French UNIFIL peacekeepers are patrolling beyond the “yellow line”, the boundary set by Israeli forces, through the flattened towns of Houla, Kfar Kila, and Odaisseh. Israel has created a restricted buffer zone beyond that line following a U.S.-brokered ceasefire this year. Diego Ibarra Sánchez for NPR
The U.N. peacekeepers’ armored vehicle moves slowly to navigate a landscape changed by war. Unaffected by terrain or threats, every mile represents relearning.
UNIFIL, the United Nations Interim Force in Lebanon, has overseen this area since 1978, monitoring Israel’s troop withdrawal after its initial occupation of Lebanon. Twenty years ago, the U.N. expanded its mandate to ensure adherence to a ceasefire between Israel and Hezbollah. Nearly fifty years later, UNIFIL’s mandate will end this year without renewal, opposed by the U.S. and Israel. A lasting ceasefire has not been established.
An agreement between Israel and Lebanon provides a temporary pause in the conflict, which Lebanese authorities report has claimed over 4,300 lives and displaced more than 1.2 million people since March when Hezbollah launched rockets into Israel. Israel reports 39 soldiers and a military contractor, plus two civilians, have been killed in Hezbollah attacks as of now. UNIFIL has confirmed the deaths of seven peacekeepers.
The “blue line” marked by blue metal barriers was drawn by the U.N. in 2000 for Israeli withdrawal after 18 years of occupation. It acts as a de facto boundary between nations lacking officially agreed borders. Today, it persists on maps but not in reality.
French peacekeepers patrol near military posts occupied by the Israeli army. Beyond the “yellow line”, a boundary set shortly after the ceasefire, Israel has established a restricted buffer zone rekindling memories of its 18-year occupation of southern Lebanon, ended in 2000. Lebanese civilians cannot enter the zone, which spans about 6% of Lebanon’s territory.
In Kfar Kila, a graffiti at the Fatima Gate crossing has been removed. Situated near Lebanon’s Kfar Kila and Israel’s Metula, the gate was a former crossing closed by Israel in 2000 after withdrawing from southern Lebanon, ending an 18-year occupation.
In Houla, roads are rough tracks, homes reduced to rubble. The town was notoriously the site of a massacre in 1948, when Israeli forces killed dozens of Lebanese civilians shortly after Israel’s establishment. Diego Ibarra Sánchez for NPR
French UNIFIL peacekeepers continue to patrol through the devastated towns. After U.S. and Israeli pressure at the UN Security Council, UNIFIL’s mandate ends after 48 years of service. Diego Ibarra Sánchez for NPR
Months of bombardment have blurred old boundaries. New lines of control affect daily life. After months of enforced limits, UNIFIL has reopened parts of its eastern sector previously inaccessible due to Israeli military presence. “Today, we are entering the eastern sector for the first time in months,” states Sgt. Audric of the French UNIFIL battalion, identity withheld per military policy. “The reopened sector reclaims movement freedom,” he says following a ceasefire.
This development coincides with renewed challenges for implementing U.N. Security Council Resolution 1701, which ended the 2006 Israel-Hezbollah conflict. As UNIFIL, first deployed in 1978, nears the end of nearly five decades, its mission to restore security and provide oversight now concludes.
Yellow Line
Spanish peacekeepers run a medical clinic in Mari, southern Lebanon. Their CIMIC (Civil-Military Cooperation) initiative aids vulnerable local communities with medical care. Diego Ibarra Sánchez for NPR
Israel refers to its buffer zone as the “yellow line”, spanning up to five miles. Their forces remain to prevent Hezbollah’s rocket launches into northern Israel. Lebanese civilians can’t access their own borderland and have witnessed the demolition of homes and infrastructure.
“The yellow line does not exist for us but must be marked to visualize it,” says Lt. Col. Sebastián Dorado Santos, Spanish public information officer for UNIFIL. “It disrupts life, prevents civilians from work or daily activities, and affects the upcoming harvest.”
Beyond the line, conflict scars scar the land. Roads are rough tank tracks. Homes reduced to rubble bear Israeli flags. A young Christian observes as Spanish UNIFIL battalions patrol the streets of the Christian village, Ibel al-Saqi. Following the March 2026 escalation, over 4,354 people have died across Lebanon, the Health Ministry reports. Diego Ibarra Sánchez for NPR
Spanish UNIFIL patrols endure in Ibel al-Saqi as operations in Lebanon will conclude by December 31, 2026, starting a phased withdrawal. Diego Ibarra Sánchez for NPR
A Lebanese girl meets a Spanish soldier patrolling her Christian village, which Spanish forces have served since September 2006. Numerous civil-military cooperation activities strengthen ties with local communities. Diego Ibarra Sánchez for NPR
Flattened villages mark routes: Houla, Odaisseh, Kafr Kila, and Fatima’s Gate, the closed former crossing between Israel and Lebanon. To locals, these aren’t mere map lines; they divide homes, regions, workplaces, and family roots.
The restricted zone, covering about 6% of Lebanon, rekindles memories of Israel’s occupation that concluded in 2000. Accessibility remains limited, with humanitarian convoys supplying essentials and symbolizing solidarity. “When they see us, they know they are not alone,” states Father Hani Tawk, leading a Catholic network. Many feel trapped between borders with no end in sight, adds Tawk.
Local access to farm land is crucial. “Agriculture drives income and development,” says Mari’s mayor, Salman Abou al-Ola. “Farmers need fields for harvests.” Restrictions cut off access to basic services. UNIFIL now provides basic medical assistance in restricted regions after suspension due to fighting.
“Doctors are absent and aid insufficient; our lives resemble imprisonment,” says Fayez Al Khaled, a Syrian from Ain al-Arab receiving care from a Spanish doctor. Indian peacekeepers in Mari run a dental clinic for vulnerable communities. Diego Ibarra Sánchez for NPR
Spanish peacekeepers deliver supplies as part of a humanitarian effort. Diego Ibarra Sánchez for NPR
Spanish UNIFIL battalions patrol Ibel al-Saqi, resuming operations after Israeli activities. Diego Ibarra Sánchez for NPR
The road to Nabatieh remains shut. Khaled’s mother’s illness lacked nearby treatment. “This area lacks jobs and has faced severe fires,” explains Maj. Jesús Fernández Manchado of the Spanish UNIFIL contingent. Activities resumed following suspension in March.
The Lebanese government claims Israeli forces have set wildfires to deter villagers’ return. The Israeli military has not commented.
“The yellow line alters our activities with new realities,” says Manchado. “For civilians, it means separation from lands. The line yields no official recognition or demarcation.”
A “pilot zones” system now emerges alongside the yellow line: areas for Israeli and Hezbollah forces to withdraw and Lebanese armed forces to secure.
Ihsan Yaghi surveys her damaged home. Displaced to Beirut’s southern suburbs, she returns daily to Zawtar al-Gharbieh, visiting from Beirut after Israeli forces left. Zawtar al-Gharbieh shows occupation effects within homes. Israeli tanks remain positioned. Another house served as a temporary soldier base.
Single meters away, personal items and religious symbols lie strewn. Soldiers left wall drawings including a Star of David. Diego Ibarra Sánchez for NPR
Ihsan Yaghi visits post-withdrawal Zawtar al-Gharbieh, her village. Awaiting army clearance, she re-entered after July. Lebanese Army soldiers oversee a checkpoint separating areas of withdrawal. Diego Ibarra Sánchez for NPR
In Zawtar al-Gharbieh, residents cautiously return post-displacement. By U.S.-brokered trilateral agreement with Israel, the Lebanese Army redeploys across southern Lebanon to reestablish authority.. Diego Ibarra Sánchez for NPR
Inside Zawtar al-Gharbieh, occupation evidence abounds. Residents begin to return to a devastated hometown, still without water and electricity. As Ihsan Yaghi explains, “The explosions don’t stop through the night.”
Mahasen Fakih returned home to find it destroyed. Displaced to Chouf, she has no electricity. “Explosions from Ali al-Taher keep me awake,” she says, regarding a mountain battle zone.
Across southern Lebanon, thousands are returning to vanished homes. Mahasen Fakih stands at the wreckage of her apartment, part of a U.S-brokered pilot project for Israeli withdrawal and Lebanese force control.
The blue line appears unchanged on maps, but a different geography defines life’s experience here: drone sounds, restricted zones, abandoned villages, and unreachable roads and fields. Daily airstrikes remind people of the ongoing conflict. Though the map shows borders unchanged, life has altered vastly.