Israel can't be trusted, a returning resident said simply.
In the hours after the United States and Iran announced a ceasefire, displaced Lebanese families began returning to villages still shadowed by armored vehicles and rubble — a quiet that felt less like peace than like breath held before the next exhale. The agreement, born from Iran's insistence that Lebanon be included in any truce, paused a conflict that had killed more than 3,800 people and scattered a million from their homes since March. Yet the silence rests on unsteady ground: Israel holds Lebanese territory with no intention of leaving, Hezbollah refuses to discuss its weapons, and a people long acquainted with broken promises are watching to see whether the world's attention will outlast its own restlessness.
- Families defied official warnings and streamed back into southern Lebanon on foot and by car, only to find Israeli armored vehicles still occupying their streets.
- Over 3,800 people are dead, a million remain displaced, and entire villages have been reduced to rubble — the human ledger of a war that lasted more than three months.
- Israel has declared it will hold roughly 5 percent of Lebanese territory indefinitely as a 'security zone,' with no withdrawal timeline and no reconstruction plan in sight.
- Hezbollah has flatly refused any disarmament talks, while Lebanon's government insists the only path forward is diplomacy — a road that currently leads nowhere.
- Two prior ceasefires in Lebanon collapsed, and residents like Moustafa, returning with a single suitcase, are blunt: 'Israel can't be trusted.'
- The ceasefire's true test is whether sustained international pressure can hold the fragile quiet in place, or whether the world will look away before the underlying causes are addressed.
On Monday morning, hours after the United States and Iran announced a ceasefire, families began making their way back into southern Lebanon — by car, on foot, carrying what they could. Authorities had warned them to wait. They came anyway. In one widely shared video, residents arrived in their village to find an Israeli armored vehicle blocking the road, a reminder that the machinery of war does not simply switch off.
The conflict had begun in March, when Hezbollah fired rockets into Israel following the killing of Iran's supreme leader. Israel responded with a devastating air campaign and a ground invasion of the south. When the US and Iran finally negotiated a truce, Iran made Lebanon's inclusion a condition of any deal. The agreement — still not fully public — was meant to stop the fighting there as well.
The skepticism was immediate. Abo Ali, displaced from the village of Jebchit, returned to find his neighborhood gutted. 'All of this can be compensated for, and rebuilt,' he said, in the tone of someone trying to believe his own words. Moustafa came back to Aadshit with a single suitcase. Asked whether the ceasefire would hold, he was direct: 'Israel can't be trusted.' Lebanon's health ministry counted more than 3,800 dead and one million displaced, most of them Shia Muslims. Dozens of villages had been destroyed entirely.
Beneath the fragile quiet lay a series of unresolved questions. Israel occupied roughly 5 percent of Lebanese territory and showed no sign of withdrawing — Defense Minister Israel Katz stated explicitly that the seized land would serve as a permanent security zone. There was no reconstruction timeline, no clarity on funding, and no mechanism to address the devastation. Hezbollah, meanwhile, rejected any discussion of disarmament, while Lebanese authorities insisted the matter could only be resolved through diplomacy.
The Lebanese had reason for doubt. Two previous ceasefire announcements had collapsed. The agreement that ended the last Israel-Hezbollah conflict in 2024 had not brought peace — Israeli strikes on Hezbollah-linked targets continued almost daily afterward. The deeper fear now was familiar: that once global attention drifted, the cycle would simply resume. The quiet holding over Lebanon was less a resolution than a question — one whose answer depended on whether the world could sustain its focus long enough to matter.
On Monday morning, hours after the United States and Iran announced they had reached a ceasefire agreement, families began trickling back into southern Lebanon. They came by car, on foot, carrying what they could. The authorities had warned them not to go—it wasn't safe yet—but after more than three months of relentless bombardment, the pull to return home was stronger than caution. In one video that spread across social media, residents arrived in a village only to find an Israeli armoured vehicle blocking the street, a reminder that the machinery of war had not simply switched off.
The conflict that brought Lebanon to this point had started in March, when Hezbollah fired rockets into Israel in retaliation for the killing of Iran's supreme leader, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei. Israel responded with a devastating air campaign across Lebanon and a ground invasion of the south. For decades, Iran had financed, trained, and armed Hezbollah—the militant group, political party, and social services network that holds enormous influence among Lebanon's Shia Muslim population. When the US and Iran finally negotiated a truce, Iran made the inclusion of Lebanon a non-negotiable demand. The agreement, still not made public in full, was supposed to stop the fighting there as well.
But the quiet that followed was fragile, and the skepticism was immediate. A man named Abo Ali, displaced from the village of Jebchit in the Nabatieh area, returned to find his neighborhood surrounded by heavily damaged buildings. "All of this can be compensated for, and rebuilt," he said, though his words carried the weight of someone trying to convince himself. Another resident, Moustafa, came back to the village of Aadshit carrying only a suitcase. "For someone who's used to this area and has lived here, to come back and see this destruction is extremely hard," he said. When asked if he believed the ceasefire would hold, he was direct: "Israel can't be trusted."
The numbers behind that skepticism were staggering. Lebanon's health ministry counted more than 3,800 dead, including many women and children, though the figures did not separate combatants from civilians. Israel claimed it had killed more than 2,500 Hezbollah operatives. On the Israeli side, 30 soldiers and four civilians had been killed. One million people remained displaced across Lebanon, most of them Shia Muslims, and many would never be able to return home. Dozens of villages had been destroyed entirely.
Beyond the immediate human toll lay a series of unresolved questions that suggested the ceasefire was less an ending than a pause. Israel occupied roughly 5 percent of Lebanese territory and showed no sign of withdrawing. Israeli Defence Minister Israel Katz stated explicitly that Israel would remain indefinitely in the land it had seized, describing the occupied area as a security zone meant to protect northern Israeli communities from Hezbollah's rockets and drones. There was no timeline for reconstruction, no clarity on who would pay for it, and no mechanism in place to address the devastation.
Then there was the matter of Hezbollah's weapons. The Lebanese government had tried to separate its own conflict from Iran's broader dispute with the United States, hoping to reduce Iranian influence and further isolate Hezbollah. Critics had long argued that Hezbollah dragged Lebanon into unnecessary wars to serve Iranian interests, and many saw the ceasefire as an opportunity to finally disarm the group. But Hezbollah rejected any discussion of its arsenal. Lebanese authorities said disarmament could only happen through diplomacy, a prospect that seemed distant at best.
The Lebanese had learned to be skeptical. Two previous ceasefire announcements in the country had failed to hold. The agreement that ended the last conflict between Israel and Hezbollah in 2024 had not brought peace—Israel continued attacking targets it linked to Hezbollah almost daily. This time, Hezbollah had already said it would not accept what Israel called freedom of action, and Iran's pressure might change Israel's calculations. But there remained a deeper fear: that once the world's attention moved elsewhere, the cycle would simply resume. The fragile quiet holding now was a test of whether international pressure could sustain itself, or whether Lebanon would find itself back where it started.
Citações Notáveis
All of this can be compensated for, and rebuilt.— Abo Ali, displaced resident from Jebchit
For someone who's used to this area and has lived here, to come back and see this destruction is extremely hard. Israel can't be trusted.— Moustafa, returning resident of Aadshit
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
Why did the US-Iran agreement include Lebanon at all? It seems like a separate conflict.
It wasn't separate to Iran. Hezbollah is Iran's closest ally in the region, and the Shia community in Lebanon has been devastated by this war. For Iran to accept a ceasefire without protecting Hezbollah would have looked like abandonment to its supporters at home. Including Lebanon was about Tehran's credibility.
But Israel didn't want to stop fighting Hezbollah. How did that change?
The US pressured Israel into it. Israel argued the conflict was distinct from the Iran war, but the Americans had leverage—they were the ones negotiating with Tehran. Israel may have had no choice but to wind down the campaign, even if it didn't want to.
The occupation of 5 percent of Lebanese territory—is that permanent?
That's the question no one can answer yet. Israel says it's a security zone, indefinite. There's no withdrawal timeline, no agreement on how long it lasts. It could be months or years. Meanwhile, the people living there are trapped.
What about Hezbollah's weapons?
Hezbollah won't discuss disarming. The Lebanese government says it can only happen through diplomacy, but that's a distant prospect. Many Lebanese see this as a chance to finally weaken Hezbollah's grip, but the group has rejected the conversation entirely.
Has a ceasefire ever held in Lebanon before?
Not the last two times. The 2024 agreement didn't bring peace—Israel kept attacking Hezbollah targets almost daily. People remember that. They're hoping this time is different, but they're not counting on it.
What happens if the world stops paying attention?
That's the real fear. Once the headlines move on, the pressure on Israel to comply disappears. The cycle could start again, and Lebanon would be back where it was.