The Point of No Return… Who Are the ‘Israelis’ Really Fighting?

By Fatima Haydar

Beirut – “You don’t know who you are fighting today. You are fighting the sons of Mohammad [PBUH], Ali [AS], Hassan [AS] and Hussein [AS]. You are fighting the sons of the Ahlulbayt and the companions of the Holy Prophet. You are fighting a people who have faith like no one else on this entire earth!”—Martyr Sayyed Hassan Nasrallah

They are ordinary men with ordinary strength and extraordinary faith in God and a just cause. Indeed, they are the sons of Mohammad [PBUH], Ali [AS], Hassan [AS] and Hussein [AS]. Men who entrusted their lives to God, welcoming victory before ever seeing it; whose courage is measured not by their weapons but by the depth of their conviction.

They are the men Sayyed Nasrallah spoke of—those who stand against overwhelming force, guided not by strategy alone, but by faith and the moral compass of Imam Hussein [AS].

“How could I ever apologize to God for not doing my duty toward Hussein [AS]? With what face would I stand before him if I stayed behind while the caravan moved on—after renewing my pledge to him in the Ziyarat of Ashura?”

These were the words of one of the fighters as he headed toward the front, knowing that once he set foot on the land of the South, there would be no turning back. It was the point of no return.

A moment that captures a love deepened by sorrow—the pain of farewell, and a journey taken for Hussein [AS].

Because on the battlefield, only those with true faith and a conviction stronger than the pull of this world remain standing.

They were not angels, but men—men who left their families, their dreams and their lives behind, looking toward the horizon in the hope of reaching one of two victories: honor or martyrdom.

And in this resolve, they mirrored the companions of Imam Hussien [AS] at Karbala, standing steadfast even when the odds were insurmountable. Their allegiance was moral and spiritual—they fought not only to defend land, but to uphold truth, justice and dignity in the face of oppression.

Now, South Lebanon has been emptied from its residents by “Israel”. But the story of this land has never been written only in moments of departure. It is also written in the stubborn refusal to disappear.

Across the villages of the South, the silence is heavy. Streets that once carried the rhythm of daily life now stand still. Doors are shut, fields untended and homes that once sheltered generations sit abandoned or broken. Families who lived their entire lives in these villages suddenly found themselves gathering what little they could carry and leaving behind everything else.

This was the reality three years ago, when war first forced thousands from their homes. Over time, some families began to return—slowly reopening their houses, clearing the rubble and trying to rebuild what had been lost. Life was only just beginning to find its way back when “Israeli” attacks began again, forcing many to face the same displacement once more.

The same scenes have unfolded beyond the southern border villages. In Dahiyeh – Beirut’s southern suburbs, entire neighborhoods have been shaken by relentless bombardment. Buildings that once held hundreds of families have been reduced to shattered concrete and dust. Residents who only days earlier were living their ordinary lives now move from one temporary shelter to another, waiting for a moment when it might be safe to return.

In village after village, stories circulate of families who never had the chance to leave. Homes struck brutally by the apartheid “Israeli” entity while their residents were still inside. Men, women and children lost together beneath the same roof that once protected them. These are not numbers in a report. They are names spoken in grief, photographs carried in pockets and empty chairs that will never again be filled.

Yet even in the midst of this destruction, something refuses to disappear. Perhaps it is the same faith that sent that fighter toward the South without looking back. Perhaps it is the quiet certainty carried by families who insist that leaving their villages does not mean abandoning them. Their courage and endurance are not born of pride or glory, but of a higher moral duty—a conviction rooted in the example of Imam Hussein [AS], that truth and justice must never be abandoned, even at the cost of life itself.

The South has known this cycle before. It has seen wars come and go, destruction rise and recede. Homes have been destroyed and rebuilt. Fields burned and replanted. This is why many people speak not only of loss, but of return.

Because what war tries to erase often survives in quieter forms. In prayers whispered far from home. In keys carried by displaced families who refuse to believe that their doors will remain closed forever. In the belief that land and memory cannot be bombed into disappearance.

On his way to the front, a fighter shared with his comrades a memory from one of the crowded shelters where he and his displaced family had stayed:

“Better to be at the front than to bear with all the women in my family in one room!”

It was a moment of levity, a reminder that these men were ordinary humans—fathers, brothers, sons—yet their humor and resilience did not diminish their courage. If anything, it made their resolve more tangible. Faith and laughter can coexist even in exile, and even in the face of imminent danger.

And somewhere along the dusty roads that lead back toward the South, the men who once said their goodbyes still walk forward with the same resolve. They do not see themselves as heroes, but as sons, brothers, fathers and friends who believe that some things are worth standing for even when the cost is heavy. They carry the moral courage of Imam Hussein [AS], enduring suffering not for themselves, but for those who cannot defend their own lives or homes.

They carry with them the faith that history is not written only by those who destroy, but also by those who endure.

Some have fallen, and some still await their moment. And in every act of perseverance, they show that resistance is both moral and spiritual—standing for truth and justice, guided by the example of Imam Hussien [AS] and his companions who never wavered.