Disbelief and defiance in Beirut but critics say Hassan Nasrallah 'didn't want a real war'

With the killing of the man who led Hezbollah for more than three decades, the question on the mind of Lebanese is: What will happen next?

A woman reacts to the news of the death of Hezbollah leader Hassan Nasrallah in Beirut. AP

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When news of the death of Hezbollah leader Hassan Nasrallah began to spread, the vast majority of the Lebanese – both with and opposed to the Iran-backed group – refused to believe it.

“It’s not true,” said Abu Jaafar, a shop owner near Beirut’s southern suburb of Dahieh, on which Israel had rained an avalanche of missiles on the previous day. “It’s all lies.”

Abu Jaafar had not yet seen Hezbollah’s public acknowledgement of Nasrallah’s death in a huge Israeli raid on the capital, announced just moments before. When The National showed him the news, the old man's eyes watered but remained stoic.

“So what? May he rest in peace," he said. They might have killed all the commanders who were my age but they were old. I don’t care if commanders my age die. Hezbollah’s younger generation will be stronger than ever.”

Since October, when Hezbollah announced it would wage a front against Israel in an attempt to pressure it into a ceasefire in Gaza, the Iran-backed group has maintained a steady, controlled war of attrition from Lebanon despite suffering great losses – including the eradication of the vast majority of its leadership in recent weeks.

But with the assassination of Hezbollah’s leader, who for the past three decades has become the face of the Iran-backed "axis of resistance" against Israel, the questions on everyone’s mind were: “Is this the end of Hezbollah? What will happen next?"

Across Beirut, those who loved Nasrallah shed tears. Women cried on balconies and men on street corners stared impassively into the distance in the hours after his death was announced. The silence in places like the usually bustling pro-Hezbollah neighbourhoods of Ras el Nabaa and Tayouneh was deafening, as people retreated into their homes to process the news and prepare for the unforeseen.

In the nearby Tariq Jdideh, a mostly Sunni Muslim neighbourhood that is sometimes allied with Hezbollah and sometimes antagonistic towards them depending on the circumstances, people met the news with little shock.

“Since the start of this war, whenever the Israelis have confirmed the death of a Hezbollah commander it always turned out to be true,” said shop owner Em Fadi. A group of women gathered around her to drink coffee and discuss the news.

“I told you so,” she told her audience upon seeing Hezbollah's confirmation. Then she paused as the information began to settle. “I still don’t think he’s dead. There’s no way. He’s pretending to be dead so Hezbollah can shock attack the Israelis when they least expect.”

Her disbelief of the news illustrated the complicated feelings of many Lebanese, the majority of whom fall somewhere in the middle of dogmatic hatred and absolute cult adoration for Hezbollah and its leader. Even many who disliked him found him to be a charismatic leader.

“We’re with him in the fight against Israel a hundred per cent, but not at the expense of Lebanon’s civilian population,” Em Fadi explained. “We’re not with them when they hide senior commanders and weapons under buildings in populated areas. Why would we be? They’re bringing down strikes on their own people!”

Her friend Rana interjected with an emphatic “yes! I’m a Shiite Muslim and a Lebanese woman and I stand for defending my country, but not for the sake of Hezbollah.”

Rana was violently displaced from her home in the southern city of Tyre six days ago when it became apparent Israel would launch an extensive aerial onslaught in the southern part of the country and other areas, and while she resents Israel for its disproportionate response, she also blames Hezbollah.

“Hell broke loose” when Israeli missiles landed near her house. “And the Israelis must have also struck a Hezbollah weapons depot or something because rockets suddenly were flying every which way.”

Her home is now a crumpled heap of concrete. So is her parent’s villa, and her sister’s, along with all their possessions and cash savings. Two weeks of Israeli operations on Lebanon – from detonating communications devices used by Hezbollah to launching an extensive air assault – have killed at least 1,030 people, according to Lebanon's Health Ministry.

“For what?” she asked out loud. “Hezbollah has been fighting Israel for a year – not even really fighting, just shooting over some rockets. Not truly defending Palestine. They didn’t want a real war so they did a half war – and look what happened to us now because of them.”

Across the street, Mazen, a kitchenware seller in Sabra’s souq, told The National he hoped Nasrallah’s death would spell the end of Israel’s bombardment of Lebanon and usher a dawn of positive change for the politically paralysed and financially destitute country.

“Maybe Iran will let go of Lebanon and we can reconcile relations with the Arab world. Maybe the presidential deadlock will be resolved. Maybe Hezbollah could surrender its remaining weapons to the Lebanese state,” he suggested.

Mazen didn’t see much point in Hezbollah escalating against Israel following Mr Nasrallah’s death.

"Iran sold Hezbollah to save themselves," he said of Hezbollah's ally and backer. "That's clear because after weeks of assassinations and bombardments, they've done nothing to retaliate against Israel or help their ally. When you're drowning, do you save another drowning person first, or do you save yourself?"

Iran has condemned the strike that killed Nasrallah, with the foreign ministry stating Hezbollah would carry on despite the death of its leader.