Inside the city of grief hit hardest by Israel strikes on southern Lebanon

Inside the City of Grief: Ashura Ceremony in Nabatieh Amid Hezbollah-Israel War

Inside the city of grief hit hardest - On June 19, 2026, the annual Ashura ceremony in Nabatieh, southern Lebanon, took on a somber tone as the city grappled with the aftermath of relentless Israeli strikes. Once a vibrant celebration of Shia Muslim heritage, the event now served as a poignant reminder of the war’s devastation. The procession, marked by mournful chants and the rhythmic beating of chests, moved through streets lined with rubble, their sorrow amplified by the distant echoes of shelling from the hills beyond.

A Historical Symbol in a Modern Conflict

Ashura, a solemn religious observance, commemorates the martyrdom of Imam Hussein, the grandson of Prophet Muhammad, during the Battle of Karbala in 680 CE. For Shia Muslims, it symbolizes resistance against tyranny and the enduring spirit of sacrifice. In peaceful years, the ceremony in Nabatieh drew thousands, with crowds of up to 30,000 gathering to honor the event through processions, prayers, and collective mourning. This year, however, the grief was personal, as the war between Hezbollah and Israel had claimed over 3,900 lives, predominantly Shia Muslims, and left the city in ruins.

The Weight of Loss

Nabatieh, a city historically known for its cultural richness, bore the brunt of the conflict. Israeli airstrikes had reduced neighborhoods to smoldering remnants, forcing most of its 80,000 residents to flee. The war’s toll was visible in every corner: buildings shattered, roads strewn with debris, and the air thick with the scent of smoke. Yet, despite the destruction, the people of Nabatieh gathered to commemorate Ashura, their tears blending with the memories of those lost in the battle for survival.

At the heart of the ceremony stood Martyr posters that adorned the city’s streets. One such display at the roundabout leading to the neighboring village of Harouf featured the faces of 50 Hezbollah fighters killed there. These images, hung on mosque walls and worn on T-shirts, served as a testament to the city’s resilience. Ismail Yaghi, a 50-year-old attendee, reflected on the ceremony’s transformed meaning. “This year, Ashura is not just about history—it’s about living the tragedy of Karbala every day,” he said, his voice trembling as he gazed at the posters.

A Ceasefire That Stopped the War, But Not the Pain

A ceasefire declared on Monday between the US and Iran unexpectedly halted the fighting in Lebanon, preventing Israeli forces from advancing further into Nabatieh. This reprieve allowed the city to reclaim a semblance of normalcy, though the scars of war remained. Mehdi Sadek, 45, head of the Nabatieh ambulance service, described the preparation for Ashura as a frantic effort. “We usually spend a month setting up for this event. This time, we had just two days,” he said, stirring a pot of onions and spices as volunteers cleared rubble from the central mosque.

The city’s recovery efforts were hampered by the ongoing clashes in the “security zone,” a contested area where Israel and Hezbollah continued to exchange fire. Despite the ceasefire, the air remained tense, with Israeli artillery shelling the outskirts of Nabatieh. Sadek, who had witnessed the city’s transformation from a place of life to a battlefield, noted that the silence of the streets was haunting. “The city is empty now, but we’re still here, holding onto hope,” he said, his words echoing the determination of the community.

Resilience in the Face of Displacement

For many residents, the decision to return to Nabatieh for Ashura was a symbolic act of defiance. “We wanted to show that we’re not afraid, even after everything,” said Sadek. However, the majority of the population had been displaced by Israeli bombings and evacuation orders, leaving the city with fewer than 200 people present for the ceremony. The Lebanese army had sealed off the upper parts of the city and nearby villages, fearing renewed attacks from Israeli forces.

While the Ashura procession moved through the city, the echoes of recent violence lingered. On Friday morning, tensions flared as Hezbollah launched attacks on Israeli troops, killing four soldiers. In retaliation, Israel unleashed a series of airstrikes that targeted Nabatieh and its surrounding areas, claiming 18 lives and injuring 33. “There were more people here yesterday, but the night was brutal,” Sadek recalled, as he pointed to the smoke rising above the hills that bordered the city.

A Shared Memory of Suffering

The ceremony became a collective act of remembrance, intertwining the historical narrative of Imam Hussein with the present-day struggle of the city’s inhabitants. “We live the story of Karbala every day,” Yaghi explained, his voice thick with emotion. “The pain of losing loved ones is not just a memory—it’s a reality we carry with us.” For the few who had returned, the event was a way to reconnect with their roots, even as the war’s shadow loomed large.

As the procession concluded, the mourners’ voices faded into the quiet of the city. The central mosque, once a hub of community life, now stood as a stark reminder of the war’s impact. Its walls bore the marks of destruction, yet volunteers had managed to hang black banners to shield the damage. This small gesture symbolized the community’s efforts to preserve hope amidst despair. The ceremony, though modest in scale, was a declaration of endurance—a testament to the people of Nabatieh who refused to let their spirit be extinguished.

For those who remained, Ashura was more than a religious observance; it was a moment of solidarity. The crowd’s chants, though subdued, resonated with the shared grief of a people who had endured loss, displacement, and the relentless pace of war. As the sun set over the city, the light cast long shadows on the remnants of homes and the faces of mourners, a poignant image of a community rebuilding their lives in the ruins of a once-thriving city.

Despite the ceasefire, the people of Nabatieh knew the peace was fragile. The war had left deep wounds, and the Ashura ceremony served as both a reminder of those losses and a promise of continued resistance. “Even though the war has paused, our fight is not over,” Yaghi said, his words a quiet vow to the city and its people. As the final prayers were recited, the crowd dispersed into the empty streets, carrying the weight of their sorrow and the fire of their resolve into the days ahead.