Staff Stories: Noura Eid
On Monday, September 23, 2024, the war between Israel and Hezbollah took a devastating turn as Israel unleashed new waves of airstrikes on Lebanon. The moment I heard the news, my heart raced, and I immediately reached out to my sister and my 12-year-old niece, who live in southern Lebanon. When my sister finally picked up the phone, her voice was trembling, barely able to speak. Just minutes before my call, an Israeli missile had struck an apartment building a mere 900 feet from their home.
I was stunned. They live in a Christian village on the outskirts of Sidon that was supposed to be safe, removed from the direct line of fire. But now, she was trapped in the hard dilemma of staying or fleeing. If she stayed, the threat of bombs hung like a dark cloud over them, with the possibility of being cut off from vital supplies should Israel bomb the main highway. If she fled, she would face a perilous journey north, with military jets roaring overhead and 70,000 others jamming the roads, desperate for safe shelter.
After hours of agonizing indecision, countless prayers, and endless news updates, they made the heart-wrenching choice to leave. What should have been a short journey to safety took them six and a half hours—a journey of fear and exhaustion. When they finally arrived at a Maronite (Lebanese Catholic) center, they were physically safe but emotionally wrecked, unsure of how long they would remain displaced, longing for the comfort of their home, the simple pleasure of making meals in their own kitchen, tending to their flowers, and the mundane beauty of normal life.
My heart shatters knowing that my family, along with the other 30 Shiite families who made it to the same center, are enduring the nightmare of displacement, facing trauma and the cruel uncertainty of what the next hour will bring. They cling to the faint hope that those with power will finally feel their pain and move to end this bloody conflict. Their suffering compels me to intercede—to cry out to God for mercy, to plead for peace. It moves me to action, for we are called to be agents of God’s Kingdom, to stand against violence and despair. Even though my soul feels crushed by helplessness and anxiety, I find comfort in the truth that God’s love and grace will never abandon us. As I comfort my family from afar, I remind them of this unwavering hope—one that transcends the chaos and destruction around them, and I invite you to join me in supporting and comforting our sisters and brothers in faith who are experiencing the same thing.