On the seafront in Beirut, it feels like business as usual – people dining out, many enjoying the sun.
But the spectre of war looms large over Lebanon – after a 30-minute drive, we’re suddenly in the heart of Hezbollah, where the reality of that threat feels very heavy.
We’re on our way to the southern suburbs of the capital, where just a week ago the top commander of Hezbollah, Faud Shukr, was audaciously killed by Israel on Lebanese soil, accused of being involved in the attack on Israel that killed twelve children.
On the roads, there are images of Shukr’s face everywhere. One billboard declares: “We will avenge.” His murder was a red line for Hezbollah and they’re now vowing to deliver a reprisal.
Inside a heavily guarded complex, we’re about to sit among Hezbollah supporters waiting to hear a speech from their leader Hassan Nasrallah.
Western countries designate Hezbollah as a terrorist group – one backed by Iran. But it’s also one that’s hugely increased its sphere of influence and military capabilities.
In the hall, it’s a sea of yellow and green flags.
Men and women are divided, but not in their devotion. I meet Najwa Abdul Awa, holding an image of her dead son. I ask her if she’s scared about what might be around the corner.
“Of course not,” she replies with a smile. “I sent my first son for martyrdom with pride. And I’m willing to send my second and my third son too.” She will not stop, she says, “until Israel vanishes”.
There are many generations surrounding her in plastic seats in this large, cavernous space who feel the same.
Zahara Hussein has a baby-like face, but she strikes an instantly serious, unwavering, and triumphant tone. “If war happens and we’re martyrs, this is good for us. But in any case, we will win this war.”
Everyone here is waiting to take their cue from one man, Hassan Nasrallah, the leader of Hezbollah.
Before he can even speak though, there’s two huge booms. It’s Israeli jets breaking the sound barrier. There’s a momentary flinch among some in the crowd, but no real sign of commotion.
What follows instead, and almost instantly, is a defiant sea of fists in the air and a religious chant.
It’s striking timing from Israel – seemingly a very obvious warning shot – flying over a city where last week, it took out a senior and beloved member of their party. It was a humiliating and alarming moment for the organisation that exposes potential future vulnerabilities.
The room we’re in is dominated by the Hezbollah faithful. But people also look focused, expectant, hanging on their leader’s every word.
One man tells me: “For now nothing is clear. Nasrallah is the one to speak. We only listen to him. He owns the decision, and he decides everything.”
Nasrallah delivers a familiarly lengthy speech. But it is carefully thought out, laying the potential justification for a major reprisal, and calling on others to join the fight.
“Hezbollah is obligated to respond. Iran will respond, Hezbollah will respond, and the enemy is watching and counting every strike,” he says.
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The truth is no one knows what a reaction by Hezbollah, Iran or its other allies might look like. There have been huge diplomatic efforts within the region.
Some kind of strike seems inevitable. But there are still a multitude of scenarios that could play out.
Even those on the restaurants and bars of Beirut’s coastline know this week could be huge. Whatever happens, it could shape the region for years to come.