“We’re still a bit in shock,” said Frédéric Mercadal, 37, who heads the local soccer club and knew Mr. Merah well. He had his troubles, Mr. Mercadal said, and was frequently childish and needy. But he could also be “courteous and kind,” even “filled with joie de vivre.”

Like Mr. Merah, many local youths identify with the Palestinian cause, said Younouss Zeroual, 17, whose closely trimmed black hair peaks in a meticulous ridge. During his standoff with the police, Mr. Merah told negotiators that he had targeted soldiers who were fighting Muslims in Afghanistan — like Ms. Ibn Ziaten’s son — and then chose to shoot Jews, when a separate target failed to appear, to avenge Palestinian deaths.

“Everyone says he was wrong,” Mr. Zeroual said. “But they understand the message he wanted to get across.”

Still, Mr. Zeroual said he believed Mr. Merah was perhaps framed by the government. As an Arab, he had “the look of a criminal” in the eyes of the state, Mr. Zeroual said. Witness descriptions of the killer did not match Mr. Merah, he said.

Lakhdar Chadli, 25, who used to play soccer with Mr. Merah, added, “We didn’t see his body.”

There is ambivalence, even pride, in his crimes. Some young men seem to enjoy the horror they can provoke by calling him a hero, residents and social workers said. Some surely believe he is.

“We’re trying not to talk about it, to move on to something else,” said a local social worker, requesting that his name be withheld. When he has tried to engage young people about Mr. Merah, they have responded only by calling him a “god.” “You can’t have a real exchange.”

In his violence, Mr. Merah has left the area feeling under siege, too, residents say, from the police and the news media, which descended en masse after the killings, and from politicians who have made Les Izards a watchword for violence and hate. In response, there has been a sort of closing of ranks. Residents discuss Mr. Merah among themselves, they say, but consider it a betrayal to discuss him with outsiders.