Lebanon Wants Partnership. Israel Wants It to Be a Tool Against Iran and Hezbollah
The famous dictum of Carl von Clausewitz, that "war is the continuation of policy by other means," is effectively turned on its head in the context of the relations between Israel and Lebanon.
From Israel's perspective, the meeting expected to take place on Tuesday in Washington, D.C., between Israeli Ambassador Yechiel Leiter and Lebanese Ambassador Nada Hamadeh Moawad is itself a continuation of the war, albeit by "other means."
While Lebanon seeks to end the war and secure a cease-fire as a precondition for diplomatic steps that could lead to coordination and eventually partnership, Israel insists on conducting negotiations under fire, effectively ensuring the continuation of hostilities.
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In Israel's view, the political gains and strategic benefits of such talks are secondary. This isn't merely a tactical disagreement over how negotiations should be conducted, one that could in itself derail further contacts.
For the Lebanese government, it's a test of sovereignty that will shape the country's future. Lebanese President Joseph Aoun and the government led by Prime Minister Nawaf Salam have, over their 16 months in office, advanced what amounts to a far-reaching political and conceptual shift.
At its core is an effort to translate the blows suffered by Hezbollah at Israel's hands, the group's military weakening, also stemming from the loss of its key logistical rear base in Syria following the fall of the Assad regime, and the broader confrontation between Iran, the United States and Israel into a policy aimed at securing Lebanon's independence.
This includes freeing the country from Iranian "patronage," extending full sovereignty across its territory and establishing exclusive state control over all weapons. Israel, by contrast, views the Lebanese government primarily as an executive arm tasked with dismantling Hezbollah's arsenal and thereby ensuring the security of its northern communities.
The paradox is that Israel, while urging the United States to compel Iran to sever ties with its proxies, especially Hezbollah, the strongest link in its so-called "ring of fire," treats the Lebanese front as a separate theater, rather than as an arena in which cooperation with the country's government could help forge a new strategic order that would erode Iran's regional influence.
Lebanon's weaknesses are well known, and Israel's distrust, along with its skepticism about Beirut's ability to serve as an effective partner against Hezbollah, is well grounded. Since 2019, Lebanon has been sliding down the steep slope of a deep and protracted economic crisis.
Until recently, its governments and parliament projected a picture of fractured, corrupt and directionless rule, shaped by rival political forces, entrenched sectarian divisions, military weakness and political paralysis.
On the civilian front, Lebanon has been battered by a series of shocks that have compounded the crisis: the Covid pandemic, the massive Beirut port explosion, the war into which Hezbollah dragged the country in 2023, the dramatic collapse of the Lebanese pound, the erosion of the middle class, the continued presence of roughly one million Syrian refugees, the collapse of tourism and the closure of key trade channels with Gulf states led by Saudi Arabia. These have all rendered the Lebanese state increasingly hollow.
The Lebanese Armed Forces, which Israel expects to dismantle Hezbollah, are effectively bankrupt, paying soldiers' salaries through grants from Qatar and the United States. The army lacks missile systems and aircraft, its armored vehicles are outdated and its combat experience is limited, falling far short of Hezbollah's weapons, training, technology and operational capabilities.
The army's chief of staff, General Rodolphe Haykal, estimated several months ago that rebuilding the army would require about $1 billion annually for at least a decade. As one Lebanese commentator put it, the army "was not designed to defend the state or fight its enemies, but to reflect the country's social and sectarian structure."
The army's most important asset is its cross-sectarian national legitimacy, but even that remains fragile. This is evident now, as Lebanon's president, himself a former army commander, fears that a violent confrontation between the army and Hezbollah could fracture its ranks and potentially drag the country into civil war.
Against this backdrop, the determination and political risk shown by the president and prime minister come into sharper focus: first in seeking to undermine Hezbollah's long-standing status as part of the country's national defense framework, and then in ordering the army to begin disarming the group and detaining anyone carrying unauthorized weapons.
In its current form, it is evident that the Lebanese army is not capable of disarming Hezbollah. Even the Israel Defense Forces acknowledges that military measures alone will not dismantle the organization, and that a political solution, or a full-scale occupation of Lebanon, would be required. Continued fighting may yield tactical gains and further degrade Hezbollah's capabilities, but it is unlikely to eliminate the threat.
Confronting a sub-state armed group like Hezbollah, which has effectively dictated Lebanon's politics and policy, requires not only stripping it of its weapons, but above all eroding the public and political legitimacy that has allowed it to act in the name of the state.
This is the course the Lebanese government has chosen: removing the "resistance" from the national defense doctrine and defining Hezbollah's arsenal as illegitimate, thereby laying the groundwork for a potential convergence of interests with Israel.
The leadership shown by President Joseph Aoun and Prime Minister Nawaf Salam didn't emerge in a vacuum. Public sentiment in Lebanon against the so-called October war, or "war of support for Gaza," has spread beyond Hezbollah's traditional rivals, including most Christian and Sunni politicians.
Shi'ite actors as well, particularly in southern Lebanon and in Beirut, have begun to voice opposition and even organize against what they see as Hezbollah once again dragging the country into war without regard for residents, including its own support base in the southern villages.
A striking indication of this shift came from the influential Shi'ite leader Nabih Berri, head of the Amal Movement, who gave his full backing to the government's "monopoly on arms" policy and to the army's plans to dismantle Hezbollah's arsenal. He later also supported Aoun's call to begin direct negotiations with Israel.
Public and political pressure has been further intensified by a severe economic and humanitarian crisis. Around 1.25 million people have been displaced from their homes, at a monthly cost estimated at roughly $250 million, far beyond the capacity of the state's depleted coffers.
Some 2,000 people have been killed since the current phase of the war began, and thousands of wounded are struggling to access urgent medical care. Hospitals report acute shortages of medicine, a lack of space for treatment and surgery, overwhelmed public shelters unable to meet basic needs and rising tensions that have, in some cases, escalated into violence between Christian residents and Shi'ite displaced Lebanese who fled southern regions and were directed to Christian neighborhoods in Beirut under the assumption that the IDF would refrain from striking those areas.
However, Lebanon isn't an isolated arena in which the state is confronting a local group that has taken it over. When the Lebanese government signaled its willingness to pay the political price for a cease-fire, and, after months of hesitation, declared its readiness to engage in direct political negotiations with Israel, not merely discuss security arrangements, it ran into a diplomatic ambush laid by Iran.
Shortly before the planned peace summit in Pakistan, Iran announced it would not attend a meeting with the U.S. delegation, led by Vice President J. D. Vance, unless the fighting in Lebanon ceased. The condition proved only partially effective as leverage: President Donald Trump reportedly pressed Israel to scale back its strikes, particularly in Beirut, but the fighting didn't stop entirely. Iran ultimately agreed to proceed with the meeting and negotiations as planned.
From Beirut's perspective, Iran's intervention threatened to unravel the fragile political architecture the government had been carefully constructing, casting Tehran as a mediator on Lebanon's behalf and, in the process, restoring Hezbollah to its role as the "defender of the state," now recast as the only force capable of saving the country from continued war.
The core principle the government sought to establish, that only the state has the authority to decide on war or peace, thereby drawing a clear line between itself and Hezbollah, risked collapse.
Aoun reportedly made his position clear to Tehran, stressing that "only the Lebanese government will determine its course, and no external party has the authority to mediate on its behalf." For him, the negotiating track with Israel isn't merely a tactical move to achieve a cease-fire, but a cornerstone in defining the state's sovereignty.
Iran, however, didn't relent. In response to Aoun's stance, Ali Akbar Velayati, a senior adviser to Supreme Leader Mojtaba Khamenei, warned that "ignoring the unparalleled role of the Resistance and the heroic Hezbollah will expose Lebanon to irreparable security risks. The stability of Lebanon lies solely in the synergy between the government and the Resistance."
In its struggle against Iran and Hezbollah, Lebanon needs a cooperative Israeli partner. For now, however, the latter appears to be entering negotiations less out of strategic conviction than under pressure, primarily from Trump, rather than from a recognition of their broader strategic value.
As long as these are Israel's motivations, and with Lebanon remaining peripheral to Trump's priorities, expectations for the outcome of the upcoming meeting should remain modest.