian from Bint Jbeil.
"Every year, Bint Jbeil residents are keen to give zakah
(obligatory alms) to the needy during Ramadan more than
any other time. This time, the will to help is stronger
than ever, with everyone assisting everyone else in any
way they can."
This readiness to assist in the post-war phase was
already very prevalent before the start of Ramadan, as
the community spirit is strong in south Lebanon.
Nevertheless, the month, sacred to Muslims across the
world, has perhaps provided a setting urging that spirit
to live on.
"Ours is a wounded town," said Abu Mohamed, who owns a
textile shop in the town market. "It is very difficult
in these conditions to imagine that Ramadan could have
brought back a degree of normalcy — it hasn't. Many
people we know have died, even more have lost their
homes and livelihoods. The terror of the Israeli bombing
was sufficient to have marked people for a long time."
But Abu Mohamed concedes that Ramadan may constitute a
step along the path towards recovery. His 9-year-old
grandson, Hussein, who is also fasting, is glad to
participate, and feels that although he is unable to
play outside, owing to the presence of two unexploded
missiles near the entrance to their home, Ramadan has
brought some hope. "I am happy to be fasting, and glad
that it is Ramadan. Maybe by the time `Eid Al-Fitr
comes, life will go back to normal, and I’ll be able to
play outside with my friends," Hussein said. `Eid Al-Fitr
is the Islamic public celebration of breaking the fast
after Ramadan.
Abu Mohamed adds that while family visits are few, when
they happen they are genuinely enjoyed. "We spent a long
month fearing for our lives. Now, with Ramadan, and the
onset of `Eid, we are able to spend a little more time
together — enough to start to recognize that, bit by
bit, life will improve."
The road to recovery remains long, however, for many in
the South. In addition, the feeling that the process may
be futile on the long run is also overwhelming for the
people of Bint Jbeil, which has seen destruction many
times before. "Israel is a relentless enemy," said Abu
Mohamed. "Unlike some Lebanese further north, we know
full well that Israel will not cease to attack Lebanon,
come what may. We also know that it makes no distinction
between civilians and soldiers, Christians and Muslims.
"We know that this was not the last war. Israel may have
been defeated this time, but history shows that it will
try again."
Nor has this been the first time that its residents put
up a fight. "Bint Jbeil has a history of resistance. Its
residents fought the Turks, then later the French, and
most recently the Israelis. Its people’s sense of
independence is very strong," said Bazzi, the writer.
It is perhaps this that gives the town its air of
sadness, pride, humility, and strength — all mixed
together in a rare condition.
Hassan lost his younger brother in the summer war. The
latter was the first Hizbullah member to die in Bint
Jbeil. Eighteen others died later. "Scars so deep cannot
be healed so quickly," said Hassan. "Bleeding, he told
me the night of his death to leave him in the street to
die, that I should run and save myself. Inside, I am
fire. My brother, he was my best friend. Neither Ramadan
nor anything else will make me feel any better so soon."
Looking over across the mountains, Hassan said, "We do
not fight Israel for any reason other than the fact that
it has targeted our people. When it stops, we will too."
Until then, there remains little hope for him.
"Look, a rainbow! Do you know what that means?” he
asked.
I offered that perhaps it signified hope, but he shook
his head. "No. A rainbow can only mean one thing —
rain."
* Serene Assir is a freelance
journalist based in Lebanon.
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