It was about six months after the October 7, 2023 Hamas attacks, when the north was living through daily clashes between Hezbollah and Israel, forcing tens of thousands to flee on both sides of the border.

What took them there was their faith -- both are Christians -- and a desire to support people in the north, with the couple moving from Jerusalem to She'ar Yashuv, a moshav community near the northern city of Kiryat Shmona.

"There was nobody when we came. Everyone said we were crazy. Maybe we are. The grocery store was open two hours a day," explained Eliav, an 84-year-old Swiss national who uses a stick to walk.

"We moved here to show we are standing with them. People said: at least you must have a safe room inside your house? But no!" smiled his wife Nelly, 83, both of them speaking in Hebrew.

"God put the love of Israel in our hearts, and we came to serve. We don't think about the danger," she said.

The Cusins had moved to Jerusalem from Switzerland decades earlier, setting up an association listening to the testimonies of Holocaust survivors.

But after the war broke out in 2023, the elderly couple headed towards the northern frontline after hearing that help was needed to cook meals for soldiers.

When the sirens sound, they have barely 15 seconds to reach the bomb shelter but neither can move quickly enough -- so they stay put. And pray.

"We told the kids: if we get hit, it's because our service in Israel is finished. It won't be because of Hezbollah: they have no power if God doesn't allow it," she shrugged.

And they have stayed, living through the latest fighting that began on March 2 following US-Israeli bombardment of Iran, during which Hezbollah fired more 2,500 projectiles, including rockets, drones and mortars, over the border until a 10-day ceasefire took hold on Friday.

Israel hit back by launching a massive campaign of strikes in Lebanon, which according to Lebanese authorities killed more than 2,400 people.

The couple's landlady Inbar made the most of the current calm to do a spot of gardening.

"Today is a wonderful, quiet day so far. But the ceasefire with Iran expires soon," she said.

"This place needs people like Nelly and Eliav -- they came at the worst time but I was so glad they came!" she smiled.

- 'Life in God's hands' -

Faith is also what has kept Israel Ilouz in the north where he runs a Messianic Jewish congregation in Kiryat Shmona, whose 25,000 residents were evacuated after October 7.

But he and a handful of volunteers stayed and began cooking for troops protecting the border, delivering more than 150,000 meals -- work that continues today.

"There are many people who don't cope," the 62-year-old said, picking up a hand-sized piece of jagged shrapnel from a recent strike opposite the congregation's premises.

"This can cut steel like butter, imagine what it does to a person. It's scary. But I'm a person of faith, my life's not in Iran or Hezbollah's hands, it's in God's hands."

For many Israelis, the Iran war, or the latest confrontation with Hezbollah, are chapters in a conflict that began in October 2023.

Few believe the latest fighting has done anything to end the unsettled reality in which they live.

"Was it worth it? It's impossible to know. Right now it feels like it's not over," Ofir Ben-Ari, 31, from the seaside town of Nahariya, told AFP.

"We're not talking about peace yet, it's a ceasefire but we're hoping US pressure might lead to something permanent," said Ben-Ari whose Tarbut movement runs cultural activities to strengthen resilience under fire.

"The hope is Hezbollah will be dismantled and there will be peace -- maybe one day we'll even go to Beirut!"

- A strong community -

Standing on a balcony in kibbutz Kfar Giladi on Israel's northernmost tip, Hedva Kasher pointed to a ruined village just across the frontier.

"My grandfather had friends in Odaisseh and he would take my father there when he was very young. There was no border then," she said, her eyes distant.

"I'm generally optimistic -- I think we can get back to normal," shrugged her husband Rani Kasher, 65.

Unlike in Kiryat Shmona, where only half of the pre-war population now live, no one in the kibbutz is leaving.

"There's a very strong community here, anyone who needs help receives it, and people are not left alone," he said.