Majdal Shams ( مجدل شمس.;
/ מַגְ'דַל שַׁמְס )
This week, we were be able read this news:
Trump provokes global
anger by recognising Israel's claim to Golan Heights
Russia, Iran and
Turkey condemn US president while Syria vows to recapture territory lost in
1967 war
Majdal Shams is a Druze town in the north of
the Golan Heights. In fact it’s the most populated city in this occupied area.
I found a picture of a statue in Majdal Shams. It
pictures a moustachioed man with Arabic clothes in fight attitude. Other figures
in the same statue show a woman crying with a dead man in his lap.
It depicts the Druze uprising against French
colonialism in the 1920s. The moustachioed man with a sword is the Sultan
Al-Atrash (1888-1982). Let it be J.R. Wolff who tells us about this area.
Grace under fire on the
Syrian border: The Druze of Majdal Shams by J.R. Wolff
Residents of the Druze border town told him
their future may be with Israel but their hearts are in Syria
Dark clouds move over the peaks of Mount Hermon
before I hear the compressed thud
of a shell explosion reverberate in my chest. The pop, pop, pop of muffled
gunfire in short bursts comes soon after.
Thud: A dull, heavy sound, such as
that made by an object falling to the ground.
I don’t feel comfortable with how exposed I am
and take cover behind a rock
outcropping.
Rock
outcropping: (cat: Aflorament
rocós).
Just ahead, picturesquely framed between the
rocks and orchards is Quneitra Province, Syria. Up on a hill, shimmering in a lone ray
of sunlight, an Assad regime flag sways atop
a gun battery and watch tower.
Shimmering: Shine with a soft tremulous
light.
Sway: A rhythmical movement from side
to side
Atop: On the top.
For more than five years, Assad’s army, Jabhat
al-Nusra, and other warring factions have engaged in fierce fighting just yards away from where I stand on the other side of the
unassuming 1967 ceasefire fence that runs along the tan, rugged slopes of the Golan Heights.
Tan: a yellowish-brown color.
The US State Department recently issued a
travel warning, forbidding its employees to visit the region on personal
travel. And in recent weeks, skirmishes
between Israel and Assad’s regime have reported to have taken place nearby.
Skirmishes: An episode of irregular or unpremeditated
fighting, especially between small or outlying parts of armies or fleets. (cat:
Escaramusses,
topades)
Just then voices begin to scream in a
language I don’t understand. I turn and a group of men approach me menacingly
from a pickup truck. They’re moving fast.
One man points his fingers at me and makes a
machine gun noise. I dread that I somehow crossed over into Syria without knowing
it.
Then I make out some words, it’s Hebrew. These men, in plain clothes, work in some capacity for the
Israeli Army — and they’re now warning me in Hebrew and broken English that
this is a very dangerous place to be. A restricted area.
Make out: If you make something out, you
manage with difficulty to see or hear it.
In some capacity: If you do something in a particular
capacity, you do it as part of a particular job or duty, or because you are
representing a particular organization or person.
I don’t remember exactly what I said, but
evidently the man found it funny and studied me with a cockeyed look of
disbelief.
“Are you a crazy American?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say with a grin.
Then he reaches into a backpack and offers me a
choice of freshly picked apples. I take a big red one and clean it on my jeans.
For a few moments we chat amiably with no
understanding except that we are not harmful to one another.
Behind us, Syrian Druze men in traditional
outfits with thick mustaches and white knit hats drive farm vehicles towing tons of
apples — their cash crop.
Crop: Harvest (plants or their
produce) from a particular area. (cat: collita)
Moments later a group of young Israeli soldiers
on patrol come up from an obscured access road that parallels the fence. The
rightfully regard me with suspicion but my apple-bearing friend speaks to them
and they soften.
I ask about the shots I heard. “How close?”
“Fighting comes right up to the border,” one
soldier tells me. Despite looking like a middle school student, I’m struck by
the gravity in his voice. “We see it at night.”
His young cohorts look on uneasily, tasked with defending Israel’s
northern border from the mayhem
in their neighbor’s yard.
Mayhem: Chaos
I ask which groups are operating beyond the
fence.
“It’s everyone fighting everyone,” he says shaking his head, indicating
the utter chaos that is Syria.
It’s late afternoon and the soldier makes it
clear that I should leave before nightfall.
More bursts of gunfire ring sporadically out as
I walk away.
In need of a drink to calm my nerves, I set out
to find a bar in the nearby Druze town.
Up ahead is Majdal Shams. A Druze village on
the Israeli side of the disputed border with Syria.
* * *
Cruising slowly in my rented car, I spot a
young woman carrying groceries and approach her for directions.
Cruise: If a car, ship, or aircraft
cruises somewhere, it moves there at a steady comfortable speed.
Between her broken English and my caveman
Hebrew, her eyes light up
as she recognizes the name of the bar and gestures for me to…follow her. She
would lead me in her car.
Now this I wasn’t expecting.
And although unsure, I go anyway. Tailing her all the way across
town, zig zagging through windy
roads and
roundabouts until at last she slows down and points out the window—it was the
place I was looking for.
Tail: To tail someone means to follow
close behind them and watch where they go and what they do.
Windy
road: (of a
road or river) following a curving or twisting course.
I pull alongside her. She has a big smile and wishes me well in
Arabic.
It becomes clear to me, as she headed back to
the other side of town, that she went far out of her way to guide me — a total
stranger — to a bar.
“That was exceptionally kind,” I think to
myself as I walk up the steps.
I enter the bar and immediately see why my
friend recommended it. Pictures of Bob Dylan and Johnny Cash, it remind me of
my days in Austin, Texas.
I take a long pull of beer and hunch over a plate of nuts. I glance to my
right and the guy sitting next to me is looking at me curiously. Early
twenties, dressed sharply in black, he looks like he could be an actor or
musician.
Pull: Pull is the opposite to push.
In this case, speaking about beer, in Catalan and Spanish we have the same
sense: tirar una
cervesa)
We exchange nods and I can tell that we’ll be friends.
Sometimes you just know.
“You from here?” I ask.
“Of course,” he says in perfect English, as if
there were no other place he could possibly be from.
But he’s more curious about the American guy
and asks why I’m here.
“I’m a writer,” I tell him. “I respect the
Druze people and I’ve wanted to visit Majdal Shams for a very long time…I
wanted to see for myself, to learn about what’s happening here.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You know about us?”
“Yes,” I nod. “And I want to learn more.”
The Druze are an often persecuted
ethno-religious minority in the Middle East, the largest communities residing
in Syria, Lebanon, Jordan and Israel. Their faith, an Abrahamic offshoot, is
kept secret from outsiders. By and large, they have survived by showing loyalty
to the ruling nation they live under.
Before Israel obtained the Golan Heights in
1967, Majdal Shams was a Syrian Druze village. And despite being under Israeli
control, in the minds and hearts of most residents it still is.
It’s a village caught between nations. Courted
by Israel to become “Israeli” and wooed by Syria to remain “Syrian,” (Assad’s
regime considers the Majdal Druze to be Syrian citizens.)
And what it means to “be Syrian” is a rapidly
evolving concept.
“Israel trusts us and wants us,” he tells me.
“But that is not our identity, we are Syrian.”
For decades, Israel has made great efforts to entice the Golan Druze
(of which Majdal Shams is the largest village) to become Israeli citizens.
Entice: Seduce
“Do you have an Israeli passport?” I ask.
“No,” he says shaking his head.
“How about a Syrian passport?”
“No passport,” he says. “Travel papers only —
our nationality is: ‘Undefined.’
“If you wanted to…could you have an Israeli
passport?”
“Yes,” he says, but he’s quick to explain that
nobody does.
“Why?”
He laughs, “Because nobody would ever talk to
you again.”
“Social suicide?”
He nods.
And they have overtures from Syria too; having
the option to pursue a free education in Damascus.
Others Syrian Druze, however, even if they
don’t take Israeli citizenship, take advantage of many of the benefits Israel
has to offer.
And while resentment towards being under
Israeli control is evident by the amount of Syrian flags on display — resentment
towards Jews is not something I personally experienced.
“I have lots of Jewish friends,” he tells me.
“I respect the Jewish people. I have Muslim friends, Christian friends, Jewish
friends.”
“People are people,” I say.
He nods slowly, “People are people.”
Unlike the vast majority of Israel’s Druze
citizens who proudly serve in the military and obtain very high ranks in the
army and government; Majdal Shams residents are exempt from mandatory military
service.
“Does anyone from this village volunteer for
the army?” I ask.
“Nooo,” he says shaking his head for emphasis.
Again, this would be unthinkable.
He expresses that while life is good for them
on the Israeli side, he simply could never imagine the idea of fighting for the
Jewish state; a country their fathers and grandfathers fought against.
It’s not personal, it’s just not who they are
in this village.
I then ask about the civil war raging less than
a kilometer away. A war that many of their relatives are caught in.
Have the more than five years of war changed
any of their allegiances towards Syria?
And to my surprise, he tells me that one of the
local holy men is encouraging people to move towards holding an Israeli
passport (it seems for practical reasons, certainly not as a sign of a new
identity)— but so far it hasn’t caught on…at least not in this village.
“Aside from your relatives in Syria,” I ask.
“Do you also have family in Israel?”
“Yes.”
“And they serve in the army and fight for
Israel?”
“Yes,” he acknowledges matter of factly, “and we talk about all this.”
But his village is in a different situation
than those of his Israeli kinsman.
And depending on where a Druze village is located, that’s who their loyalty
will be to.
Kinsman: Relatives
This is key to understanding how the Druze
endure. As a minority in the Middle East, they survive by faithfully serving
the regime under which they live. And just as the Druze are integrated into
modern Israel, the Syrian Druze were protected and lived well under Assad.
“The Druze people just want to be safe,” he
says relating to their situation and identification with Syria.
“I’m a Jew,” I tell him. “We’re in the same
boat.”
It’s silent for a moment as we exchange glances
of mutual understanding.
“So what’s the story here?” I ask him. “What’s
happening here that nobody’s talking about?”
And yet again, the theme of change bubbles to
the surface.
The Druze religion is famously secretive. Their
holy texts remaining a mystery and inaccessible to outsiders for centuries.
“And now,” he tells me with an ironic grin,
“the holy book was uploaded to Google. My friend’s mother is religious — she
didn’t want to believe it!”
He went on to explain that the text’s meaning
and symbols, however, are only decipherable to a Druze holy man; so the text
itself being available on the internet doesn’t actually reveal much. But still,
for the older generation — this is unchartered territory.
My friend is thinking about grad school, like
his relatives who got advanced degrees in Damascus. We talk about going fishing
sometime and I tell him to look me up if he comes to the States. We warmly
shake hands. At the door he recommends a cafe and points me in the general
direction. “Just ask anyone on the street if you get lost,” he says matter of fact. “They will all
help you.”
Conspicuous as the only outsider, I pass all
walks of life as I wander through the winding, impeccably clean streets. Young
people wearing the latest western styles…kids in school uniforms laugh in
groups…older men in religious attire…women with traditional headdresses…They
all smile warmly as I walk by.
Conspicuous: Standing out so as to be
clearly visible.
Eventually I come to notice that almost all the
drivers and farm workers have slowed
to wave.
Wave: If you wave or wave your hand,
you move your hand from side to side in the air, usually in order to say hello
or goodbye to someone.
And this wasn’t the begrudging or obligatory veneer of “hospitality”
that I’ve experienced in other places — it was the real thing, something you
see shining in a person’s eyes. And yet, the gunfire in the distance reminds me
that I’m in an active war zone. And everyone here has skin in the game.
Begrudging: Envy (someone) the possession
or enjoyment of (something).
Veneer: A superficial appearance, esp
one that is pleasing
At the cafe, I meet a female resident who
speaks a bit of English. I ask about their identity as Syrians and if the
village has changed since the war started. “We’ve heard the entire war,” she
tells me before repeating the question in Arabic to an older man sitting
nearby. He begins to speak very fast — she translates from Arabic:
“The town has changed one hundred percent,” she
relates from him. Though quickly adding: “But not because of Israel or any
other country…but because the people themselves want to. Nobody told us.”
She went on, “It’s different now…the young
people are becoming engineers, doctors, professionals…”
“I imagine you have family in Syria?” I ask.
“Of course.”
“Are you ever able to see them?”
“Syria is not a good place to visit,” she says,
as if the very thought gives her the chills. “We see them in Jordan,” she tells me, explaining that she
has relatives in both Lebanon and Syria. And since both states are hostile to
Israel, Jordan has become a central hub for family reunions.
Give someone
the chills: (cat:
posar la pell de gallina, tenir calfreds)
I say goodbye and a cold gust blows from Mount Hermon. I’ve been in Israel for months and
it’s the first time I wish I had a sweater. The seasons are changing, but only
now am I aware of it.
Gust: A brief, strong rush of wind.
I suddenly remember the admonition to be out by
sundown. It spurs a thought. Through all my encounters, and though nobody would
dare say so — I sensed (perhaps wrongly), a collective identity evolution. The
Assad regime flags — like a photograph — a reminder of a Syria that now exists
in memory only. And then there was the tacit (yet unsaid), sense of relief of
living on the more secure side of the border. And the unmentioned, yet
ever-present fear of what might happen to the Druze in Syria should Assad fall
and they have no protection from the radical groups vying for power.
Vying: Struggling
And though not “Israeli” by any means, many of the young are seeking careers and lifestyles
that are closer to a Tel Aviv ethos than any way of life that can be found in
Syria. In fact, many of the people I spoke with regularly travel to Tel Aviv
and Haifa and recommended their favorite hangouts.
Favorite: Used in States; in British they
use favourite
Hangout: If a place is a hangout for a
particular group of people, they spend a lot of time there because they can
relax and meet other people there.
I mull something my friend at the bar told me. Even though
drinking is ostensibly outlawed by their faith, the bars are always packed on
the weekends. “Most of the young people here aren’t religious. They want to
drink and have a good time.”
Mull: Thinking about
I feel goosebumps from the fall wind. Perhaps
this is what slow change looks like.
Goosebumps: Small raised areas that appear
on the skin because of cold, fear, or excitement (cat: pell de gallina)
* * *
Yet again, I take a wrong turn and become lost
looking for my car.
I ask a woman in her front yard for directions.
She speaks English, and before I know it, her entire family comes out of the house
to greet me. Within
moments, her husband returns from work in construction clothes and shakes my
hand. Her son, in his early twenties, has a ginger beard and looks like he could be my younger
brother. He pulls me in for a warm handshake and explains where I need to go.
Greet: When you greet someone, you say
'Hello' or shake hands with them.
Ginger: Ginger is used to describe
things that are orangey-brown in colour.
And as it turns out,
he’s just returned
to Majdal Shams from the Israeli university where he finished his engineering
studies. He speaks highly of his time living and learning among Israelis. And
while I don’t ask about his passport or “identity,” he doesn’t seem to display
any conflict with receiving an Israeli education.
He is just about to begin his career. His
energy contagious — alive with hope and excitement.
* * *
As I saw the village getting smaller in my
rearview mirror, I felt something stirring inside. Something Majdal Shams left with me. And it
wasn’t the adrenaline of proximity to the war, though that was there too. It
was something the people themselves impressed upon me — grace — a quality the
heart knows before the mind can grasp it. That human something that exists
beyond the confines of nations and religions and labels that can so easily
divide us.
Stir: If something stirs you, it
makes you react with a strong emotion.
They say you only get to know someone when
you see how they act under pressure. And since a village is nothing but a
collection of people — you might expect a people living in a war zone, and
without a settled
nationality, to be jaded and angry and suspicious.
Settled
nationality: A established nationality
Jaded: Tired, bored, or lacking
enthusiasm, typically after having had too much of something.
Think again.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR J.R.
Wolff writes short stories, television pilots, and just completed his first
novel. Most recently he worked as a fisherman on the Sea of Galilee. J.R. is a
California native and a graduate of the University of Texas at Austin
