Two Iranian Girls on Their Journey
Mleeta Where the Land Speaks to Heavens
Satareh Sadeqi Mohammadi:
For an American who has only observed his army men go on wars somewhere outside the borders of the US, resistance means nothing like what it means for an Iranian, Palestinian or Lebanese – or let’s say a Middle Eastern; actually you could list even more, but that’s just not the purpose of this post.
It was the holy month of Ramadan; we left Tyre in the afternoon so that our Lebanese friends wouldn’t need to break their fast. We passed through Nabatiyyah and there appeared the green hills and twisting roads. The air was fresh and the breeze kissed our smiling faces slightly showing out of the car windows. Wearing my abaya and a chafiyya scarf, I felt I would most fit the place we were heading to. My eyelids drawing to one another against the wind, my eyes enjoyed the grandeur of the pictures of some great men on the two sides of the road. To make the landscape a dozen times more charming, the yellow flags of Hizbullah danced in the air like everlasting Suns. Caption to each photo was the name of a martyr, looking proud and heroic; young men who at the outmost of the juvenile joy chose the eternal bliss of submitting to the One God and defending their lands back from the Israeli occupiers. The road twisted and twisted, heading upward; it felt like we had taken the road to Heavens, as later on our souls were uplifted, too. Mleeta Musuem of Resistance, where the Land speaks to Heavens, was home to the resistance of Hezbullah fighters through the occupation of southern Lebanon until the liberation was achieved in the year 2000.
At our entrance we were directed to a hall where a short video was played and we were welcomed by Sayyed Hassan Nasrallah. The images of the martyrs and the battles pierced through our hearts and brought tears to the eyes. The glorified moment was when we heard:"ÇÓŃÇĆíá ÓŢŘĘ".
Israeli tanks, IDF soldiers’ helmets, canisters, notes, maps, food cans, missiles, khakis and ID cards were a part of booties taken from the Israelis. Big boards across the exhibition read: “It was clear to me that Hezbullah was a phenomenon that cannot be eliminated through a military operation. It was also clear to me that there was no conclusive military solution to face Hezbulla’s rocket system. Hence I supported political action that results in Hezbullah’s disarmament, which is the product of e Lebanese internal process.” Moshe Ya’alon 2006 And : “For the first time in our history we are preparing to withdraw the Israeli army, in a way that both enemy and friend will interpret to be unconditional.” Ariel Sahron 1985
Walking through the charming park, we got to a square where an Israeli tank with the tip of the main gun twisted in a symbolic way looked wearily collapsed. Another tank was facing a golden wall with an image of a dove flying free and Sayyed Hassan’s signature appearing artistically next to it. Climbing up another tank somewhere off the square, which apparently was the wreck of a Merkava, we all looked enthusiastic and victorious. There we started posing for pictures with peace signs.
The most inspiring part of the museum was where we walked on the footsteps of the martyrs, observed the graves some had dug for themselves where they prayed and prostrated before God. We walked through the bushes which led to a narrow but long tunnel dug in the mountains in order for the Hezbullah fighters to transfer arms and troops.
Walking out of the tunnel we reached a balcony where the flags of Lebanon and Hezbullah were dancing peacefully in the golden arms of a breeze followed by the Sunset. We stood there with a feeling of pride- yet humbleness- looking at the green hills and clay gables of the houses deep down the mountain. At the end of the horizon there appeared the Mediterranean Sea; this time neither blue nor green- but orange and gold, like the setting Sun and the rising flag of Hezbullah.