Counting bombs to go to sleep - reality of Lebanon war

In the distance on a calm and quiet night we can hear the bombs drop, heavy bombs, far away, punctuating the night sky.

The soft rhythmic cadence hides the reality of the havoc they are wreaking. We are sitting on the roof of a Beirut hotel, listening.

The sounds are coming from all around the city and from south Lebanon, where Israeli air forces are pounding cities, towns and villages. Many within the UN peacekeeping zone. Irish peacekeepers hunkered down in bunkers waiting for the Israeli war machine to pass.

Some of those peacekeepers are trapped inside an outpost surrounded by IDF troops using their vantage point to fire on Hezbollah. This weekend came news Israel has asked the peacekeepers to leave the outpost near Camp Shamrock.

Evacuation orders have been issued, by the Israeli army, to a growing stretch of the contentious land in south Lebanon.

The IDF signaling its intent to push forward, to clear Hezbollah launch sites, in an effort it says, to call a halt to the daily rocket barrages which target northern Israel.

For a year now, residents in northern Israel have been evacuated, refugees in their own land, fleeing Hezbollah rocket fire.

The sounds heard on the roof in Beirut are matched by smells - the rancid stench of war, smoke and explosives wafting from airstrikes close by in central and southern Beirut.

The smell permeating the corridors of the hotel, the fallout, a military expert tells us, from an MK-48, a 2,000-pound bomb. A deadly weapon, shipped in large volumes to Israel by the Biden administration.

Its final destination, a Hezbollah stronghold in the south of Beirut called Dahiyeh.

The neighbourhood is like a ghost town, in the days since we have been here, air missile after air missile has rained down on the area, smoke and flames rising in the night sky.

"The children count the bombs, then go to sleep" - They should be counting sheep to get to sleep, but war steals them of that.

The approach to Beirut Airport is stark, the planes fly downwards towards a large hillside, water on either side.

As we land, on our left we can see the heavily bombed Dahiyeh. It is here that Israel claimed it assassinated the Hezbollah leader.

This weekend, the IDF issued further evacuations in Beirut, warning people in Haret Hreik and Burj Al-Bataineh to leave.

The two suburbs lie in between where we are staying and the airport. The warning, a sure sign the bombs are about to get closer and the sustained attack set to continue.

In the coming hours alerts will be issued with specific buildings identified as targets for the endless missiles being fired on Lebanon.

On the beaches just a few kilometres away, children are woken in tents to the sounds of the explosions bombing their homes.

"The children count the bombs, then go to sleep", says Sarah Baghdadi, an aid worker providing services to the displaced.

They should be counting sheep to get to sleep, but war steals them of that.

The children and their families are sleeping in tents on the Ramlet al Bayada public beach in Beirut.

Sarah is trying to bring order to the chaos as more than 1,000 displaced Lebanese seek refuge there.

Some are from the heavily bombarded south, others from Beirut neighbourhoods. One thing is clear they are determined to remain, partly due to steeliness, mostly due to necessity.

These are the people who cannot afford to leave, and they are everywhere in Beirut. On the beaches, the streets, city squares, anywhere they can park a car or pitch a tent. Amongst them 31,000 families and many, many children.

Charities provide assistance, but for the most part they are on their own.

The limited state resources are overstretched and unable to cope. One of Beirut's busiest and best-known nightclubs, the Sky Bar, is now home to hundreds of the displaced. A once vibrant and fun venue, now a shelter for those fleeing war.

A short distance up the road we approach Marina Dbayeh, a plush place where the rich and wealthy of Lebanon moor their speed boats and yachts.

We have come here because we know boat owners are taking people to Cyprus to get out of Lebanon, for those who can afford it, it is about the only option now.

People huddle nervously with suitcases, reluctant to speak.

The boat owners are open about the service they are offering, but reluctant to speak to us - "It’s bad for business if I speak on camera," says one boat owner, "what we are doing is bad for business".

He is referring to the non-wartime business, the wealthy owners of the yachts who visit the private members club at the marina.

They are not impressed with the constant arrival of people dragging suitcases, desperate to make a four-hour crossing to Cyprus to get out.

People are asking, where will this war end? The issue at hand is the border between Israel and Lebanon.

At the marina, we meet Rami Kassis, a US citizen of Syrian descent. His parents moved to Lebanon and remain here with his sister Leena.

They are feverishly searching for the boat he is due to board, nervous the moment of opportunity to leave will pass.

Rami tells us that the cost of travelling increased as the days passed, and the bombardment of Beirut intensified.

It began at $1,000, then went to $1,200, in the end he handed over $2,000 - a lot of money, but a small price to pay to get out of a country in which the future looks increasingly bleak.

Over the past three days the number of chartered and military planes landing and taking off at Beirut Airport has increased. As I write another large jet has flown in, one of many sent by governments to take their citizens home.

For those remaining here it is somewhat surreal, watching planes leave, effectively evacuating for fear this war will deepen, and Israeli forces strike the airport to further isolate its enemy.

People are asking, where will this war end? The issue at hand is the border between Israel and Lebanon.

Hezbollah has spent decades embedding itself in the hills overlooking northern Israel, using the terrain as a launchpad for rockets and fighters.

The tunnels and terrain in the area are perfect for the kind of war they are fighting, but their military infrastructure goes into towns and villages, their fighters are everywhere.

The decision by Israel to withdraw from south Lebanon in 2000, to comply with a United Nations resolution, is one which many there regret.

Within half a decade a war between both sides had broken out, the 2006 war. Until this moment it was the fiercest between both sides, people here say that already 2024 surpasses that.

In 2005 then-Israeli prime minister Ariel Sharon outlined his strategy: "As for operations on the Lebanese border, I said that whatever doesn’t have to be done over there - shouldn’t be done."

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His hands-off approach did not last, within a year there was all-out war between both sides. Now almost 20 years later, it is happening again. History repeating itself.

To conclude some questions:

What is Israel trying to do? The answer is obvious. But opening up another front a year after its troops invaded Gaza has drawn Arab states on them, intensifying tensions in this region. Iran is now openly trading insults with Israel and issuing military threats.

Another question, is Israel’s decision to confront Hezbollah more likely to bring peace than a de-escalation could?

They are questions to which many people have many varied answers. Easy questions, for which there are no easy, or predictable answers.