On December 3, 2025, a surprising announcement from Jerusalem sent ripples across the Middle East: Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu declared his intention to send an official representative to meet with government and economic officials in Lebanon. The move, described by Netanyahu’s office as an initial attempt to establish a basis for a relationship and economic cooperation, signaled a potential thaw in one of the world’s most entrenched diplomatic freezes. Yet, within hours, the optimism was tempered by a pointed response from Beirut, underscoring just how fraught and complex the path to peace remains between these two neighbors.
Lebanon’s Prime Minister Nawaf Salam, speaking to a small group of journalists in Beirut that same day, made it clear that his country was “far from” diplomatic normalization or economic relations with Israel. Salam’s remarks directly contradicted Netanyahu’s optimistic framing. “Economic relations would be part of such normalization, so then obviously anyone following the news would know that we are not there at all,” Salam said, as quoted by The Hindu. The gulf between the two leaders’ statements laid bare the deep-seated mistrust and the long road ahead.
The timing of these diplomatic overtures is notable. The announcements came just after the first anniversary of a fragile U.S.-brokered ceasefire between Israel and the Lebanese militant group Hezbollah. That truce, which ended a devastating conflict, remains precarious. Since the ceasefire, Israel has continued to launch airstrikes into Lebanon, targeting Hezbollah members and infrastructure, according to Dawn. The shadow of violence looms large, making any talk of normalization particularly sensitive.
Complicating matters further are the scars left by the recent conflict. From October 2023 to November 2024, Israel’s use of white phosphorus munitions in southern Lebanon left a lasting and toxic legacy. As reported by Le Monde, burnt olive groves, devastated fields, and toxic fragments buried underground now mark the landscape. While white phosphorus is not outright banned by international law, its use is regulated as an incendiary weapon, and deploying it against civilians or in populated areas is strictly prohibited.
The Israeli military has maintained that it did not use white phosphorus shells to target or set fires in civilian areas. In June 2024, the Israeli army stated, “Israel Defence Forces procedures require that such shells are not used in densely populated areas, subject to certain exceptions.” Nevertheless, mounting evidence from NGOs and independent researchers challenges these assurances.
Ahmad Baydoun, an open source intelligence (OSINT) researcher at Delft University of Technology, led a detailed study mapping the impact of white phosphorus in southern Lebanon. Using digital tools, social media verification, and local testimonies, Baydoun’s team produced an interactive map published in October 2025. “Israel justifies the use of white phosphorus as a smoke screen to protect the movements of its troops or to mark targets. But according to my research, 91 percent of white phosphorus strikes took place before Israeli forces entered southern Lebanon in October 2024, which contradicts the official Israeli version,” Baydoun told Le Monde. The study found that 39 percent of phosphorus strikes hit civilian areas, 16 percent agricultural land, and only 44 percent struck uninhabited or remote areas.
NGOs such as Human Rights Watch and Amnesty International have documented the use of white phosphorus in or near residential areas, further contradicting Israeli statements. The environmental and health hazards are not merely theoretical. The munitions explode in the air, scattering 115 small fragments that burn at temperatures up to 800°C. “The munitions explode in the air and produce 115 small fragments that sink into the ground and continue to emit this toxic substance for ten to fifteen minutes. Fragments can remain active in the ground. They can remain dormant until they are exposed to oxygen again. Then they reactivate and produce smoke,” Baydoun explained. In one chilling example, a farmer in southern Lebanon struck a dormant fragment a year after the initial attack, causing it to emit toxic smoke anew—evidence of the ongoing danger to both people and livestock.
The study documented nearly 28,700 phosphorus fragments scattered across the region. These are exceedingly difficult to extract, and their presence poses a persistent risk. “If someone has livestock and that livestock eats one of these fragments, it dies immediately, and if a human consumes the meat from that livestock, they also die,” Baydoun warned. The villages most affected include Al-Khiam (30 incidents), Meiss El-Jabal (28), Kfar Kila (26), Yaroun (24), and Rmaysh (17).
The environmental devastation has also sparked fears about food safety. Many residents now hesitate to consume local products, especially olive oil and vegetables, worried about invisible contamination. In February 2025, the Lebanese Ministries of Agriculture and Environment conducted analyses that found no traces of phosphorus in olive samples, but high concentrations were detected in some soils—posing a potential risk to future harvests. The United Nations Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO) estimated that nearly 2,100 hectares of orchards were burned, 2.3 million livestock were killed, and agricultural losses in southern Lebanon and the Bekaa Valley exceeded $704 million between October 2023 and November 2024.
Amid this backdrop of devastation and distrust, both Israel and Lebanon have taken a small but significant step: appointing civilian members to a committee that had previously been composed solely of military personnel. This committee monitors the enforcement of the U.S.-brokered ceasefire. Civilian representatives from both sides participated in a meeting on December 3, 2025, a move seen by some as a tentative step toward direct bilateral talks. Washington has long pushed for such dialogue, hoping it might lead to a more durable peace.
Yet, the path forward is tangled in political realities. Lebanon and Israel have been in a formal state of war since 1948 and do not maintain diplomatic relations. Lebanon remains committed to the 2002 Arab peace plan, which makes normalization of relations with Israel conditional upon the creation of a Palestinian state—a prospect the current Israeli government, led by Netanyahu, has firmly rejected.
For many in Lebanon, the idea of economic cooperation with Israel is simply off the table for now. Salam’s remarks reflect not just official policy but a broader sentiment among the Lebanese public, who remain deeply wary of Israel’s intentions, especially in light of recent military actions and environmental harm. “We are not there at all,” Salam reiterated, drawing a clear line between exploratory talks and any real move toward normalization.
As both countries take tentative steps—appointing civilian monitors, exchanging cautious statements, and confronting the aftermath of war—the prospects for peace remain uncertain. The wounds of conflict are fresh, and the environmental and economic costs are staggering. For now, dialogue may be possible, but true reconciliation and cooperation appear a distant prospect, clouded by history, politics, and the stubborn realities on the ground.
