What It Means to Be Druze
Being Druze means living a life shaped by both bicultural and faith identities. As a Canadian of Lebanese descent, my identity is enriched by the diverse experiences and values of these two worlds. Yet, at the core of my being, I am Druze, a member of a faith that transcends national borders and political divisions. It is a theme strewn across my debut book, “You’re Already Dead.”
My Bicultural Identity: Canadian and Lebanese
Growing up in Smoky Lake, a Ukrainian Orthodox town in rural Alberta, with Lebanese parents, I have always felt the blend of these two distinct cultures within me. This dual heritage has made me pragmatic, open to different perspectives, and committed to bridging divides. It is this pragmatism that shapes my understanding of politics, religion, and human interactions. (The racial taunts growing up were an addition to that understanding as well).
My Faith Identity: Druze
As a Druze, my faith is integral to my identity. Whether juhhal (non-initiate) or Uqqal (initiate), my commitment to the core principles of the Druze faith remains unwavering. Being Druze means embodying values of wisdom, compassion, and respect for all humanity.
I always struggled as a young man to figure out what the hell it meant to be Druze. Am I an Arab? Am I Lebanese? Am I Muslim? Is this a religion or an ethno-religious group? If it is, is that why marriage to non-Druze is forbidden? How come I am not allowed in the Khalwat (prayer house)? Are Druze in the IDF my enemy? Where do we fit in? Who will protect us?
Druze are between a rock and a hard place with our different allegiances in our respective countries. For the most part, the cohesion has been maintained because we have to balance our alliances with our survival. We have to be careful and we have to understand that we have brethren in Israel, Syria, and Lebanon, and we have to walk a tightrope with all of these alliances for the continuation of our way of life.
My lessons in the Tawhid, what it means to Al-Muwahiddun, early in life came mostly secondhand, from my father, my uncle Ed, and my aunt Wafak, each of whom would recount stories of my grandfather, Sheikh Jidee Hassan. “Jidek Hassan did this,” “Jidek Hassan did that, said that etc.”
One of the more memorable lessons was from my Amti Wafak, who told me once that my grandfather (who was a chieftain of South Lebanon amongst the Druze and their allies) once received a man who went to him complaining that another man cursed at him. So, my grandfather sent for the other man. When he arrived, he asked him, “Did you curse him?” The man replied, “Yes, I did” (because of whatever reason) and began to curse at him more, in the presence of my grandfather. At that moment, my grandfather brought his hand down and brought the man to the ground. And said: “At first you had Hak (truth) to what you were saying, but the moment you cursed again, you lost it. Apologize to him and get out of here.”
And, I’m not speaking of strictly truth in words, (as recent studies suggest most of us lie about 10-15 times a day), but in our actions.
The lesson being, you might be right, but the moment you disparage, disrespect, demean others, you have lost the universal ‘truth’ that is a tenet of our faith. The importance of maintaining integrity and respect, even when one is right, was a valuable lesson passed down posthumously through words and actions.
Recent Tragedy and Political Complexities
The recent tragedy in the occupied Golan Heights, where a missile strike killed 12 children, has brought to light the complex dynamics within the Druze community. Some Druze posted a headline stating, “11/12 Israeli children killed by Hezbollah missile” before any context was provided. These are the same people who have remained silent as more than 20,000 children have been murdered in Gaza. Had this occurred anywhere else, the title could’ve been about whatever country it happened in, but in the Occupied Golan Heights, only recognized by 2 countries as Israeli territory (guess which is the other one), you cannot identify them by the occupying power’s nationality. Doing so, you’re pushing your own narrative, in some way chipping away at our fragile cohesion. Framed in that context and it’s easy to make a quick judgment.
Extremists exist in every group and religion. While some may have celebrated this tragedy in Majdal Shams, a child is a child. There needs to be an independent inquiry to determine if it was a failed Hezbollah rocket or a failed Iron Dome intercept missile that killed the children on the soccer pitch. The identity of the perpetrators matters just as much as the fact that this tragedy is being used as a justification to flatten Lebanon. And guess who lives in Lebanon? Druze. So, in defense of Israeli Druze, Lebanon, including its Druze population, will be crushed? I’m at a loss.
On one hand, it’s heartening to see Israeli society rally around the Druze in this tragedy, condemning the killing of innocent children, lighting up Tel Aviv in the colors of the Druze flag. But on the other hand, the hypocrisy is glaring. Condolences have been given, along with prayers for the innocent kids and their families, yet the same society that offers us its condolences has dropped 2,000-pound bombs and wiped out over 20,000 kids. What a world.
The Druze Community: A Complex Fabric
Despite their geographical isolation, the Druze have maintained family and communal ties across borders, even after the collapse of the Ottoman Empire and the establishment of French and British mandates. The Druze in Israel serve in the IDF and express great identification with the state, while some Druze on the Golan Heights declare their loyalty to Syria, with a smaller group moving closer to Israel.
So far, Druze who serve in the IDF, Druze who support Hezbollah, and Druze operating against Hezbollah have managed to contain their differences and disputes to protect themselves and their way of life. Leaders like Walid Jumblatt and Sheikh Muafak Tarif navigate these complex dynamics, understanding the rules of the political game and the community’s dependence on strong political forces.
The tragic death of children in Majdal Shams following a Hezbollah attack only increases the burden on these internal dynamics. While the Syrian regime and Hezbollah deny responsibility, accusing Israel of killing the children, Druze leaders like Wiam Wahhab demand an independent inquiry, stating that “our blood is not cheap and no one has the right to shed it.”
This analysis of the Druze community’s complex dynamics (in light of recent events) was drawn from an article by Ksenia Svetlova in Haaretz.
Pragmatism and Human Rights
I remember writing an article in my early 20s for a Lebanese website, I titled the article “The Keys to Lebanon,” which was about Hezbollah and how they hold the keys. But now, I’m not so sure. Perhaps the old saying is true: the road to Baabda goes through Moukhtara.
So, what does it mean to be Druze? Simply put, it means to respect our common humanity, to be pragmatic, to stand up for human rights, and to not kiss the ring, but to remind the ringbearer that they only wear the ring to serve.
Let us hold fast to the values that define us as Druze and as human beings. Let us continue to seek justice, peace, and respect for all. I will always stand with Jews, Muslims, Christians, and all of humanity that demands an end to killing, and the pursuit of peaceful coexistence.
I look forward to the Middle East of my Grandfather, Jidee Hassan, where Jews, Christians, Druze, and Muslims lived together as neighbors. It may not have been perfect, but it wasn’t this.
Thank you for reading.
