Minnesota Lebanese community on edge as Israel-Hezbollah conflict impacts loved ones

Samira Chatila’s family fled into the Lebanese mountains seeking refuge as Israel’s attacks on Hezbollah escalated last month. From half a world away, they told her they could hear the sound of airstrikes landing nearby and feel vibrations from the subsequent sonic booms.

“I don’t know what to do,” said Chatila, 30, an international student finishing her last semester at the University of Minnesota. “I feel helpless.” 

Lebanon, a small Middle Eastern country on the Mediterranean coast, has increasingly been targeted after months of ongoing war in the region. Israel’s airstrikes in Lebanon have killed more than 2,300 people; nearly 75% of those fatalities were in the last month, according to the Associated Press.  

The conflict has stirred pain, anger and exhaustion in many Lebanese Minnesotans, who mostly reside in a tight-knit community in northeast Minneapolis. Many have family members in Lebanon, and say they have fled to the mountains for safety. At least one local Lebanese-owned business is raising awareness and money to help Lebanon. 

An estimated 8,000 Minnesotans have Lebanese ancestry, according to the U.S. Census’ 2022 American Community Survey. About 800 residents surveyed that year were born in Lebanon.

Most of Minnesota native Louisa Farhat’s extended family live in Beirut, and also fled their homes to live in the mountains because of the bombings. 

Israel and Hezbollah, an Iran-backed paramilitary group based in Lebanon, have had conflict for years, but started escalating attacks on each other at the beginning of the Israel-Hamas war on October 7, 2023. Hezbollah is allied with Hamas; the United States designates both as terrorist organizations.

Hamas led an attack inside Israel last October, killing about 1,200 people and kidnapping hundreds of others into Gaza. Israeli forces subsequently attacked Gaza through air and ground strikes, killing more than 42,000 Palestinians in a year, according to the Palestinian Ministry of Health. 

On September 18 and 19, Israel launched coordinated pager and walkie-talkie explosions in Beirut, Lebanon’s capital, before launching a full military attack on September 23.

“It makes me sad and angry to see more death, more terror happening. And it just doesn't have to be this way,” said Farhat, whose father immigrated from Lebanon and whose mother is from Minnesota. “It never had to be this way, you know?” 

Staying in touch with family

Chatila’s parents and sister are living in a residential building in the Lebanese mountains with other families. One of her brothers lives in Beirut and often visits them. They’ve told her that they’re afraid for their safety every day, but yearn to stay in Lebanon because they strongly hold onto the hope of maintaining the lives they’ve worked hard to build.   

“When you move into another place, you don’t know what they’re going to accept or not,” she said of her family’s insistence on staying in Lebanon. “It’s just a whole, different new chapter. You start from zero.” 

A second brother lives in Saudi Arabia, and another brother is in Spain.

Farhat grew up in northeast Minneapolis and is still connected to St. Maron's Catholic Church in the neighborhood. The church serves many Lebanese Minnesotans, and hosts an annual Lebanese festival. She owns Sweet Lou’s Craft Sausage and Butchery, a local food truck, and started selling $5 gift cards in late September to raise money for the Lebanese Red Cross. Sales of the cards through the end of October will be donated to the cause.

Farhat has raised about $600 so far. 

“I feel like coming closer together,” she said. “Using our American voice and power and privilege to advocate for peace and humanitarian aid is one of the few things we can do.”

She wants to bring attention to what’s happening in Lebanon and remind others that the conflict is personal for many people. 

“There's a lot of Lebanese people. We are a deep part of the fabric here,” she said.  

Watching from afar

Lebanon is “complicated” because of the religious diversity, local differences and colonial history, said Nabil Matar, a University of Minnesota professor who teaches English literature and Islamic studies. But many Lebanese people have shown resilience during conflict, he said.

Matar moved to the United States in 1986 after he was kidnapped while teaching at the American University in Beirut; he was held for six months and released in October 1986.

He’s still in touch with some friends in Lebanon, and says he’s reminded of his past life when he consumes news about the current conflict. 

“I mean it’s the country I grew up in,” said Matar. “I know the streets, I know the zones, I know the areas.”   

Matar watches the news daily, but avoids coverage by U.S. news outlets because he feels they can be biased and inaccurate. Instead, he relies on news outlets with close ties to the region, like the Lebanese press.

He feels helpless and anguished not knowing what might happen next, or how the conflict will ultimately end. 

“Nothing seems to be in the horizon,” he said of how the conflict is unfolding. “I have no idea how the end will be.”

The United States’ involvement in furnishing bombs in the conflict is “devastating,” he said of the country’s support of Israel.  

Farhat said her family in Minnesota closely watches the news about Lebanon, but that she has to take breaks for her mental health. Her father, stepmother, who is also from Lebanon, and siblings live in Minnesota.       

Chatila constantly monitors WhatsApp groups that provide updates on the latest developments, feeling uncertain and fearful each day. 

She’s applying for long-term jobs while working short-term jobs to keep afloat. She’s also trying to help her family find a way out of Lebanon. 

“I’m alone,” Chatila said, tearing up. “It’s painful.”