Legend has it that a prince named Atha was
wounded in the eye during a battle in Lebanon, and the name of the region was
derived from his story, “Ain Atha.” Over time, the name became “Aynatha,”
combining the two words.
It is also said that the town itself was
famous for its many springs and wells, so the name was derived from this idea.
In the Syriac language, the word “eye” is feminized to become “Aynatha.” Many
poems were written about these springs, the most famous of which is a verse
from the poem “One Hundred Verses with the Letter Ain”:
“On the spring of Aynatha we crossed on the
eve On it are the eyes of lovers,
awake”
And thus, the name of the town of “Aynatha” in
southern Lebanon came into being.
Aynatha is located on the border with Palestinian territory and is considered one of the second-line villages. Despite this, the town has been subjected to many historical events and wars. In 2024, a war broke out in Lebanon, during this war, many towns were heavily bombed and destroyed, including the town of Aynatha, where a large number of houses and shops were bombed and destroyed, including the Martyrs' Cemetry, which was destroyed on October 27, 2024, in addition to the mosque and the Husseiniya in the town. The Martyrs' Garden in Aynatha played a major role in shaping the history and identity of this town, reaching a total of 84 martyrs buried in its grounds by 2025, after starting with two martyrs following the liberation in 2000. The Aynatha Martyrs' Cemetry has witnessed many milestones throughout history, and much has happened since its inception in 2000, through its construction in 2006, to its destruction in 2024 and the work to rebuild it again.
"I returned to my village on November 28. I thought I was ready, that I had prepared my heart for the destruction and come to terms with the idea of loss, but nothing prepares you to see your childhood memories destroyed, and no one teaches you how to walk over rubble without breaking down. Every stone knew me, every tree remembered my voice. And now, everything looks at me as if asking: Where were you? When I arrived at the Martyrs' Garden, I couldn't find it. The blue dome that had always fluttered above the names of loved ones was lying on the ground, cracked like my heart. I jumped over it to be the first to enter. I couldn't control myself; I ran like someone searching for their soul among the rubble. I expected to find a single witness, a name engraved, something to reassure me that the memory was still alive, but there was no trace of the graves. It was as if the earth had swallowed up those inside, as if the war wanted to erase even the idea of immortality. I was very sad, not only because the graves had been destroyed, but because those who destroyed them thought they had killed the memory. What was even harder than all that was the moment when the bulldozers came, clearing away the rubble as if they were clearing away our past. The sound of metal on stone was like a faint scream that no one could hear. I resisted the urge to scream, but I remained silent, staring and crying inside. Abdullah Khanafer, a young man in his twenties from Aynatha, sent me this text, which he had kept on his phone since November 28, 2024, after I asked him about his memory of that day because I was unable to be there as a witness at the time.
