s he told his story, Jawdat Amer gestured as if he still had both his hands.

Still adjusting to the reality of the bomb blast that killed two of his fellow workers and cost him his left hand and three fingers of his right, the 22-year-old operating room assistant lay in a bed at the hospital where he had worked until a week ago.

Swathed in bandages up to his elbows and surrounded by visitors of his Druze religious sect, Amer told of the night June 12, when Israeli warplanes dropped four bombs in the area of the Al Iman (Faith) Hospital here, severely damaging the 60-bed facility and scoring a direct hit on an adjacent employes' dormitory.

There is nothing unusual about Amer's story. He is one of thousands of victims--most of them apparently civilians--of the Israeli invasion of Lebanon.

That the target of the air strike was a hospital, whether by design or accident, is not unique either. On the road from Damascus to this mountain village 12 miles southeast of Beirut, a hospital in the town of Chtaura in Lebanon's Bekaa Valley was even more badly damaged. In both places, homes, shops and other buildings were hit, most of them evidently well away from any military targets.

Lebanon has seen too much violence during the past seven years to be greatly outraged by it. But this time, there are signs that the scope of the Israeli operation is causing more than the usual backlash against the United States, which supplies much of the advanced weaponry used in recent air raids.

"It is the most dirty war," said Salman Abdel Khaler, the secretary of the hospital's management committee, in his faltering English. "It is very, very cheap for the Israelis. Americans are helping to kill Lebanese. These are American planes and American bombs, for people who have no relation with this dirty war."

Even Lebanese who have always been friendly toward the United States are increasingly expressing anti-American sentiments as a result of Washington's seeming inability to rein in the Israelis, Khaler said.

He and hospital administrator Mohammed Sabra Awar claimed that Israeli planes had dropped cluster bombs in the area. This could not be verified during a brief visit Saturday to this Lebanese leftist stronghold dominated by the National Movement of Druze leader Walid Jumblatt.

Fragments of cluster bombs, however, were found last week by a Washington Post correspondent on the grounds of the Armenian sanitarium in Aazzouniye, another resort 16 miles southeast of Beirut, where the Israelis used the weapons to back up their armor's lightning drive through the Chouf region. While the antipersonnel cluster bombs apparently did not cause any casualties when they were dropped, three villagers were wounded later when they picked up unexploded ones. The sanitarium was heavily damaged during the Israeli drive.

But the Israelis and Americans are not the only targets of ordinary citizens' wrath in this village, once a popular summer resort.

It is the Syrians rather than the Israelis, they say, who are blocking the roads to Beirut outside the village.

"Now we are surrounded by Syrians, and we can't go anywhere," said a Lebanese Red Cross worker. "Even the Red Cross is having some difficulties" getting through Syrian checkpoints.

Unidentified foreign volunteers, who have arrived to join the fighting against Israel, also are said to impose upon residents, squatting in homes, demanding food and stealing cars.

Hospital officials here are annoyed that the Syrian Army effectively turned the facility into a field hospital during the fighting, using up its medical supplies.

"We gave medical supplies to 500 people . . . ," one official said. "The Syrian forces couldn't even help us with medication. It's incredible that the Syrian Army doesn't even have any antibiotics." The official said that of the 500 cases that the hospital treated during the fighting, about 400 were injured Syrians or Palestinians.

On June 11, the day of the cease-fire between Israel and Syria, the hospital received 175 patients, the officials said.

According to a spokesman at the National Movement office here, 20 persons have been killed in Aley since the Israeli invasion.

But for the past several days, the village has been quiet. Most shops remain shut, and there is little activity in the streets other than outside the Red Cross office, which dispatches ambulances to neighboring villages.

Chtaura, located in the Bekaa Valley, the site of several Syrian surface-to-air missile positions destroyed by the Israelis, is even quieter, and the damage far greater. Israeli bombs wrecked the 50-bed Al Mais hospital on June 11 a few hours before the cease-fire took effect. There were no casualties because the patients had been evacuated the night before, a doctor said.

A merchant whose shop was slightly damaged said three days of bombing from June 9 to 11 had caused hundreds of casualties in and around Chtaura, but no one could say how many.