BEIRUT, Dec. 23 (Xinhua) -- In Marjeyoun, four kilometers from Lebanon's border with Israel, a Christmas tree stands in the town square, its branches barely visible in the dim light of hastily strung electrical strips.
No ornaments adorn its limbs, no carols echo across the courtyard, no children gather in anticipation. Instead, the tree serves as a poignant reminder of how war has transformed life in the Christian communities of southern Lebanon.
"We cannot celebrate when we are still retrieving bodies from the rubble," said Hassan Abla, a municipal official in Marjeyoun, where the traditional holiday festivities have been replaced by a quiet vigil for the dead and displaced.
The town, like dozens of others across southern Lebanon's Nabatieh, Tyre, and Bint Jbeil districts, bears the scars of 14 months of conflict between Israel and Hezbollah.
The toll has been devastating. Lebanon's Health Ministry reports 4,047 deaths and 16,593 injuries since October 8, 2023. The World Bank estimates the conflict has cost Lebanon 8.5 billion U.S. dollars, including 3.4 billion dollars in direct physical damage -- staggering figures for a country already grappling with economic crisis.
Despite a Nov. 27 ceasefire agreement, Israeli airstrikes continue to target the region, complicating recovery efforts and deepening the sense of uncertainty that haunts daily life.
For the Christians living in border areas, the subdued Christmas celebrations reflect both their losses and their determination to maintain their traditions, however modestly.
In the nearby village of Al-Qlaiaah, residents have replaced their traditional Christmas tree with simple decorations at the village entrance. Karim Nahra, a local father, described how families are fashioning makeshift trees from branches, cardboard, and cloth -- small gestures of normalcy in abnormal times.
"The priority has become survival," he said, "but we still try to bring some joy to our children's hearts."
For Radina Dabghi, a university student in Marjeyoun, this marks the second consecutive year without the usual Christmas festivities.
"We don't have music or fireworks in our town square anymore," she said. "How can we celebrate when so many need to mourn their dead?"
Radina pointed out the suffering was equally shared among all communities in the region, be it Shiite, Sunni, or Christian. The subdued Christmas celebrations among the Christians this year reflect not just their losses, but the broader transformation of a once-vibrant border region into a landscape of uncertainty.
"The holiday remains a symbol of faith and steadfastness. It is our way to confirm that joy can shine even in the darkest circumstances," said Nahra. ■
