The difficult return to Israel’s poisoned border with Lebanon: ‘People are still afraid’

Amid the rain and wind, a blue United Nations flag flutters above a surveillance post in Lebanese territory, just a few meters from the border fence with Israel. A dividing line poisoned by violence and witness to four Israeli invasions: in 1978, 1982, 2006, and 2024, the latter of which continues to this day. Hugging this demarcation, the road winds through the mountains, leading from Kibbutz Misgav Am, where an Israeli tank is positioned, to Kibbutz Manara, passing through Margaliot, another small farming community.

Israel announced last Tuesday that it will begin talks with the Lebanese government regarding the border divide between the two states — a constant source of tension — and released five Lebanese detainees as a “gesture” of goodwill. These talks, sponsored by the United States and France, seek the normalization of bilateral relations and mutual recognition of the border, according to diplomatic sources cited by several Israeli media outlets, who attribute the initiative directly to Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu.

Beyond the fences and concrete walls, alternating obstacles, no members or vehicles of UNIFIL, the UN mission in southern Lebanon, can be seen. Nor is there any movement of Israeli soldiers, despite the fact that this is the same area where the Israeli army is currently maintaining one of its five detachments in the neighboring country, in violation of the ceasefire agreement with Hezbollah, which came into effect on November 27 and stipulates that those soldiers should have already withdrawn. The talks, which will be conducted by working groups, could begin in April and will address, in addition to the border conflict, the Israeli military presence in Lebanon and the Lebanese nationals detained by the authorities of the Jewish State, according to Israeli media.

The objective of maintaining these occupation troops, despite complaints from the Beirut government, is to guarantee the security of small Israeli communities like those mentioned above and to allow the return of the population that left during the first days of the conflict, Israel insists. “I like my house. I sleep perfectly here,” says Mirta Serur, 68, sitting next to her husband Rubén, 70, in the kitchen of their chalet in Kibbutz Snir, less than a kilometer (0.6 miles) from Lebanon. The couple, who arrived from Argentina in the 1970s, have returned thanks to the ceasefire after months away from their home, spending most of their time in Tel Aviv. Despite the uncertainty, they prefer to live where they have for almost 50 years, amid tensions with Hezbollah and attacks.

“It’s very difficult for me to live in the city,” summarizes Mirta, a staunch defender of life in a community that is home to just 200 families. “It’s going to be harder for others to return,” she acknowledges. Some citizens have been put up in hotels or rented accommodation in different areas of Israel since October 2023, funded by the public treasury. The government has given them the opportunity to remain in that arrangement until July 7, explains Roberto Hofman, displaced in Tel Aviv. He acknowledges, however, that many families have begun returning north. Many, he adds, are families with minors who have chosen to return despite their children having to change schools again, as happened in 2023.

In total, some 60,000 residents have been ordered to leave the Lebanese border area by authorities during the current conflict, and Netanyahu’s priority objective is for them to return without feeling threatened by the neighboring country. The five military bases — temporary, but with no withdrawal date — are Israel’s way of preventing Hezbollah from carrying out further attacks. The truce, under the intervention of Washington and Paris, stipulates that the Lebanese army will ensure the fundamentalist militia is retained above the Litani River, about 30 kilometers (18.6 miles) from Israel. “We’ve had these military posts before, and after a while, the attacks begin again,” notes Rubén Serur. But he and his wife are determined not to have to leave again.

These five detachments “don’t think they can sustain themselves for long,” maybe two to four months, estimates Gideon Harari, head of security at the She’ar Yeshuv moshav (an agricultural community similar to a kibbutz), also located near the border. “It’s true that Lebanon is right that it’s their land,” and the Israeli presence “goes against resolution 1701, and we’re not opposed to the international community.” That UN Security Council resolution ended the previous war between Israel and Hezbollah in 2006 and stipulates an end to daily Israeli bombings and overflights of Lebanon, as well as prohibiting the presence of Israeli troops on Lebanese soil and armed militiamen south of the Litani River, a Hezbollah stronghold.

Tensions remain simmering, and “people are still afraid; they haven’t regained confidence,” Harari says, a few days before the Ministry of Education announced on March 9 that nearly two-thirds of the 16,000 schoolchildren and 83% of the teachers evacuated have returned to their classrooms. Despite everything, he advocates for everyone to return, although he understands those who don’t want to. As a former military officer, Harari is one of those who has had the opportunity to visit the other side of the border with troops, where the the damage inflicted on the Shiite communities of Lebanon has been “the greatest ever.” He understands that “Hezbollah and Iran have suffered a blow like never before,” and therefore hopes that “the Lebanese understand that war isn’t worth it, even though Hezbollah is trying to return.” He maintains that “Lebanon has a great opportunity to advance as a country, and the army can gain ground given the current weakness of Hezbollah and Tehran.”

“The normal thing here is to live in fear,” admits Hillel Barad, 62, who has come with his dog to do some shopping in Kiryat Shmona from Kibbutz Kfar Blum, where he lives. He doesn’t hide his pessimism. He believes the Lebanese army — “a joke” — will not be able to bring Hezbollah under control. Down the hill, two or three kilometers in a straight line from the separation fence, Kiryat Shmona is the main population center in the area. It is a good indicator of the resurgence of northern Israel after the end of the Hezbollah bombing. It had about 20,000 inhabitants before the war, of whom some 90% were evacuated.

Life is slowly resurfacing on the streets, but the town is running at half speed. Almost all establishments remain closed. Fifty-year-old Shai Shnaidman has reopened his small restaurant despite the lack of customers. Across the street, a large furniture store has been open for business for a few days, but only its two employees are inside. A group of teenage volunteers from other areas, like 18-year-old Shira Tamar, are helping with some tasks to revive the community.

The interior of the Nehemiah shopping mall is desolate. The escalators are still dormant, and tarps cover some of the stalls in front of the demolished storefronts, except for the pharmaceutical giant SuperPharm. Alone, accompanied only by the noise of a floor-scrubbing machine operated by an employee, Natalie Shoshani, 53, waits for someone to come to the lottery booth she runs. She resumed her activity three days ago, after returning from her exile on the Mediterranean coast near Tel Aviv. She, too, doubts that placing those five outposts on Lebanese territory will be enough.

“We don’t feel safe. We don’t trust the Lebanese army,” explain Lea, 67, and her husband Ariel, 70, (who prefer not to have their real names published), who fled Metula, Israel’s northernmost town, due to Hezbollah attacks. They have no plans to return for the time being, despite the truce. Metula, surrounded by Lebanese territory at the tip of the so-called “Finger of Galilee,” has been one of the localities hardest hit by the Lebanese militia’s projectiles. The mayor, David Azoulay, says that only 8% of the 2,500 residents have returned and criticized Netanyahu’s decision to begin the population’s return, which was supposed to be delayed until July, according to the Haaretz newspaper.

Lea and Ariel will continue to live in a rented kibbutz a few kilometers south. They periodically walk around their home, which she promised not to clean until they could move back in. But one of the walls suffered “severe damage” from an Israeli tank, and that promise has gone unfulfilled.

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