A Lebanese exile under bombardment by the Lebanese, Marwan is an unhappy and conflicted man.

The last six days have been miserable for the former South Lebanese Army officer who now lives in northern Israel - but then, the last six years have also been grim for a man viewed as a traitor by his own people.

Like other Lebanese collaborators who served in Israel's proxy militia during its 25-year-occupation of Lebanon, Marwan and several hundred of his former comrades were forced to flee south across the border with the retreating Israeli Army when it abruptly pulled out of Lebanon.

Since then they have lived as second-class Arab citizens in the Jewish state, despised by the majority of Lebanese who regard them as quislings.

Formed as a mainly Christian militia under the command of Major Sa'ad Hadad in the late 1970s, the SLA helped Israel fight Yassir Arafat's Palestine Liberation Organisation, then protected its masters' southern security zone in southern Lebanon until the Israelis withdrew in May 2000.

Now they complain they were promptly dumped, calling themselves the 'bakkara halloub' (the milked cow).

In his Upper Galilee house within earshot of the incoming Katyusha rockets, Marwan, 41, sat with his former comrades watching their bête noire - Sheikh Hassan Nasrallah - on television, as their children sleep beneath concrete staircases to protect them from the Hezbollah leader's missiles.

"Look at them, he's all worn out. Like Saddam and Sahhaf [Comical Ali] in their last days," jeers Marwan, a former lieutenant in the SLA's 10th Platoon.

Outside his home the Lebanese, Israeli and South Lebanese Army flags fly. Inside are Christian icons and images of Lebanon's green cedars, which he knows he will never see again unless Israel invades Lebanon again. That eventuality remains a possibility, but one that has far more support in this room than among Israeli voters with painful memories of the 1982-2000 debacle.

"We should now eliminate Hezbollah totally," said Marwan. "I told the Israelis six years ago 'you deserted us and placed your enemies and ours at your borders'.

"That allowed Hezbollah to strengthen itself and become much more of an army than it was before. Now they can reach Tel Aviv and other strategic areas. When we were there, this would not have happened."

Short, stocky, and chain-smoking as he watches the destruction of his homeland, he will not reveal his home town in Lebanon, fearing retribution on relatives. He even pleads for discretion about the town where he lives now in Israel.

His 14-year-old son Joseph, who has no memories of Lebanon and speaks fluent Hebrew, said: "When the war ends we hope to return to Lebanon, our homeland. Israel should totally wipe out Hezbollah and the Palestinians."

Then he adds, incongruously: "We want to live in peace."

Desperate for news of their families in southern Lebanon they are unable to telephone them, fearing the calls will be intercepted. The only contact is through the internet using instant messaging and webcams.

Marwan's wife Marline now wears the uniform of Israel's Border Police - hated by the Palestinians and most Israeli Arabs.

"I am waiting to hear from my brother, who just left Beirut to collect my mother and the rest of the family. He left early this morning, and until now (6pm) we have not heard what happened to him," she said.

In Israeli Arab villages nearby, Israel's 1.2 million minority is torn by the conflict between their country and their fellow Arabs.

Muslim and Christian Arab minorities have an uneasy status in the Jewish state, most regarding themselves as Palestinians like their brethren in the West Bank and Gaza, but also keen to stress their loyalty as Israeli citizens.

In Arab towns across the Galilee, warning sirens sound as they do in Jewish communities - but people tend to watch not Israeli television scenes of Haifa under fire, but Arab satellite channels showing the destruction wreaked by Israel in Lebanon.

As the sirens wailed outside, a crowd sat in Abu Snaan, looking uneasy when asked what they thought.

"We are hanging in between, like over a hole," said Hussam, 35. "It's very difficult for us Arabs in Israel to say what we think. The police can arrest us any time."

His cousin Mahmoud confined himself to generalities. "Both sides are losing, losing people," he said. "Nobody accepts what is happening on either side. What they are both doing is wrong."

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