"It seems the Nakba will haunt us until our last day as Palestinian refugees ," Abu Walid al-Awad, a 65-year-old refugee whose family was expelled from the Palestinian village of Simsimah during the 1948 Nakba, began his conversation with The New Arab .
Al-Awad's words are not a political slogan or a reflection on distant history but rather a description of a life spent moving from one place of refuge to another, carrying a family story that began with expulsion from Palestine and continues today amid a new war launched on Lebanon.
The Israeli war on Lebanon has also worsened a humanitarian conditions for Palestinian refugees facing poverty, unemployment, and state restrictions. Thousands have been forced to flee, reigniting memories of displacement, due to Israel's forced evacuation orders and airstrikes. For many refugees, the war blurs past and present, with daily life focusing on evacuation, shelter, aid, and survival—terms long associated with Palestinian communities in Lebanon.
According to Lebanon's Ministry of Health, Israeli attacks since the outbreak of the war have killed more than 3,500 people and wounded over 10,600 others. UN estimates indicate that more than 1.2 million people have been displaced.
Within those figures, about 50 Palestinian refugees were killed by the Israeli army. New displacement Al-Awad's journey reflects the broader Palestinian refugee experience in Lebanon .
Born in a camp near Sidon, he later moved to Rashidieh in southern Lebanon, where he spent most of his life raising a family and seeking stability amid the uncertainties of refugee life.
That fragile stability was shattered when the Israeli war erupted.
Fearing bombardment in southern Lebanon, Al-Awad fled Rashidieh with his family to relatives in the Nahr al-Bared camp in northern Lebanon. The move created distance from the fighting but didn't ease the anxiety of displacement.
We no longer understand stability. We left Rashidieh out of fear, stayed with relatives in Nahr al-Bared, but never felt settled. It's another temporary stop in a life that has always been temporary," he said.
His father fled Simsimah in 1948, taking the keys to the family home with hope of returning soon. Decades passed, but the return never happened.
"My father died waiting to go back […] We inherited that waiting from him," he added.
Now, when he watches his grandchildren play in the narrow alleys of Nahr al-Bared camp, he cannot escape comparisons between past and present.
"When I see them running between houses and playing in the camp's streets, I think this story repeats. My father was displaced, I was a refugee, my children are refugees, and my grandchildren are growing up in the same conditions. It feels like the Nakba never ended," he continued.
Al-Awad was among thousands of Palestinians displaced from southern camps like Rashidieh, Burj al-Shamali, and Al-Bass, who moved north to Sidon, Beirut, Tripoli, and other safer areas.
Yet many refugees say that leaving one camp for another does not bring a genuine sense of security. Instead, it often means exchanging one form of uncertainty for another. Deepening poverty According to UNRWA, approximately 250,000 Palestinian refugees live in Lebanon , spread across 12 official camps and numerous informal gatherings.
Around 80 per cent are estimated to live below the poverty line, while nearly 200,000 rely heavily on UNRWA services for healthcare, education and humanitarian assistance.
Years of legal restrictions have limited refugees' access to employment and property ownership, creating conditions of chronic economic insecurity.
For many families, stable work remains elusive, forcing them to depend on temporary jobs and humanitarian support.
The current war has pushed these fragile conditions closer to collapse.
In Ain al-Hilweh camp, Lebanon's largest Palestinian refugee camp, Um Ahmed lives with her five children after being displaced from her home during the escalation.
"At first, we thought we would return after a few days, but the days became weeks, and the weeks became months," she told TNA .
Daily life in temporary shelters revolves around uncertainty. Families sleep on foam mattresses, queue for food assistance and attempt to maintain a sense of normality despite living in crowded conditions.
"My children ask every day when we are going back home […] I wish I had an answer," she said.
The economic consequences have been severe. Her husband, who previously survived on temporary labour and odd jobs, faces fewer employment opportunities as the conflict worsens.
"Life was already difficult before the war," she added. "There was unemployment, rising prices, and people struggled to survive. Now, things are worse, and sometimes days pass without any income. Before the war, we worried about poverty. Now we worry about poverty and war at the same time."
Her children, like many others across the camps, live in a constant state of anxiety.
"My youngest son keeps asking if the war will reach the camp," she says. "Sometimes the children wake up frightened after hearing about airstrikes or seeing the news." Uncertain future In southern Lebanon , the sense of insecurity remains acute.
Ashraf El-Chouli, a Palestinian activist in Rashidieh camp, told TNA that the residents continue to live under the shadow of Israeli attacks, with many unable to relocate despite the risks.
"Conditions are extremely difficult. Many families remain in the camps because they have nowhere else to go," he said. According to el-Chouli, between 50 and 60 per cent of residents in southern camps have stayed despite ongoing threats. Limited shelter capacity and a lack of alternatives have left many with little choice but to remain.
The Israeli has disrupted economic activity across southern Lebanon, hitting refugee communities particularly hard because many residents rely on daily wages and informal work.
"People who were already struggling have lost even more of their income," el-Chouli added. "The economic impact is devastating."
Beyond financial hardship, psychological pressures are mounting.
Children exposed to repeated airstrikes, explosions and displacement are showing signs of severe anxiety, while organisations providing mental health support face difficulties reaching affected areas, according to el-Chouli.
Several Palestinian camps have sustained damage during the Israeli war, including Rashidieh, Al-Bass and Burj al-Shamali. Attacks have also affected Ain al-Hilweh and Beddawi camps, further reinforcing feelings of insecurity among residents.
Meanwhile, UNRWA remains the principal provider of services and humanitarian assistance for refugees, despite facing growing financial constraints as needs rapidly increase.
Yet amid the hardship, refugees point to examples of solidarity between Palestinians and Lebanese communities. Camps have hosted displaced people from different backgrounds and nationalities, while families have shared limited resources with those forced from their homes until the Israeli war ended. "The Palestinian refugees in Lebanon do not have more chances to survive as they have already exhausted most of their coping mechanisms after years of poverty, unemployment and repeated crises. So they have to make difficult choices every day, whether by reducing meals, borrowing money, or depending on aid to provide food, medicine and shelter for their families," el-Chouli said.