3 AM Thunder, 4 AM Reality: For What Exactly?
On March 2, early in the morning, living in Beirut, we woke up to the sound of bombs.
At first, wrapped in that heavy 3 AM brain fog where nothing quite makes sense, I genuinely thought it was raining. I lay there in the dark, trying to convince myself that the rumbling was just aggressive thunder rolling over the city. But the horrible sounds didn't stop. They never do when it’s not thunder.
I checked my phone, the screen blindingly bright in the dark bedroom, and the nightmare was confirmed: Hezbollah had decided to get us into a new war with Israel.
When you’re pulled from sleep so violently, your mind tries to protect you. You tell yourself it’s impossible. It has to be a bad dream. But by 4 AM, the illusion was gone. I was sitting in my living room, sipping coffee, staring blankly at the news broadcast. The absurdity of it all was suffocating. Following the death of Khamenei, a decision was made that instantly put the lives of Lebanese people everywhere at risk—specifically those in the South and the southern suburbs of Beirut ( also known as Dahyeh).
Since that morning on March 2, until today, (at that's only few days considering the escalation we're hearing) the reality on the ground has been paralyzing. Over 110,000 people have been displaced in just five days. Hundreds of buildings have been bombed into dust, leaving families with absolutely nowhere to return to. Lebanese land in the South is occupied. Panic and fear have completely swallowed the entire population.
And as someone whose life revolves around rescues and fosters, my heart is shattered by another silent tragedy unfolding alongside the human one. In the sudden terror of mass evacuations, pets are being left behind in empty apartments and destroyed neighborhoods. The street dogs and cats are suddenly wandering through ghost towns, starving, with no one left to feed them. We are doing everything we humanly can over at Adopt Don't Shop, but the scale of the abandonment is staggering. The voiceless are paying the price for a conflict they don't understand.
You look at the displaced families sleeping in their cars, the leveled buildings, the terrified animals, and the sheer panic gripping Lebanon, and you can’t help but ask the same echoing question: For what exactly?
For what exactly are we witnessing the destruction of our home, our people, and our animals? We are just trying to survive, find a little light through the camera lens, and keep each other safe. And right now, that feels harder than ever.
