07-01-2025
The miracle of being able to return to Lebanon
Just a month ago, they had stopped believing. From Paris, London, Dubai, Riyadh, New York, Milan, Berlin, Sydney or Montreal, glued to their smartphones, engrossed in the news, connected to Lebanon through screens or familiar but distant voices, they had become powerless spectators of a war that kept extending and intensifying, defying science fiction.
From afar, they watched their Lebanon getting consumed by Israeli fire, and they definitely no longer believed. Day by day, hour by hour, they saw cease-fire attempts failing one after another, and with them, the hope of a return seemed increasingly impossible.
Just a month ago, for all of them, the mere idea of returning for the holidays, going back home, seemed unreal. Over the phone, with cracked and breathless voices, their parents told them more or less the same thing, "Make other plans for Christmas, it's impossible for you to come to Beirut this year," "Forget Lebanon, there's no question of you returning," "Stay away, stay safe, I forbid you from coming here," "This is going to last, it will never end."
Gradually, even though their hearts and bodies refused, they reluctantly accepted that indeed, this year, Christmas would have to be without Lebanon.
A possible return
But how to cope without a Christmas in Lebanon? And then, just like that, while they endlessly pondered this question with their hearts in a thousand pieces, they woke up one late November morning with the same hangover, looked at their screens which for three months had been pouring out the worst news, and it was like a miracle. A cease-fire, for real this time. A truce? An end? A moment to catch their breath?
No one really understood what had unfolded behind the scenes, so strangely and in such a short time, but it didn't matter. From Paris, London, Dubai, Riyadh, New York, Milan, Berlin, Sydney, or Montreal, the first thought, the first thing that crossed their minds was this sudden and unexpected possibility of returning home. And just like that, almost with a snap of their fingers, they all rushed to the Middle East website. Tickets to Beirut cost a fortune, but the now miraculous chance to return was priceless, especially since the night before, they went to bed not believing it. Especially since just a handful of days earlier, they wondered if there would be anything left of their country by the end of the year.
And just like that, almost in the blink of an eye, the distant and familiar voices of their loved ones and parents magically regained life by saying: "Did you book your ticket? Hurry, there are almost no seats left on the planes!" And just like that, without having taken or had the time to understand or digest anything, their parents, who the day before had urged them to forget Lebanon, told them, "Come, we're waiting for you."
Their mothers decorated the house for them, pulled out the Nativity scene and the childhood Christmas tree, filled candy jars with those same chocolates in gold and silver wrappers. They refueled their cars, put fresh sheets on their eternal children's beds, filled the fridge, and started preparing the dishes they love and dream of all year long. And then, from Paris, London, Dubai, Riyadh, New York, Milan, Berlin, Sydney, or Montreal, they boarded planes that, just days earlier, took off amid missiles and explosions.
The Smell of Tangerines on Their Fingers
But this time, this year, everything took on a different dimension for them. In their eyes, every moment of this journey resembled a small miracle.
The landing in this city with its lights and life regained when no one believed it anymore. The bustling arrivals at Beirut airport, and the crowd of parents, children, seniors, lovers, and friends who managed once again, and no one really knows how to stand back up and relearn hope. The taxi crossing a highway and neighborhoods where, just a month earlier, only death dared to venture. The light seen in some apartments in those suburbs, and the strength of those Lebanese ready to come back and start over despite everything. In their eyes, every moment of this return had never been so precious.
Everything, every smell, every taste, every face, every part of the landscape that a month earlier was destined to disappear suddenly took on the dimension of a treasure. Just being able to breathe in their grandparents' fragrance, just being able to reunite with childhood and lifelong friends in the places where they left their teenage memories, just being able to spend a night with a past lover whose skin smells like Beirut, only these perhaps trivial moments contained all the world's wonder.
In their eyes, even a trivial sunbeam on their skin looked like gold. Just a sip of arak or beer mixed with the scent of iodine was enough to make their eyes squint with pleasure. Just the sounds of the city coming back to life, just the warm laughter of people at the end of the evening, with a manousheh in hand and the cottony sun rising behind them, became the most beautiful moment. Just the aroma of Arabic coffee in the morning, the taste of a shawarma sandwich, the scent of tangerines on their fingers, the smell of bleach poured on the stairway, or the smile of the corner grocer, contained something that went beyond happiness.
And deep down, just being there, just being able to return; just that had been, for all those who, a month earlier, no longer believed, a miracle.
