Faraj survives second missile strike in al-Tiri

Zeinab Faraj is preparing to return to university, but her body still bears the cost of the attack. She walks with a limp that makes climbing stairs a struggle. One of her eyebrows no longer moves freely due to a facial injury, and she has visible scarring on her hand. Other wounds remain hidden beneath her clothes and hijab.

Faraj, 21, is a photojournalist who was filming with Amal Khalil, a 42-year-old newspaper reporter, on the afternoon of April 22. The two were in the village of al-Tiri in southern Lebanon, documenting the aftermath of a month of airstrikes that preceded a recent ceasefire. Khalil had contacted Faraj after seeing her work on social media, and the pair had completed several assignments together.

They were traveling in a car with two other men: Ali Nabil Bazzi, 27, a municipal official, and Mohammed Hourani, 37, a friend of the mayor. The group had met earlier that day at Tebnine governmental hospital, a location locals considered relatively safe. Bazzi was scheduled to sign a marriage contract that evening but chose to join the trip.

Faraj says she did not hear the first missile. She heard only Khalil screaming and saw the car ahead of them catch fire. As the women exited their vehicle, drones appeared overhead. Faraj describes the drones flying low and close, circling while they called emergency services. Paramedics on the line assured them help was coming, but Faraj notes the reassurance felt like an anesthetic that numbed the reality of their isolation.

A paramedic instructed them to drive back up the road because ambulances were being prevented from reaching their location. As they attempted to get into the car, a second missile struck. The impact threw both women backward. Khalil wrapped her arms around Faraj and hoped the drone overhead would believe they were dead.

They took shelter in a nearby house. Khalil had blood on her face, hand, and leg. Faraj sent a message to her sister: "There's no hope left. Forgive me." Her phone died shortly after. Inside, they sat on the bathroom floor. Faraj crawled to a position where she could watch the road. A drone descended toward her face, causing her heart to pound. She felt detached from the event and alone.

A third missile fell. Faraj describes the sound as unlike anything she had ever heard. When she opened her eyes, a heavy weight was pressing down on her body. She was trapped under rubble. She could barely breathe and focused solely on the air reaching her lungs. A paramedic reached the scene and held her shoulders while a second worker cleared the debris. Faraj clung to the first paramedic, telling him, "Don't leave me. I'm afraid to stay alone."

The paramedics pulled Faraj free as a stun grenade was dropped by a drone nearby. As they drove away in the ambulance, Faraj mistook the vehicle's engine for a drone, repeating that they were not going to make it. At the hospital, nurses fell silent when asked about Khalil's condition. Faraj understood immediately that her colleague was gone. Khalil is believed to have died approximately one hour before paramedics were allowed to return to the area.

The Israeli military stated the strike targeted saboteurs violating the ceasefire. Human rights groups labeled the incident a war crime. During the time Faraj and Khalil were trapped in the building, the military received repeated messages urging them to allow a rescue operation. A week prior to the attack, an Israeli military spokesperson had shared a video of Khalil from her newspaper, describing it as terrorist media. Khalil had also received death threats from Israeli phone numbers.

Faraj now wakes screaming at night and buries herself in pillows, expecting a missile strike. The sounds of drones and warplanes keep her on edge. She says the image of Hourani lying on the ground after the first attack haunts her. His head had been turned toward her, his eyes open and looking at her. She says that image is something she will never get out of her head.