In the quiet villages of southern Lebanon, the hum of drones overhead has become a grim soundtrack to a ceasefire that was supposed to bring peace. The partial truce between Israel and Hezbollah, agreed in principle weeks ago, is now fraying at the edges. Airstrikes have resumed, targeting what the Israeli Defence Forces describe as 'military infrastructure' but locals insist are civilian homes.
The human cost is mounting: three farmers killed in their fields this week, their stories lost in the political noise. On the streets of Tyre, shopkeepers eye the sky with a practiced wariness. 'We thought it was over,' says a café owner, wiping down a counter that has seen too many false dawns.
'But the bombs don't read agreements.' The cultural shift is palpable. A generation that grew up with the 2006 war now finds itself teaching its children how to identify the whistle of an incoming rocket.
Trust in institutions, already brittle, fractures further. In Beirut, diplomats speak of 'progress' and 'frameworks'. Here, people speak of survival.
The truce holds in name, but the resilience of southern Lebanon is tested again. The question hangs heavy: how many more ceasefires before one sticks?
