None of the doctors or nurses left. They said they wanted to continue working.
In the space of a single week, three hospitals in southern Lebanon were struck by Israeli forces, killing nine and wounding more than 150, most of them medical workers. The attacks have pushed a healthcare system already hollowed out by months of conflict to the threshold of collapse, leaving displaced and vulnerable populations with nowhere to turn for care. Since fighting began in March, 130 medical workers have been killed and 162 healthcare facilities struck — a toll that international law and human rights observers increasingly describe not as incidental, but as the systematic unmaking of the conditions necessary for life.
- A direct strike on Jabal Amel Hospital in Tyre forced staff to evacuate ICU patients still connected to life support, while 127 workers were wounded in a single blow.
- Within days, a public hospital in Tebnine was hit, an ambulance was destroyed killing two emergency responders, and the Hiram Hospital in Tyre had already been struck — three facilities, one week, one region.
- Israel insists the strikes targeted Hezbollah infrastructure and that hospitals were affected incidentally, but the presence of the Red Cross, Lebanese Red Cross, and Lebanese army in Tebnine's hospital undermines claims of militant control.
- The WHO warns that southern Lebanon's remaining functional hospitals are now the last line of care for mass-displaced populations with no alternatives — and those hospitals are barely standing.
- Despite the destruction, Jabal Amel's staff did not leave: the day of the strike, two babies were delivered; the next day, airstrike victims were already being received again.
In seven days, three hospitals in southern Lebanon were struck by Israeli forces. Nine people died. More than 150 were wounded, most of them medical staff. The attacks have brought the region's fragile healthcare system to the edge of collapse.
The sequence began Monday when a strike near Jabal Amel Hospital in Tyre killed four and injured 127. The blast destroyed the building directly in front of the facility, knocked out power, tore through the first floor, and forced staff to evacuate ICU patients — some still on life support. The hospital's director, Wael Mroueh, described the moment with the quiet of someone still in shock: an ordinary day, then without warning, the hospital was targeted. Two days later, Israeli forces struck near the public hospital in Tebnine. That same day, an ambulance was hit, killing two emergency responders and critically wounding a third.
Israel said the strikes were aimed at Hezbollah infrastructure and that hospitals were affected incidentally. It also accused Hezbollah of using one facility to treat wounded fighters. Lebanon's health ministry called this a fabrication — and the presence of the International Committee of the Red Cross, the Lebanese Red Cross, and the Lebanese army in Tebnine's hospital complicates any such claim.
What amplifies the toll is what these strikes destroy beyond their immediate victims. Southern Lebanon is hosting waves of displaced people, and the three struck hospitals were among the few remaining functional facilities in the area. The WHO's representative in Lebanon found access to essential care already critically constrained; the attacks, he said, deprived the most vulnerable of care they could not find elsewhere.
Since fighting began March 2 — when Hezbollah launched rockets following the killing of Iran's supreme leader — at least 130 medical workers have been killed and 162 healthcare facilities struck across Lebanon. A ceasefire was signed April 17, but strikes outside Beirut have continued. More than 3,468 people have been killed by Israeli strikes in Lebanon overall. Human rights experts have characterized the pattern of attacks on medical infrastructure as a deliberate strategy to degrade conditions for life in the south — conduct classified as a war crime under international law.
Jabal Amel Hospital did not close. On the day of the strike, staff delivered two babies. The next day, they were treating airstrike victims. None of the doctors or nurses left. They said they wanted to keep working.
In the span of seven days, three hospitals in southern Lebanon absorbed direct or near-direct strikes from Israeli forces. Nine people died. More than 150 were wounded, the vast majority of them medical staff trying to do their jobs. The attacks have left the region's already fragile healthcare system on the edge of collapse.
The sequence began on Monday when a strike near Jabal Amel Hospital in Tyre killed four people and injured 127. The blast hit the building directly in front of the facility, reducing it to rubble. The force was enough to knock out the hospital's power, tear through the first floor, and force staff to evacuate patients from the intensive care unit—some still connected to life support machines. Wael Mroueh, the hospital's director, described the moment with the flatness of someone still processing shock: it was an ordinary day, and then without warning, the hospital was targeted. He had prepared himself mentally for the possibility that medical workers might be attacked. He had not prepared for this.
Two days later, on Wednesday, Israeli forces struck near the public hospital in Tebnine. The same day, an ambulance was hit, killing two emergency responders and critically wounding a third. The Hiram Hospital in Tyre had also been struck in the preceding days. None of these attacks, according to the Israeli military, were intentional. The strikes were aimed at Hezbollah infrastructure, the military said, and the hospitals were affected incidentally. Israel also accused Hezbollah of occupying one of the facilities and using it to treat wounded fighters. Lebanon's ministry of health called this a fabrication. The International Committee of the Red Cross, the Lebanese Red Cross, and the Lebanese army all maintain medical presence in Tebnine's hospital—a detail that complicates any claim of Hezbollah control.
What makes these attacks significant is not just their immediate toll but what they destroy in a region already stripped of functioning healthcare. Southern Lebanon has been subject to mass displacement. Tyre, one of the largest cities in the south, is now hosting displaced people from surrounding villages, many with severely limited access to medical care. The three hospitals that were struck represent some of the few remaining functional healthcare facilities in the area. When the World Health Organization's representative in Lebanon, Abdinasir Abubakar, assessed the situation, he found that access to essential services was already critically constrained. The attacks, he said, deprived the most vulnerable patients of care they could not get elsewhere.
Since fighting between Hezbollah and Israel began on March 2, the toll on Lebanon's medical infrastructure has been staggering. At least 130 medical workers have been killed. One hundred sixty-two ambulances and healthcare facilities have been struck. The numbers accumulate with a kind of grim inevitability. Yet Mroueh's hospital, despite the damage, did not close. On the day of the strike, staff delivered two babies. The next day, they were receiving patients again—victims of airstrikes, people who had nowhere else to go. None of the doctors or nurses left. They said they wanted to continue working.
The fighting itself began on March 2 when Hezbollah launched rockets at Israel in retaliation for the killing of Iran's supreme leader. A ceasefire between Lebanon and Israel was signed on April 17, but outside Beirut, the strikes have continued. More than 3,468 people have been killed by Israeli strikes in Lebanon since the conflict began. At least 21 Israeli soldiers have been killed by Hezbollah, along with two civilians inside Israel. Analysts and human rights experts have characterized the attacks on healthcare facilities as part of a deliberate strategy to degrade conditions for life in the south. Targeting medical facilities and healthcare workers is classified as a war crime under international law. The hospitals continue to function, but barely—and the people they serve have nowhere else to turn.
Citas Notables
It was an ordinary day at the hospital and then suddenly for no reason, they targeted the hospital. It was a catastrophe.— Wael Mroueh, director of Jabal Amel Hospital
I never expected something like this to happen. We prepared ourselves psychologically that maybe some of our medical staff could be targeted, but a huge strike like this, in this way. We didn't expect it.— Wael Mroueh, director of Jabal Amel Hospital
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
Why does it matter that these were hospitals specifically, rather than other buildings?
Because hospitals are supposed to be protected spaces. They're where people go when they're already at their most vulnerable. When you strike a hospital, you're not just damaging a building—you're removing one of the few places in a region where someone can get help.
The Israeli military said the hospitals were hit incidentally, not targeted. Does that distinction matter?
It matters legally and morally, but the effect on the ground is the same. Whether intentional or not, the hospital is damaged, the patients are displaced, and the staff are traumatized. And when it happens three times in a week, the pattern becomes harder to explain away as accident.
Mroueh said he prepared himself for medical staff to be targeted, but not for a strike like this. What does that tell you?
It tells you that people working in conflict zones develop a kind of psychological armor. They expect danger in certain forms. But a massive blast that destroys the building in front of you, that forces you to evacuate patients from machines—that exceeds what the mind has prepared for. It breaks the framework.
The hospitals kept functioning after the strikes. Why didn't they just close?
Because closing would mean abandoning the people who depend on them. There's nowhere else to go in southern Lebanon. The staff stayed because the alternative—leaving people without care—was unthinkable. It's a choice made under duress, but it's still a choice to stay.
What does the WHO representative mean by saying access to care was already critically constrained?
It means the region was already in crisis before these strikes. Displacement, limited resources, damaged infrastructure—the healthcare system was barely holding on. These attacks didn't create the problem; they pushed a fragile system closer to breaking.