Between the hammer and the anvil: A nation’s tragedy

I join all those who are outraged by the latest Israeli strikes on Lebanon, condemning the horrors of the bombings. Lebanese society is on its knees—today, it crawls. 

In the echoes of explosions that shake every corner of this devastated land, panic spreads, and terror forces people onto roads of exile, improbable and often impossible.

Yet I must admit, there is a part of me—a vindictive side—that takes a grim satisfaction in the fall of a theocratic, terrorist organization that has persecuted and betrayed its own people for decades. 

But this satisfaction is fleeting, no more than a reaction from a humanity pushed to the edge. Because what is there to celebrate when the oppressor’s fall only brings more suffering to the innocent?

"Those who live by the sword will die by the sword." 

This dark truth has echoed through history, and once again, we witness it. But how can we take comfort in it, when it’s our children, our parents, our friends who are sacrificed to this endless cycle of violence? What remains is a scene drenched in blood and tears—no victory to claim, only devastation.

Once again, people are caught between the hammer and the anvil, trapped in a war that offers no escape. Death marks every strike, erasing lives and corrupting memory. 

This war is not new—it unfolds like a well-rehearsed tragedy, the same plot, the same suffering. The world watches, helpless, and we, as spectators, search for someone to blame, as if naming the culprit could somehow ease our own fear. But this need for a simple villain is misleading—a way to avoid facing the complexity of the real story.

History shows us that war can stop the bleeding, but it never heals the wounds. No matter who "wins," the scars remain. The true burden of guilt lies scattered across many hands, across nations, across decades. 

Those brave enough to look deeper will see that the villain we imagine isn’t as simple as we think. The guilty are judged by the guilty, and in this endless cycle, justice slips away.

Is there a way out of this? Maybe—if we begin by recognizing our shared responsibility. Recognizing that one side’s violence never justifies another’s revenge, that our silence and inaction also play a part in this tragedy. Whether we are close to the conflict or far from it, none of us are free from its shadow.

As I write these words, emotion surges too strongly for clear thought, and the sound of bombs drowns out reason. War doesn’t need an analyst—it demands a way out. 

And when this dark performance ends, when the smoke clears, we should not be surprised to see our names listed in the credits. Perhaps in small letters, but present all the same, part of this shared tragedy.