“Black Wednesday”: Minutes of Israeli Strikes, Days of Searching for the Missing

“When the bombing ended, even excavators couldn’t get in — they kept getting tangled in the wires,” said an eyewitness in Hay el-Sellom, a densely packed neighborhood where buildings are pressed tightly together and electrical wires crisscross overhead. 

Located in Beirut’s southern suburbs, Hay el-Sellom had been considered relatively safe throughout the U.S.-Israeli war on Lebanon. It was not included in displacement orders issued by the Israeli military, so markets remained open and people continued moving throughout the area during the day.

The eyewitness, who runs a shop in the neighborhood, described the blast as deafening, with smoke quickly engulfing the streets. He put his 2-year-old child on a motorcycle and took him to safety before returning to help. What he found was widespread devastation: “rubble on top of rubble.” Several sites were struck at once: three buildings near the al-Ghadir River, one near the Arab Mosque, and another near Arweh Junction.

The strikes came hours after the United States and Iran agreed to a temporary ceasefire and the launch of negotiations in Islamabad on April 10. The 10-point plan presented by the Islamic Republic included a ceasefire in Lebanon as a precondition for negotiating with the U.S., raising cautious hope through much of the country.

That hope was shattered the next day, when the Israeli military launched a sweeping bombing campaign across the country, striking more than 100 locations in about 10 minutes, according to the Israeli military’s Arabic-language spokesperson, including densely populated areas of Beirut. 

Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu later praised the speed and scale of the assault, which he called “Operation Eternal Darkness” and was widely reported as Lebanon’s “Black Wednesday.”

The Health Ministry initially reported 87 killed; by Friday, the toll rose to 357 as rescue teams and volunteers worked around the clock to recover bodies. At least 1,200 people were injured. 

In Beirut, strikes targeted Ain al-Mreisseh, Basta, Corniche al-Mazraa, Bashoura, Borj Abi Haidar, and Dahieh’s Chiyah neighborhood. In Ain al-Mreisseh, an airstrike leveled a building, killing 27 residents. A strike on a funeral procession in Shmustar in the Bekaa Valley killed 10 people. Three girls were martyred in Adloun in the South. A family of four was killed in the northeastern village of Mansoura, and four others were killed in a strike on the southeastern town of Majadel.

Videos spread quickly across news channels: cars crumpled into unrecognizable shapes, thick black smoke rising in columns, and white-gray dust coating every surface.

Not since the Zionist entity’s pager attack in September 2024 have medical workers in Lebanon seen such a sudden influx of people injured. 

Across the country, doctors, nurses, and paramedics — on and off duty — scrambled to respond. Dr. Ghassan Abu Sittah, chair of conflict medicine at the American University of Beirut, told Arab News that Israeli operations like Wednesday’s are designed to inflict mass casualties in a short time to overwhelm the healthcare system. 

“Buildings are being targeted to collapse on their inhabitants,” he said. “Many victims die from suffocation under the rubble.”

Yahya Obeid, an anesthesiologist at Makassed General Hospital in Beirut’s Mazra’a neighborhood, spoke to The Public Source by phone between surgeries on April 8.

“The situation is grim. The emergency room is jammed,” he said. “It’s chaos down there. There are too many patients to count.”

While many injuries were minor and could be treated in the ER, he added, a steady stream of critical cases requires surgery and intensive care. In Obeid’s operating room, staff moved patients from one procedure to the next.

“Vascular injuries, tendon damage, amputations, internal trauma — spleens, limbs, eyes, faces, brains,” he said, listing the cases they were handling.

At least seven children were treated in the pediatric ward. One child survived surgery, but another, a 13-year-old, was in a vegetative state.

Despite the strain, the hospital continued to function, largely due to off-duty staff who returned to assist. “Many staff are volunteering. It’s a full house: doctors across specialties, nurses, cleaners, and drivers,” he said. 

Healthcare workers with years of experience treating victims of one calamity after another were devastated by the conditions of those arriving at the hospital.

“We’ve seen so much [over the course of our careers] — severed limbs, organs torn apart. And still, some of my coworkers are breaking down crying,” he said. “It’s the shock of it, the scale of it... Tthe amount of grief, the injuries, the deaths. It’s overwhelming.”

Some of Lebanon’s hospitals may run out of life-saving trauma kits within days as supplies rapidly dwindle after mass casualties from the latest wave of Israeli strikes, the World Health Organization’s representative in Lebanon told Reuters on April 9. These kits, containing essentials such as bandages, antibiotics, and anesthetics, are critical for treating war-related injuries.

Anis Germani, a physician and health policy consultant, told The Public Source that Beirut’s major hospitals are already at capacity. Some smaller private hospitals have stopped admitting new patients, he said, because government reimbursements from the Health Ministry do not cover the full cost of care, prompting profit-driven facilities to restrict admissions.

Larger hospitals remain open but are already strained by years of political and economic crises.

In southern Lebanon, Germani said six hospitals have been put out of service by the war, though some have partially resumed operations, particularly in emergency departments. 

“Based on the 2024 war, hospitals in southern Lebanon proved more resilient than others,” he said. But the latest assault has stretched response capacity to its limits. While the country does not lack paramedics, he added, the intensity and geographic spread of the attacks have left them spread thin.

And then there are the bodies still trapped beneath the rubble. 

As of Monday, the Disaster Risk Management Unit reported eight people still missing in Beirut, including one child, and that 21 victims were recently identified by families or hospitals. 

Saad Ahmar, head of the South Metn coastal region at the Lebanese Civil Defense, told The Public Source that most of the bodies they recovered were women and children, including one building where six children under age 10 were pulled from the rubble.

Rescue operations remain dangerous, as Israel has repeatedly targeted first responders in “double-tap” strikes, where a second strike hits the same site after emergency teams arrive. Ahmar said crews are aware of the risk and often wait before entering strike sites, but safety is not guaranteed.

Since March 2, Israel has killed at least 88 medics, according to Lebanon's Health Ministry.

“What gives you the motivation to push is saving just one life — you feel you’ve achieved something,” Ahmar said. “All our volunteers and staff run to the site of the strike without fear, because their only goal is to help people and minimize damage.”

The search and rescue team ended its operations yesterday, with a total of 81 people found dead in Hay el-Sellom, according to Al Mayadeen.

The intensity of Israel’s bombardment on April 8 overwhelmed hospital morgues. Nearly a week later, they are still holding unidentified bodies and fragments of remains. In Beirut, Rafik Hariri University Hospital — the country’s largest public hospital — received most of the dead and wounded. Its director, Dr. Mohammad al-Zaatari, told The Public Source that several bodies in the morgue remain unidentified.

According to a security source at the Ministry of Interior, forensic laboratories have received 19 samples from hospitals across Beirut and the South. Preliminary testing has matched the samples to 12 individuals. The ministry has also received samples from four families seeking identification, though none of the cases has been definitively confirmed. The identification process takes 48 to 72 hours. 

“It’s expensive, but it’s manageable,” the ministry source said. “It’s part of what we do, as during the explosion at the Beirut Port and the last war.”

Families with no word on missing relatives arrive at Rafik Hariri University Hospital searching for answers. If their loved one is not among the injured patients, they are taken to the morgue, Zaatari explained, where they search through burned, disfigured, or dismembered remains for recognizable features. 

“It makes you want to cry, or hit your head against the wall, or just scream in anger because the scene is so difficult,” Ahmar, from the Civil Defense, said referring to targeted sites. “The scenes are extremely harsh — a crime in every sense of the word.”