In Beirut, the Adventist School in Mouseitbeh has opened its doors to shelter families fleeing the escalating conflict in southern Lebanon, providing refuge, care, and hope amid war and loss.
Explosions rocked the small villages along the southern part of Lebanon as aircraft flew overhead, detonating their lethal payloads. Realizing they would have to flee for their lives, local residents gathered what they could, piled themselves and their belongings into vehicles, and joined the long lines of people heading somewhere, anywhere. No one knew where that would be; no one knew where they would sleep that night; but none of this mattered. The uppermost thought in every parent's heart was to take their children and aging parents somewhere safe. As the long line of vehicles slowly snaked its way upward towards Beirut, the capital, and other safe areas, no one could have known that on that very night, in the most desperate time of their lives, God had been working out an answer – an answer that involved the Seventh-Day Adventist Church.
We arrived in Mouseitbeh, a neighborhood in the bustling heart of Beirut. As part of the Communication team for the Middle East and North Africa Union, we were visiting the Adventist School in that zone to witness how it had once again opened its doors to displaced families fleeing the escalating crisis.
The conflict that started back in October of last year had intensified in the last couple of weeks, with multiple incidents hitting different parts of Lebanon, including many towns in the south, the Beqaa Valley, parts of southern suburbs of Beirut, and other places. Residents of those areas had to flee. The school's legacy of providing refuge dates back to 1978, with subsequent similar crises in 1982, 1996, 2006, and now in 2024. This wealth of experience has proven invaluable in the face of the current emergency.
For nearly twenty minutes, we circled the overcrowded streets, determined to find a parking spot as thousands of fleeing civilians had taken this neighborhood as a refuge. There was a palpable tension in the air. Minutes before reaching the gates of the school, our hearts skipped a beat – two sonic booms thundered across the city, sending chills down our spines as we mistook them for bombs.
Upon our arrival, we were warmly greeted by some of the staff, who were quite evidently filled with fatigue. Yet, upon each face was the unmistakable look of determination.
Since the outbreak of the conflict, the school has created a task force that has been vigilantly monitoring the situation and brainstorming potential responses based on their previous experiences.
As tensions escalated in recent months, the ASM task force began formulating a more concrete plan. However, the situation rapidly reached a critical point on Monday, September 22nd, when the school received an urgent call informing them that displaced families from at least 5 villages in the south of Lebanon would be arriving imminently. With little to no time to prepare supplies such as bedding, hygiene products, or food, the school nevertheless opened its doors.
As the staff guided us to a meeting room overlooking the backyard, we stood by the window and peered at the scene unfolding outside: at least twenty people gathered, most of them women seated while their children clung to their sides. Clothes, hastily washed, were spread out along a bench and a rope to dry. Groups of people stood in quiet conversation, their faces heavy with the weight of loss. That's when a sleep-deprived Dima greeted us and told us how the events had unfolded.
Being the leader of the task force, Dima is in charge of overseeing the care, protection, and basic needs of the IDPs (Internally Displaced People). She joined us with her sister Jana, who is a teacher in the school. Dr. Elias Choufani, the principal of ASM, later joined us as well.
On Tuesday, September 23rd, the school staff welcomed around 35 families with more than 250 members, including 55 children ranging from the ages of 1 month to 15 years old, seeking refuge from the direct threat of bombs in their towns. "All of these families are coming from the South of Lebanon, where the altercations are more intense," Dima commented. That first night, families were forced to sleep on the floor due to the lack of proper bedding. Despite these challenging circumstances, the task force worked tirelessly to provide whatever comfort they could.
The situation these families face is heartbreaking. Many have lost entire families due to their houses or villages being bombed. They are grappling with the loss of loved ones, homes, and their entire way of life. The grief is palpable, but despite all of it, they are still very loving, respectful, and kind. It's their nature, and not even the most horrible conditions of war will erase it from them.
"Taking care of the families requires special attention at night because that's when they're all gathered together, and their needs are most apparent. We're doing our best, but the conditions are far from ideal. They're taking showers with buckets because we have no proper shower facilities. There's no privacy. They're eating ready-made meals because the building is not set up with kitchens for that purpose," a resolute Dr. Choufani mentioned.
The task force formed by the school has planned several initiatives to support the displaced families, including a reading club, an awareness committee, and a sports committee. However, these activities haven't started yet as the families are still adjusting to this temporary way of life and grieving their losses.
The response from the community has been remarkable, with teachers, staff, parents, students, and alumni all stepping up to help. Much of this assistance has come through personal initiatives of the administration members, who have been reaching out to friends, family, and classmates. This word-of-mouth approach has created a chain of support that is currently ensuring the basic needs of the families are being met.
It was then that Dr. Choufani's face lit up as he said: "A young student from 3rd grade came to school yesterday accompanied by his parents and said to me, 'I want to help. I want to donate a small water filtration system.' It was something small, but he was happy to contribute, and I couldn't contain my joy to see our young students trying their best to be helpful in any way they could."
Everyone in Mouseitbeh who is involved is working around the clock, 18 hours a day, in many time-consuming activities. "There is always something to do, some way to help. There isn't a single minute when nothing is happening," Dima pitched in.
However, as the crisis continues with no end in sight, the school finds itself at a critical juncture. "We're now at full capacity," Jana, a passionate teacher, mentioned. "We've taken in as many families as we possibly can, and our resources are stretched to the limit. We urgently need sustained support to continue providing for these displaced families."
"It's frustrating for all of us to know that these families need essential things, to see the losses they're experiencing, and to feel that there's little we can do to help," Jana continues, as we all were listening intently to her words. "But we want to help. Everyone wants to help. Our hearts hurt because we want to be able to do more."
We asked Jana how we could help, and her priorities were not the growing concern about the school's infrastructure nor the time and resources to recondition these spaces once the crisis subsided. Her concern was the families that are in dire need of basic hygiene supplies, meals, bedding, sleeping materials, clothing, and baby supplies.
The current situation is further complicated because of the economic crisis the country is facing. Prices for basic goods have skyrocketed. A single used mattress that usually costs around $6 recently reached the $50 price mark. But the school is doing its best to manage with limited funds, although the need far outweighs the available resources.
"Despite these challenges," Dr. Choufani looked at us with his eyes full of courage and the Holy Spirit. "For us, this is a way to live out our faith. We're demonstrating our identity - our church identity, our Christian identity, our human identity - through action. Our staff is like a family. We are a family. We're taking care of each other and supporting one another as we work intensely to be witnesses."
The dedication of the school staff has not gone unnoticed. Members of the community have taken Dr. Choufani aside and stated, "What you all are doing! The way you are helping. No one else is doing it."
It's worth noting that along the road to ASM, the neighborhood has at least seven other schools, and each is at full capacity, sheltering more than 1,500 IDPs. This fact, said by an exhausted Jana, was hard to swallow. This underscores the scale of the crisis and the critical role these educational institutions are playing in providing shelter and support.
After turning off the recorder, we said our farewells to these weary but hopeful members of the Adventist School in Mouseitbeh. On our way down the stairs, we passed two women who, even after losing everything, still had a small sad smile on their faces. As we sat in the car while making our way back to the office, we couldn't help but think: When will this end? The suffering, the war, the pain. At that moment, all we could do was silently pray: Jesus, come back soon.
As this crisis continues to unfold, with no clear end in sight and uncertainty about whether these families will ever be able to return to their homes, the Adventist School in Mouseitbeh stands as a ray of hope. It embodies the principles of compassion, service, and community that are at the heart of Adventist Education.
For more information about ways to contribute, please contact info@adventistmena.org