Lebanese question 'pilot zone' plan as Israel withdraws from villages it never occupied

On Monday, as Israel, Lebanon, and the United States announced the start of a so-called pilot zone project, dozens of displaced residents began trickling back to villages in southern Lebanon. The plan, part of a framework agreement signed in Washington last month, is supposed to see Israel withdraw from select areas it occupies in the country's south—even as it maintains control of many others it has held since escalating its war on Lebanon in March, a conflict that has killed more than 4,300 people.

But in the villages of Froun and Ghandouriyeh, neighboring settlements where residents started returning Monday after Israeli bombardment had driven them out, locals are asking a pointed question: Why are we part of a withdrawal plan from places Israeli forces never actually occupied? Lebanese security sources confirm the skepticism. Neither village, they say, was ever held by Israeli troops. The inclusion of these towns in the pilot zone framework, residents argue, is not evidence of Israeli concession but rather proof that Israel is giving up nothing at all—that it is simply able to remain in the areas it has genuinely invaded while appearing to make territorial concessions.

The two villages sit on hills that overlook several towns the Israelis do hold in the Nabatieh and Marjayoun districts. The road connecting them is dangerous. Stretches overlooking the Hujeir Valley come under regular Israeli fire, and Israeli forces stationed in nearby occupied towns can monitor anyone who passes through. Yet families have not waited for the framework agreement to play out. They have begun returning on their own, clearing rubble, salvaging what they can.

Abu Ali Miqdad, who owns heavy machinery and founded a family business decades ago, has been working with his sons and grandsons to pull materials from the ruins of a building at Froun's entrance—a structure that once held residential apartments and storage warehouses. After hours of labor, they extracted tyres, oil drums, and spare parts from the debris. The grandfather expresses little optimism about the current situation but says he has grown tired of constant displacement. Watching his grandchildren haul salvage from the rubble, he says he will keep clearing and rebuilding, even under bombardment. The presence of the Lebanese army and UN peacekeeping patrols offers him some comfort, though the circumstances remain grim.

Across from the demolished house, one structure survived. On its doorstep sits Sumaya Haidar, a woman in her seventies dressed in traditional southern Lebanese clothing, with her grandson beside her in a Spain national team football jersey. Spanish troops have been patrolling the area as part of the UN peacekeeping force deployed south of the Litani River, though that mission is set to end by year's end. Despite the destruction surrounding her, Sumaya says she is relieved to be home, sitting beside her grandson—even though there is no water, electricity, or phone service. She is anxious about the town's future, and her worry deepens because her children's families remain scattered in different towns, displaced and unsettled. "We put our trust in God," she says. "We sit here, we're not afraid, and we'll stay. Look at these people—living in schools after losing their homes, and my children are scattered, too."

Ghandouriyeh has suffered worse destruction than Froun. Of its 260 homes, 250 are fully or partially destroyed, according to the municipal council head, Mohammed Nader. He and several council members have set up damaged chairs under a tree for their daily meetings. Nader, who lived in Paraguay before returning to serve his hometown, grows visibly angry when asked about the village's possible inclusion in the second phase of the pilot zones. Pointing toward Israeli positions just kilometers away, he rejects the idea outright. Israel wants to "sell us and the state empty walnut shells, calling it a pilot zone, when they never even entered it in the first place," he says.

The Lebanese army has been visible in Ghandouriyeh for three days, with soldiers from the Fifth Intervention Regiment stationed at the village's southern entrance. The army granted journalists permission to film its positions twice, to demonstrate its control and the area's designation as a military oversight zone. Patrols have been seen repeatedly moving along the line stretching from Kfar Dounine to Froun via Ghandouriyeh, and a checkpoint has been established where soldiers search vehicles and check identification. For the Lebanese government, this military presence in Froun and Ghandouriyeh represents evidence of expanding state authority—a point that is expected to top the agenda when Lebanese President Joseph Aoun meets with US President Donald Trump in Washington on Tuesday. Yet even as the army asserts control, Hezbollah continues to insist that its weapons remain necessary to confront Israel if the Lebanese military is unwilling to do so.