Fleeing Lebanese Christians See Town Forever Changed

"It's so useless," said Nimr Musallam, who left Marjayoun during a lull in fighting two weeks ago. "War is ugly."

The war in southern Lebanon is infused with a Shiite Muslim narrative, both past and present. Memories run deep of the 18-year Israeli occupation over mostly Shiite villages. Often heard in today's conflict is the idea that nothing can be gained without sacrifice, that the Shiite community has already proved its steadfastness by battling the Israelis for more than a month.

There is a sense, too, that the war is not yet over. Hasan Nasrallah, the leader of Hezbollah, vowed Saturday that while his group would accept a cease-fire, fighting would persist as long as Israeli troops were on Lebanese land.

"It is our natural right to confront them, fight them and defend our land, our homes and ourselves," he said.

Marjayoun residents expected to escape the brunt of the fighting. It is a Christian town and, during the occupation, it served as the headquarters of Israel's allied militia. The Israelis themselves were not necessarily popular, but the money their presence brought to the town provided a livelihood far better than today, as jobs are scarce and many of its young depart for Beirut or emigrate abroad. Occupation, though, draws on universal notions, as does exile; foremost, perhaps, is the uncertainty of when it will end.

"It's like you're deprived of your home," Musallam said. "It's your dignity, your identity, everything that concerns you."

He thought for a moment. "They could stay for a week, they could stay for a year. I don't know. Really."

As Farha left Marjayoun, his most distinct memory was the empty streets, framed by the olive groves that bend like a bow across the hillsides, interspersed with the grapevines climbing terraces, their ripening red fruit hanging over patios. A crater is carved into one road out of Marjayoun, as it hugs a hill of crumbling terraces and worn stones revealed by time. Five rocks, spaced a yard apart, block another road, impassable but by foot. The one path is a sand trail that arches over a deserted quarry.

Farha left his clothes, his three-month-old dog Max and pretty much all his belongings in a house he had painstakingly remodeled. And he thought back to more distant stories: 1948 and the war that led to Israel's creation. Palestinians in such towns as Haifa, Acre and Jaffa, and villages along the coast, were told to leave their homes for a few days until the war ended. They never returned.

"That is how people left," he said. "They left everything and the next day, in a few days, they thought they would be back."

Marjayoun will never be the same, he said. It could be rebuilt, but its terrain will likely remain scarred -- an intricate quilt of Lebanon's diversity. He wondered what would happen to the devastated Shiite villages of Dibin and Blatt next door, and Khiam across the valley. Or the more distant Sunni towns such as Kfar Shouba, Kafr Hammam and Shebaa, many of their residents having fled.

"When you see only Marjayoun around you, you become sad," he said.

Hamra, the mayor, thought back to history, too. He had never left Marjayoun. In the 1967 war, he said, he stood on his balcony, watching residents leave. He did the same in 1982, when Israeli troops invaded Lebanon. And the same in 2000, when they left.

"I was always watching the people," he said. "This time, what happened was a disaster, and I decided to leave."

He paused, thinking ahead. "I'll go back to Marjayoun. Myself, I'll go back." He stopped again. "If they allow me."