It was 2:14 in the afternoon when the first bomb fell, and the sudden sound of crashing metal was like a heavy truck had overturned outside our office. The Israeli strike had hit somewhere nearby.
Within seconds, plumes of smoke were rising across Beirut’s skyline, from the coastal corniche, down to the city’s busiest intersection, up from one of its wealthiest neighborhoods and one of its poorest. Boom. Boom. Boom. We stopped counting. One staffer ran into the office from downstairs, her face white and lips trembling.
