Just days after a ceasefire was brokered, the streets of southern Beirut are again choked with dust and dread. Israeli airstrikes have killed at least 18 people, reports confirmed this morning, with Hezbollah swiftly retaliating. For the families now picking through rubble, the brief respite was a cruel illusion.
The human cost is stark: a father clutching a child's shoe, a woman keening over a body bag. The cultural shift is equally profound. In cafes and taxis, the talk has turned from cautious hope to bitter resignation.
This is not just a military escalation; it is a dismantling of the very idea of normal life. The rhythm of the city, punctuated by sirens and silence, tells a story of a society braced for the next blow. The ceasefire was always fragile, held together by diplomatic threads that have now snapped.
As Hezbollah's rockets arc back toward Israel, the cycle of grief and retaliation grinds on. For those on the ground, the real news is not the politics but the smell of smoke and the weight of loss.
