The evening light over southern Lebanon often arrives softly, spreading across stone rooftops and olive trees before fading into the hills near the border. In villages where the call to prayer mingles with the distant hum of generators and motorcycles, people have learned to listen carefully to the sky. The air itself has become part memory, part warning. Even during pauses in fighting, silence here rarely feels complete.

On Friday, that fragile stillness broke again. Israeli strikes across southern Lebanon killed at least 12 people, according to Lebanese officials, while separate Hezbollah drone attacks wounded three Israeli troops near the border. The violence unfolded against the backdrop of a ceasefire that has appeared increasingly thin in recent weeks, stretched by repeated exchanges of fire, targeted strikes, and retaliatory attacks.

In towns across Nabatieh and nearby districts, smoke reportedly rose above residential streets and agricultural land as air raids struck multiple locations. Lebanese health authorities said the dead included civilians, among them children and emergency workers. Some of the strikes hit vehicles traveling along roads that wind through orchards and market towns, places where daily life continues in fragments despite the uncertainty hanging over the region.

Israel said the operations were aimed at Hezbollah positions and militants allegedly preparing attacks. Israeli officials also linked the strikes to Hezbollah drone operations that targeted Israeli military sites and wounded soldiers earlier in the day. Along the frontier, where observation towers and abandoned homes face one another across ridges and valleys, the conflict has increasingly moved through the air — through surveillance drones, low-flying aircraft, and sudden explosions that arrive before sound fully catches up.

The border between northern Israel and southern Lebanon has carried this tension for decades, but the past months have deepened its exhaustion. Villages on both sides have emptied and refilled in uneven waves. Roads once used for harvest traffic and school buses now carry ambulances, military convoys, and displaced families moving between relatives’ homes. In Lebanon, the war’s economic strain lingers beneath every new escalation, pressing against hospitals, fuel supplies, and already fragile infrastructure.

Even the ceasefire announced in April has seemed less like a conclusion than a temporary pause in breathing. Israeli strikes have continued in parts of southern Lebanon, while Hezbollah has maintained attacks against Israeli military positions. Diplomats in Washington and regional capitals continue discussions aimed at containing the conflict, though each exchange of fire appears to redraw the uncertainty.

For residents near the Litani River and the southern hills, the rhythm of ordinary life persists in quieter forms. Shops reopen after bombardments. Children return briefly to classrooms with cracked windows. Farmers move carefully through tobacco fields beneath the sound of aircraft overhead. The landscape carries on, though altered by absence and repetition.

By nightfall, rescue workers in several Lebanese towns were still searching through damaged streets while military statements continued to emerge from both sides of the border. The latest strikes and drone attacks have added to a mounting toll that has grown steadily despite diplomatic efforts to preserve the ceasefire. And as another evening settled over southern Lebanon, the horizon once again flickered with the uneasy light of a conflict that never seems fully distant.

AI Image Disclaimer: Illustrations were generated using AI tools and are intended as visual representations of reported events.

Sources:

Reuters Associated Press Al Jazeera AFP Lebanese Health Ministry