Hezbollah rejects the ceasefire
LeBron group Hezbollah has refused to accept the terms of a US-backed ceasefire pact reached between Israel and Lebanon, calling the deal a humiliating and futile effort that does not represent the will of the Lebanese people. The statement issued by Hezbollah's leader, Naim Qassem, accompanied the announcement that Israel and Lebanon would renew their fragile ceasefire by creating “pilot” security zones that would bar Hezbollah operatives from operating inside Lebanon’s southern front.
According to the joint US statement, the agreement is contingent on a complete cessation of fire and the evacuation of all Hezbollah operatives from the area between the Israeli border and the Litani River—a stretch of roughly 30 kilometres that remains under Israeli ground control.
Hezbollah’s response has highlighted the frustration within Lebanon’s southern suburbs, where merchants and residents view the pact as an act of surrender rather than a genuine peace agreement. One shopkeeper, Sami, said that a ceasefire prompted by one side alone is insufficient, calling it “all‑or‑nothing” and refusing the notion of an “all‑side” truce.
Israel’s Defence Minister, Israel Katz, insisted that the military would continue its operations for the time being, targeting infrastructure it deems linked to terrorist activity. Israeli forces reported a series of air strikes across the south that night, and the National News Agency said that five people were killed by an air strike in the town of Sohmor and one more died when an aircraft targeted a motorcycle in the town of Maaroub near Tyre.
The United Nations peacekeeping force (UNIFIL) sustained a loss when a Serbian peacekeeper, Senior Sergeant Milovan Jovanovic, was killed by mortar shells that struck the force’s position near Marjayoun. While Israeli forces blamed Hezbollah for firing mortars that landed on a UN position, Hezbollah has not yet commented on that incident.
The conflict escalated after March 2 when Hezbollah launched rockets at Israel following an Israeli strike that killed Iran’s supreme leader. Israel responded with an air campaign across Lebanon and a ground invasion in the south. The US‑brokered ceasefire in April was ineffective, and Israel has intensified its strikes on Hezbollah and advanced deeper into Lebanon because of subsequent drone and rocket attacks on northern Israel.
According to Lebanon’s health ministry, at least 3,526 people have been killed since the war began, with numbers that include both combatants and civilians. The United Nations reports that over one million people in Lebanon have registered as displaced, and Israel’s evacuation orders now cover roughly an eighth of the country.
Hezbollah, a Shia militia, political party and social movement, remains Lebanon’s most powerful group, with support from Iran and a stronger armed force than the Lebanese army. Many countries, including Israel, the United Kingdom and the United States, label it a terrorist organization.
![Caterers, Countless Lives: Detroit Chef's Food Feeds Lebanon's War‑Torn Families","description":"In the suburbs of Dearborn Heights, a 47‑year‑old Lebanese chef turns her catering profits into lifelines for over a million displaced from Lebanon, illustrating how U.S. diaspora communities bridge crises from afar.","summary":"When war in southern Lebanon breaks out, hundreds of thousands flee to neighboring Israel and the United States. Amid rising costs, Mirvet Makki—Detroit‑based caterer—sets aside a portion of her earnings each week to sponsor families back home. Her culinary endeavor, which serves soured couscous stews and savory kibbeh, becomes a quiet lifeline for a nation in economic crisis. The problem mirrors a larger diaspora trend: U.S. Lebanese communities fund relief, rally politically, and keep cultural bonds alive, even as they watch conflict unfold from afar.","image":"https://images.unsplash.com/photo-1588097834006-0edc6c69d944?auto=format&fit=crop&w=640&q=80","text":"<p>In the Detroit suburb of Dearborn Heights, 47‑year‑old Mirvet Makki punches kitchen knives and pushes trays of fragrant Lebanese dishes, the same dishes that stir memories of her childhood village in Bint Jbeil. When the devastating war between Israel and Hezbollah dragged thousands of civilians into tent cities, a wave of refugees hit Lebanon’s southern coast—and the Lebanese diaspora in America felt a pull they could not ignore.</p><p>Every week, Makki allocates a slice of her catering profits to families in Lebanon devastated by aerial bombardments and land mines. She says the money is not a charitable donation in the truest sense. Rather, it is a trans‑national family budget trickle that keeps aunts and cousins fed while they await a return that may never happen. The funds travel across borders to a people whose homes have been reduced to rubble.</p><p>Lebanon’s displacement crisis has reached a scale previously thought unlikely: more than one million of the 6‑million‑strong population—roughly one in six—have fled their homes. The economic damage is brutal and the currency has weakened to the point that the U.S. dollar circulates in many rural markets. Food cost, fuel availability, and basic utilities have all collapsed, leaving communities hungry and desperate.</p><p>“I was thinking, ‘What can I do for other people?’” Makki says. “So I used my business.” She maintains a strict budget, limiting personal overhead to spare enough money for her sisters, nephews, and a small handful of friends who live in the most affected regions.</p><p>Many Lebanese Americans—some of them in the U.S. since the late 1800s—have become the de facto financial lifeline for Lebanon. According to the last census, roughly 625,000 Lebanese‑American residents live in the United States now, though many estimates claim the number could be as high as 1.4 million. Secretary‑General António Guterres shook hands with families in South Lebanon while speaking in Nairobi, underscoring how diaspora remittances are crucial to the country's survival.</p><p>Christians, Sunni and Shiite Muslims, and smaller Druze communities in Lebanon face distinct hardships, but their U.S. cousins unite over common concerns. When the U.S. voted to provide war aid to Israel, a wave of Lebanese Americans gathered around the “uncommitted movement” to protest, and the community also rallied to condemn a Michigan synagogue shooting. These political coalitions share a single aim: to be the voice and the hand for those who cannot lift themselves.</p><p>“When they see suffering in Lebanon, people’s immediate reaction … is for the community to come together, raise funds, raise money, and try to help everybody as much as they can,” says Akram Khater, director of Lebanese Diaspora Studies at North Carolina State University. “Most rely on one another – they are not looking to Washington for the furniture to rebuild.”</p><p>In February, Makki visited her homeland. She saw how the price of living had skyrocketed: a car rental that once cost $200 would now be a luxury. She felt the loss firsthand in a small roadside food stall that had dwindled to a single dish. That trip cemented her determination to channel her income back to Lebanon.</p><p>Some Americans are moving beyond bank transfers; they meet with families on video calls and, when possible, travel to Lebanon themselves to deliver goods or give a hands‑on hand. Nadia Bryant, a 37‑year‑old mother of Troy, Michigan, sends money to her sisters in temporary housing after their village of Ayta ash‑Shab was invaded. “They donated in direct form to orphans,” she says. “They do not even ask to put the money toward their own betterment.”</p><p>While the U.S. still cannot process immigrant visas for Lebanese nationals due to congressional stand‑by, many families despair. Attoui, a Detroit‑based fundraiser, has urged her relatives to immigrate. They are unwilling. “I have all my aunts and my cousins over there,” Attoui says. “So if you could bring [people] here, that would be a relief.”</p><p>Despite the personal losses and cultural distance, the Lebanese diaspora in the U.S. remains fiercely alive. They keep the poise of their homeland, raise money, and stand together in protest. As the war stretches on, the warmth of a pot of stew and the generosity of a family’s earnings become a quiet, daily rebellion against impossible hunger.</p>](/m/d1/2a/d12a9a3593712ff0281d85ddca1a552c8f027c57cb44d7ac67e0241a3bd37d9d/o.webp)
