The problem of Lebanon runs deeper than Hezbollah.
Hezbollah may be the most potent and dangerous manifestation of the problem, but it did not create it.
Lebanon was constructed as a political system composed of highly diverse religious and sectarian groups. For decades, attempts were made to balance them through power-sharing arrangements, political agreements, and sectarian mechanisms.
Yet, a mechanism designed to maintain balance can also become the very mechanism that prevents stability.
When different segments of the population hold such divergent visions regarding the state's identity, its loyalty, its place in the region, its relations with Israel, its relations with Iran, and—above all—the question of who is authorized to hold power, it becomes exceedingly difficult to forge a functioning nation-state in the accepted sense.
Simply put, Lebanon often resembles a state built from materials that cannot coexist.
This is not to claim that every Lebanese citizen is an enemy, or that the various religious groups in Lebanon are incapable of living in peace with one another. On the contrary, the issue lies in the political and demographic structure that has formed over the years, and how it translates into a struggle for power, identity, and sovereignty.
Hezbollah illustrates this contradiction in its most extreme form.
How can a sovereign state exist when a separate armed force operates within it—possessing its own ideology, organization, and military infrastructure—without necessarily accepting the absolute authority of the state?
But here lies the tougher question.
Even if Hezbollah were to disappear tomorrow, would Lebanon suddenly transform into a stable nation-state?
There is no simple answer, because the problem is not merely the weaponry. It is the fundamental question of whether a broad enough consensus even exists among the diverse components of Lebanese society regarding what Lebanon is, and what it is meant to be.
A normal state requires more than just a government.
It requires a foundational agreement on the existence of the state itself.
Who are we?
To whom does the state belong?
Who decides?
Who defends it?
And who is authorized to go to war in its name?
In Lebanon, these questions remain entirely unresolved.
And this is precisely why Israel, too, must beware of illusions.
One cannot assume that achieving peace with Lebanon merely requires finding the right government and signing the right treaty. An agreement between two countries presupposes two states capable of controlling their own territory and enforcing their decisions upon everyone operating within their borders.
Lebanon is still far from that point.
Yet, it does not follow that there are no people in Lebanon who yearn for a different life. On the contrary, precisely because Lebanese society is composed of many distinct groups, it also contains individuals who desire a functioning state, a normal economy, quiet borders, and a life not dictated by the wars of others.
The question is whether those forces can ever forge a shared foundation broad enough for a single state.
And this is perhaps the true test of Lebanon.
Not whether it can survive,
but whether it can transform from a system of sects, interests, and balances of power, into a genuine state.
Because a state is not merely borders, a flag, and a government.
A state is a consensus.
And when there is no basic agreement on who we are, who decides, and what we are willing to fight for—you can maintain a state on paper for generations.
But it remains painfully difficult to turn it into a normal country.
Perhaps this is the great tragedy of Lebanon.
It is not necessarily a state that has failed to build itself; rather, it may still be trying to answer whether the materials from which it was built can ever truly become a single home.
Adam Feder