Syrian refugees in Lebanon flee to war-torn homeland after facing new conflict

William Brangham:

Today's cease-fire deal could bring welcome relief to those caught in the middle of the war between Israel and Hezbollah. But the more than one year of fighting has already destroyed many lives and livelihoods, including those of the many Syrian refugees who are sheltering in Lebanon.

It's led to a steady flow of those people trying to return to Syria, which is east of Lebanon.

Special correspondent Leila Molana-Allen takes us to meet people desperate to cross the border.

Leila Molana-Allen:

On the road again. More than a decade after the Syrian civil war drove millions of refugees into neighboring Lebanon, war has come to their new home.

Israeli airstrikes have left hundreds of thousands of Syrian refugees, as well as Lebanese, running for their lives. This is a common scene here now, families huddled under one borrowed blanket, children playing barefoot in the street. Many of these families have tried to find places in a shelter. They're often turned away. So they sleep here, on the streets, in mosque courtyards, in a disused parking lot.

"Look," he tells me, "this is where we cook, we eat, we dress, everything."

Ikhlaas and her six children have been living here since the Israel-Hezbollah war began. In the first week, a strike hit the house next to theirs in south Lebanon.

Ikhlaas, Syrian Refugee (through interpreter):

I was at home with my daughters, and all I saw was a plane flying over the building in front of us. In seconds, it became fragments. Some fell onto our balcony.

Leila Molana-Allen:

They fled north to Saida that night. They escaped with their lives, but little else.

Ikhlaas (through interpreter):

The situation is frightening. We're living on the streets. Look at my baby boy. He's sick here on the bare ground in the open without a shelter over his head.

Leila Molana-Allen:

A young mother with a large family to feed and keep warm, and a bitter winter is just beginning. Ikhlaas says she's mentally and physically exhausted and doesn't know how long she can keep living like this.

Ikhlaas (through interpreter):

Our hearts are burning with fury. I lie awake all night. Look at these girls. They haven't had a moment of real childhood. Our future is lost.

Leila Molana-Allen:

Many of these refugees have spent years building new lives for themselves, finding casual work in the fields, saving up to pay rent, rather than living in a makeshift tent, forming new communities. That's all gone now.

The Masnaa border in Lebanon's Beqaa Valley is the main crossing point for most of the hundreds of thousands of Syrians who fled here. Now they're moving the other way. Nearly half-a-million have crossed since the war started. Some men, knowing they won't find work on the other side, are sending their families back while they stay on, braving the bombs to earn a living.

Abeer is suddenly all alone. Her four small children cling nervously to her dress as she tries to carry the few bags she could manage, packed in panic from a whole home of belongings.

Abeer, Syrian Refugee (through interpreter):

I left everything behind. I left my husband behind too and I don't know what might happen to him. It's not safe in Syria either, but we don't know where else to go.

Leila Molana-Allen:

This isn't the first time she's made such a journey, but last time at least she knew her destination was safe. She's been here since the start of the Syrian civil war. Her children have never seen Homs, the devastated Syrian city she's from.

But now it's their home in Beirut suburbs being targeted. The family barely got out alive before their house was hit.

Abeer (through interpreter):

Everything is gone. War is everywhere. Here in Syria too, our life is in ruins. I don't know if we will even reach Syria or if they will let us in. I swear to you, we are so exhausted from constantly moving from one place to another. Will it ever end?

Leila Molana-Allen:

Even as they flee, the threat of the bombs follows them. This crossing was blasted open by a huge airstrike, which Israel says was targeting tunnels used for smuggling. But it's the only way back for most.

So, climbing through the rubble on foot, still, they come. People used to be able to drive across the border here, but since the airstrike hit, they're now having to navigate this massive crater in the middle of the road, trying to carry everything that they have. Officially, Israel hasn't bombed anyone here because we're in no man's land, no one except the hundreds of people fleeing for their lives.

These desperate people don't know what they will find when they get to the Syrian side of the border, whether they will be allowed in, whether they will be immediately arrested by the regime. Some are trying to cut north up to rebel-held territory in Idlib and West Aleppo without being caught. A few families have made it up to this besieged enclave of four million people.

Dergham family walked all the way. They made it, but spent all their meager savings in the process.

Dergham Muhammad, Syrian Refugee (through interpreter):

We spent seven days on the streets and walked around 200 miles. We're left with nothing now. We don't even have water to drink.

Leila Molana-Allen:

Little Maher misses his life in Lebanon. He was born there. For him, it's home.

Maher Al Jaber, Syrian Refugee (through interpreter):

We were happy in Beirut. I used to go to school and I was so happy.

Leila Molana-Allen:

Dergham's family and hundreds like them now face immense hardship in return for a tiny measure more of safety. In recent weeks, the Assad government has once again stepped up its shelling and airstrikes on communities here. But some never got the chance to make that trade.

Fatima and Ismael Barakat fled the war in Homs a decade ago and settled deep in Lebanon's southern farmlands, where they married, found work and had their four little girls. A month ago, everything changed.

Fatima Barakat, Syrian Refugee (through interpreter):

We were having breakfast with my father-in-law and brother-in-law, and then I don't remember anything. The next day, I found myself at the hospital in pain and I couldn't see.

Leila Molana-Allen:

Their entire house was brought down by an Israeli airstrike. Fatima and 5-year-old Noor were severely injured. Noor lies silent, staring at her mother. They both still have several surgeries to endure.

Fatima Barakat (through interpreter):

I haven't seen my other daughters as well. I miss them and I am longing to see them.

Leila Molana-Allen:

But Fatima won't see her little girls again; 8-year-old Kamar, 3-year-old Asinel and six-month-old Salha all died under the rubble of their home.

Ismael can't face telling Fatima the truth. He fears she will die of a broken heart.

Ismael Barakat, Syrian Refugee (through interpreter):

I was just out buying bread for breakfast when the airstrike hit the building. I ran home, only to find them lying on the ground, my three little girls, all dead. Please, tell me what to do. I lost them.

Little Salha was only just born. Her mother was still breast-feeding her. She's gone.

Leila Molana-Allen:

Ismael and Fatima's story is that of so many here. They came for safety. They suffered as outcasts. Now they face the same fate as if they'd stayed in Syria, a decade delayed.

Ismael Barakat (through interpreter):

We fled Syria to seek safety from that war, so I could secure a better life for my family, hope. What's hope? I lost my father, my brother, my kids. I lost hope in everything.

Leila Molana-Allen:

Hopeless, homeless. After surviving so much, Lebanon's Syrian refugees see only despair ahead.

For the "PBS News Hour," I'm Leila Molana-Allen in Saida, Lebanon.