Why Oct. 7 has bound Israeli Druze and Jews even more tightly
| Daliyat al-Karmel and Beit Jann, Israel
The events of Oct. 7 are imprinted on Salih鈥檚 body and mind.
As he sits outside his former training base in central Israel on a crisp mid-January day, the 20-year-old Israeli Druze soldier recounts carefully the day his unit was deployed to repel a surprise Hamas attack.
That day saw Hamas militants kill 1,200 people, mostly civilians, as they rampaged through southern Israeli towns and kibbutzim, igniting the devastating Israel-Hamas war in Gaza.
Why We Wrote This
For the Druze, an Arab religious minority, serving the state in which they live is both a civic duty and a tenet of their faith. Yet after the horrors of Oct. 7 and their losses since, Israeli Druze see the Israel-Hamas war as becoming increasingly personal.
The day ended with Salih being seriously wounded in combat. He refuses to discuss certain details. But a single glance from his distant eyes offers a glimpse into the death he saw.
Hamas 鈥渄id not differentiate between Jewish or Druze, Muslim, Bedouin, or 海角大神; young or old; men, women, children,鈥� Salih recounts, as if still processing the violence. 鈥淭hey didn鈥檛 care.
鈥淭his was something monstrous, barbaric, against human nature,鈥� he says. 鈥淕o to the root definition of 鈥榯errorism,鈥� and all of its derivatives, and they all align in this organization.鈥�
For Israeli Druze, the Israel-Hamas war is becoming increasingly personal.
Members of the Arab religious minority, who for decades have served in Israel鈥檚 security services, say the graphic Oct. 7 attack and ensuing war have been a turning point in Druze-Jewish relations, with the shared threat and an outpouring of support binding the two communities like never before.
Still on medical leave, Salih, who asked not to use his full name for security reasons, says he鈥檚 itching to get back into the fight to protect his 16-year-old sister, mother, and neighbors.
鈥淓ach one of us is defending where they live and their family. I am defending myself and my loved ones,鈥� he says. Oct. 7 ingrained in him, and in Druze across Israel, that 鈥渢errorism takes away the people you love.鈥�
鈥淲e must stop terrorism,鈥� he says, clenching his jaw. 鈥淲here there is terrorism, there can be no humanity.鈥�
An emphasis on duty
The Druze, a religious minority found across the Levant, number some 149,000 in Israel, less than 2% of the population. Much of the adult population 鈥� men and women 鈥� serve in the army, security services, or government agencies. Serving the state in which Druze live is both a civic duty and a tenet of their faith.
Druze civilians are now stepping up to support Israeli Jewish and Bedouin friends and colleagues affected by the attack. Artist Sam Halabi installed a mural in central Tel Aviv commemorating hostages held by Hamas.
鈥淗amas is ISIS,鈥� he says from his studio in Daliyat al-Karmel, his anger simmering. 鈥淭hey are terrorists who butchered innocent people. Hamas is a cancer. We cannot live in peace and security until this cancer is removed.鈥澛�
Israeli Druze believe the Islamist Hamas sees them as both 鈥渋nfidels鈥� for their religious beliefs 鈥� the monotheists believe in prophets that came after the Prophet Muhammad and in reincarnation 鈥� and 鈥渢raitors鈥� for serving in the Israeli army.
鈥淲e know Hamas hates us specifically,鈥� says shopkeeper Abu Hamad. 鈥淎s Arabs who support Israel, we are doubly targeted.鈥�
Since 1952, Druze men, like Jews, have been drafted into military service. Yet the equality they felt there didn鈥檛 always translate to life outside the army.
Druze communities in northern Israel have longstanding grievances against the state, chief of which is that much of their land is registered as 鈥渁gricultural,鈥� preventing them from acquiring building permits for homes for their children and grandchildren and from expanding their villages.
Others point to discrepancies in budgets their communities receive in comparison with predominately Jewish towns of similar size. Tensions with the government increased with the rise of the Jewish far-right. They came to a head in 2018 when a previous Benjamin Netanyahu-led government pushed through the nation-state law, which stated, 鈥淭he right to national self-determination in the State of Israel is exclusive to the Jewish people.鈥�
Druze lawmakers failed to challenge the legislation in court as discriminatory, and many today still describe it as a 鈥渟tab in the back鈥� to non-Jewish Israelis.
Yet today, these tensions 鈥� which sparked riots as recently as July 鈥� seem a distant memory, minor compared with the existential conflict that Druze and Jews say they face together.聽
鈥淎ny difference or gap between Druze and Jews ... completely disappeared after Oct. 7,鈥� says Zahee Mansour, who along with his wife, Raja, runs the Druze Cultural Heritage Center in the Mt. Carmel village of Isfiya, next to Daliyat al-Karmel. 鈥淲e have a closer understanding of one another, a better appreciation of one another.鈥�
Aid to Druze communities
Helping smooth relations was an Israeli government announcement Jan. 7 of 12.5 million shekels ($3.41 million) to 鈥渟trengthen the resilience鈥� of Druze and Circassian communities in northern Israel, and of a five-year plan to develop their communities devised in meetings with Druze leaders and politicians.
In leafy Daliyat al-Karmel, the largest Druze town in Israel, Israeli and multicolor striped Druze flags hang side by side from shops and restaurants, and atop the municipality.
With several thousand Druze men serving in the war in Gaza, the impact of the conflict is being felt in these tightly knit communities across Israel.
Salih, the wounded soldier, says he feels an 鈥渁bsence鈥� in his home village outside Haifa. His cousin Salman is fighting in Gaza, so, too, are neighbors and friends.
鈥淚 worry about them because Gaza is dangerous,鈥� he says.
In Beit Jann, near the Israel-Lebanon border, Adi Malik Harb鈥檚 photo hangs from buildings and in shop windows across the mountaintop village of 13,000 people.
If you stop anyone in the street, they will eagerly tell you a story about the 20-year-old, who was killed in action Nov. 17 in Gaza.
Yet even amid such loss, members of the Druze community say they still hold out for peace.
鈥淲e can be a bridge between the Israelis and the Palestinians. We know both communities and understand the cultures and languages,鈥� says Beit Jann Mayor Radi Najm, glancing at hand-sketched portraits of Mr. Harb on his office shelf. 鈥淭he Druze community can be a bridge for peace.鈥�
Um Rami, a Daliyat al-Karmel cafe owner, shakes her head as she scans the news on her phone.
鈥淲e need more humanity and empathy on all sides,鈥� she says.聽鈥淚t was inhumane to see Hamas cart off young children and elderly in cages like animals, and it is inhumane to see children crushed in missile strikes in Gaza. We don鈥檛 want any more civilian deaths, no matter if they are Israeli or Palestinian, Jewish, Muslim, or Druze.
鈥淗uman life must be protected no matter what,鈥� she says. 鈥淭hat is our spiritual belief and our national duty.鈥�
