Israelis near Lebanon border try to maintain normal life despite Hezbollah threat

As the war with Iran continues to escalate, northern Israel is yet again on the conflict's

front line, facing a barrage of missile and drone fire from Hezbollah in Lebanon and

Iran.

Communities still recovering from the fighting that followed the October 7th attacks

now face once again the constant danger and mental trauma that comes with war.

For this report, a news hour team filmed in Israel's north, in Nick Schifrin, as the

story.

In northern Israel, six miles from the Lebanese border, the siren has become the soundtrack.

Patients and their families head into the Galilee Medical Center in Baharia.

They have only 30 seconds before a possible Hezbollah missile strike, which is why the

emergency room is inside a bunker.

Yeah, Dr. Zvi Shelleg is the center's deputy director and gives producer Karl Bostic

a tour.

We're going now to the underground hospitalization departments.

Below ground, there are tunnels wide enough for an ambulance, a six-bed trauma room and

overall 450 beds.

Everything here is ready at all times for any missile attack, any drone attack, and fewer

than two weeks, Israel says Hezbollah has fired at least 850 drones and missiles into

northern Israel.

Hezbollah joined the war, breaking a 16-month-long tenuous ceasefire, leading Israel to bombard

Beirut and targets throughout the country.

For the Galilee Medical Center, the war has meant moving the most vulnerable underground.

This is the neonatal intensive care unit, full of premature babies, kept alive in incubators

and on ventilators.

Hayah Nakans, two-month-old girl Razal, was born weighing about one pound.

A smallest baby now, it's 600 grams, but he was born 450 grams.

Dr. Verrett Fleischer Sheffer is the NICU director.

She knows that in here, as in war, the line between life and death can be thin.

They don't have name.

When they are bigger, the parents give names.

They don't give names when the baby is just born.

It's very challenging for the parents, you know?

It's very challenging for all of us in Israel.

The challenge to northern Israel is overseen here, the Council of Northern Israel Communities,

the security chief Ashaia Froney and director Moshe Davidivitz.

We want to live here in the Galilee, with our children and our parents in a peaceful area.

Israel has extensive air defense, but just today, Hezbollah rockets hit this home in the

north.

Many of these residents only recently returned to their communities after the 2024 ceasefire,

but now the threat is once again constant.

Parts of a Hezbollah drone lie in the regional council's lobby.

The most difficult situation for our residents, I see it, it's the mental health.

It's the trauma and the post-trauma that we see increase day by day.

And because of that, we demand that the war will finish soon.

Right now we'll stay there for as long as necessary to protect us to those.

But overlooking Lebanon, the Israeli military's international spokesman, Colonel Nadav Shoshani,

predicted the war will not end anytime soon, even if the U.S. ends its war with Iran.

The timeline here is as long as there is a threat on our civilians, we're going to defend

our civilians.

That's a timeline against Hezbollah.

Along the border, there are political divides for how best to guarantee security.

But the closer you get to the border, the more it feels personal.

We visited Kabut's Matsuva, just over one mile from the border.

Latia Safyan was born in California, but has lived in this community for 37 years.

We've gotten used to living with a lot of trauma on a daily basis.

It's the minute he hears the boom he wants to run down to the shelter.

They have a shelter, but this community is so close to the border there are no sirens.

They have to respond to the impacts.

She lives with her grandkids.

The local kindergarten has an attached bomb shelter.

I don't want my grandchildren in another 20 years to be dealing with what I'm dealing

with right now.

And yet, with neighbor 48-year-old Noah Rotem, they try to keep up their spirits.

Rotem is lived here for more than a decade.

After October the 7th, she evacuated and returned a year and a half ago.

Now the threats that she fled from have returned.

Sometimes I'm jumping out of bed and I saw that I've been sleeping for 10 minutes or so.

Your body is like the fight, flight, freeze mechanism is working 24-7.

Like in many Israeli cabutses, there is a dual desire, personal security and regional

peace that's currently out of reach.

It's not our reality and it's not the reality of the kids in Lebanon or in Gaza or in Iran.

No one wants anything to live in such fear.

But despite the fear, life and its rituals must go on, even if back in the hospital in

a war zone.

Alihou Cohen is a cleaner, a gallery medical center.

He's also a newlywed.

But when the war started, his venue canceled, so we got married in the hospital.

There was no other choice.

We got married here and everything was fine.

It was very, very fun.

It was nicer than doing it in a wedding hall.

But as the hospital marked a milestone of life, another life is about to begin.

We met Valentina and Michael Mission just before she went into labor, hoping to give birth

in a world where bomb shelters are not needed.

Do you know if it's going to be a boy or a girl?

Maria.

Maria.

You want to have a name for it?

Yes, Maria.

Maria.

And since we spoke to them, Valentina gave birth to a healthy Maria, or a minor, that there

is fortitude, even in moments of fear.

For the PBS NewsHour, I'm Nick Schifrin.