A company of Lebanese soldiers assigned to maintain order in this anxious wartime capital is gathered at its headquarters 100 yards from the Mediterranean. I make the blunder of asking their commander how many of his men are Shiites, Sunnis, Christians and Druze.

“We don’t talk about this in the army!” he snaps back. This is a forbidden topic for a military that is a precious symbol of national unity in a religiously fragmented country.

The mission of the Lebanese Armed Forces, or the LAF, as it’s known, is to transcend sectarian identities and build a sovereign country.

So I try another question: Is the LAF ready to take control of southern Lebanon and implement the Biden administration’s plan for a cease-fire between Israel and Hezbollah? Under the U.S. proposal to implement U.N. Security Council resolution 1701, Lebanese troops would secure the border area and prevent the Iranian-backed militia from operating there.

The commander turns to a green-bereted sergeant named Walid, who steps forward, stamps his feet and gives a snappy salute. “Of course we can protect the country!” he shouts. A Lebanese general pulls me aside. “As long as we work together, and no foreign country intervenes against us, we can succeed.”

That’s the Lebanese dream for the “day after” in this war — captured in a snapshot last week as Israeli drones were buzzing over the capital and Israeli jets were bombing Hezbollah positions throughout Lebanon. Talking to more than a dozen Lebanese political figures, I couldn’t find a single one who didn’t want the Lebanese government to replace the contorted state-within-a-state that Hezbollah has created over the past few decades. But how?

Lebanese leaders insisted to me that a breakthrough deal can be achieved quickly if Israel halts its attacks.

Prime Minister Najib Mikati, a Sunni Muslim, said in an interview that his “priority” is “full implementation” of Resolution 1701, which calls for disarmament of Hezbollah in the south. Parliament Speaker Nabih Berri, a Shiite who has been speaking for Hezbollah, said: “I want the cease-fire yesterday, today and tomorrow.”

Gebran Bassil, the head of a Christian political faction called the Free Patriotic Movement that was previously allied with Hezbollah, told me: “Many Lebanese are happy that Hezbollah’s veto power is broken. However, we believe that the diversity of sects in Lebanon is sacred and should be maintained in equal power among all."

It’s an exhilarating vision of a restored Lebanon. But is it realistic? Can the army and nation hold together with U.S. support, when Israel and Iran still see Lebanon as the main arena for their brutal conflict?

These questions feel personal for me. I have been visiting Beirut for nearly 45 years, and I was in the U.S. Embassy in Beirut on April 18, 1983, less than an hour before a massive car bomb exploded at the front door. The attack, which killed 63, was organized by Iranian-backed operatives who were predecessors of Hezbollah, and it was the beginning of a terrorist war against the United States in the Middle East that continues to this day.

The American official I interviewed in the embassy that day 41 years ago painted a rosy picture of how the United States was helping to create a strong Lebanese army that could repair the nation after the 1982 Israeli invasion. It was a beguiling dream of American-led reconstruction in the Middle East, almost identical to today’s. But as the bombings, kidnappings and assassinations accelerated, the United States didn’t have the stomach to see it through — and U.S. forces withdrew in 1984. The mayhem continued, and thousands of Lebanese were killed.

Will it be different this time? I want to believe the answer is yes. But the Biden administration’s laudable cease-fire diplomacy is taking place on the eve of an election. And as in past forays in the Middle East, there’s little evidence that the American people understand or are ready to stand behind the commitments that White House mediator Amos Hochstein is making.

I asked a well-informed American in Beirut last week what the United States would do if a Lebanese advocate of a cease-fire with Israel were assassinated or a car bomb exploded. I didn’t get a clear answer, but U.S. officials need to be sure this time that Lebanon is building on solid foundations rather than quicksand, and that the United States and its allies are committed to standing with them through what will be a long process.

The Lebanese army is the cornerstone for the American cease-fire plan, but it’s a fragile one. At a roundabout near the LAF’s headquarters in Yarze is a military monument, 100 feet tall, that shows armored vehicles and artillery tubes encased in concrete. That’s an unintentionally revealing picture of the LAF in recent years, a fighting force that has been immobilized by lack of national political consensus.

The LAF is ragged right now. It has about 70,000 troops, U.S. officials believe, but many are moonlighting at other jobs to support their families. A few LAF checkpoints near key areas were sometimes empty in October, Post colleagues tell me. To keep the army afloat, the United States and Qatar have provided subsidies to pay soldiers at least $100 a month, but the money is running out.

Over a long conversation at the officers’ club, a senior Lebanese general explained how the LAF can become a real fighting force. The process starts with its commander, Gen. Joseph Aoun, a bear of a man whose bulk resembles Gen. Michael “Erik” Kurilla, the U.S. Central Command leader, who has worked closely with Aoun. Unlike many prominent Lebanese, there is no evidence that Aoun is corrupt, according to a U.S. military official here.

Aoun is making plans to bolster the LAF for its mission in South Lebanon. The senior general said the army needs $930 million to acquire a new fleet of armored vehicles and new weapons and gear. It has about 4,800 troops in the south now and expects to boost that number quickly to 5,500 after a cease-fire — on the way to 10,000 six to eight months from now.

Since Israel began bombing Lebanon heavily in September, 31 members of the LAF have been killed, 11 on the field and 20 in their homes, the general said. Perhaps 50,000 soldiers have been forced to leave their residences, part of the 1.2 million Lebanese displaced by the war, and the army is providing temporary shelter for these troops and their families.

The army continues to maintain regular indirect liaison with the Israeli military, so that it won’t encounter fire as it moves. As for Hezbollah, the general said, its main command-and-control node is now headed by Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps officers operating from the Iranian Embassy.

The LAF’s best forces might be six “intervention regiments,” like the one I visited in West Beirut. That unit had advisers from several European countries. In the regimental operations center, commanders described how they are keeping order in an area bursting with refugees from Hezbollah strongholds such as the Dahiya neighborhood a few miles away.

“We have a crowded city now,” said one commander, in an understatement. As the new arrivals dart about on scooters, often against traffic, tempers flare. The LAF runs regular patrols, and when a group of refugees tried last month to occupy a building, the troops enforced the landlord’s order to leave. So, there’s reason to believe these troops could perform in the south.

Given Aoun’s firm hand on the LAF, some Lebanese — and many U.S. officials — see him as Lebanon’s next president, a post that’s now vacant. One member of the Lebanese parliament who’s a strong Aoun supporter argued: “You need a dictator for the country for two years,” someone who is “outside the corrupted group.” But a former Lebanese cabinet minister cautioned me against relying on a military strongman. “Lebanon is not Egypt,” he said.

Mikati and Berri, the prime minister and parliament speaker, are symbolic of Lebanon’s political class. Both are very wealthy men, with decades of experience with the mosaic of political factions and the Lebanese “art of the deal.” Detractors describe them as “the cartel” and “the dinosaurs.” But for the foreseeable future, they are the power brokers with whom Hochstein and future mediators must deal.

Mikati received me in his apartment atop one of the city’s most fashionable buildings, on the corniche overlooking the sea and mountains of Lebanon to the east. Tall and slender, elegantly dressed, he’s a telecommunications tycoon who, in his political life, has managed to help steer Lebanon through some of its most difficult times.

The prime minister voiced strong support for each key provision of the deal he said Hochstein has proposed, including LAF deployment in South Lebanon, and a monitoring mechanism to ensure there’s a quick international response if the LAF can’t stop Hezbollah.

Mikati favors extending Aoun’s term as army commander, which expires in January, because “we don’t change our officers in the middle of a battle.” But for president, he said Lebanon needs a “consensus” leader. “We are still divided” on who that should be, the prime minister said.

The most encouraging words from Mikati stressed the importance of seizing the moment for political reconstruction. “Lebanon is known for missing opportunities,” he said. “But I hope we will learn from this history and take the chance that we now have.”

I met Berri at his fortified compound in West Beirut, which has four gated entrances. He’s also a tall, well-dressed man, who in addition to serving as speaker, heads a Shiite militia called Amal that has often been a silent partner of Hezbollah.

Ali Hamdan, for many years Berri’s closest political adviser, met me in a conference room outside Berri’s office. He cautioned that Israel should recognize that “military power doesn’t solve the problem in Lebanon.” Israel should see that “‘winning’ should be written with quotation marks,” he said, and avoid the overreach of its 1982 invasion of Lebanon, which became a deadly quagmire for Israel

“We have a very rare chance to save Lebanon, and we should not return to business as usual,” Hamdan said before taking me to see his boss.

Berri affirmed his support for the details of Hochstein’s plan. But I pressed him about Iran, which has facilitated Hezbollah’s stranglehold on Lebanese politics. Berri gave me an encouragingly direct answer: “I don’t deny that Iran helps Hezbollah. Even Hezbollah says so. But if America helps Lebanon, then we will not take orders from Iran.”

Thinking about the United States’ role in Lebanon, past and future, I visited the American University of Beirut, passing through the main gate on Rue Bliss, which bears the biblical promise engraved by its Protestant missionary founders: “That they may have life and have it abundantly.” I attended a class on “the United States and the Middle East,” taught by a distinguished historian named Makram Rabah.

We had an hour of earnest discussion with students about the gradual evolution of America’s policies toward Israel and the Arabs. But

I finally had to ask the question that had been nagging at me. Did the students think that this time, America could finally help Lebanon regain its sovereignty?

Most students seemed to believe that change was indeed possible — if anchored in hardheaded realism. “The only way to regain Lebanese sovereignty is for the state to have a monopoly of violence,” said a bearded student named Nasser. “Militia power has brought nothing but blood and death to Lebanon,” agreed a student named Charles.

The Biden administration, in its waning days, has framed a careful plan to salvage Lebanon from Hezbollah’s arrogance and Israel’s bombs. It’s a noble effort, but the United States must be ready to walk steadily with our Lebanese friends down what will be a dangerous road. If we’re not serious this time, we’ll just get more Lebanese killed.