After decades of identifying as Syrian, community that saw kids killed by Hezbollah rocket and brethren massacred by forces controlling Damascus pivots toward ‘protector’ Israel
By Diana Bletter FollowToday, 10:06 am
Druze horsemen and cattle growers from the four Golan Heights Druze villages of Majdal Shams, Ein Qiniyye, Buq’ata and Mas’ade parade through the Golan Heights ahead of Eid al-Adha festival, in Majdal Shams, Golan Heights, May 23, 2026. (Michael Giladi/Flash90)
MAJDAL SHAMS — Sitting on a street-level porch facing Majdal Shams’ bustling main drag, Qasem Sabbagh offered his visitors Turkish coffee and then reflected on the change in the psychic landscape for the Druze on the Golan Heights.
For decades, the Golan’s Druze had maintained loyalty to Syria and resisted integration into Israel, which captured the strategic plateau in 1967 and effectively annexed it in 1981. But over the last two years, a fundamental transformation had taken place for the 29,000 residents of Majdal Shams and three neighboring Druze towns, Mas’ada, Ein Qiniyye, and Buq’ata, driven by a pair of traumatic events with distinct geopolitical roots but a common tragic result for the community.
The first was the rocket attack by Iran’s proxy terror group, Hezbollah – a close ally of former Syrian President Bashar al-Assad — on a local soccer field in July 2024 that killed 12 Druze children, followed by the July 2025 massacre of over 2,000 Druze in Sweida, Syria, by forces loyal to Syria’s current president, Ahmed al-Sharaa.
“When we were growing up, we were taught to speak of ourselves as Syrians,” said Sabbagh, 50, whose work involves protecting flocks of birds near local wind turbines. “There has been a big change in Druze society.”
The two tragedies caused a “very profound shift for Druze in the Golan,” said Lorena Kizel Khateeb, 29, the Druze CEO of Together Vouch for Each Other (in Hebrew, B’Yachad Arevim Zeh L’Zeh), who succeeded Yosef Haddad in the position.
One outgrowth of that shift has been a dramatic spike in citizenship applications by Golan Druze since 2025, after decades in which the vast majority of Druze opted instead for permanent residency, which provides full health care, education, and legal status.
Israel’s capture of the plateau had sundered families in two, with close relatives separated by a hostile border and a UN-patrolled buffer zone.
Those who wound up on the Israeli side stayed loyal to Syria, partly out of fears that switching allegiances would trigger retaliation against their families across the border. But they also tried to maintain close ties with Syria out of the expectation that the Golan would eventually return to Syria.
Despite Israel and Syria remaining in a state of belligerence, Druze students continued to attend university in Damascus until the outbreak of the Syrian civil war in 2011. Marriages were arranged across the border, with Druze women from the Israeli Golan relocating to villages in Syria.
The Golan Heights’ famed apples and other agricultural products also made the journey, crossing the border under special arrangements to be sold in Syrian markets.
Those family and community ties persist, but in contrast to past years, Druze on both sides of the border no longer envision reunification as a return to Syrian rule, casting a wary eye on Shaara’s Islamist government and increasingly viewing Israel as the community’s protector.
Israel has offered full citizenship to its Druze residents since 1981. Until recently, the vast majority rejected it, opting for permanent residency,
In 2025, Druze applications for citizenship spiked dramatically and according to data from earlier this year, four in 10 Golan Druze are now naturalized citizens
And while most Druze still carry hope of reunification with families on the other side of the border and UN-patrolled buffer zone, they no longer envision it as part of a return to Syria.
“Under Assad senior, there was a clear sense that Syria was the homeland, and loyalty to Syria was an integral part of one’s identity,” Khateeb told The Times of Israel, referring to Hafez Assad, who ruled Syria from 1971 to his death in 2000. “But the tragedy on the soccer field was the first emotional and cognitive turning point. It reinforced the understanding that the security of Golan residents is first and foremost here in Israel, where they live, rather than in concepts of loyalty to a state across the border.”
A year later, the killings in Sweida would turbocharge those changes.
After the Sweida massacre, “hope died inside us,” Sabbagh said. “We’re all very disappointed. I cannot ever belong to a country that does not respect its own people. Here in Israel, my family is respected, and this is where I want to be.”
Last month, Syrian Druze leader Hikmat al-Hijri once again called for the minority to separate from Syria and become a “confederation” with Israel, saying that Israel is the “only country” that can protect them from another bloodbath.
‘Wolf in a suit’
The Druze, a mystical sect that broke away from Shiite Islam in the 11th century, are thought to number approximately 1 million worldwide, with most living in Syria, Lebanon, Turkey, Jordan and Israel. The Galilee is home to some 150,000 Druze who, in contrast to the Golan Druze, have long pledged fealty to Israel, including participating in military service.
Followers keep many tenets of their religion a secret, but they view Abraham, Moses, Jesus and Mohammed as prophets. The religion does not accept converts and eschews national self-determination, with communities remaining loyal to the country where they live.
Despite supporting Assad throughout most of the Syrian civil war, Druze were initially hopeful following his ouster by Sharaa.
The head of a rebel group formerly linked to al-Qaeda, Sharaa swept through Syria in a matter of days in late 2024, prompting Assad to flee to Moscow and ushering in a new era for the war-torn state.
The stunning ouster came shortly after Israel agreed to halt weeks of fighting in neighboring Lebanon that had significantly weakened Hezbollah, depriving Assad of the support of a heavily armed Iran-backed proxy group that had helped keep him in power over 13 years of civil war.
Israeli officials initially regarded Sharaa warily, given his extremist ties.
Druze in the Golan, however, said they felt a sense of renewed pride in their Syrian identity in the wake of Assad’s fall, especially after Sharaa pledged to respect Syria’s minorities. Celebrations broke out in Majdal Shams, with people saying they were optimistic about the change.
The jubilation did not last. Relations between Syrian Druze, who make up about 3 percent of the country’s population, and the Islamists now in power became tense, though occasional armed clashes were quickly resolved before they could escalate.
“A lot of people were initially relieved when the regime fell in Syria, but then everything changed,” said Butsama, a 20-year-old Golan Druze who asked that her last name not be used.
Ties broke down for good in July 2025, after armed fighting broke out in southern Syria’s Sweida province between Druze locals and Bedouin clans amid tit-for-tat kidnappings. Sharaa sent forces into the area, ostensibly to quell the clashes, but they effectively sided with the clans, carrying out mass slayings in what locals now refer to as “the Druze October 7.”
More than 2,000 people were killed over several days, including 789 Druze civilians, according to the Syrian Observatory for Human Rights monitor. A committee formed by the Syrian government said it had documented the killing of 1,760 people.
Government forces and their allies were accused at the time of executing civilians and committing other abuses. In one video that emerged from Sweida, gunmen in military uniform can be seen asking an unarmed man about his identity. When he replies that he is Syrian, the gunmen demand, “What do you mean Syrian? Are you Sunni or Druze?” When the man says he is Druze, the men open fire, killing him.
The massacres sparked fierce outrage from Druze in Israel, whose leaders urged the government to involve itself in the fighting to protect their Syrian brethren.
Israel responded by launching airstrikes on southern Syria and Damascus with the stated aim of forcing the withdrawal of forces that attacked Druze civilians.
In a Galilee village, local Druze set up a war room to organize shipments of medicine, food and supplies into Syria. Locals continue to monitor threats to Druze living in Syria.
Many Druze saw the government’s attacks in Sweida as an extension of a wave of sectarian violence that broke earlier on Syria’s coast. Clashes between the new government’s forces and Assad loyalists spiraled into revenge killings targeting members of the Alawite minority to which Assad belongs.
After the violence in Sweida, Sharaa vowed to hold perpetrators to account and restated his commitment to protecting rights for Syria’s minority groups.
Western countries with whom Sharaa’s government has successfully courted closer ties with the West appear to have been appeased by his promises.
Last month, the United States removed Syria from the state sponsors of terror list, taking another step to lift severe economic restrictions on Damascus, in a move seen as a vote of confidence in Sharaa.
But Druze have put little stock in Sharaa’s promises.
Adham Safadi, a Majdal Shams resident who lost his daughter in the Hezbollah rocket attack, called Sharaa “a wolf in a suit.”
“We can only hope they get rid of him before he gets rid of the suit,” he said.
Khateeb called the Sweida bloodshed “the most significant catalyst” for the Druze shift in perspective.
“Suddenly, the question was no longer just ‘who are we loyal to?’ but also, ‘who truly protects us when we are in danger,’” she said. “A historical connection to Syria does not necessarily mean the future will be what they expected.”
The changed attitude has been seen most concretely in citizenship numbers. Israel has offered Golan Druze full citizenship since 1981, but for three decades, naturalizations were few and far between.
Druze requests for Israeli citizenship first began to tick up in 2021, reaching 500–600 annually from 2022 to 2024.
In 2025, the trend exploded, with 3,750 people applying. As of March 2026, roughly 40 percent of the Druze living in the four Golan towns are naturalized Israeli citizens, according to Interior Ministry data.
“Applying for Israeli citizenship used to be viewed almost as an act of treason,” Khateeb said. “Today, more and more people understand that they can hold a strong Druze identity and connection to their roots while choosing Israeli citizenship out of considerations for security, the future, rights, and a sense of belonging to the place where they live, as well as contributing their share to the security of the country.”
While Sabbagh and his wife have not yet applied for citizenship — meaning they cannot vote in national Knesset elections — he embraces local civic life. “I’m not so interested in what happens in the Knesset,” he said. “But I’ll vote in the local elections, because I can see and feel what happens on the local level.”
‘We’re good here’
For the younger generation of Druze on the Golan, the situation is still “extremely complicated,” said Butsama, who will study mechanical engineering at the Technion-Israel Institute of Technology in Haifa in the fall.
“We’ve had an identity crisis since forever,” she said. “We have family here, and we have family in Syria. I think almost every household here has relatives on both sides of the border.”
Yet the tragedy on the soccer field and the massacre in Sweida shifted “people’s feelings and ideology,” she said.
Another resident who works in a local pizzeria and requested anonymity noted that despite Israel’s high cost of living, “we’re good here. Even if they opened the border, I’d stay right here. People honor you here, and they leave you alone.”
Safadi noted that young people weren’t just staying in Israel, but also contributing to its armed forces.
“For those born before 1967, family ties to Syria meant people were afraid to apply for Israeli citizenship,” explained Safadi, 50. “But today, more young people are volunteering for the IDF and for the police” — positions that require citizenship.
In March, Sgt. First Class Maher Khatar, 38, of the Combat Engineering Corps, was killed alongside Staff Sgt. Or Demry near the Tzivoni outpost – one of five outposts the IDF set up in South Lebanon after the ceasefire agreement was signed with Hezbollah in November 2024. The two were struck by a mortar shell or a missile fired by Hezbollah as they went out in D9 bulldozers to rescue a stuck tank. Khatar’s was the first military funeral in the town.
Safadi himself is a paramedic for Magen David Adom. Visiting the soccer field where a Hezbollah rocket struck on the early evening of July 27, 2024, he recalled rushing to the location after receiving the emergency call.
Only a couple of minutes had passed since the Iranian-made Falaq-1 rocket struck the soccer field when Safadi pulled into the parking lot. All he could see around him was heavy smoke.
He recounted praying that his 11-year-old daughter, Venes, had changed her mind after telling him she was going to the soccer field.
He walked through the gate onto the soccer pitch, looked to his right, and saw her lying between Alma Fakher Eldin and another friend, Iseel Nasha’at Ayoub, both 12.
Safadi knew there was nothing he could do to save the three girls. He asked for a blanket to cover them and then went on to treat the wounded. Eight minutes later, when IDF soldiers arrived to assist at the scene, he returned to sit beside his daughter.
“Our family was so happy before this tragedy,” Safadi said. “Now, I can’t even bring myself to celebrate at weddings. I say congratulations, and I leave. My wife is a broken mother, and there are 12 grieving families here. All of Majdal Shams lives with this grief now. It is a town in mourning; people are broken.”
Safadi said that on many evenings, the grieving families gather at the renovated soccer field. Now, there are newly planted trees, flowers, and memorials for the 12 children.
The bomb shelter that once stood by the soccer field has been relocated to an adjacent playground. On the day of the attack, the children had only six seconds to reach it safely, Safadi said, and they didn’t make it.
“Whoever was standing on one side of the field survived,” Safadi recalled. “And whoever was on the other side was killed.”
To honor the victims’ memory, the grieving families have established a charitable organization dedicated to education and sports in the community. They have already awarded 100 academic scholarships to help young residents pursue higher education.
Safadi said that despite the tragedy, he describes himself as an optimist, expressing hopes that the closed borders that currently divide his community will soon be flung open.
“I want Israelis to see the Lebanese and Syrian people and know that Arabs are not terrorists,” he said. “My dream is to have open borders—for Syrians and Lebanese to be able to come here and see what life is really like. We want open borders, but without terrorism and without war.”
In June, al-Sharaa said in an interview that his country was working toward a security agreement with Israel, which he said could eventually pave the way for comprehensive peace between the two neighbors.
Separately, Israel and Lebanon signed a US-brokered framework agreement on June 26 aimed at paving the way toward an eventual peace deal.
“If there is peace, I believe people will feel even freer to define their identity without fear or pressure,” Khateeb said. “One can be a Druze who respects their roots, family, and historical connection to Syria, while simultaneously feeling a sense of belonging to the country in which they live.”
Safadi walked to the memorial where people come to light candles.
“What can I say? There is nothing to say.” He paused. “Nothing except the word peace.”
About The Author
