MIDDLE EAST: While most anger is reserved for the Israelis, some feel that Hizbullah may be hijacking Lebanon to bolster its own ideological fight, writes Mary Fitzgerald, in Beirut
Charles Khoury has not seen a customer in days. His printing shop is one of the few businesses open in Gemayzeh, the warren of streets in east Beirut that until a week ago epitomised the hipper side of the city's revival with its fashionable bars, cafes and galleries.
Sitting under a laminated picture of the Virgin Mary in his tiny office, Khoury gestures towards a TV set silently broadcasting an endless and gruesome tally of the latest casualties.
"I can't help feeling that we are in for a long war," he sighs. "This won't be just for a few days or even months."
Such pessimism is common in predominantly Christian east Beirut, so far spared the strikes that have devastated Shia Muslim neighbourhoods in the southern suburbs. For residents here, the Israeli bombardment means sleepless nights due to the muffled thud of explosions some half-hour's drive away and a nagging sense that things may get worse.
People are fearful and angry, worried the bombings may escalate and draw the whole country into an unwanted war. Israel is the main focus of their anger but there are harsh words too for Hizbullah.
Politicians opposed to the group have joined in, stoking debates about its backing from Iran and Syria. Couched in that criticism is a growing unease that the current turmoil could cause old sectarian tensions to resurface and force people to take sides.
"Hizbullah are pushing all the Lebanese into war with Israel," says Khoury. "We may have looked at them as resistance fighters that forced Israel out of the south six years ago, but now it seems they are not so much fighting for Lebanon as for their own ideology."
Ghassan Assaf (25), a trainee lawyer, agrees. "Israel has always been our enemy but Hizbullah is less Lebanese than it is directed by Syria and Iran," he says, buying a sandwich. "Our country is now like a plane hijacked by those two countries. We have no control over what happens. They are pulling us into their own battles as usual."
The shopkeeper interrupts: "Hizbullah? I've never trusted them and never will."
Talk to Lebanese of all religious and political leanings about the current situation and it soon becomes apparent that, beneath the rage directed towards Israel's actions, there are diverging views on Hizbullah and its role in the crisis.
There are those Shia who form the bedrock of Hizbullah support, making it the biggest and most formidable political party in the country. No matter what they have suffered in the last week, most Shia still swear allegiance to the militant group. They were the ones who applauded leader Sheikh Hassan Nasrallah's recent speech, understanding the significance of his use of the word ummah, an Islamic term that describes the Muslim community of believers.
"We are in our full strength and power," Nasrallah said. "Hizbullah is not fighting a battle for Hizbullah or even for Lebanon. We are now fighting a battle for the ummah."
Mahmoud Jawal, a Shia taxi driver from southern Lebanon whose car stereo broadcasts the Hizbullah radio station's odd mix of news, Koranic chants and jihadi songs, cheers when he hears news of another volley of rocket attacks on Israel. For him, Hizbullah disarmament is unthinkable.
"Why should they give up their guns when the events of the last week show we still need their protection," he asks. "They are heroes to us."
But for non-Shia Lebanese who already distrust Hizbullah for its unwillingness to disarm, there is a growing sense that the group has deliberately dragged the entire country into a battle not of its making, putting their lives and painstakingly reconstructed country at risk.
"Who asked them to do such a thing," asks George, a Christian businessman walking along rue Gouraud. "There should be no place for guns in Lebanon today and yet Hizbullah will not agree to it. They do not speak for the whole of Lebanon but now we are all suffering as a result."
There are other worries too. Schools in the city's Christian and Sunni Muslim districts have been converted into temporary shelters for some of the thousands of Shia Muslims seeking refuge from Israel's bombing campaign in southern areas loyal to Hizbullah. Some residents wonder what will happen with this wave of refugees in the long-term, fretting that such an influx could upset the delicate sectarian balance of Beirut's neighbourhoods.
In nearby Ashrafieh, an affluent area which is home to many embassies and consulates, Bernard Anka, a local Christian, explained his concerns.
"Remember, these are the people who came into our area and destroyed shops and businesses during protests against the Danish cartoons of Muhammad earlier this year," he said.
"Now they're coming to us looking for help. It's a little hard to stomach."
Aside from the domestic sniping directed towards Hizbullah, analysts say it would be impossible for Israel to achieve its aim of crushing an organisation whose roots reach deep into a large section of the Lebanese population.
"It's absurd for them to think Hizbullah can be dismantled like that," says Amal Saad-Ghorayeb, a Lebanese academic who has written an book on the organisation. It is not a conventional army and it is not merely a guerrilla group. It is also a social grassroots organisation well-rooted in Lebanese society and a legitimate political party.
"It would be impossible to eliminate unless you wipe out the entire Shia community in this country."