Once the airport was bombed, the vacationing Ayoub family huddled together expecting the worst. Near their mountain village home, some 35 minutes east of Beirut, was an important bridge with a road leading to Syria.
As they feared, Israeli soldiers soon started dropping bombs on the bridge around 1 a.m. July 13. Rosana Ayoub, 22, a parishioner of Our Lady of Mt. Lebanon Church-St. Peter Cathedral (Eastern Catholic) in Los Angeles, watched through the rattling bedroom windows.
"There was explosion after explosion," says Rosana, her family terrified of what might come next. "We weren't certain of anything. What were the Israelis going after? Would they target houses and schools?"
For the Ayoub family, a joyful summer vacation had gone badly awry. In June several dozen extended family members, mostly from the Los Angeles area, had flown to Lebanon for a cousin's wedding. Many had planned to stay through late August. Rosana was to return earlier to start medical school at Loma Linda University. Now she feared that she and her family could be trapped in a war zone.
As the Israelis intensified their bombings of roads, bridges, port areas and the airport to choke off the militant Hezbollah Shiite militia, Rosana said she felt increasingly suffocated. "There was no way to get out," she says.
The Ayoubs worried in particular for their 83-year old diabetic grandmother who had a limited supply of insulin. The pharmacy quickly ran out of medication as bombed out roads prevented delivery trucks from supplying the store.
Frightened, the family made calls to their father and brother Noel back in their Southern California Palos Verdes home whenever possible.
Getting out
On July 18, the Ayoubs made their way to one of the ports to board a U.S. Navy ship but were turned away for lack of space. They returned the next morning at 5:30 a.m. and waited in line five hours. People fainted from standing in 95-degree heat without water. But good news arrived as a ferry finally transported 16 family members to a U.S. Navy ship. They were surrounded by Marines there to protect Americans, including Lebanese Americans, from being targeted by Hezbollah suicide bombers.
Rosana was praying the whole time and trying not to show how scared she felt. Her brother Marc, 17, didn't want his sisters to know he was scared. "We couldn't break down. We were counting on each other for support," he says.
U.S. soldiers, says Rosana, carried their food, bedding, and gave up their rooms to Lebanese families. "They went out of their way for us," she says.
Once in Cyprus the family waited in line another nine hours to secure their spaces on chartered flights. "We were exhausted, hungry and tired," says Rosana, yet grateful that the concerned airlines transported them free of charge to Ireland and from there to Philadelphia.
In the City of Brotherly Love, "the Red Cross treated us amazing," says Marc. "They gave us food, water, medicines, deodorant, tooth brushes and phone cards to make international and national calls." Doctors and nurses and Lebanese translators were on hand.
Their safe arrival in Los Angeles July 22 was bittersweet. Tammy, 19, cried for the safety of many family and friends left behind. While their grandmother is now out of harm's way, they fear for an older uncle who will struggle to get his heart medication. And food and water is scarce. Rosana's father Eli Ayoub, a surgeon at St. Francis Medical Center in Lynwood, is getting calls from Lebanese doctors pleading for medical supplies.
But as long as the airport remains closed and the roads keep being bombed, nothing can get in.
Torn by events
The Ayoubs feel torn by a deep desire to see Hezbollah be disarmed, and immense grief at seeing their country destroyed in the process.
"Hezbollah is a constant thorn in the Lebanese people's side," says Rosana. "They don't accomplish anything. They just terrorize Lebanese people and terrorize the Israeli people."
At the same time, family members are angry that Israelis have bombed civilian businesses like milk, water and toilet paper factories. A Christian Lebanese news station was targeted. Schools are closed and people can't go to work. Power plants have been hit, leaving many people without electricity during the perilous hot summer months.
"They are trying to destroy the whole infrastructure. There is so much anger about that," says Mireille Ayoub, mother to the five Ayoub children. "And people are being burned to death."
Rosana adds that media coverage in the U.S. gives the impression that Israel is largely bombing the south, the Hezbollah stronghold. "They are bombing east, west, north and south, even Christian towns. Between Hezbollah and Israel, no one is on the side of the Lebanese people," she says. "I'm praying for a cease fire. I really can't stand the thought of any more innocent people being killed."
Civilians feel helpless, adds Marc. "The government of Lebanon is powerless. We keep looking to the U.S. or the U.N. for help."
The Ayoub family was buoyed by Secretary of Sate Condoleezza Rice's surprise visit to Lebanon July 24. Rice pledged $30 million in humanitarian aid.
"Her trip provided Lebanese people with hope that someone is watching and someone is looking out for them," says Rosana. "Even though she didn't call for a cease fire, she gave people hope that one day she will." |