At the entrance of Yaroun, a small village located in southern Lebanon, an earthen barricade laced with razor wire is a grim reminder of the separation that has prevented Naim Ayyoub from going to his house for more than a year. Just a few hundred meters beyond the barrier stands his family’s home, a place from which he has been barred since conflicts between Israel and Hezbollah flared up 16 months back.
On a recent morning, escorted by Lebanese army soldiers, Ayyoub squinted at the sun over the barricade, watching intently as an Israeli Merkava tank slowly rolled out of his sight. “They appear to be leaving,” Ayyoub said, charged with trepidation. “We might be able to go back this week.”
Ayyoub, a local farmer, is one of thousands of Lebanese civilians who attempted to return to their homes on January 26, the deadline set for Israeli forces to withdraw from southern Lebanon under a 60-day ceasefire agreement. This agreement, mediated by the United States and France, took effect on November 27, 2023, after 14 months of bloody fighting between Israel and Hezbollah; it calls for full Israeli withdrawal from southern Lebanon and mandates that Hezbollah forces be redeployed further north of the Litani River, which lies about 30 kilometers away from the border. The other order of this agreement requires the Lebanese Armed Forces and the United Nations Forces to be deployed toward the south.
For Ayyoub and a number of others, the ceasefire has offered hope. But the road back home remains uncertain. The barricade at Yaroun manned by Lebanese soldiers is both a symbol of the progress made and the challenges ahead. Although Israeli forces have begun their withdrawal, it has occurred only slowly and erratically, keeping many in limbo.
“We come here every day and check to see if anything has changed,” Ayyoub said. Researchers are still uncertain about whether it is safe to suspend the conflict.
Observers view this ceasefire as vital for achieving regional stability but numerous important issues need resolution. The occasional documentation of territorial disputes and conflicts continues to raise doubts about future peace possibilities. Although the presence of the Lebanese Armed Forces and UN peacekeepers offers some assurance to people in the south, scars from the war still run deep.
“We’ve lost so much—our crops, our livestock, our sense of security,” said Mariam Hassan, another Yaroun resident waiting to return. “And even if we do go back, it will take years to redevelop what we have lost.”
The international community has urged patience and cooperation to ensure that the ceasefire holds. American and French officials have stressed the need to abide by the agreement’s terms, but the United Nations has vowed to assist the LAF in preserving order in the south. For now, though, the residents of Yaroun and neighboring villages can do little but wait and hope.
Standing at the barricade, looking far off into the distance, Ayyoub allowed himself a moment of optimism. “Maybe we can finally go home this time,” he said. “But until then, we’re going to keep waiting.”
Yaroun’s stories are a microcosm of the larger challenges facing southern Lebanon — a population straddling a line between eventual healing and the specter of another war. For Naim Ayyoub and millions of others, the return home means more than passing through a checkpoint, and more than just going back home; it means rebuilding mortars that were muzzling them through night and day.
