Parents Race to Get Children From Schools as Fear Spreads in Beirut

Parents Race to Get Children From Schools as Fear Spreads in Beirut

Lebanon’s Education Ministry ordered some schools to close amid warnings from Israel that it was intensifying strikes against Hezbollah and calls for residents to evacuate.

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By Christina Goldbaum and Hwaida Saad

Reporting from Beirut, Lebanon

Parents raced to pick up their children from school in Beirut on Monday, as fear spread in the Lebanese capital that Israel might soon strike the city.

Amid warnings from Israel that it was intensifying strikes against the Lebanese militia Hezbollah and calls for residents to evacuate, Lebanon’s Education Ministry ordered the closing of some public and private schools, citing “security and military situations” that could endanger students.

The street outside one school in east Beirut on Monday morning was clogged with traffic. Dozens of secondary school students in light-blue polo shirts stood waiting to be picked up, while other students rushed out of the building, gripping their parents’ hands.

Joaelle Naser, 44, had come to pick up her three daughters, aged 6, 8 and 16. “I am scared, I’m scared,” Ms. Naser said alongside her two youngest, their neat ponytails held in place with fuzzy rainbow-colored scrunchies. “I’m not prepared for if something happens.”

Maria Karen, 15, was in math class when she noticed parents walking through the halls with their children. When class ended, she said, the teacher told her and her classmates to pack their things, take their phones and go home.

“I’m a little nervous, a lot of my friends are scared,” Maria said as she waited for her parents to come get her at the entrance to the school.

One of her close friends lives near Dahiya, a Hezbollah-dominated neighborhood that was hit by an Israeli airstrike on Friday. Lebanese officials have said that at least 45 people were killed in the strike. Maria said that her friend, like many, feared that Dahiya might soon be hit again.

The honking horns and bustle around the school stood in stark contrast to the scenes at cafes and shops in the neighborhood.

At one large coffee shop, a handful of employees sat idly under the shade of a large awning, surrounded by mostly empty chairs. The cafe would typically be packed around this time but “people are scared,” said one employee, Aya Alemel, 32.

Daher Amdi, 34, sitting across from her, agreed.

“Nobody will come to the cafes now,” he said, taking a drag from his cigarette. “It’s a war.”