JCC Continues to Help Beirut Disaster Zone Residents

By Reem Haddad

The small open pickup truck, ladened with large boxes, made its way cautiously down Alexander Fleming street, an offshoot alley from Mar Mikhael road, just a few minutes of walking distance from the Beirut port.

"Hello! Hello!" Norma Irani warmly greeted JCC worker Elias Habib. "And you brought my new gas stove!"

Irani, somewhere in her early sixties, was practically jumping with excitement. "I don't know how to thank you," she said, smiling broadly, "come up, come up."

Hauling a big box on his back, the pickup driver carefully made his way to her third-floor apartment.

Habib met Irani in August, right after the explosion of a large amount of ammonium nitrate stored in the Beirut port killed almost two hundred people, wounded thousands and left over 300,000 people homeless. Irani's apartment was destroyed, and she had sought the cleanup help of JCC, housed in temporary headquarters in a destroyed restaurant on Mar Mikhael street. At the time, Habib was in charge of a group of twenty Palestinian teenagers from Dbayeh camp who spent three months immersed in the cleanup of the area. The JCC group cleared over 600 homes of mountains of glass and wood debris, carrying hundreds of heavy sacs down countless floors. JCC simultaneously surveyed the visited households to assess urgent needs.

Parents then asked JCC for some toys for their children to soothe the loss of treasured toys and games blasted away in the explosion. And as schools had started, they also asked for some much-needed stationery. 

"We weren't always this poor," explained one mother shyly. "A year ago, we would have been able to buy our children's things ourselves without asking for your help… but everything is so different now."

Sadly, this is the new Lebanon. A country sinking under an unprecedentedly dire economic crisis with a currency that has lost almost 80% of its value, witnessing hyperinflated prices on necessities.

The pandemic helped ignite the further collapse of the Lebanese economy.

For those still lucky enough to have jobs, salaries have dwindled to a few meager dollars – barely enough to cover food, let alone buy other goods.

Thanks to donors, JCC was able to procure gift cards for many of the children living in the disaster area. Overjoyed youngsters headed to the stationery shop and chose new toys, pencils, pens, notebooks, erasers, and odds and ends of school supplies.

Adults also received well-needed gifts: coupons to be used for food and household items at the local supermarket. Their gratitude was overwhelming.

Finally, the JCC's latest project: appliances.

Many families had been going by without the necessary large household appliances – most notably: gas stoves, heaters, washing machines, and fridges. It was the same story every time. These once relatively affluent families had no means of buying appliances anymore. They again turned to JCC.

And so it was, JCC began delivering appliances to 60 families who were deemed to need them most.  Habib left Irani excitedly examining her new gas stove and checked his list.

Next on the list was Joseph Ghrayeb. His apartment, nestled in a turn of a century-old building with arched windows and a red-tiled roof, was severely damaged.

Ghrayeb had requested a washing machine. His elderly mother could barely see and washing by hand had become nearly impossible. Again, the pickup driver hauled a box on his back and climbed the three flights of stairs. The machine was delivered.

As Habib returned to the street to check his delivery list, a man came up to him.

"Do you provide televisions?" he asked.

"No," replied Habib, "I am afraid not."

The man was clearly upset. "Please come see my home," he said.

Habib obliged. An elderly woman clad in black smiled sweetly as the men entered the house. It was an Armenian family.

Rafi Tossonian, 45 years old, pointed to a television screen on the table. "It doesn't work," he said, "and we can't buy one."

Next to the nonfunctioning TV was a metal watch perfectly split in two. Tossonian grabbed it and displayed it to Habib.

"My father was wearing this when the explosion happened," he said. "That's all I have left of him."

On August 4 at 5:45 pm, his 85-year-old father left the family tailor shop and headed home. His wife and son were to follow soon.

6:07 pm. The neighborhood shook violently. Blood-soaked and shell-shocked people emerged into the streets. Tossonian ran home. His bloody father was lying on the apartment floor with hundreds of glass shards embedded in his body. Hence the sliced metal watch.

"Please, do you have a television for us?" Tossonian asked quietly.

"Let me see what I can do," answered Habib.

Tossonian nodded gratefully.

Outside, Habib sighed heavily. He has been in charge of JCC work in the disaster area from day one. He has seen it all: the damage, the tears, the defeat, the helplessness…

"There is so much we can do," he said frustrated, "we can't help everybody. How can we?"

He stood silent for a few seconds. "There is nothing worse than turning the people who need you away," he said, "but we can only give as much as we are given. That's just the way it is."

Habib walked back to the van. The exhausted pickup driver was watching over the boxes. Three more successful deliveries today.

Tomorrow, they will start again.

Our gratitude goes to UMCOR, Church of Finland and ACT Alliance for allowing us to shed a light of happiness for a few families affected by the Beirut Port Explosion.