The aftermath of an Israeli strike in the Christian village of Aitou, northern Lebanon, in October.
Credit...David Guttenfelder for The New York Times

Lebanese Fear That Wherever the Displaced Go, Israeli Bombs Will Follow

Tensions among multiple sects in the country have long lurked just below the surface. As hundreds of thousands flee Israeli airstrikes in the south, those strains are worsening.

by · NY Times

Early in the war, the Christian villagers of Aitou in Lebanon’s far north rarely heard the buzz of drones or the sounds of bombs exploding — daily occurrences in the south, where Israel is battling the Shiite militant group Hezbollah.

Then a displaced Shiite family of tobacco farmers from the south arrived in Aitou, seeking refuge.

In the days that followed, more relatives joined the family. On Oct. 14, a man who was believed to be distributing aid money for Hezbollah drove up to the house where the family was staying and took bags full of cash inside, according to two neighbors and a man who delivered water to the family.

Minutes later, an Israeli airstrike flattened the house and killed the entire family along with the man who had brought the money. Some of the bills, both U.S. dollars and Lebanese pounds, were seen blowing in the air at the site immediately after the blast.

Only a statue of St. Charbel, a Maronite saint, remained standing just below the destroyed building.

The Israel-Hezbollah conflict escalated drastically in September, sending hundreds of thousands of people, mostly Shiite Muslims from southern Lebanon, fleeing their homes. Many sought refuge in areas dominated by other faiths and sects and Israel’s bombardments seemed to track the displaced as they dispersed across the country. Strikes like the one on Aitou, outside of Hezbollah-dominated southern Lebanon, began to rise.

These attacks disrupted life in previously safe places, inflaming sectarian tensions that have long smoldered just below the surface of Lebanese society. They spread a fear that wherever the displaced turned up, Israeli bombs would follow.

Asked about the attack on Aitou, the Israeli military said only that a strike on northern Lebanon in mid-October had targeted a Hezbollah figure and it was checking whether Lebanese civilians had been killed. Lebanese military officials said that they did not know the identity of the man who had brought the money.

But neighbors who came to commiserate with the Christian owners of the bombed house vented frustration with Hezbollah, the most powerful military and political faction in Lebanon, which seeks Israel’s destruction.

Elias, a Christian friend of the landlord, urged Hezbollah to defeat Israel if it could.

“But if not, shut up. Don’t invite them here,” said Elias, 54, who asked to be identified by his first name only for fear of repercussions. “You gave them a big invitation with your shelling,” he added, referring to Hezbollah’s attacks on Israel over the past year in solidarity with Hamas in Gaza after Hamas led the Oct. 7, 2023, attack on Israel that set off the war.

A small country of just over five million people, Lebanon has long been divided along sectarian lines. Maronite and Orthodox Christians, Druse, and Sunni and Shiite Muslims, who follow somewhat different interpretations of Islam, are just some of the communities that hold sway.

Sectarian divisions fueled the country’s 1975-90 civil war, which ended with a renewed division of power along religious and sectarian lines. The result has been political paralysis and a dysfunctional state that lacks even a working power grid.

Many of the warlords responsible for the civil war are still prominent political players 30 years later.

The horrors of the civil war still haunt Lebanese society — so much so that the defense minister in late October held a news conference in which he specifically warned against “fitna,” Arabic for “civil strife,” and made clear that he saw a grave danger in anything that stoked religious or sectarian divisions.

When the displaced first began to arrive in other communities, they found widespread sympathy from fellow citizens who gathered blankets and food and helped them find shelter in an extraordinary show of solidarity. But then came the Israeli airstrikes, and warmth gave way to worry that Hezbollah members might be among the fleeing crowds.

Tens of thousands of Shiite families in Lebanon receive financial support from Iran-backed Hezbollah, and the group has been handing out modest sums to some of those forced from their homes.

As the months passed, the numbers of displaced swelled, surpassing a million.

“They are in schools, in empty buildings, in villages. Wherever they go, people are afraid,” said Rabih Haber, a Lebanese political consultant. “Why? Because a small number will be armed, a small number will be targets.”

The Israeli airstrike on Aitou was so powerful that it killed the entire displaced Shiite family, 21 people, the Lebanese Health Ministry said. Some were children, according to the local hospital and the Christian landlords who had rented to them.

The blast reduced the house to rubble and sowed fear in the community that the same could happen if other displaced Shiite families sought refuge there.

“Something like this never happened in Aitou,” said Sarkis Alwan, 54, the brother of the landlord. “We never thought it would reach here.”

Elias, the landlord’s friend, had stopped by to commiserate after the airstrike. He said that his own family had long lived in the Aitou area.

“This is what will remain of our country — a pile of rubble and twisted wires,” he said.

The shift from welcome to wariness to hostility toward the uprooted population came quickly, said Yara Abdel-Naby, 21, a Shiite university student from the village of Bnaafoul in southern Lebanon.

She said her family lived so close to their Christian neighbors that when Israeli bombs started falling around Bnaafoul, the first place in which they took refuge was a church. They then moved to the house of a Christian friend, who let them stay for free.

“We thought for sure they would not bomb the church,” she said.

But after two weeks, the bombs grew so close and so frequent that her family felt compelled to move on. They encountered increasing distrust toward Shiites as they ventured north, Ms. Abdel-Naby said.

The most painful experience, she said, came when, after wandering from one makeshift accommodation to another, they found a place to rent in Chouf, a predominantly Christian and Druse region in central Lebanon.

When they arrived, the woman who owned the house saw Ms. Abdel-Naby with her long hair uncovered and was welcoming, Ms. Abdel-Naby recalled. But when Ms. Abdel-Naby’s mother and another relative emerged from the car in the head scarves and long robes that many Shiite women wear, the homeowner’s demeanor changed.

Soon she was finding excuses why the family could not stay, Ms. Abdel-Naby said. There were too many people, there would not be enough water. Their host complained that the new arrivals were making the place dirty.

Her family had paid for four days. But during their first night, their host informed them that someone else would be coming in the morning. They had to leave.

“Because of the situation, it is easier now for people to say these things,” Ms. Abdel-Naby said. “Before, they were embarrassed to show it. But now, it just gets worse every day.”

In other towns dominated by Christians and Druse in the mountains east of the capital, Beirut, people started to find leaflets in late October warning anyone associated with Hezbollah or Amal, another Lebanese Shiite faction, to leave the area “for your safety and our safety.”

In Beirut, an Armenian Christian mukhtar, or community leader, said that he, like a number of other mukhtars, had set up a hotline for residents to report to when they suspected that newly arrived displaced people who were renting in the neighborhood might be connected to Hezbollah.

The predominantly Christian neighborhood of Achrafieh in Beirut is now marked with the white flags of the Lebanese Forces, a Christian party. The flags function almost as a fence, signaling to displaced Shiites looking for a place to stay that they are unwelcome here.

“We don’t want anyone with a party background here,” said Maroun, 60, a dental technician, referring to Hezbollah, whose name means Party of God. He also asked to be identified by only his first name for safety reasons.

“Of course we feel solidarity with people who are displaced,” he added. “But we don’t want to endanger our families. We don’t want this war. It’s not our war.”

Patrick Kingsley contributed reporting from Jerusalem.

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