The Israeli military has demolished entire villages as part of its invasion of south Lebanon, rigging homes with explosives and razing them to the ground in massive remote detonations.

The Guardian reviewed three videos posted by the Israeli military and on social media, which showed Israel carrying out mass detonations in the villages of Taybeh, Naqoura and Deir Seryan along the Israel-Lebanon border. Lebanese media has reported more mass detonations in other border villages, but satellite imagery was not readily available to verify these claims.

The demolitions came after Israel’s minister of defence, Israel Katz, called for the destruction of “all houses” in border villages “in accordance with the model used in Rafah and Beit Hanoun in Gaza” to stop threats to communities in northern Israel. The Israeli military destroyed 90% of homes in Rafah, in south Gaza.

The tactic of mass destruction of homes in Gaza, where Israel has been accused of committing genocide, was described as domicide by academics, a strategy that is used to systematically destroy and damage civilian housing to render entire areas uninhabitable.

The Israeli military has said they are targeting Hezbollah infrastructure such as tunnels and military facilities, which it claims the armed group has embedded in civilian homes, through these demolitions.

Israel has said that it will occupy vast swathes of south Lebanon, establishing a “security zone” in the entire area up to the Litani River, and that displaced people would not be allowed to return to their homes until the safety of Israel’s northern cities is guaranteed, prompting concern there will be long-term displacement.

Rights groups, however, have said these mass remote detonations could amount to wanton destruction: a war crime. The laws of war prohibit the deliberate destruction of civilian homes, except when necessary for lawful military reasons.

“The possibility that Hezbollah may use some civilian structures in Lebanon’s border villages for military purposes does not justify the wide-scale destruction of entire villages along the border,” said Ramzi Kaiss, the Lebanon researcher for Human Rights Watch.

For residents of border villages, who watched the videos of the destruction of their houses with horror, the detonations erased not only their homes, but also generations of memories.

“The first thing we saw was the town square being blown up. I have a shop there. A person’s whole life is in that place, their work, their memories, everything. Suddenly you see it exploding in front of you,” said Ahmad Abu Taam, a 56-year-old construction supply shop owner from Taybeh. “From that moment, I felt that I had become a refugee. I feel like I have no home.”

Abu Taam had also been displaced in the 2024 Hezbollah-Israel war. Though much of the village was damaged in that round of conflict, his return was still a joyous one. He took a picture of Deir Seryan after its residents returned – string lights were hung over the town square, lighting up the town.

“I forgot the displacement then and started rebuilding my shop from scratch – without even feeling the fatigue. When you arrive, it feels like you’ve found something you lost. But this time, everything is gone. Everything has been wiped out,” Abu Taam said.

Ahmad Ibrahim, a 50-year-old farmer from Deir Seryan, has only a few pictures of his house. He left the rest back home, leaving them behind as he fled the town on 2 March, expecting that he would collect them when he came back.

“My whole life is there, I’ve never really left beyond 10-13km. It’s a beautiful, typical village – at least it was before the war. Its people are kind and generous,” Ibrahim said.

The weather in Lebanon is turning to spring and Deir Seryan will be becoming lush, its flowers in full bloom, after the months of winter rain. Ibrahim mourned the fact that his children would not enjoy springtime in their homes, but instead would spend it displaced.

“The children remember the good times – spring and summer evenings, going out to the fields, collecting flowers and herbs, having dinner outdoors, making tea over a fire,” he said. “For the children, it was a beautiful place to grow up.”

Mohammed Hashem, a 65-year-old doctor, spent 15 years working 18-hour days to save up enough money to build the Luna motel in Naqoura. The multi-storey hotel was built in 2012 and hosted foreign travellers, Lebanese vacationers and off-duty UN peacekeepers, who all flocked to the seaside town, whose residents boasted of the most beautiful beaches in all of Lebanon.

“In summer, occupancy would reach 100%. We received good ratings and awards. Overall, we were happy – living peacefully, with good productivity,” said Hashem. “It really was a family business.”

When news of the hotel’s destruction was published, Hashem was overwhelmed by the outpouring of support from his former customers.

“We received thousands of likes and comments. People expressed how much they loved the place. Our guests were always happy – good prices, good service,” he said.

The story of villages in Lebanon’s south, which has been subject to Israeli invasion and occupation on-and-off since the late 1970s, is also one of displacement. Families from border villages are scattered across the world – in Australia, Africa, Europe – having searched for stability and livelihoods abroad.

These villages served as an anchor for scattered families. The diaspora used to take comfort that they could always return home, descending upon old family homes in droves in the summer and spring, at times doubling border villages’ populations during holiday season.

“People would build houses worth a million dollars just to stay for a week or 10 days a year. The village becomes the centre of the family,” Abu Taam said. “Because no matter where you go, you always long for your home. The place where you grew up, where you first felt at ease.”

For many, that anchor is now gone. “You feel a deep sense of frustration. Like someone has the power to erase you,” said Abu Taam.