In the heart of Beirut, where the Muslim-majority West meets the predominantly Christian East, Father Antoine Assaf at the Mar Elias Kantari Church is urging anxious parishioners to be kind to their neighbors. He is aware that this message has more importance now than ever.
Outside his quiet church, a noisy and chaotic disaster is unfolding: more than a million people are fleeing the war between Israel and the Lebanese Shiite militant group Hezbollah, while Israeli bombing threatens the fragile balance between Lebanon's three main religious groups.
Asaf, a 60-year-old Maronite priest, has already watched Lebanon come to the brink of destruction due to religious violence. In a 15-year civil war that ended in 1990, the country and its capital were divided along religious lines. Over the following decades, warlords-turned-political leaders continued to turn communities against each other.
Now he is watching as Israel's military campaign drives Shiite families from their homes into predominantly Christian and Sunni areas, provoking old wounds and heightening fears of internecine violence in the small country awash with weapons.
"Every Sunday I encourage people to help and welcome each other," said the priest. "But as bombings follow the displaced, with Israel attacking central Beirut and deep into Christian and Sunni territories, Assaf is also warning his faithful to be careful."
They should help "keeping in mind that we should be careful," he added. "If we live near someone who is a foreigner, we should be aware of his situation, whether he is (a member of) Hezbollah or not."
Assaf does not blame the Shia families fleeing the attacks: like many Lebanese, he sees Israeli airstrikes as a deliberate policy of provoking conflict within his own people.
Sami Atalah, director of the Beirut-based organization Political Initiative, said: "The Israelis are trying to turn the Lebanese population against the Shia community. The Shia community really feels isolated. Attacking them in Christian areas is a recipe for civil unrest."
Fueling these suspicions, Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu himself told the Lebanese people earlier this month to rise up against Hezbollah or face "a long war that will lead to the destruction and suffering we are witnessing in Gaza."
Most Lebanese scoff at Netanyahu's call to arms. "He thinks we are so miserable that we will do what he tells us," said hairdresser Ana-Mari, 36.
She does not like the Shiite militant group. But "if I don't like Hezbollah, it doesn't mean I love Israel. It doesn't mean I will side with my enemy against my fellow Lebanese."
After a year of war between Israel and Iran-backed Hezbollah, a fierce Israeli air campaign and ground invasion this month forced more than a million people from their homes. Thousands of people have fled the southern suburbs of Beirut, southern Lebanon and parts of the eastern Bekaa Valley, all Shiite-majority areas where Hezbollah dominates.
Earlier this month, Netanyahu told the Lebanese people to rise up against Hezbollah or face "a long war that will lead to the destruction and suffering we are witnessing in Gaza."
Fleeing, Shiite families flocked to west Beirut, whose Sunni majority despises Hezbollah. They are accused of the assassination of popular Sunni leader and former prime minister Rafik Hariri in 2005 and remember how Hezbollah militants seized west Beirut in 2008.
Most government shelters are full, so people sleep on torn mattresses along the picturesque coast of west Beirut. Some live in converted nightclubs, while others live in cramped apartments. Due to the huge influx of vehicles, parked cars cause huge congestion.
In Hamra, a large commercial center, residents say they are overwhelmed by the new arrivals.
"I feel sorry for them, I really do," said vendor Hashem, 56. "But I no longer feel safe in this street - now there are groups of men who gather all day and all night, (smoking shisha). We don't know who are and are constantly scaring my customers."
Like others, he fears that there could be a breakdown of law and order. Desperate displaced people broke into several empty buildings and set up camp, prompting the owners to hire security. Other owners put up barbed wire or even resorted to demolishing buildings.
"We know there is no state, but there is no police, nor enough army, so people will take the law into their own hands," Hashem said. "It seems lawlessness reigns in Beirut."
Last Sunday, thieves were caught stealing from empty houses in Gobeir, a Shia-majority area in southern Beirut. Residents beat the suspects, blindfolded them, tied them to poles and hung signs that read "thief" around their necks.
Tensions are rising as the city is under tension caused by the incessant buzz of Israeli drones, fighter jets breaking through the sound barrier and powerful airstrikes.
However, Beirut is divided along old civil war lines, with the displaced fleeing the predominantly Christian east. Compared to crowded West Beirut, the East is quieter than usual. Many of the wealthier families have gone to the mountains or left Lebanon, not wanting to find themselves in the middle of a war in which many feel they have no part and blame Hezbollah and the base that supports it.
Displaced people may simply be staying away from east Beirut because rents are high and they have no connections in common, analysts said. Iman Jafal, a yoga teacher who fled the southern city of Tire three weeks ago, is staying with her son in east Beirut and said she feels welcome.
"Everyone is a little cautious, but they have the right to be," she said, "because Israel strikes everywhere."
However, the visible presence of right-wing Christian parties deters displaced people. New flags bearing the insignia of the right-wing Lebanese Forces are being flown at the Sasin intersection in the eastern part of the city.
Christians in East Beirut "are afraid of an invasion," one local said. "Flags are a reminder to everyone that we are here."
Outside of divided Beirut, the picture is even more complex. Christian and Sunni communities in the north of the country have cautiously welcomed the new homeless, renting out houses and apartments - sometimes at exorbitant prices - and providing assistance.
However, the mood changed after an Israeli airstrike on a house in the Christian village of Aitou last Sunday killed 23 people, mostly displaced women and children. A local official said Israel's target was a Hezbollah visitor delivering monthly stipends to the displaced.
Atalah of the Political Initiative said: "The fact that (the Israeli army) struck a Hezbollah officer not in his car, but in his house, sends a message: This is the price you pay if you host the displaced."
Josifin Zgejb, president of the humanitarian organization Beity Association, said she helped find shelter for nearly 700 displaced people in the mountainous area of Kfardebian.
But after the attack in Aita, neighbors ask Zgeb: "Do you know them, do they have identity cards, are you sure they are not from Hezbollah?"
Zgeib noticed two Hezbollah members arriving. The men were blindfolded, she said, "so we knew they had explosive pagers." As a result of Israeli sabotage, Hezbollah's communications equipment exploded a month ago, injuring hundreds of Hezbollah members as well as civilians, including children.
After they were asked to leave, the injured men disappeared after a week.
However, it is mostly impossible to know who is and who is not a member of Hezbollah. This extensive organization covers areas from distributing medicine and issuing microcredit to launching rockets. Civilian members of Hezbollah may not have acted dangerously before, but Israel is increasingly targeting non-military organizations such as Hezbollah-affiliated health facilities.
Not knowing what to do, Zgeib sends the names of people seeking shelter to the Lebanese military intelligence service for verification.
Despite the growing paranoia, Lebanese are rallying to supplement the impoverished state's meager offerings, bringing everything from home-cooked food to hygiene kits.
On the edge of West Beirut, Asaf hopes this time of need could help communities forge new bonds. "That is why I am a priest in this area. I am engaged in building bridges between communities... now there is an opportunity." But, he admits, that "it is very difficult."
Translation: NB
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