As Israel pushes deeper into Lebanon, fear grows in the communities where the displaced have sought refuge

Kareem Chehayeb and Malak Harb
| Associated press

Aito, Lebanon — Dany Alwan stood shaking as rescuers pulled remains from the rubble where his brother’s building once stood.

An Israeli airstrike destroyed the three-story residential building in the quiet Christian village of Aito a day earlier. His brother, Elie, had rented the apartments to a friend who had fled here with relatives from their hometown in southern Lebanon, under Israeli bombardment.

Things went well for a few weeks. But that day, minutes after visitors arrived and entered the building, there was a beating. Nearly two dozen people were killed, half of them women and children. Israel said it targeted a Hezbollah official, as it has urged in other attacks with high numbers of civilian casualties.

This attack – in northern Lebanon, deep in the Christian heartland – was particularly unusual. Israel has concentrated its bombing campaign in the south and east of the country and in the southern suburbs of Beirut – areas with a Shiite majority where the militant group Hezbollah has a strong presence.

Strikes in traditionally ‘safe’ areas where many displaced families have fled are causing fear among local residents. Many feel like they have to choose between helping fellow countrymen and protecting themselves.

“We cannot welcome more people,” Alwan said as rescue teams combed through the rubble in Aito. “The situation in the village is very critical and this is the first time something like this has happened to us.”

The war brings long-lasting tensions

Aito is located in Zgharta province, which is divided between Christian factions that are supporters and critics of Hezbollah.

Some Christian lawmakers critical of Hezbollah have warned of the security risks that could come with hosting displaced people, especially from the Shia Muslim community. They fear that many have family and social ties to Hezbollah, which, in addition to its armed wing, has civilian services throughout southern and eastern Lebanon.

Some also worry that prolonged displacement could trigger demographic changes and weaken the Christian stake in Lebanon’s fragile sectarian power-sharing system. The small country has a turbulent history of sectarian conflict and violence, particularly during the 15-year civil war that ended in 1990.

Lebanon has struggled for decades to cope with tensions and political deadlock within its sectarian power-sharing government system. Parliament is deeply divided among the factions that support and oppose Hezbollah and has been without a president for almost two years.

When Hezbollah fired rockets into northern Israel in solidarity with Palestinian ally Hamas in the war-torn Gaza Strip, the move was met with mixed feelings. Critics say it was a miscalculation that brought the widespread destruction of Gaza here.

Many are moved to help

After nearly a year of low-level fighting, the Israeli army escalated its attacks on Hezbollah a month ago, with daily aerial bombardments and a ground invasion. Most of Lebanon’s estimated 1.2 million displaced people have fled in the past month.

In late September, miles of traffic jams formed the streets leading into Beirut as people left, some with nothing but their clothes on.

For many, the violence has prompted them to help their fellow residents without crossing sectarian lines.

Michella Sfeir, who was safe in the north, said she wanted to take action after seeing a photo of a driver pouring water from his bottle into the empty bottle of a nearby driver.

“The first thing you can think of is: how can I help right away?” she said.

She now helps prepare meals at a women’s arts center that has grown into a community kitchen and donation drop-off point for blankets, clothing and supplies in Aqaibe, a beach town just north of Beirut. Displaced women who have found shelter in surrounding neighborhoods visit regularly, while some people involved in other mealtime initiatives help deliver hot meals to shelters.

“We get a lot of questions like, ‘If you go to provide aid, is there a member of Hezbollah waiting for you at the door?’” Sfeir said, referring to the backlash in the community from people who see the displaced as members of Hezbollah. sympathizers and relatives.

“Some people… would ask us, ‘Why are you helping them? They don’t deserve it; this is because of them. ”

The fear rises far from the limit

Although northern coastal towns such as Byblos and Batroun with pristine beaches and ancient ruins have not felt the immediate pain of the conflict, fear is rising in surrounding areas.

On a coastal road – the busy Jounieh highway – an Israeli drone hit a car earlier this month, killing a man and his wife.

Such rare but increasing Israeli attacks have left residents of the north in an uproar. Many feel torn: should they risk their safety by hosting displaced people, or compromise their morale and reject them?

Zeinab Rihan fled north with family and relatives from the southern province of Nabatiyeh when they could not bear the airstrikes closing in on their homes.

But, Rihan said, they found that many landlords were citing outlandish rent figures in an apparent attempt to dismiss them.

Some may have acted out of personal bias, Rihan said, but most were probably just afraid.

“They were afraid they would rent their house to someone who turned out to be a target,” Rihan said. “But this is our current reality, what can we do?”

For some, helping is a sense of duty

A resident of a northern town near the coast said the local government did not want to welcome displaced people, but many residents are pressuring the municipality to change course.

He cited the city’s general sympathy and sense of duty to help others despite the safety risks. He spoke to The Associated Press on condition of anonymity for fear of tension among residents.

Elsewhere, in the hilly village of Ebrine, a stone’s throw from Batroun, residents regularly visit dozens of displaced families sheltering in two modest schools. This month, an Israeli attack hit a village a short drive away, but that hasn’t stopped some residents from hiring displaced workers – some to work in the olive groves during the harvest season.

Back in Aqaibe, some displaced women from nearby areas have joined Sfeir and others in volunteering in the kitchen: chopping vegetables, cooking rice in barrels, packing meals in plastic containers and drinking coffee together on the balcony.

“The fact that we are in an area where there is no direct conflict or direct war does not mean that we are not concerned about Beirut or the south,” said Flavia Bechara, who founded the center, as she took a break. of chopping onions and potatoes. “We all ate the olives and olive oil from the south, and we went there to get fruits and vegetables.”

Bechara and several women finished packing dozens of meals for the day, and a group of women came to pick up winter clothes for their children. Bechara said she is not fascinated by the criticism or questions she receives from some of her neighbors.

“There is always fear,” said Bechara, who recently heard strikes a short drive away in Maisra. “There is always (the fear) that what happens there could happen here at any moment.”