A Brotherhood of Sacrifice

The landline rang, and his brother — two years his senior — picked up: “Hello, Hassan Nasrallah speaking!” Earlier that day, their aunt had instructed him not to reveal his name, fearing Israel might bomb the house.

It was July 1993, during the “Seven-Day Assault.” Khalil Nasrallah and his family were staying with his paternal aunt in the village of Maarake, in the Sour district, outside Israel’s target zone at the time.

That childhood moment is still etched in his memory. “Years later, I thought long and hard about the fear the occupation plants in us,”  Khalil says, “to the point where a child is afraid to say his own name.” 

During the 1996 offensive, he experienced displacement to Beirut with his family for the first time. In those days, he saw what he describes as Israel’s real face on television, its features exposed with every massacre, from Mansouri to Qana. That war shaped his earliest understanding of the struggle and defined his position within it.

“I grew up in a conservative, resistance-oriented family in the village of Bazourieh. My father assumed military responsibilities within the Amal Movement from the 1980s until the mid-1990s, and my mother prepared food and supplies for the fighters.” His parents’ discussions and commentary on the news cultivated an early political awareness in their three children.

“Those of my generation, raised within the social base of the resistance, were deeply attached to Sayyed Hassan Nasrallah’s speeches. They were a primary source for understanding political realities.” Khalil adds, “kinship and proximity lent a special depth to my relationship with the figure of the Sayyed as a leader.”

A smile spreads across his face as he recalls Liberation Day and his family touring the border villages. “I remember the celebrations in every town: dabke circles, ululations, trays of sweets… A joy that would not have been possible without the resistance.”

He and his family remained steadfast in their village during the first weeks of the 2006 war. “I asked the resistance fighters to let me join them in battle, but they refused. I had no military experience.”

The brothers gravitated toward the frontlines, with the eldest, Hassan, the first to join. “My brother fell in love with the resistance when he was a teenager. He joined the Mahdi Scouts, then trained in Hezbollah’s summer camps before becoming part of the military structure. I followed his path, and Mahdi joined us later.” Hassan encouraged Khalil to join the party, which he did immediately after finishing high school in 2007, becoming one of thousands of young men who joined the resistance after the July War.

In 2014, his eldest brother was martyred in Iraq. From that moment, the family home became a gathering place for mourners, and Khalil began hosting village occasions, including funerals and condolence gatherings, becoming a familiar face in the community. “My friends in the village insisted that I take part in municipal work. I accepted out of my belief in the necessity of serving the community. Today, I oversee the party’s bloc in the municipal council, dividing my time between planning development projects that meet residents’ needs and listening to their complaints between afternoon and sunset.”

On January 20, 2024, his friend Ali Hodroj, a telecommunications engineer, was assassinated in an Israeli drone strike on the Bazourieh road. “He was one of those whom God blessed with knowledge and wealth, yet martyrdom remained his highest aspiration,” Khalil says. Ali excelled in his field and played a key role in building the communications networks of resistance groups, from Hezbollah to Hamas and the Islamic Jihad. He assumed some of the responsibilities of commander Hassan al-Laqqis, the party’s technical mastermind, who was assassinated by Israel outside his home in 2013.

“Israel tried to recruit him. Ali knew he was a marked and closely monitored target and that martyrdom was imminent, which pushed him to continue building and preparing with all the strength he had,” Khalil adds.

Their friendship spanned nearly two decades, marked by long evenings at the Hodroj family library in the village — a cherished ritual they maintained until the final weeks before Ali’s martyrdom.

“Ali was skilled at mapping out possible war scenarios, and I relied on his precise reading of Hebrew media. Much of what he predicted during our late-night discussions came to pass. He had what I would call ‘certainty-based analysis’ — the ability to draw on objective factors within a divine framework.” 

Khalil says his martyred friend held Gaza in a special place in his heart and that Palestine was his central cause. Ali insisted on prioritizing support for the Palestinian resistance by all means, seeing in it the embodiment of the Husseini struggle against injustice injustice and the spark of revolution.

“It may take long years to rebuild deterrence, but there is no option but resistance — and time is a measure for those who surrender.”

Throughout the battle of the Support Front, Khalil remained active in his militant duties and took on multiple responsibilities. Amid the wave of assassinations targeting the organization’s leadership, he anticipated that the war would expand and understood that he, too, was vulnerable, given that much of his work was concentrated in the South. 

“I used a pager for many years. I remember once replacing one because its battery died,” Khalil says. On September 17, he was traveling with a colleague in a rental car along a side road. He was fiddling with the device when it exploded in his hand. His companion had clipped his pager to his waist and did not feel the blast, assuming they had been struck by a drone. Khalil asked him, “Are we talking in heaven or on earth?” 

“On earth,” his friend answered.

“Well then, the pagers exploded,” Khalil says. Some time passed before a civilian approached, having seen them lying in a pool of their own blood. Khalil laughs as he recalls how the young man kept asking what a pager was and how it worked. 

“I told him, ‘For God’s sake, get us an ambulance, and I’ll explain later!”

After undergoing surgeries on his hands and eyes in Saida and Beirut, Khalil traveled to Iran to continue his treatment. Two weeks later, vision in his right eye gradually began to return, allowing him to distinguish people and objects. By the end of the third month, his improving vision allowed him to move around more independently.

“I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to see my children grow up. They’re my little companions. We go to the beach together and play football and video games, even after my injury. My eldest told me he wants to join the resistance to avenge his two martyred uncles and my wounds, and to defend our town,” Khalil says.

Khalil repeatedly tried to convince his younger brother, Mahdi, to accompany him to Iran. But Mahdi insisted on staying in Lebanon in anticipation of the coming war, knowing it would be impossible to return under fire. Mahdi had been Khalil’s closest friend since adolescence; they went everywhere together and confided in each other about everything.

“He was the dynamo of the house, my friend who understands me from a gesture alone, without words or explanation. After I was injured, he searched for me from hospital to hospital until someone led him to me.”

Mahdi, 28, known as “Sayyed Daniel,” was martyred in Jbel el-Botm while riding a motorcycle with another resistance fighter — before he could meet his second child. Khalil recalls the last voice note he received from his brother through an intermediary. “He told me he would be away for a few days and was eager to talk to me when he returned — if he returned. But he didn’t return.”

Khalil is convinced that there can be no liberation without armed resistance, pointing to the experiences of peoples who confronted imperials powers, from Vietnam to Algeria. 

“It may take long years to rebuild deterrence, but there is no option but resistance — and time is a measure for those who surrender.”