The border between Israel and Lebanon is a mix of military infrastructure, farmland, villages, and small towns. Among them lies a woodland that is one of the last natural refuges in the zone.

Harj al-Raheb, or the Monk Forest, lies on the southern edge of Ayta ash-Shaab, a Lebanese village right on the border with Israel. Its 16 hectares (40 acres) are made up of two adjoining woodland areas, known locally as the Southern and Western Hima, that once enjoyed a degree of protection for their ecological richness and cultural value.

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In early October 2023, these slopes were still thick with oak, carob, terebinth, and bay trees. Locals used the small black terebinth seeds to make a local bread, while the bay leaves were pressed to extract oil and produce a traditional soap known for its quality.

Low shrubs and wildflowers filled the undergrowth and the open patches. The flowers supported a thriving beekeeping trade, which grew after 2019, when Lebanon’s financial crisis deepened and many families turned to it as a secondary source of income.

The local environment, however, was unable to withstand Israel’s war on Lebanon.

A year of relentless attacks, particularly in the border area, only ended with a ceasefire between Israel and Lebanon in November 2024. But Israel continues to attack on a regular basis and occupies some areas on the border.

Away from the human toll of those attacks – more than 4,000 Lebanese have been killed – Harj al-Raheb and its surrounding areas are ghosts of what they once were.

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The landscape was defenceless in the face of Israeli air attacks and shelling. Locals returning have found burned orchards and large areas where trees have been cleared. The pollinators that depended on the wildflowers and orchards, such as the Palestine sunbird, have dropped in number.

One local official, Ali Dakdouq, said his family alone had lost most of the 218 beehives they owned as a result of the fighting, forcing them to move out of the area.

For Hajr al-Raheb’s surrounding communities, the forest was more than scenery; it was a source of livelihood and a vital sanctuary for wildlife. Now, much of it is gone.

Widespread destruction

Today, the wider Harj al-Raheb area lies silent, partly scarred by the white phosphorus shells that Israel used in its attacks. Satellite images now show what looks like white craters scattered across what was once continuous green cover, along with extensive bulldozing that stripped other parts of the terrain.

Ayta ash Shab, a village that once had a population of approximately 17,000 people, was built on the remains of an ancient fortified town. Its cisterns and terraces, first cut into the limestone centuries ago, continued to serve the farmers who depended on them for water and soil.

That continuity was violently interrupted when the war began. Fire and phosphorus erased in a few months what centuries could not.

The destruction of Hajr al-Raheb and Ayta ash Shab came in waves. First came the artillery fire and the white phosphorus shells, setting the canopy alight and leaving the undergrowth smouldering.

Air strikes followed, flattening woodland and scorching the orchards.

But the final blow came after the November 27, 2024, ceasefire, when Israeli troops crossed the frontier with bulldozers. The trees that had not previously been consumed by fire and bombs were cleared from their roots by machinery.

Many Lebanese believe this to be part of an Israeli attempt to effectively create a dead zone on the border, a buffer zone that Israel believes will make it safe from attacks, by removing villages and vegetation that could harbour threats.

“It wasn’t enough to burn it; they wanted to erase it,” said one villager, Hani Kassem.

Natural habitat

For Hani and other locals, Hajr al-Raheb was never just a picturesque landscape; it was a living system that sustained their lives.

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Its dense trees once held the soil together on a hill, curbing erosion and channelling seasonal floods to replenish underground reservoirs in a region where rainfall has been steadily declining and drought has become a constant threat. The hill is now bare.

The forest was also home to one of the most active predators in the region, the Syrian jackal, alongside endangered striped hyenas, red foxes, Eurasian badgers, and the short-toed snake eagle.

Egyptian mongooses, rarely seen in the Lebanese wilderness, patrolled the undergrowth, while a couple of rock hyrax colonies occupied the limestone outcrops overlooking the valley.

Many other birds and small mammals, including owls, hoopoes, the Palestine sunbird, hedgehogs and wild boars, thrived in this patchwork of woodland and stone. These species depended on this small green refuge in an increasingly arid landscape.

After the destruction, some of the animals have moved towards the destroyed village and its edges. They now shelter in what is left of the houses, which a few families have returned to.

Some of the families feed the animals, with the sound of Israeli drones flying overhead.

“We both lost the forest, and for them, it was their home,” Hani said, referring to the animals.

For the villagers, the loss has not only been ecological, but deeply personal. The forest that once anchored their lives and shielded their land is gone.

“It is the identity of the town,” said another villager, Ali Srour. “And today, we have lost it.”

Organisational silence

Before Israel’s war, the hills in this area of Lebanon formed a vital link in the eastern Mediterranean migration corridor and one of the busiest bird migration routes on the planet. Every spring and autumn, flocks of storks, raptors and songbirds would pause among the olive groves and forest edges of Ayta ash Shab before continuing their journeys south or north.

In its 2025 assessment, released in November, the International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN) confirmed the global extinction of the slender-billed curlew (Numenius tenuirostris), one of the first officially recorded extinctions of a migratory bird species.

Once a regular traveller along this very route, the curlew’s disappearance stands as a stark warning of the accelerating collapse of migratory pathways that once connected continents through shared skies. It also underscores the immense pressures migratory birds are already enduring – from habitat loss, urban expansion, pesticide use, and climate change to the harsher realities of conflict zones scarred by white phosphorus contamination and heavy-metal pollution, which usually go unnoticed.

After two years of destruction, and despite the extensive documentation of white phosphorus use and widespread ecosystem damage in South Lebanon and Gaza, many of the major wildlife conservation organisations have not addressed these violations, or their impact on migratory routes.

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The IUCN issued a general statement in October 2023, at the outset of Israel’s genocidal war on Gaza, which expressed concerns over civilian casualties and humanitarian impacts, but did not reference Lebanon or address the environmental damage, specific weapons, ecosystems or migratory pathways.

Two years later, at the IUCN World Conservation Congress, held this October in Abu Dhabi, members adopted a motion that called for the restoration of Lebanese ecosystems impacted by war.

The motion acknowledged the widespread environmental degradation in Lebanon, including soil and water contamination, vegetation loss, erosion, wildfire risk, and threats to ecological connectivity. It called for post-war recovery, restoration guidance, and international technical and financial support. However, the motion did not identify the responsible parties, nor did it address the specific causes of damage, including the use of white phosphorus.

At the same congress, members adopted another motion recognising the crime of ecocide. The motion established a global legal framework and mandated further guidance, but it did not reference Lebanon, Gaza, or any armed conflict.

Neither appears as an example of conflict-related environmental destruction, despite the growing global debate on accountability for large-scale environmental harm.

In correspondence, the IUCN stated that its approach is intentionally global and non-case specific. It said that the ecocide motion was designed to apply broadly, rather than to named conflicts, and that conflict-linked ecosystem destruction is addressed through general legal and policy frameworks rather than through conflict-specific ecological assessments. This framing leaves the documented environmental damage in south Lebanon and Gaza outside explicit institutional attribution or case-based analysis.

Al Jazeera also reached out to the World Wildlife Fund (WWF) and BirdLife International to query their positions on the impact of Israel’s wars in Lebanon and Gaza on local ecosystems and wildlife.

The WWF stated that it has no office or staff presence in Lebanon or Gaza, and has not conducted any environmental assessment related to the war. It referred to its 2022 report, The Nature of Conflict and Peace, as general background on the links between the environment, security, and peace.

BirdLife International stated that it has not issued a specific public position or statement on the impact of the war in Lebanon and Gaza on migratory species. It encouraged partners to document the potential impacts when possible, but noted that documenting ecological damage during wartime is often unsafe or not possible.

BirdLife acknowledged that habitat damage affects local populations and may affect migration depending on the season, but stated that impacts in Lebanon and Gaza cannot yet be fully determined.

Weaponisation of the environment

Meanwhile, in southern Lebanon, the war has revealed a darker reality: the weaponisation of the environment itself. Forests, soils and waters became targets, not collateral victims, in a campaign that blurred the line between military strategy and ecological annihilation.

Today, most of the slopes of Ayta ash Shab stand bare and lifeless, stripped of colour, sound and movement. The habitats that once sustained insects, birds and mammals have been erased, leaving behind contaminated soil and silence where life once thrived.

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Last September, a few flocks of migratory white storks were seen passing overhead. But they did not stop where they once did. Those sites have been irreversibly altered.

From October 8, 2023, to October 3, 2024, Green Southerners verified 195 cases of white phosphorus use by Israeli forces across southern Lebanon.

Residues of white phosphorus and heavy metals from repeated bombardment have contaminated the soil, posing long-term risks to agriculture and human health.

Green Southerners is calling for urgent testing and ecological assessment before any recovery effort can begin.

Yet, the main obstacle remains security: Israeli attacks have continued even after the ceasefire was declared on 27 October 2024, leaving the area unsafe for restoration work.