Rising From the Ashes—Again

A fragile U.S.-brokered cease-fire halted hostilities between Israel and Hezbollah in November, and Lebanese troops now patrol nearby, clearing explosives from border villages previously occupied by Israeli forces. Today, destruction is visible on every corner of the market, with extensive damage from the force of the blasts. Some shops have completely vanished.

But every week, the market reopens. Amid shattered storefronts and looted interiors, locals can be seen setting up modest stalls, hoping to earn a living.

For decades, Souq al-Khamis has been more than a marketplace, but a living archive. In Bint Jbeil, in Lebanon’s southernmost district, the souq thrived as a vital trade gateway to Palestine from its founding in 1880 until the 1948 Nakba severed cross-border ties, with the market’s weathered storefronts hosting Palestinian merchants trading textiles and spices. The market has since been shelled during Israel’s 1978 invasion, destroyed in the Israeli occupation of 1982, flattened in the 2006 war, and bombed again in June 2024 during a yearlong conflict that displaced nearly all of Bint Jbeil’s residents. Locals resurrected the market within months, its cobbled lanes drawing thousands weekly and fueling a local economy choked by decades of war and civil strife.

The latest ceasefire triggered Israel’s withdrawal from border villages in February, though tensions linger as troops retain five strategic hilltop positions. Meanwhile, returning families sift through rubble. In a country with a 44% poverty rate, Souq al-Khamis is a lifeline that must reopen.

Fadi Mroue, the owner of Mroue Supermarket, estimates his direct losses to be between $50,000 and $60,000 after an Israeli air strike landed dangerously close to his shop on Sept. 23, 2024, while another blast shattered his storefront weeks later.

“I had invested everything in my stock,” Mroue tells In These Times. ​“It was my sole source of income. No one [from Hezbollah or the Lebanese state] has talked to me yet about any of [my losses].” Mroue has since downsized, returning to the souq following the ceasefire and opening a small vegetable stall with what little money he had left.

Just meters away, Hassan Baydoun’s business, a hardware store, was wiped out on Nov. 15, 2024. It also destroyed his home. ​“My life’s work, all gone,” he says. ​“Twenty-five years of hard work vanished and without any support. I don’t know how I can get back on my feet.”

The story repeats from one merchant to another. Hussein Boussi, owner of the Amanah chain of stores in Bint Jbeil, saw his shops destroyed in an air strike. All told, he estimates about 70% of his inventory was ruined, including tens of thousands of dollars of ceramic tiles — though he managed to salvage some inventory under the rubble. ​“We started again,” he says amid the ruins.

Repeated requests to the Bint Jbeil municipality for comment on the extent of the destruction went unanswered. The head of the Bint Jbeil Merchants Union, Mohammad Kassir, confirms: ​“We don’t yet have precise statistics. … The major establishments were affected.” Comparing the damage with the devastation wrought during the 2006 war, Kassir calls the losses ​“bearable,” given the city’s resilience.

According to Kassir, the estimated direct losses total hundreds of thousands of dollars today, potentially much more when factoring in reconstruction, interior refurbishments and inventory replacements. A request for comment from the South Lebanon Council for Reconstruction went unanswered.

Some shopkeepers declined interviews, fearful that public complaints could jeopardize any pending compensation. Others simply expressed a sense of resignation, leaving their ​“grievances to God,” as one vendor put it. Kassir, however, openly described the damage to businesses in the souq. For example, both a nearby bakery and currency exchange shop were completely destroyed.

Merchants with partial damage have managed to reopen using what little they salvaged, but recovery appears almost impossible for those who lost everything. ​“If these people don’t receive assistance, how can they continue?” Kassir asks. ​“If someone lost $100,000 worth of assets and receives [even] just 10% of that, [they] would be able to work.”

Published in collaboration with Egab.