Families in Lebanon still search rubble for loved ones killed in a day of Israeli strikes

Amna Nawaz:

Tomorrow marks four weeks since the day now known as Black Wednesday in Lebanon. On April 8 the Israeli military, claiming to target Hezbollah militants, unleashed an unprecedented aerial campaign, killing more than 350 people in a matter of minutes.

Special correspondent Simona Foltyn reports.

Simona Foltyn:

For days after Israel struck this Beirut neighborhood on April 8, Ali Aboud kept coming back to look for his sister, Zahraa. With the help of rescue workers he's making a final attempt to find her underneath the rubble of what used to be his aunt's home.

Ali Aboud, Brother (through interpreter):

They will start by moving the rubble over there. They will see if there's anything, if there's a smell, and they will leave the removal of the rubble until the very end.

Simona Foltyn:

Zahraa was 26 years old, the youngest of four siblings. She held a bachelor's in biochemistry and was pursuing her master's, a young promising life wiped out in the blink of an eye in what the Israeli military called Operation Eternal Darkness.

It was April 8, the first day of the cease-fire between the U.S., Israel and Iran, just when many Lebanese thought the worst was over. Israel dropped more than 100 bombs on Lebanon in the span of just 10 minutes. The unprecedented attack hit densely populated neighborhoods during Beirut's afternoon rush hour and without warning.

Ein el Mreisseh on Beirut's waterfront Corniche, once deemed safe, was attacked for the first time that day.

Ali Aboud (through interpreter):

My dad called me that there was a strike on your aunt's house, and your sisters can't be found. When we first started the search we pulled out 22 bodies. Every time a new body was found, I prayed it wasn't Zahraa, because I still hoped that she was alive in one of the hospitals.

Simona Foltyn:

But with every passing day, the hope that Zahraa would be found alive has faded away. All they can hope for now is to find her body.

They go up to the first-floor apartment to understand where Zahraa might have been when Israel struck.

Ali Aboud (through interpreter):

It was lunchtime. My aunt and the housekeeper were preparing food in the kitchen and they retrieved them from the kitchen. Zahraa was in her room.

Simona Foltyn:

That room is now a gaping hole ripped away by the Israeli missile as it tore through the six-story apartment building; 18 families lived here, including Ali's aunt.

Zahraa on the right and her sister Malak on the left had come from Southern Lebanon to stay with them when the war erupted in early March.

Ali Aboud (through interpreter):

The girls were very scared. They were forced to go to their aunt's house here in Ein el Mreisseh, an area that was considered safe.

Simona Foltyn:

And so who was inside the apartment when the strike happened?

Ali Aboud (through interpreter):

They were all there, my two aunts, my aunt's husband my two sisters and the Sri Lankan maid.

Simona Foltyn:

Of the six people in the apartment, Malak was the only one to be pulled from the rubble alive. Ali's two aunts, his uncle and Zahraa were killed.

The Israeli military said it was targeting Hezbollah.

Ali Aboud (through interpreter):

It's all lies. This is not a Hezbollah area. This is a mixed area from different sects. And this is one of the oldest buildings. There were 22 bodies. All those pulled from the rubble were women and children and my aunt's husband, who was 82 years old. He couldn't even walk properly.

Simona Foltyn:

They were among at least 357 people killed on April 8. It was the deadliest day of the war and became known as Black Wednesday.

Nine days later, when the cease-fire finally went into force in Lebanon, funerals were held across the country. In Beirut's southern suburbs, people gathered to remember Ola Al-Attar, a 32-year-old mother of two.

Relatives and friends try to counsel Ola's mother as she cries out for her daughter. Her two sisters are still in disbelief.

Roula Al-Attar, Sister (through interpreter):

She didn't come home. I was asking, where was the strike? Where was the strike? My mom said it was the place where Ola worked. She said, your sister is gone. What do you mean my sister is gone? Where was she? She went to work. She works at a dentist.

Simona Foltyn:

Ola wasn't the first in her family not to come home. Her husband, Hamad Al-Attar, worked at the Beirut port and was killed in a devastating explosion in 2020. That explosion, caused by the improper storage of ammonium nitrate fertilizer in the port silos, killed 218 people.

Ola joined other victims' families in a push for accountability, but death came faster than justice. She was killed six years after her husband, leaving behind two daughters, Zahraa, aged 12, and Fatima, 7. Their paternal grandmother and their aunt have stepped in to try to replace the irreplaceable.

Mona Al-Seif, Grandmother (through interpreter):

Their mother was everything for the girls. Can someone replace a mother? Ola carried a heavy burden. Children are a responsibility. You have to bring them to schools, to doctors. It was difficult to lose Hamad, but Ola closed the gap. At my age, I can't do what Ola was doing.

Simona Foltyn:

The loss of both parents has forced Zahraa into a job no 12-year-old should have.

Zahraa Al-Attar, Child Orphaned (through interpreter):

My sister and I, we have become orphans. But, of course, I will go support my sister. I will go to school and I will study. I will raise my head so that my mother and my father can be proud of me.

Simona Foltyn:

Zahraa is still in therapy to overcome her father's death, and must now reckon with having found her mother's body. On top of that, there is the persistent fear of more Israeli strikes.

Zahraa Al-Attar (through interpreter):

If I hear a civilian playing, I'm scared. I feel that a rocket will fall on me.

Simona Foltyn:

Fatima no longer likes being at home. She spends most of her time downstairs with her aunt Nancy.

Nancy Fneish, Aunt (through interpreter):

She holds on to me at night, the way she used to sleep with her mother, hugging her because she was afraid to lose her.

Simona Foltyn:

Zahraa visits the place where her mother was killed every day to look for her mobile phone, she says, or perhaps for answers that might never come.

The Israeli military claimed to have killed 250 Hezbollah operatives on April 8. For the IDF's claims to be true, all the male victims would have to be fighters. But, in reality, many were ordinary civilians like Jamal Jarab. He was 26, a refugee from Syria, and an aspiring chef at a well-known Asian restaurant in Beirut.

Wael Lazkani is the restaurant's owner.

Wael Lazkani, Owner, Jai Restaurant:

He was very sweet, very much the strong and silent type. Like, you couldn't get a word out of him even when I wanted to, like, just very kind of holding it together, but extremely kind.

Simona Foltyn:

Jamal had recently married and had a 4-month-old daughter. He was working his way up and had just been promoted to prep cook.

Wael Lazkani:

It's kind of tough to accept that a child, like, really just a kid, who came here to have a better life, escape war and build a safe and happy life for himself, ends up being massacred in broad daylight.

You don't hit 20 sites at 2:30 when schools get out, when everybody's out for lunch targeting Hezbollah. You actually -- you're -- here, you're aiming for civilians.

Simona Foltyn:

Jamal's absence is dearly felt in this tight-knit community.

Yasser Al-Omar is the head chef and, just like Jamal, from Aleppo, Syria.

Yasser Al-Omar, Head Chef, Jai Restaurant (through interpreter):

He was lighthearted. He never annoyed anyone. He worked with sincerity. We feel a bit depressed. When we come here, we still imagine him here.

Simona Foltyn:

Eleven days after Zahraa was killed, some of her remains were finally found and identified through DNA analysis. We joined the family as they visited the cemetery in her village, her final resting place.

Ali Aboud (through interpreter):

We got upset and relieved at the same time. We got assurances that it was indeed Zahraa, that she was martyred. We were relieved that we found something of her to bury. Thank God we could honor her.

Simona Foltyn:

Burying the dead is the only form of closure they can get. There is little hope for accountability.

Ali Aboud (through interpreter):

If there was justice through international law, we wouldn't have gotten to this point. I lost my sister. The only justice lies with God. Other than that, there's no justice.

Simona Foltyn:

But these families will never forget. Black Wednesday will be remembered here as one of the darkest days in a history littered with massacres, the trauma forever etched into collective memory.

For the "PBS News Hour," I'm Simona Foltyn in Lebanon.