The countdown toward the end of the Israeli-Lebanese “ceasefire” is running incessantly. While a ceasefire should bring temporary relief, Lebanese students are struggling to focus on their duties and dreams. The deprivation of safety and sleep is leaving behind a youth discouraged and hopeless, anticipating that they will carry the weight of the Israeli-American war in the years to come. Marie Thum talked to Lebanese students who unveil the harsh reality of being exposed to pervasive fear of bombs, cold, shallow nights in air-permeable houses, and the desire to return to a peaceful life where family and friends sit next to one another.
“I would like people in Western societies to know that their governments misuse their taxes to kill kids, pregnant women, students, and elderly men,” Adam, a student of Industrial Engineering at the Lebanese American University (LAU), replies to etos.media when asked what he wants the international community—specifically Western countries—to know.
Rand, a Lebanese student of Computer Engineering at Hamad Bin Khalifa University in Doha, also has a message to the West: “I emphasize the gravity of the situation and urge Westerners to seek actual footage from Lebanese media to understand the reality on the ground, rather than drawing from external narratives that often rely on false information.”
Caroline (name changed), a student at the American University of Beirut (AUB) who wants to remain anonymous, shares Rand’s appeal and adds: “I want people in the West to open their eyes and stop turning a blind eye to this humanitarian crisis. We want people in the West to speak up and be the voice of those who are unable to speak for themselves.”
It is obvious that Adam, Rand, and Caroline have not been sleeping much in recent weeks.
Between piled-up assignments, pending exams, and administrative work, Adam is helping out in his family’s restaurant—a space much busier, noisier, and messier than he is used to. Yet it is the only place where family comes together and, in times of war, embodies one of the few remnants of what was once a stable and safe business. Indeed, the Israeli-American war has shaken the already struggling Lebanese economy and pushed it to a new low. But it is not only the economic situation that causes sleepless nights.
Rand’s family was not with her when Iranian missiles hit Qatari facilities in early March. As an international student residing in Qatar, she suffers from solitude, isolation, and the constant fear of hearing bad news from her family back in Lebanon. “The conflict has severely disrupted my studies. Constant surveillance through Israeli-launched ‘MK drones’ (drones specifically used for spying on civilians) and the psychological weight of unpredictable bombings make it impossible to focus on university work.”
Caroline, a sophomore majoring in Business Marketing, recalls the time before the ceasefire with distress: “We didn’t even know if we’d still be alive during the Israeli attacks, given their magnitude and frequency. The expectation that society had of us—to still be capable of studying and focusing on our future—was nonsense.”
The Israeli ground invasion in Southern Lebanon, Israeli airstrikes, targeted assassinations, and debris falling from missiles have forced Lebanese civilians to leave their homes—or, for those still at home, to sleep with open windows.
Just recently, the Israeli army launched a major wave of airstrikes across Lebanon, reaching a pace of up to ten airstrikes per minute. “We have to keep our windows open during the coldest nights so that they don’t shatter under sonic booms,” Adam explains. The use of so-called sonic booms—shockwaves created by objects traveling at supersonic speed—falls under psychological warfare, and their application as tools of terrorization is highly contested in international humanitarian law. “It feels really bad to feel unsafe in your own bed,” the recipient of an LAU merit scholarship admits.
Indeed, a “normal” daily life for students in Lebanon has dissolved into thin air. The urge to grab the phone and check the news has become an automatic and sickening reflex, as Caroline explains. “We are always scared of something happening. Our stress levels are maxed, and we are constantly mentally on edge.”
Civilian areas have repeatedly become targets of Israeli airstrikes. The Israeli ground invasion in Southern Lebanon in March attested to this, turning one million Lebanese citizens into internally displaced people. Despite being deprived of a home, Caroline still finds a place of retreat among her family: “When I was displaced, I had my cousins and other family members around me. This helped me keep up with daily conversations and not be completely isolated.”
Adam believes it is only a matter of time before the violence spreads further across the country. “One day I thought, ‘They will never bomb my area—why would they?’ And then missile fragments were discovered just a two-minute walk from my house.”
What Adam has already experienced may still lie ahead of Rand. As the ceasefire nears its end, she indicates that her family, residing in Hamzieh in Southern Beirut, is highly exposed to Israeli attacks. “Living near the southern suburbs of Beirut, I have witnessed missile activity firsthand. You can physically feel the intensity of the bombings. Your building shakes with each strike.”
Students’ Lives Come to a Halt, Making Them Wonder “What for?”
“This war has largely demotivated me and made me lose hope in the country I study to make better, after realizing that any day, at any time, I could simply become just another digit in my country’s death toll,” Adam summarizes. What sounds unimaginable to Western ears becomes tangible when considering the reality within this territorially small country. Adam, who lives in the east of Lebanon, has to travel weekly between his home in the Bekaa Valley and his university in Byblos in northern Lebanon.
“I do not feel safe at all moving between my two places of residence. Last week, while commuting to Byblos, I passed through a main street. Ten minutes later, I checked my phone and saw that they had bombed a van on that same street,” Adam explains.
Rand reports a similar experience and notes that Dahieh, a Beirut neighborhood bordering her home, is particularly affected by such attacks. Israel justifies these strikes by claiming to target so-called Hezbollah strongholds. “Travel is unpredictable and dangerous. The threat of targeted strikes on buildings or nearby vehicles, combined with sudden evacuation warnings, makes moving within or between cities nearly impossible,” Rand says.
“I had absolutely zero motivation to even look at assignments or anything related to my classes,” Caroline reports with exhaustion. Instead, thoughts about her future consume her energy and affect her health. “Every day I ask my parents, ‘Are we going to be okay? Is everything going to be alright?’ And even they don’t know how to answer. I get constant stomach aches and other stress-related reactions.”
Targeted assassinations have led to suspicion and anguish within Lebanese society. Refugees and internally displaced people are increasingly seen as potential risks by others. Adam explains: “Refugees have become a major trigger of fear among residents of ‘safe areas’ because Israel has specifically targeted them. In a way, Israel has made us fear our own people. For example, after the war started, my dorm in Byblos decided to accommodate refugees, and ever since that day, I have not felt safe sleeping, knowing that at any time Israel might bomb someone on the same floor as me.”
On top of the humanitarian crisis, along with targeted assassinations of internally displaced people, Adam points to another issue deepening divisions within Lebanese society: “This war has broken many bonds and friendships for everyone, not just me. Lebanese society is now divided into three political camps: one that supports the resistance but not Hezbollah, one that supports the resistance along with Hezbollah and Iran, and one that supports none of that but believes in the need for a peace agreement with Israel.”
The lack of direct interaction between students and the shift from in-person to online classes have accelerated the downward spiral of interpersonal communication. As Rand observes, “Physical meetings with friends have been entirely replaced by digital communication, as we remain confined to our homes.” Her faith provides her with strength during this crisis: “I rely on prayer to relax and relieve the stress of constant overthinking and worry.”
Caroline believes in the “Lebanese resistance” but also emphasizes limits: “Even though we as Lebanese people are resilient, there’s a limit to how much we can endure. We shouldn’t make resilience our reality—this needs to stop.”
Unlike Rand and Caroline, Adam expresses a deeper sense of hopelessness. He reflects on Lebanon’s historical struggle against Zionism and describes the future, a topic that should not be made subject in the present. “In Lebanon, especially during wars, you cannot even think about your future. It is very, very unclear what is going to happen. Whenever the Israeli army feels like it, they threaten to bomb the airport.” However, the latest Israeli aggression is not the first to shake a population widely known for its resilience across the Levant. “What makes me Lebanese is holding on to even the smallest ray of light. Studying makes me feel that I am still doing something for my future, but I refuse to let this war define the future I grew up dreaming about. I find hope in the resilience of other students who continue their studies despite fear and displacement,” Adam concludes.
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