Last Friday, at around 19:00, an Israeli air strike hit a car in a village in southern Lebanon called Froun. This part of the country is the heartland of the Shia Muslim community, and for decades has been under the sway of Hezbollah, the Lebanese Shia militia and political party. On streets, banners with the faces of fighters killed in battle hang from lamp-posts, celebrating them as martyrs of the resistance.
I arrived in Froun an hour after the strike. Rescue workers had already removed the body parts of the only casualty - a man who was later described as a Hezbollah terrorist by the Israeli military. Despite a ceasefire deal that came into force last November, ending the latest war with Hezbollah, Israel has continued with its bombing, almost every day.
Who is going to help us? one resident, Mohamad Mokdad, asked me. The car had been hit as it passed in front of his house, and he was still cleaning up the veranda. There were body parts here and in the trees. He sounded despondent. We're against all this... I just want to live in peace. I don't want parties, he said, appearing to refer to Hezbollah without naming it. I don't want anyone.
Israel claims it is targeting Hezbollah to undermine its military presence, which has stirred a new wave of questioning among the based population on the militia's effectiveness in ensuring their safety. The ongoing violence has led to an erosion of the traditional political consensus in southern Lebanon, where support for Hezbollah has dominated sentiment for years. Public criticism remains rare, but more residents express a desire for stability and a normal life away from the constant fear of air strikes and military maneuvers.
The reality on the ground mirrors a complex interplay of security, political instability, and the human cost of ongoing conflict, shaping new attitudes among civilians who are now questioning the age-old narrative that has historically kept communities united behind Hezbollah. As conflict persists, many are left to wonder whether a life free from violence and war is ever attainable.
I arrived in Froun an hour after the strike. Rescue workers had already removed the body parts of the only casualty - a man who was later described as a Hezbollah terrorist by the Israeli military. Despite a ceasefire deal that came into force last November, ending the latest war with Hezbollah, Israel has continued with its bombing, almost every day.
Who is going to help us? one resident, Mohamad Mokdad, asked me. The car had been hit as it passed in front of his house, and he was still cleaning up the veranda. There were body parts here and in the trees. He sounded despondent. We're against all this... I just want to live in peace. I don't want parties, he said, appearing to refer to Hezbollah without naming it. I don't want anyone.
Israel claims it is targeting Hezbollah to undermine its military presence, which has stirred a new wave of questioning among the based population on the militia's effectiveness in ensuring their safety. The ongoing violence has led to an erosion of the traditional political consensus in southern Lebanon, where support for Hezbollah has dominated sentiment for years. Public criticism remains rare, but more residents express a desire for stability and a normal life away from the constant fear of air strikes and military maneuvers.
The reality on the ground mirrors a complex interplay of security, political instability, and the human cost of ongoing conflict, shaping new attitudes among civilians who are now questioning the age-old narrative that has historically kept communities united behind Hezbollah. As conflict persists, many are left to wonder whether a life free from violence and war is ever attainable.
