A Glimpse at the Jewish Slaughter of 
Lebanese Muslims

Taken from the Daily Star, Wednesday 16 September 1998

Sixteen years ago today, refugees at Sabra and Chatila woke up to one of the bloodiest chapters in Lebanon's history. Militiamen had stormed the shanty-towns in Beirut's southern suburbs, slaughtering hundreds of civilians in a rampage that would shock the world. Today, few of those who survived remain in the camp. Those who could leave the country have done so. Those who couldn't afford to get out, live in daily reminder of the horrific massacre. The Daily Star's Reem Haddad has been talking to some of the survivors. 

A Lesson in Hatred

Mohammed Srour, 35, can never forgive himself for leaving his family behind: "It was Thursday at 5.45pm precisely. I was sitting on the roof and saw soldiers running in. Their caps were turned to the back. I knew they were attacking the camp. I told my father. He immediately gave me and my brother money and told us to run away. He and my mother and sisters would stay at home. He thought the soldiers would only want the young men. So we ran. I came back on Saturday when the Lebanese army came in. I opened the door. My father's and sister's bodies were crumpled on top of each other. Outside on the streets were piles of bodies, with flies sticking to them. I recognized some of our neighbors. The massacre taught me one thing-hatred. Hatred against the Jews and those who were with them."

I Pretended to be Dead

Nohad Srour, 35, Mohammed's sister, has recurring nightmares and clearly sees one killers' face in her head.

"After my brothers ran off to hide, we went to bed. We never thought they'd come for us. I had two sisters and two younger brothers. I was 16 years old. At 5.40 in the morning, the door was kicked in and soldiers ran into our house. They dragged us out of bed and ordered us to stand against the wall. I carried my little sister and saw my two little brothers sneak off to the bathroom. We were scared. My parents and sisters were screaming. I couldn't scream. I don't know why. One man had his gun pointed at us but he couldn't get himself to shoot. Another soldier said in Arabic: "shoot, what are you waiting for?" but the man wouldn't. The other one grabbed the gun and told my father to show him his papers. As my father turned to get the papers, the soldiers shot him then turned the gun on us and kept shooting. I was carrying my one-year-old baby sister and she was yelling 'Mama! Mama!' then suddenly nothing. I looked at her and her brain had fallen out her head and down my arm. I looked around and saw that my mother and my older sister were still alive but wounded.

My mother and I could walk but my sister couldn't. We had to leave her lying in blood. I put a jug of water next to her and we ran to get help. For three days she stayed there lying with the corpses.

My two little brothers ran off from the bathroom and we found them later. My sister's still alive but she is paralyzed."

LL 12,000 to spare a son's life

Um Ghazi Younes, 55- eleven members of her family were killed

"My daughter had been killed 40 days before in an Israeli bombardment. Relatives had come from Tyre and Sidon for her 40th remembrance. We were more than 25 people. When the soldiers surrounded the house, we hid the men at one end and the women went out to meet the soldiers. We told them we were all women there. But the soldiers barged in and found the men. They ordered the women out and left the men inside. I had four teenage sons and a little girl. My youngest boy was 11 and came to me. The soldier ordered him to go in with the men. I said he was a girl. His hair was long and they believed me. I said 'her' name was Hamdeh. "Hamdeh" was carrying her baby cousin but tripped and fell. When his sister came to help him, she called him by his real name and the soldier knew it was a boy. He cursed us and hit us. He grabbed the boy. I cried and pleaded. I had LL12,000 in my dress. In those days, it was a lot of money. I told him I'd give it to him if he would let my son go.

He agreed and took us to the Sports City. There were a lot of women and children there. We had to sit in a huge hole. They said they were going to bury us. We ran off when soldiers went to investigate some explosions.

I ran home and found my husband and children dead. Mohammed was the youngest at 14. They had burned his body with acid. They chopped up the others with a hatchet. I found my husband's head on the pillow."

My life ended that day.

Mohammed Abu Rodaina, 21, carries a picture in his wallet showing his father and uncles slain outside their home.

"I was five years old at the time of the massacre but I remember every detail. We heard shelling and shots but my father didn't think it was anything serious.

We joined my uncle's family downstairs and played cards and laughed. We were 15 altogether. Suddenly, a woman barged in on us. She had blood all over. She screamed that there was a massacre taking place. My father didn't believe her. He told her to stop saying things like that because it would scare the children.

But then we heard screams. We all ran into a small room to hide. It was tiny and we could barely breathe. Our old neighbor went outside to see what was happening. He was shot. His daughter followed him and she was shot. My parents told us to be quiet so the soldiers wouldn't hear us. We tried but we children couldn't help crying. One baby kept wailing.

The soldiers heard and found us. They ran in and started breaking up everything. Then they grouped us- the men on one side and the women and children on the other.

They marched the women and children out. Just outside the camp, an Israeli soldier grabbed me and gave me a biscuit. He asked me what my father was wearing. I knew he wanted to know whether my father was fighter. I didn't say anything.

The soldiers then took us to the Sports City. They said they were going to kill us. Suddenly, some explosions happened nearby and they ran off. One of the women suddenly yelled for us to run. And we did. Later we went back to the camp. My father and uncles had been killed.

We found my sisters who were married and lived elsewhere in the camp also dead.

Until this day, I still question how my father, having seen the women covered in blood, did not believe her instantly. Maybe things would have turned out different. I desperately needed my father all my life. My mother died a few years later. She never got over what she'd seen. That left me and my sister, alone all these years. My life ended that day. Now, I just exist. I hate my life. I hate myself. I just want to leave this camp, this country. I want to start somewhere else. But I'm only a Palestinian. Who would help me?"

Some very disturbing pictures of Israeli tortures to the unarmed Palestinian Civilians.

Does these Jewish settler appear to be "Peace Loving"?

Who Is The Terrorist?