Israeli attack kills famed turtle sanctuary ecologist in Lebanon: Mona Khalil led decades-long effort to protect nesting site for turtles near her home in south of the country

Mona Khalil on the beach with a turtle in southern Lebanon in 2002. Photograph: Jihad Seqlawi/AFP/Getty Images

Oliver Holmes

Sat 20 Jun 2026 

The Lebanese marine activist Mona Khalil, who became a beloved figure in the country for a decades-long effort to protect a nesting site for turtles near her home, has died from injuries sustained in an Israeli strike.

Khalil, 76, ran a sanctuary called the Orange House Project near the Mediterranean city of Tyre. She hosted volunteers in her house to clean and monitor a mile-long beach and welcomed tourists to stay and learn about conservation.

An Israeli airstrike hit her house earlier this month, severely wounding Khalil, who was moved to an intensive-care unit in Beirut before succumbing to her injuries on Friday, according to friends. Her assistant, an Ethiopian woman, suffered burns but was recovering.

During the Lebanese civil war of 1975-90, Khalil moved to the Netherlands. She returned to her family’s land in 1999, where she had a chance encounter one evening with a turtle digging a nest in the sand on the beach.

Khalil painted the house orange to match the national colour of the Netherlands, which she said had given her refuge during a time of need, and started a protection and ecotourism project for loggerhead and green sea turtles that nest along Lebanon’s southern coast.

Foreign tourists had to coordinate their trip with the Lebanese military, as the bed and breakfast sat on land that Israel had repeatedly invaded and occupied. Those who managed to get permission would stay in Khalil’s idyllic home, with its flower-lined courtyard often filled with rescued dogs and cats. It is just a short walk through banana groves to the beach.

Regular power cuts and a lack of air-conditioning meant some visitors left unfavourable online reviews, although most were glowing as Khalil provided what other B&Bs could not – a chance to witness and help hatching turtles and to take part in protecting their vulnerable populations... READ MORE  https://www.theguardian.com/world/2026/jun/20/mona-khalil-turtle-ecologist-lebanon-killed-israeli-attack?CMP=Share_AndroidApp_Other

  [AS ALWAYS PLEASE GO TO THE LINK TO READ GOOD ARTICLES (or quotes or watch videos) IN FULL: HELP SHAPE ALGORITHMS (and conversations) THAT EMPOWER DECENCY, DIGNITY, JUSTICE & PEACE... and hopefully Palestine]   

"I was just a boy when I learned that my family would soon be leaving my beloved homeland of Palestine to begin a new life in America. To the adults, it was a practical decision—one made in search of opportunity and a better future, away from the suffocating Israeli occupation & oppression. But to me, it felt as though my entire world was being torn away. How could I explain what Palestine meant to a child? It was not merely a place on a map. It was the hills that encircled our small village of Beit Hanina and served as my endless playground. It was the olive and fruit orchards where I wandered freely beneath the sun. It was the caves hidden among the rocky slopes, the handmade kites dancing in the wind, and the familiar scent of earth after the rain. It was home." Mike Odetalla

Mike Hanini Odetalla

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The Boy Who Tried to Stay

By Mike Odetalla

 

Fifty-seven years ago, I made one final, desperate attempt to hold on to the world I loved.

 

I was just a boy when I learned that my family would soon be leaving my beloved homeland of Palestine to begin a new life in America. To the adults, it was a practical decision—one made in search of opportunity and a better future, away from the suffocating Israeli occupation & oppression. But to me, it felt as though my entire world was being torn away.

 

How could I explain what Palestine meant to a child?

 

It was not merely a place on a map. It was the hills that encircled our small village of Beit Hanina and served as my endless playground. It was the olive and fruit orchards where I wandered freely beneath the sun. It was the caves hidden among the rocky slopes, the handmade kites dancing in the wind, and the familiar scent of earth after the rain.

 

It was home.

 

Unable to imagine life anywhere else, I did the only thing a heartbroken child could think to do: I ran away.

 

I sought refuge at the home of my beloved Aunt Jameela (Allah yerhamha), whose house rested on the side of the great hill overlooking our village. To me, it was a sanctuary. I believed that if I stayed there, hidden among the hills and within the loving embrace of my aunt, perhaps the inevitable could somehow be delayed—or even stopped altogether.

 

For one precious night, I allowed myself to believe that I had succeeded.

 

But childhood dreams are no match for the plans of adults.

 

The next day, to my profound disappointment, I was gently but firmly returned to my family. Three days later, I boarded an airplane and arrived in Detroit, Michigan.

 

In the span of a few hours, my world changed forever.

 

I went from olive groves and stone terraces to concrete and smokestacks. From the quiet rhythms of village life to the noise of traffic and crowded city streets. From a landscape shaped by generations of my ancestors to an unfamiliar urban jungle of steel and asphalt.

 

To a young boy, it felt like exile.

 

Yet even as I adapted to this new world, a part of me never left that hillside in Beit Hanina.

It remains there still—in the caves I explored, in the orchards where I played, and in the comforting presence of Aunt Jameela's home perched above the village. In my mind, I can still see that small boy clutching his hopes, convinced that if he hid long enough, he could somehow prevent the loss of everything he cherished.

 

He was wrong, of course.

 

But I have never stopped admiring his determination.

 

And perhaps that is why Palestine has never left me.

 

Because no matter how many miles separate us, no matter how many years pass, the heart remembers where it first learned to love.

 

And somewhere deep inside me, that little boy is still running up the hill, still seeking refuge in Aunt Jameela's home, and still believing that home is worth holding onto with all his might.

   [AS ALWAYS PLEASE GO TO THE LINK TO READ GOOD ARTICLES (or quotes or watch videos) IN FULL: HELP SHAPE ALGORITHMS (and conversations) THAT EMPOWER DECENCY, DIGNITY, JUSTICE & PEACE... and hopefully Palestine] 

&

Mike Hanini Odetalla

ednosrSpto8a91ma4hu506iu493gf8ilm078tu7hhuli711icc5tt2c4thl8  ·

Reflections on the wholesale Destruction in Gaza & Lebanon

 

5/27/26

 

Once, when I was a child, my late grandfather (ay) scolded me for disturbing a bird’s nest. 

 

He asked me, “How would you feel if someone came and destroyed your home?”

 

That lesson stayed with me my entire life.

 

A simple village farmer (fallah), with little formal education, understood something fundamental: compassion begins by placing yourself in the suffering of others.

 

And yet today, we witness Palestinian and Lebanese homes destroyed on a massive scale — entire neighborhoods reduced to rubble, families buried beneath concrete, children traumatized for life, and generations scarred forever.

 

I often wonder: where are the voices of the grandfathers who are supposed to teach mercy, restraint, and humanity? What lessons are being passed down to children when silence greets the destruction of other people’s homes and lives?

 

Because when children are taught to normalize cruelty, indifference, or collective punishment, the damage extends far beyond shattered buildings. It reaches and decays the soul.

 

The measure of our humanity is not in how we treat those who look like us, pray like us, or agree with us — but in whether we can recognize the pain of others as if it were our own. 

 

— Mike Odetalla 

& 

Mike Odetalla's newest book- buy a copy, enjoy, savor it... then pass it on to your local library or a child that you know and love  

Aunt Jameela's Bread. A Story of Food, Family, and Love..... A beautiful new book by Palestinian-American Mike Odetalla about childhood and baking bread in his homeland.

A beautiful new book by Palestinian-American Mike Odetalla about childhood, family, and homemade bread in his homeland 

"The chaotic, unique, beautiful Lebanon I knew has been reduced to rubble. When will it end? Suspected war crimes happen almost daily as Israel continues its bombardment, which Unicef estimates is killing nearly 14 children a day. We cannot write this off as just another war in a war-torn region"

‘Lebanese people may have more experience of war, but they do not get used to having their houses bombed.’

Photograph: Mohammed Zaatari/AP

 Arwa Mahdawi

Wed 27 May 2026

There are various reasons why, at 43, I still don’t know how to drive a car. Clumsiness is one. I can’t even walk straight half the time, so I don’t think it’s a good idea that I take control of a 2-tonne vehicle.

Another reason is that my first driving lesson was in Beirut and the experience scarred me for life. The car was falling apart, Lebanese drivers ignore traffic rules and the lesson was in Arabic, which I barely speak. After I had veered on to a busy road the wrong way, my teacher made me get out of the car and yelled at me. I didn’t understand exactly what he was yelling, but it wasn’t good.

Despite that unfortunate incident, Lebanon – chaotic, beautiful, unique Lebanon – has a special place in my heart. When I was 18, my parents moved to Beirut for several years and I visited regularly. We’d go to the ancient ruins in Baalbek; drop by wineries in the Bekaa valley; eat man’oushe in the mountains. We’d do organised hikes, on which there would always be a glamorous woman in heels, full makeup and a designer nose (the Lebanese take grooming and cosmetic surgery very seriously).

Things were never completely calm. Coming home from a swim one summer, my mum narrowly escaped a car bomb intended for a politician. In 2006, my parents were stranded overseas for months because Lebanon and Israel were at war. In 2008, there were a couple of days of clashes that meant my mum and sister couldn’t leave the house.

Still, this was a relatively good time; there was investment, tourism, hope. In January 2009, the New York Times named Beirut its No 1 place to visit that year. With luxury hotels and restaurants opening, the Times said “the capital of Lebanon is poised to reclaim its title as the Paris of the Middle East”.

You may have heard that stupid phrase before: whenever a writer wants to convey to a western audience that Beirut is not some backwater, but a real place full of real people, they reach for it. It’s cringe and orientalist, but it’s also an effective shorthand. And maybe I should have adopted it myself, because what I’m trying to say here, with my walks down memory lane, is that Beirut is not fundamentally different from Paris. People who live in Lebanon, or the Middle East more broadly, are not born with thicker skin. They do not grieve their children less than Europeans do. They may have more experience of war, but they do not get used to having their houses bombed.

Many people seem to think otherwise... READ MORE  https://www.theguardian.com/world/commentisfree/2026/may/27/chaotic-unique-beautiful-lebanon-reduced-rubble-israel-bombardment

 [AS ALWAYS PLEASE GO TO THE LINK TO READ GOOD ARTICLES (or quotes or watch videos) IN FULL: HELP SHAPE ALGORITHMS (and conversations) THAT EMPOWER DECENCY, DIGNITY, JUSTICE & PEACE... and hopefully Palestine] 

Aunt Jameela's Bread. A Story of Food, Family, and Love..... A beautiful new book by Palestinian-American Mike Odetalla about childhood and baking bread in his homeland.

A beautiful new book by Palestinian-American Mike Odetalla about childhood, family, and homemade bread in his homeland  

Auntie Jameela's Bread

by Mike Odetalla (Author), Jaber Yassein (Illustrator) Format: Paperback

See all formats and editions

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In a small village nestled among golden fields and olive trees, Aunt Jameela baked bread that fills more than just hungry tummies...it fills hearts with joy, stories, and love.

From the wheat grown in the fields to the warm loaves shared with family and friends, every step is a reminder of what truly matters.

A heartwarming tale of tradition, togetherness, and the special memories made around the table.   https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0GXRFK11T/ref=sw_img_1?smid=ATVPDKIKX0DER&psc=1

Buy a copy, enjoy, savor it... then pass it on to your local library or a child that you know and love 

Growing Gardens for Palestine

Sunday, May 10, 2026

Aunt Jameela's Bread. A Story of Food, Family, and Love..... A beautiful new book by Palestinian-American Mike Odetalla about childhood and baking bread in his homeland.