‘Our Hearts Are in Gaza’: Lebanese Stand in Solidarity as Israel Bombards Beirut

Amid bombs and displacement, Lebanon’s solidarity with Gaza proves stronger than fear or devastation.

Smoke rises over Beirut following Israeli airstrikes, leaving destruction in their wake as the city endures another day of the Israeli war. [Courtesy of Al Jazeera English]

As I write this, over 700 people have been killed—mostly women, children, and the elderly by the Israeli strikes in Lebanon. The bombs continue to rain down relentlessly, flattening entire neighborhoods and scattering thousands of families in every direction.

And, with the news on Saturday that Israel had assassinated longtime Hezbollah leader Hassan Nasrallah, things are only going to get worse.

I am not in Lebanon, but I can picture the scene vividly. The air is thick with dust, and the deafening roar of explosions is only drowned out by the wails of sirens that never seem to stop. The streets have been filled with people running for their lives, but there’s nowhere safe to go. Ambulances, overwhelmed and unable to reach the injured, are helpless as the shelling tears neighborhoods apart. Civil defense teams scramble to rescue survivors, but the sheer intensity of the bombardment renders their efforts futile. 

I can picture this because the tragic scenes unfolding today in Lebanon are heartbreakingly familiar. They echo what my hometown, Gaza, has lived through for generations, including the last year of Israeli genocide. I know the terror that grips those streets. I know what it’s like to wake up to the sound of bombs, to scramble for safety with nowhere to go, to hold your child close and wonder if you’ll live to see tomorrow.

But amidst the devastation, something extraordinary has attracted my attention. Even as the people flee for their lives and bury their dead, the people of Lebanon are still expressing unwavering solidarity with Palestine. They speak of Gaza, amplifying the voices of those enduring the same terror across the border. Social media has shown footage of Lebanese voices standing with Palestine, declaring that their bond is stronger than the fear gripping them. 

Despite the bombs, the pain of displacement, and the looming threat of death, they remain unshaken in their calls to end the war in Gaza. This is a solidarity beyond words—a unity forged in blood and shared suffering.

A Lebanese friend of mine, who had just escaped with her two children after a missile obliterated their home, told me: “We are with you. We will always be with you. No matter what they do to us, our hearts are in Gaza.” Her voice cracked with exhaustion and grief, but there was also a defiant, unwavering strength.

For the people of Lebanon, Gaza is not a distant cause; it’s a mirror of their own suffering. They understand too well the feeling of being abandoned by the world, the endless waiting for help that never comes. They know the pain of watching their children grow up under the shadow of war, of raising a family in the ruins of what once was. And even now, with bombs falling around them, they stand with us, just as they always have.

In the chaos, I received more messages from friends there. They spoke of terror and helplessness, of watching their homes fall and their neighbors disappear under the rubble. “There’s nowhere left to run,” one wrote to me, his words heavy with despair. “But we will not be silent. We are with Gaza as much as we are with our own country. We are with you.”

I heard from another friend, a father of three, who spoke to me through broken breaths, his voice shaking as he described the panic. “We’ve been running all morning. We tried to get to a shelter, but it was already full. Now we’re hiding in the basement of a destroyed building, but I don’t know how long we can stay here. The bombs are too close.” His children, he told me, were crying, asking if they would die today.

It’s an unbearable scene, one no parent should ever witness. And yet, despite everything—the terror, the loss— their voices have grown louder in their support for my people. On social media, in the streets, they are shouting for Palestine, for Gaza. They know, just as we know, that our struggles are intertwined, that the same bombs killing their children are the same ones killing ours.

What is happening in Lebanon today is more than just another day of war; it’s a continuation of the same story we’ve been living for decades as Palestinians and Lebanese. It’s a shared narrative of displacement, of families torn apart, of the endless fight for survival. The Lebanese people are speaking to the world in the same language we’ve long spoken—a language of loss, of resistance, of unbreakable will for freedom.

The Lebanese people have grown accustomed to not just mourning their own losses, but also standing in solidarity with Palestine. They have repeatedly waved our flags alongside theirs, chanted our names in their protests. And today, as their own world falls apart, they are still waving those flags. Still chanting our names.

The people of southern Lebanon—and all of Lebanon—like us in Gaza, are closer to the grave than they are to freedom. And yet, even in their darkest hour, they have not turned their backs on us. The faces I see today are not so different from the ones I saw in Gaza throughout the past year: mothers clutching their children, fathers trying to shield their families from the unspeakable, children caught between confusion and terror.

We are living the same nightmare, just in different cities. But what gives me hope—what always gives me hope—is the way our people rise, even in the face of such devastation. We rise not just for ourselves, but for each other. And that is what I see today in Lebanon. I see a people who, despite the destruction, despite the bombs, despite the unimaginable pain, still refuse to turn their back to Palestine, and are still raising their voices for Gaza.

And that is why we cannot afford to be silent. Not now, not ever. The people of Lebanon need us, just as we have always needed them. They need our voices, our solidarity, our strength. Because in this hardship, in this fight for survival, we are not just two nations enduring separate wars. We are one people, united by the same pain, the same hope, the same determination to live.