LEBANON: voices from the rubble
Combined Situation Report — March 2026
Compiled from field reports by Vera and Jacobus van Zyl
Over the past week news coverage has focused heavily on Iran, Israel, and regional tensions, with Lebanon often mentioned only briefly as one of the areas affected. But two of our Lebanese field workers, Vera and Jacob—both living in the heavily bombed Beqaa Valley—have given us a far clearer picture. Their firsthand insights reveal not only the scale of the crisis but also the deeply human reality of what this escalation means for ordinary people trying to survive inside the country.
LEBANON
Lebanon is a small country of roughly six million people. It has always been known as the Paris of the Middle East with snowcapped mountains, green valleys and historic sites like Baalbek Ruins. The serenity of people working in farmlands has been a trademark of a nation known for its hospitality and kindness. This has now been violently interrupted and life has taken a brutal turn for the worse. No one in Lebanon remains unaffected.
During the past days alone, escalating hostilities between Israel and Hezbollah have forced more than 700,000 people to flee their homes. Around 200,000 of those displaced are children. Placed in context, that means roughly one out of every eight people in Lebanon has been displaced within days.
THE SKY HAS BECOME A WEAPON
The sound begins as a whisper. Then a growl. Then a roar that rattles windows and bones. Drones. Fighter jets. Missiles. For two weeks, the sky over Lebanon has not been silent. Not for an hour. Not for a minute. In the South, families huddle in ground-floor rooms, away from windows. In Beirut’s southern suburbs, entire neighborhoods have emptied overnight. In the Bekaa Valley, farmers watch their fields burn again. This is not the first war Lebanon has known. But for a generation of children, it is the first war they will remember.
“Every time a plane passes, my youngest shakes. He covers his ears and hums. He thinks if he can’t hear it, it can’t see him.” — Karim, father of three, Tyre
This is a humanitarian crisis of staggering proportions. Even beaches have become makeshift shelters for families who had no time to gather more than a bag or two before running for their lives.
But these numbers, as overwhelming as they are, do not tell the full story. Behind every statistic is a person with a name, a family, a history, and a future that has been violently interrupted. Many of their stories will never be written down or broadcast on the news, but they matter. And before God, each one is known by name.
These are their stories.
WHEN FAMILIES MOURN
Jacobus, the dia-LOGOS fieldworker in Lebanon, shared how one of these families recently arrived in his village
“My landlord told me that relatives of his had fled from southern Lebanon after their house was bombed following an evacuation warning. They drove north with only what they could carry in their car, mostly clothes and a few essential belongings. They found a small room to rent in our village, but the room was completely empty. They arrived with no furniture, no beds, and almost nothing to start their lives again.
My landlord came to ask whether I had anything in my house that we could give them temporarily. When we went there together, all I could offer were two mattresses, two chairs, and an empty gas bottle. He brought a small table and a few diesel cans. That was enough for them to begin arranging the bare room where they now live.
Standing there, it was difficult not to realise what that situation represents. That small room is now home for a family that just days ago had their own house in another part of the country. They do not know when, or if, they will be able to return.
And they are only one family among hundreds of thousands.”
WHEN CHILDREN WEEP
Vera, head of a center in the Beqaa Valley working with Syrian refugee children, shared the following
Eighty‑three children have already been killed in this escalation. The number is clinical; the reality is devastating. Some died in their homes, others in their gardens or on the streets. One child was killed on the way to a bakery to buy bread for breakfast. At our center, we asked children to draw what they feel.
A nine‑year‑old boy drew a house with no roof so that “the bombs can fall through without breaking the walls.”
A seven‑year‑old girl drew a bird with a broken wing because “it’s trying to fly away, but it can’t.”
Ten‑year‑old Sara comes to the center every day. Her mother says she cries on the days they cannot come. “When I am here,” Sara told us, “I feel safe.”
VOICES FROM THE GROUND
The testimonies we hear daily reveal the emotional and spiritual weight of this crisis. A farmer in the Bekaa Valley, who has lived through civil war and occupation, said he has never seen his children look at him with such fear and expectation, as though he should be able to protect them from something no parent can stop.
A teacher in Beirut walked through her old classroom—her lesson plans still on the board, the children’s names still on the walls—while two hundred displaced people slept beneath the drawings.
A grandfather in the South, who survived the wars of 1982 and 2006, said he truly believed his grandchildren would never know this kind of fear. “I was wrong,” he whispered.
A young mother told us her five‑year‑old son asked whether they would go to heaven together if they died. She answered him gently, but inside she was screaming.
OUR CENTER: A LIGHT THAT WILL NOT BE EXTINGUISHED
In the midst of this upheaval, our center remains open. While nine hundred schools have closed or been converted into shelters, our doors open every morning. Children arrive from every direction—some walking miles, others carried by parents who have nothing left except the determination to bring their children to a place of safety.
Inside these walls, more than a hundred and twenty children and sixteen youth find refuge each week. They receive trauma‑informed play therapy, hot meals that are often the only meal of their day, and a listening ear for parents who need to cry or speak freely. They receive prayer, hope, and the reminder that life is still beautiful.
One mother told us, “You are not just teaching him. You are saving him.”
A father said, “In the middle of fear, this place reminds our children that life is still beautiful.”A twelve‑year‑old boy named Mohammad put it simply: “I used to come here to learn math. Now I come here to remember how to breathe.”
In a nation where everything seems to be collapsing, this center has become the one wall that will not fall.
A SERVANT’S REFLECTION
The fear in children’s eyes is different now. It is not the fear of nightmares. It is the fear of annihilation. And yet, inside the center, we see something else—laughter, concentration, relief. A mother exhaling for the first time all day. A boy giggling at a puppet show. A girl lost in her drawing.
This center is not a solution to war. It is a refusal to let war have the final word. We know the bombs could fall here too. We know tomorrow is not promised. But while we have breath, we will open these doors. While we have strength, we will hold these children. While we have hope, we will declare: you are not forgotten, you are not alone, you are loved.
FAITH: THE ONLY GROUND THAT DOES NOT SHAKE
The ground shakes here—literally. But there is ground that does not. “God is our refuge and strength,” the psalmist writes, “an ever‑present help in trouble.” We are not pretending to be unafraid. We are afraid every day. But fear is not our master. Hope is.
We pray for protection over every displaced family, for peace that is not merely the absence of war but the presence of God, for strength for our exhausted team, and for provision to feed the hungry, clothe the cold, and shelter the homeless.
War may come. Bombs may fall. But the light in this center will not go out. We remain. We serve. We believe. And we will not stop.
A CALL TO ACTION
For now, the most important thing is simply that the situation is not forgotten. Behind every statistic are families trying to rebuild stability after losing their homes, their security, and often their livelihoods.
And for hundreds of thousands of people in Lebanon today, the future remains uncertain.
Many people ask what they can do when they hear about situations like this. Prayer is always welcomed and deeply valued. At the same time, we are reminded that when we have the ability to help someone in need, we should not remain passive.
At dia-LOGOS we are committed to support both these initiatives. Our hands are reaching out to Jacobus as he reaches out to the community and at the same time we want to invest in Vera and their activities at the center. Through Project Feed a Family Lebanon we assemble simple food packages for displaced families. Each package costs about $55 (approximately R1,000.00) and contains basic staples such as rice, lentils, beans, oil, and flour, enough to form the foundation of meals for a family for several weeks. We ran this project during the previous war, and the gratitude from families who received these packages was overwhelming.
This is not about raising money for Jacob or Vera. Being there simply allows them to act as a bridge between people who want to help and families who genuinely need it. From their side, helping may be as simple as making one EFT payment from the comfort of your home. From their side in Lebanon, they are committed to buy the food, assemble the package, and place it directly into the hands of a displaced family who needs it.
A simple transaction on one side of the world can quickly become a table of food for a family on the other.
Below are the NPC’s banking details.