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In a village in northern Lebanon, a crucifix hangs next to a portrait of one of Hezbollah’s most revered leaders.

The Catholic town of Ras Baalbek, which has two Byzantine churches, is working with the Iranian-backed militant group to try to preserve its heritage and protect its 6,000 devout residents from attack by Islamic State (IS) terrorists in nearby Syria.

So close are the two communities that Hezbollah buys a Christmas tree each year for the villagers.

Rifaat Nasrallah, 60, a quarryman whose marble sarcophagi line the village cemetery, asks: “How can we as Christians in this area not be with Hezbollah? They protect our churches.

“They helped us fight IS. During Covid they gave us free care in their hospitals. When there was no electricity they gave us generators. How can we not be with them now?”

An alliance between a Catholic village and a Shia militia will surprise many, but it reflects the complexity of the region and the power of realpolitik.

Mr Nasrallah is hosting The Telegraph in his front room beneath the crucifix and the picture of Hassan Nasrallah (no relation), the secretary general of Hezbollah, who was killed in 2024. Military planes and drones can be heard in the distance.

Israel has been bombing Hezbollah positions across Lebanon since the militant group entered the war in the Middle East on Iran’s behalf on its third day. More than 1,000 people have been killed, with a million more displaced.

Does Mr Nasrallah not worry that Ras Baalbek’s relationship with Hezbollah could place the village in greater danger? He answers with an emphatic “no”.

He says: “The relationship between the village and Hezbollah is stronger than with the Pope. The Vatican did nothing for us when ISIS attacked [previously] but Hezbollah spilt their blood to protect us. The Pope only has prayers.”

It is not an academic question. On Friday, the Israel Defense Forces (IDF) said they had uncovered a Hezbollah tunnel stocked with weapons near a church in southern Lebanon.

An IDF spokesman said: “Since the establishment of the terrorist organisation Hezbollah, it has systematically worked to exploit the Christian population in Lebanon and turn their areas into battle arenas against Israel.”

The Bekaa Valley is beautiful, dangerous and cosmopolitan in equal measure. Christian, Sunni and Shia Muslim villages sit cheek by jowl.

As The Telegraph drives there, Israeli jets and drones hunt Hezbollah positions in the hills to the west, after the militants fired one of their long-range ground-to-ground missiles towards “the entity” the previous night.

These missiles are large and are said to be launched from adapted shipping containers carried by articulated trucks, making the journey hazardous.

The threat that originally brought Christians of Ras Baalbek and Hezbollah close came from the east. The village is in the foothills of the arid Qalamoun mountains, over which it is possible to trek to a few miles into Syria.

It was from there, from 2013 to 2017 at the height of the Syrian civil war, that IS fighters launched several assaults on the village, threatening to wipe it from the map and behead its Catholic residents.

Mr Nasrallah says: “The first attack came from a village called Qasr, just seven kilometres from here in Syria. IS came over the hills and reached the edge of the village and kidnapped some of my workers and tortured them.

“At first, it was only Hezbollah and the villagers who fought back against the Salafists. We fought together with missiles and rockets. Many were wounded and some died. I was almost killed with shrapnel in my back from a mortar.”

In a village in northern Lebanon, a crucifix hangs next to a portrait of one of Hezbollah’s most revered leaders.

The Catholic town of Ras Baalbek, which has two Byzantine churches, is working with the Iranian-backed militant group to try to preserve its heritage and protect its 6,000 devout residents from attack by Islamic State (IS) terrorists in nearby Syria.

So close are the two communities that Hezbollah buys a Christmas tree each year for the villagers.

Rifaat Nasrallah, 60, a quarryman whose marble sarcophagi line the village cemetery, asks: “How can we as Christians in this area not be with Hezbollah? They protect our churches.

“They helped us fight IS. During Covid they gave us free care in their hospitals. When there was no electricity they gave us generators. How can we not be with them now?”

Rifaat Nasrallah says Catholics in Ras Baalbek have been helped more by Hezbollah than the Pope. An alliance between a Catholic village and a Shia militia will surprise many, but it reflects the complexity of the region and the power of realpolitik.

Mr Nasrallah is hosting The Telegraph in his front room beneath the crucifix and the picture of Hassan Nasrallah (no relation), the secretary general of Hezbollah, who was killed in 2024. Military planes and drones can be heard in the distance.

Israel has been bombing Hezbollah positions across Lebanon since the militant group entered the war in the Middle East on Iran’s behalf on its third day. More than 1,000 people have been killed, with a million more displaced.

Does Mr Nasrallah not worry that Ras Baalbek’s relationship with Hezbollah could place the village in greater danger? He answers with an emphatic “no”.

He says: “The relationship between the village and Hezbollah is stronger than with the Pope. The Vatican did nothing for us when ISIS attacked [previously] but Hezbollah spilt their blood to protect us. The Pope only has prayers.”

It is not an academic question. On Friday, the Israel Defense Forces (IDF) said they had uncovered a Hezbollah tunnel stocked with weapons near a church in southern Lebanon.

An IDF spokesman said: “Since the establishment of the terrorist organisation Hezbollah, it has systematically worked to exploit the Christian population in Lebanon and turn their areas into battle arenas against Israel.”

The Bekaa Valley is beautiful, dangerous and cosmopolitan in equal measure. Christian, Sunni and Shia Muslim villages sit cheek by jowl.

As The Telegraph drives there, Israeli jets and drones hunt Hezbollah positions in the hills to the west, after the militants fired one of their long-range ground-to-ground missiles towards “the entity” the previous night.

These missiles are large and are said to be launched from adapted shipping containers carried by articulated trucks, making the journey hazardous.

The threat that originally brought Christians of Ras Baalbek and Hezbollah close came from the east. The village is in the foothills of the arid Qalamoun mountains, over which it is possible to trek to a few miles into Syria.

It was from there, from 2013 to 2017 at the height of the Syrian civil war, that IS fighters launched several assaults on the village, threatening to wipe it from the map and behead its Catholic residents.

Mr Nasrallah says: “The first attack came from a village called Qasr, just seven kilometres from here in Syria. IS came over the hills and reached the edge of the village and kidnapped some of my workers and tortured them.

“At first, it was only Hezbollah and the villagers who fought back against the Salafists. We fought together with missiles and rockets. Many were wounded and some died. I was almost killed with shrapnel in my back from a mortar.”

Mr Nasrallah does not say so, but the bond between the villagers and Hezbollah is a case of “the enemy of my enemy is my friend” – or that’s how it started.

During the civil war, Hezbollah sent thousands of fighters in support of the Iranian-backed Assad regime. Their adversaries included jihadist organisations, including IS and the al-Qaeda-linked Jabhat Al-Nusra.

So, when IS first struck on Lebanese soil in 2013, the group was quick to defend the villagers – unlike the Lebanese army, which only became involved later.

Mr Nasrallah says: “The army was weak. The leader of the army at the time was not strong. He did not have the political support for the fight. Only later, in 2015 and 2017, did they help.”

Two soldiers from the Lebanese army, whose political leaders have recently vowed to disarm Hezbollah, sit with us in Mr Nasrallah’s home as he explains the local politics and the bizarre alliances they have bred. They nod along as Mr Nasrallah’s wife serves us tea and biscuits, their M16 assault rifles propped up at their sides.