Metula, Israel —
In Israel’s northernmost town, Daniel Dorman knows his pizza shop will be empty most of the day, as it has been for the past few weeks. Several customers are eating at two tables in the corner. The rest of the restaurant is as deserted as the town itself.
Metula, located on a finger of land jutting out into Lebanon, is usually crowded with tourists at this time of year. Founded more than 130 years ago, the town was once called “Europe” after the hotels and restaurants that lined its main street, Harishonim Street. Harishonim Street is named after the pioneer who founded this community.
A new US-brokered ceasefire was announced in Lebanon on Friday, the latest in a series of declarations dating back to November 2024, and was greeted with skepticism and cynicism in the city.
“What is a ceasefire?” Dorfman said. “Until yesterday, there wasn’t a day without fire. All day long, interceptions, explosions, drones, artillery. I can’t count how many times we were told it was a ceasefire. In fact, it wasn’t.”
Metula, home to about 2,000 people before the war, has coexisted with cross-border fires for decades. Until recent years, local residents had become accustomed to how close to conflict they were living. The situation changed in October 2023, when the Iranian-backed Hezbollah began firing rockets into northern Israel in solidarity with Hamas. It was one of the hardest hit areas, with more than 60% of homes damaged. Between one-third and half of the residents have not yet returned.
The town’s plight highlights the limits of the ceasefire between Hezbollah and Israel and the lingering hardships faced by residents whose lives have been upended by years of conflict.
On Tuesday, Israeli and Lebanese ambassadors are scheduled to meet again in Washington for the fifth round of talks aimed at ending the war. Hezbollah is not included in these talks and has denounced them as a “travesty”. Israeli officials told CNN that they may propose a limited and symbolic withdrawal to the Lebanese government.
There was a period of relative calm after the first ceasefire brokered by the Biden administration nearly two years ago, which lasted almost 15 months. It collapsed on March 2, when Hezbollah fired rockets at Israel in retaliation for the U.S. and Israeli attack that killed Iran’s supreme leader and sparked the Iran war.
Israel responded with a ground invasion of Lebanon, seizing what is known as the Security Buffer Zone and pushing troops about 10 kilometers into southern Lebanon with heavy air strikes. As a result, more than 4,000 people have been killed and more than 1 million displaced, according to the Lebanese Ministry of Health. The Israeli military said Hezbollah fired thousands of rockets and drones at Israeli forces in northern Israel and southern Lebanon, killing 36 Israeli soldiers and four civilians.
Moti Aharon, 58, has lived through decades of escalation. His 100-year-old home has been damaged twice, and the guesthouse and pool he built are now unusable. “There is no sense of a ceasefire,” he said, expressing little confidence in diplomacy. “Americans don’t understand who they’re dealing with. They think they can talk to Iran with silk gloves. It’s not going to work.”
In November 2024, Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu said that Israel’s operations against Hezbollah had set Hezbollah “years back.” But recent fighting has highlighted the group’s resilience, dragging Lebanon into a regional war and drawing Israeli forces back into familiar terrain in southern Lebanon. The military conducted similar security from 1985 to 2000, but withdrew after years of steady casualties, which are accumulating again. Last weekend, Hezbollah fires killed five soldiers within 24 hours.
“It’s been the same game for 50 years. They shoot, we shoot,” Aharon said. “Prime Minister Netanyahu can say we won and Hezbollah was stopped, but that is nonsense. This requires fundamental changes.”
Since April 15, the Trump administration has brokered a series of ceasefires between Israel and Lebanon. But fighting between Israel and Hezbollah continued, even as Washington praised diplomatic progress.
Meanwhile, Iran has made ending the war in Lebanon a central condition of talks with Washington, sparking a public rift between US President Donald Trump and Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, who has resisted ending the war in both Iran and Lebanon.
Israeli military activity in Lebanon has been largely curtailed due to US pressure, but Netanyahu insists Israeli forces will remain in the buffer zone “as long as necessary.” His far-right allies have openly advocated for a more permanent presence and continued operations.
Iran is demanding Israel’s complete withdrawal as a condition for proceeding with the 14-point memorandum of understanding with the United States. On Sunday, Iranian and American officials reached an agreement with the Lebanese government and mediators from Qatar and Pakistan to establish a “dispute resolution chamber” in Lebanon. Israel is not expected to be represented.
For residents of Metula, they feel their reality is increasingly being shaped elsewhere: by decision-makers who don’t accept the consequences.
Mayor David Azulai, a vocal critic of the government’s handling of the north, said on social media: “The prime minister and the whole country are being trampled by decisions that have no place in our hands.” Another post accused Netanyahu of being a subordinate of President Donald Trump “rather than a real leader.”
For the residents of Metullah, Israel’s buffer zone in Lebanon is a necessity to keep Hezbollah away from the border and prevent infiltration. Over the past three months, the Israel Defense Forces announced that it has discovered and destroyed extensive Hezbollah underground infrastructure in southern Lebanon, including a network of tunnels, weapons caches, and explosives intended for attacks on Israeli communities.
From the bar of his restaurant, Mr. Dorfman pointed across the valley to the hills where Hezbollah flags once flew. “So what, do we have to accept it?” he asked. “They will go back to the border and wait for Hamas to do what they did in the south.” Metullah already feels semi-abandoned, he says. “If I see a Hezbollah flag on the fence again, I won’t stay here either.”
Niv Sisler, a 24-year-old aspiring rapper who works at Dorfman’s restaurant, moved to the town last November, attracted by the cheap housing when rents plummeted during the war. His neighbor is an anti-missile battery. “Every time it explodes, my heart jumps,” he said. What he worries about is a deal to withdraw troops, not more fighting. “People are afraid of a ceasefire where we withdraw from our own borders,” he said. “And someday, we will be here celebrating our October 7th.”
Few in Metulla are optimistic about the prospects for a ceasefire.
“The worst part is, it’s not up to us,” Dorfman said. “It’s all about profits, and Metula is not one of them.”
