Lebanon’s ancient port city, once bustling with tourism and local industry on beachside promenades and markets-stands eerily silent as successive Israeli airstrikes devastate the city. For citizens who regarded Tyre as the safest haven-even many of those now telling Hamas leader Ismail Haniyeh of Gaza’s destruction, “we are next”-nothing appears to have been left untouched from war-time destruction.

For months, the picturesque port city had been almost exempted from the fierce exchange of fire by Hezbollah and Israel. But with this week’s stepped-up Israeli airstrikes, three residential blocks are in ruins, and people are getting spooked. Families are fast packing their valuables in their cars, awaiting their turn to be evacuated anytime soon. “We are terrified,” said Khalil Ali, a 59-year-old fisherman. “The situation might end up being like Gaza with more evacuation orders. This is far worse than anything that happened in 2006.”

The beaches once teeming with life, where conservationists successfully helped endangered sea turtles nest recently, are vacant. Fishermen like Ali cast their lines more out of habit now, afraid of the Israeli military’s warning against maritime activity, which could be targeted in further strikes. For most, the threat of airstrikes and a crushing ground campaign is reminiscent of previous wars, but locals agree that something here feels different.

 Rising Death Toll

Lebanese officials estimate more than 2,500 citizens are dead and over 1.2 million displaced following recent bombardments. One-quarter of the original residents of Tyre remain. Mayor Hassan Dabouq repeated the fears that defined the community, saying, “The same people, the same war, the same mentality. Why would it be different in Lebanon?

The port, usually filled with the comings and goings of vessels arriving with yesterday’s catch, is silent. Fishermen come only to check on their boats. Nearby markets once abuzz with fresh catches, open-air restaurants with sizzling fish on the grills are shuttered, and refrigerators for fresh seafood stand empty and unplugged.

Story of a Resident of Tyre

Those left behind feel an unwavering sense of responsibility to stay. Wael Mroueh is a nephrologist and director of Tyre’s Jabal Amel Hospital. He had his family head north to safety and stayed behind to care for the patients. The hospital, one of only three still standing in southern Lebanon, has now been transformed into one large clinic and makeshift homes for the doctors and the other staff who are to stay there since they have no shelter. Mattresses and personal belongings line the corridors as Mroueh tries to keep his spirits up, urging his team to stay there and deliver life-saving medical services.

Tears stream down Mroueh’s face as he talks about his children: “I fear I might never see them again.” As he recalls growing up amidst battles, Mroueh shares how he told himself he would not let that horror befall his family. The obstacles are enormous: from an original staff of doctors and nurses, now only a quarter of the doctors and one-third of the nurses survive. Intensive care and dialysis units are at capacity, treating more than 30 patients with severe war injuries a day. Those stable enough to be sent there are airlifted to Beirut, but as the fighting continues, Mroueh fears Tyre’s hospital will soon be overwhelmed.

Lebanon says Israeli attacks have incapacitated 13 hospitals and over 100 other health centres, and the World Health Organization reports over 100 Lebanese medics and rescue workers have been killed in the last year. Mroueh sees the attacks against health facilities as part of a broader effort to dismantle community strength, but to him, nothing would convince him to keep quiet and continue. If everyone leaves, no one will stay, he says with a sigh. It’s part of our resistance,” he adds.

In the eyes of Tyre’s dwindling population, that peaceful city is reduced to a skeleton version of its former self, a sign of resistance against the odds to keep fighting.