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Lebanon war response

Wars stop but scars bleed still.

The images of war that continue to circulate are not just pictures—they reflect the shattered lives of those affected: children traumatized by loss, youth trapped in despair, elders deprived of comfort, and parents consumed by fear and grief. These images offer only a glimpse into the suffering endured, highlighting the violation of human dignity and basic rights.

The human toll is undeniable: over 3961 dead, including 248 children; more than 16520 injured; and millions displaced. Homes, schools, healthcare facilities, and vital infrastructure have been destroyed, with an estimated rebuilding cost of 11 to 14 billion USD. The future remains uncertain, leaving many to wonder how they will rebuild their lives.

Amidst all this, FDCD will continue to provide support in every way possible.

During the war, our support included providing hot meals, winterization items, hygiene and food parcels, medication, and psycho-social support. We will continue distributing these essential items while also focusing on supporting small businesses and implementing initiatives to ease tensions between communities, preventing any conflict arising from the deep divisions that have occurred.

Hoping for justice, healing and the implementation of human rights. 

Dahyeh, Lebanon, November 2024. Mural Sengul, Anadolu Agency
Rocket hitting a building in Dahyeh, November 2024
Burnt olive tree, Qoleia, Marjeyoun. October 2024
Burnt olive grove, Qoleia, Marjeyoun. October 2024

According to UNICEF and World Bank data, along with unfinalized numbers, 166,000 people lost their jobs, and 60% of companies were heavily affected. Additionally, a quarter of agricultural lands were destroyed, 40 hospitals were damaged, 45% of families reduced their healthcare spending, 30% cut their education spending, and 31% of families lacked sufficient access to drinking water.

Thanks to the generous donations from our partners – The Presbyterian Church (PCUSA), Global Ministries (United Church of Christ and Disciples of Christ), the Outreach Foundation, and Federazione Delle Chiese Evangeliche in Italia (FCEI) – we were able to work to provide essential spport to our forcefully displaced brothers and sisters. So far, our work included the following: 

We distributed essential food and hugiene kit parcels in regions where access is disrupted – particularly in areas of heightened conflict in the south. These provisions were vital in delivering immediate relief to families facing significant challenges in meeting their basic needs and contained the following: rice, many types of lentils, pasta, flour, oil, zaatar, sugar, salt, halawa, tomato paste, biscuit and lokum, and canned goods, in addition to 5 hygiene items. 

Our response faced significant challenges, including security threats from airstrikes, blocked roads, and logistical hurdles like transport permits and delays. Safe distribution in southern Lebanon required support from the Lebanese Army and UNIFIL, who also helped repack parcels to ensure secure delivery. 

2250

Food and hygiene parcels distributed. They included: rice, many types of lentils, pasta, flour, oil, zaatar, sugar, salt, halawa, tomato paste, biscuit and lokum, and canned goods, in addition to 5 hygiene items.

2500

Basic medicines provided including blood pressure medications, diabetes treatments, pain relievers, cough and anti-inflammatory medicines, antibiotics, and essential treatments for chronic illnesses.

2000

Hot meals were provided for 10 days to forcefully displaced civilians in schools and community shelters throughout Beirut and Mount Lebanon.

Volunteers in action

Expression Space

Elissa, the Communications Specialist at FDCD, attended a storytelling workshop to refine her skills in crafting powerful narratives that authentically and poignantly highlight voices.

The workshop started in September. but when the war erupted, Elissa found herself unable to write about anything else. The chaos around her was so overwhelming that she could no longer focus on anything but the absurdity of her own reality. Each day, she balanced the surreal contrast between the extraordinary horrors unfolding and the mundanity of daily life—working, helping refugees, staying functional—while deep inside, all she wanted was for it to stop. For the world to pause. For the genocide to end.

In an attempt to process the overwhelming emotions, she created a video that captured her feelings. It was raw, vulnerable, and powerful. She shared it with us in our expression space. 

Our Deputy Director and Director of Programs, Mireille El Hamouche, was deeply shaken during the war. She found herself unable to bear the world’s indifference to the atrocities unfolding before her. But can we truly ask people not to look away when doing so might be the only way to preserve their sanity? In the face of such overwhelming surreality, are our humanity and our sanity even preserved at all? At what cost do we turn away? Who do we become?
Read the original story in French and its relevant English translation

“…A distortion of thought, perception, emotions, a loss of contact with reality,” a definition that strikes me; how could it possibly describe so precisely my current state? On one side – not mine – an unprecedented wave of violence, cities and villages completely leveled, thousands of displaced, dead, amputated… long nights stretching endlessly, hearts beating to the rhythm of bombs breaking the deafening silence of a passive, indifferent, disgusting world.
On one side – not mine – an unprecedented wave of violence, cities and villages completely leveled, thousands of displaced, dead, amputated… long nights stretching endlessly, hearts beating to the rhythm of bombs breaking the deafening silence of a passive, indifferent, disgusting world.

On the other side – mine – life must go on; as if nothing happened, everything remains the same: the same expectations of productivity, the same deadlines to meet, the same responsibilities to shoulder… we simply avoid – by reflex and sheer habit – the threatened directions… On my side, it’s as simple as that, we strive to find some semblance of normality. We even end up blaming ourselves for allowing a moment of anxiety to torment us.

The banality of daily life becomes an absurd theater.
How long could one survive in detachment? There are days when I wonder if silence, this indifference I observe in so many others, isn’t some sort of refuge. But can we really protect ourselves by remaining deaf to the echo of bombs? Can we survive by detaching ourselves from what makes us human? Can we find meaning in oneself, in life, in humanity within the narrow limits of our circle; could rupture and uprooting ever be synonymous with survival, with flourishing?

I still strive to find an answer. I cling to the little things, to the few gestures that remind me I am alive, that I still feel. But for how long?

How long before this emptiness becomes all that’s left?