Eurasia Press & News
Israel’s exploitation of a rocket attack in Majdal Shams is the latest chapter of the Syrian Jawlan’s ‘forgotten occupation,’ says activist Wael Tarabieh.
On July 27, a missile strike on a soccer field in Majdal Shams, in the Israeli-occupied Golan Heights, killed 12 children. The explosion left a two-meter-wide crater in the artificial turf, with burned motorcycles, scooters, and children’s remains scattered all around.
Israel blamed the Lebanese militia Hezbollah for the attack, vowing to retaliate forcefully. Hezbollah denied responsibility. Al-Marsad, a human rights group based in Majdal Shams, called for an international investigation into the incident to “hold those responsible accountable.”
The strike, which caused the largest number of civilian deaths in an Israeli-annexed area since October 7, heightened tensions and raised fears of a full-scale war between Israel and Hezbollah. But it has also brought the issue of the occupied Golan Heights back into focus, raising questions about the territory’s legal status and political future.
Israel occupied the Golan Heights from Syria in the 1967 War, displacing 95.5 percent of the population and demolishing over 300 villages. Since that time, relations between Israel and the remaining residents of the territory — which is known in Arabic as the Jawlan — have remained tense.
Relations soured further when Israel began building settlements in the area in the 1970s before formally annexing it in 1981 against the wishes of the majority of residents, in a move rejected by most of the world but recognized by the Trump administration in 2019. Unlike the Druze living inside Israel’s pre-1967 borders — who have Israeli citizenship, are represented in parliament across the political spectrum, and mostly serve in the military — the majority of Druze in the Jawlan are not Israeli citizens and reject the state’s authority, identifying instead as Syrians.
To understand more about how the community is faring in the wake of last month’s tragic incident, +972 Magazine spoke to Wael Tarabieh — an artist, activist, and manager of the economic, social, and cultural rights program at Al-Marsad. He explained the impact of the Majdal Shams attack on the Jawlan’s residents, how it relates to their long struggle against Israeli occupation and colonization since 1967, why the territory should not be characterized as Druze but rather Syrian-Arab, and what his vision for the future looks like. The conversation has been edited for length and clarity.
How do you view the July 27 strike on Majdal Shams against the backdrop of the broader regional tensions and ongoing war in Gaza?
The tragic event in the Jawlan must be placed in its broader context. We should avoid treating it in the same manner as the October 7 events — which were erroneously dealt with in Israel and abroad as if they marked the beginning of history, and lacked any context to explain them.
Throughout the first nine months of the war on Gaza, the Jawlan remained removed from the main conflict geographically, if not politically. Residents felt relatively secure that they would not be attacked, and expressed their solidarity with Gaza’s victims.
The daily exchanges between Hezbollah and Israel in the region suggested that any incident in the Jawlan would likely be accidental rather than intentional, given the proximity of Majdal Shams to the Shebaa Farms [an area in northern Israel that Lebanon claims as its own territory], and the seeming improbability that any Arab or Lebanese force would target Syrian Arabs. Israel typically avoids military actions in the Jawlan as it seeks to integrate the area and its residents — despite the fact that 80 percent are not Israeli citizens, holding a legal status similar to East Jerusalemites.
The rocket strike came as a sudden, unexpected catastrophe. Upon arriving at the scene, I witnessed the horrific sight of the children’s mangled bodies and parents desperately searching for their own among the casualties.
How did Israel portray and seek to exploit this incident, and how did the local residents respond?
Media coverage of the event was immediate. Israeli political figures — including Benjamin Netanyahu and Bezalel Smotrich — quickly arrived on the scene, vowing to avenge the children of Majdal Shams.
However, local residents were suspicious of such rhetoric, and many who spoke to the media, including the families of the victims, affirmed that they were not seeking revenge. Residents protested the politicians’ visits, chanting “War criminals are not welcome here” and demanding that they leave. They made it clear they would not accept any killing of children or civilians, nor the instigation of a broader regional war, in the name of the Jawlan’s victims — a stance that was echoed in an official statement by the Religious and Social Authority of the Jawlan.
These recent events have shed light on the complicated relationship between Jawlani residents and the Israel state. How has this relationship evolved over time, and what does the local response to this tragedy reveal about its current nature?
The relationship between us and Israel has evolved through several distinct stages since 1967. The history of the occupied Jawlan is often overlooked and neglected, which is why we at Al-Marsad refer to it as “the forgotten occupation.”
The onset of the Israeli occupation of the Jawlan in 1967 was marked by extensive ethnic cleansing: within weeks, 130,000 Syrian citizens were displaced, leaving only 6,404 people, according to Israeli archives. Yet this mass displacement was not widely recognized as ethnic cleansing, nor were those who fled termed or afforded the protection of “refugees” — particularly by the Syrian government, which referred to those who were forced to relocate within Syria as “displaced persons.” Today, estimates suggest that there are about 500,000 displaced Syrians living in the diaspora, waiting to return to their homeland in the Jawlan.
The physical transformation was equally drastic: 340 villages, farms, and two cities were destroyed, leaving only five villages intact. These remaining villages — Majdal Shams, Buq’ata, Mas’ade, Ein Qiniyye, and Ghajar — endured 16 years of military rule, mirroring the treatment of Palestinians in Israel [after the Nakba]. Israel also eliminated Syrian educational curricula, severed ties with Syria, and attempted to reshape the identity of the remaining Syrian-Arab population.
Then we come to 1981, a pivotal year. I understand this marked the beginning of what’s been called the “identity uprising” in the Jawlan, which included a significant labor strike. Can you walk us through what happened during this period and why it was so important?
The year 1981 marked a major turning point. Israel announced the end of military rule and imposed civil law on the Jawlan, which sparked the uprising and a major, six-month-long strike.
During this period, the Jawlan was besieged, with villages separated from one another by the Israeli military. The army deployed about 16,000 soldiers, matching or exceeding the number of Jawlani residents. For weeks, soldiers went door-to-door with Arabic translators, presenting every adult with an Israeli identity card [conferring permanent residency].
Most people rejected these identity cards, to which Israeli authorities responded with widespread arrests, transforming local schools into makeshift prisons. But after the siege was lifted, residents gathered in village squares to burn the identity cards and send a clear political message.
While the Jawlanis couldn’t overturn Israeli annexation, which was ratified by the Knesset, they succeeded in resisting this imposed identity: the following two decades saw a political and cultural renaissance in the Jawlan. The Jawlanis defined themselves clearly: first as Arabs, second as Syrians, and third as residents of the villages, with most [except those living in Ghajar, who are Alawite] belonging to the Druze-Muslim unitarians (Al-Muwahhidun).
This self-definition contrasted with Israel’s attempts to re-engineer their identity as Druze — a process we call “Druzization.” Therefore, this period was marked by a long cultural and political conflict between the residents and the State of Israel over the nature of Jawlani identity.
This policy of “Druzization” appears similar to the policies Israel implemented toward the Druze of Palestine, where it seems to have been more successful.
Certainly, with the difference that the Druze of Palestine were subjected to these policies in 1948, and even earlier. In 1939, as historian Kais Firro documented, the Jewish Agency had a project to displace 14,000 Druze from Palestine to Jabal al-Arab in Syria. They even purchased land there but failed to convince [Syrian] leaders like Sultan al-Atrash.
This historical work reveals long-standing policies toward Druze in northern Palestine, showing how they were victims of minority manipulation — fragmenting Palestinians into smaller religious groups and separating them from one another. Now, we’re witnessing a counter-awareness process among the youth.
In the Jawlan, this process began in 1967. By 1974, Israel introduced a curriculum for Jawlani Druze based on concepts such as “Druze heritage,” which suggests Druze are an independent nation and religion, rather than Arabs. Israel invented the distorted notion of a “covenant of blood” between Druze and Jews, primarily rooted in their shared service in the Israeli military.
One of the important turning points for the Jawlan, following these years of identity politics, was the outbreak of the uprising in Syria in 2011. How did these events affect the people of the Jawlan?
The 2011 Syrian uprising caused the biggest rift in the Jawlani community since the 1967 occupation. It’s important to understand that my generation’s relationship with Syria was largely indirect: I was born a year after the occupation and have never visited Syria. Before 2011, some Jawlani students were allowed to study at Damascus University, and male sheikhs made annual visits to holy sites in Syria. Our Syrian nationalism wasn’t based on direct benefits or interests, but rather on shared identity.
Additionally, family members who found themselves cut off from one another after 1967 communicated through “shouting valleys”: unable to cross the border to meet in person, relatives would gather on opposite sides of the valley and use megaphones to communicate across the divide. This practice allowed families to maintain contact, share news, and even participate remotely in significant life events such as weddings or funerals. Although the advent of mobile phones and the internet has largely rendered the practice obsolete, the areas have retained symbolic significance.
The 2011 uprising deeply divided the Jawlan community. On March 23, just eight days after the first demonstration in Daraa, the first statement supporting the Syrian people’s demand for freedom and democracy was issued in the Jawlan. This sparked a sharp local divide between regime supporters and opponents, sometimes leading to violence.
This division came at a heavy price. It gave Israel an opportunity to “re-engineer” Jawlani identity: the government encouraged youth movements, promoted Druze Scout projects, and increased funding for other initiatives aimed at “Israelizing” the Druze community.
From 2014, Israeli citizenship applications increased significantly. Groups seeking to “Israelize” the Jawlan found a platform in opposing what Israel called the “bloody regime in Damascus,” arguing that Jawlani residents’ interests lay with Israel rather than Syria.
In 2018, a significant shift occurred when Israel attempted to impose democratic elections in the Jawlan. Historically, the heads of local authorities in the area were appointed by the Israeli Interior Ministry and were required to be loyal to Israel. These councils had not enjoyed any popular, political, or social legitimacy among the Jawlanis.
Only Jawlanis with Israeli citizenship were allowed to run for elected office in 2018, and at that time, they comprised just 20 percent of the population. The rest, who held permanent-resident status and were essentially treated as second-class citizens, were granted the right to vote for those with citizenship, the first-class citizens. This framework met with strong objections from the community. As a result, the first elections in 2018 saw very low participation, with only a few dozen people taking part.
However, the most recent [municipal] elections, held in February 2024, saw wider participation. This increase suggests a potential shift in the community’s approach to these Israeli-imposed local governance structures.
The local authorities, which in my opinion act as agents of the occupation, have begun to monopolize the public space and public issues. They are now seeking to gain some form of legitimacy within the society.
In recent years, there’s also been controversy over Israel’s plans to install wind turbines in the Jawlan. Can you explain what’s behind that project and the issues it has raised for the local Arab-Syrian community?
This wind turbine project represents an additional struggle we’ve faced for the past several years. The project’s origins can be traced back to 2008, when a company called “Mei Golan” [Golan Water] began investigating the possibility of investing in wind energy in the occupied territory. A few years later, Mei Golan was acquired by “Energix,” which started preliminary explorations and preparations for the project in 2013.
Most Jawlan residents were unaware of it until 2017, except for those directly involved — such as farmers who were approached to lease their land. As awareness grew, people initially thought it was purely an economic project. However, they soon realized it was much more significant: a project that could potentially destroy the agricultural character of their lands and transform them into an industrial landscape.
This realization sparked both popular and legal struggles against the project. Every farmer who signed a leasing agreement for Energix to build turbines on their land has since filed a lawsuit to nullify the agreement.
The proposal unveiled by the local planning authorities in 2018 outlined plans for the installation of 24 colossal wind turbines, each standing 200 to 220 meters tall with a 60-meter diameter, equipped with aircraft warning lights. The proposal extends beyond the turbines themselves, encompassing an undisclosed number of 125-meter wind measurement masts and various electrical facilities.
Infrastructure development features prominently, with plans to expand existing agricultural roads, construct new access routes, and lay both above-ground and underground electricity and communication cables. Additional land has been earmarked for further planning.
These turbines would fundamentally alter our landscape and way of life. The most significant negative impacts of the project include restricting the urban expansion of our villages and changing the agricultural character of the area, which would damage our traditional farming practices. We’re also concerned about potential health impacts from the noise and flickering effect of the turbines, as well as the visual disturbance caused by the shadows of their massive blades. Of course, there are various environmental impacts to consider too.
This wind turbine project can also be seen in the context of preparations and infrastructure for settlement expansion in the Jawlan announced by the Israeli government in recent years. According to statements by some officials, they aspire to bring 250,000 Jewish settlers to the Jawlan Heights by 2048, coinciding with the centennial of Israel’s establishment. This broader settlement project includes expanding infrastructure, enlarging current settlements, establishing new ones, extending the railway line to the Jawlan, and creating job opportunities to attract settlers to the region.
The project has gone through several stages and added a new challenge to the many issues already facing the Jawlan community. For instance, Salah Tarif, a former Druze member of the Israeli Knesset, was appointed as director of a subsidiary company to implement the project, likely in an effort to appeal to and persuade the Druze community of the project’s merits.
The opposition to the project has led to confrontations. There have been clashes between soldiers and peaceful protesters, resulting in numerous injuries. Ironically, the same soldiers who used force against peaceful demonstrators are now patrolling Majdal Shams, supposedly for its protection.
Currently, while the Israeli government has approved the project’s implementation, there are ongoing lawsuits regarding land ownership. The court is expected to rule on these matters soon. However, as of now, the project has been temporarily halted due to the events of October 7.
How would you characterize the relationship between the Druze of the Jawlan and those in the Galilee region, inside Israel? What complexities or nuances exist in this relationship?
Before the occupation, the Jawlan historically boasted a rich ethnic, sectarian, and national fabric representing Syria’s diversity: Turkmen, Circassians, Sunni Muslims, Alawites, Druze, and Christians. The Druze were a small minority before the ethnic cleansing of the region. The portrayal of the Jawlan as predominantly Druze is an Israeli invention. In fact, Ein Qiniyye village has Christian families and a church, Majdal Shams has a Christian family, and Ghajar village is Alawite Muslim. The Jawlan isn’t a Druze community, but a Syrian-Arab one.
Regarding relations with Palestinian Druze, there are historical ties through family connections and intermarriages across Lebanon, Palestine, and Jabal al-Arab in Syria. Jawlani Druze played a role in the 1925 revolution against the French mandate, with Majdal Shams, twice burned, being a revolutionary stronghold.
Some Jawlan youth even participated in the 1936 Great Revolt in Palestine, demonstrating that Jawlani integration with their Arab surroundings transcends sectarian distinctions. It’s unjust to limit this to Druze-Druze relations or minority solidarity.
However, there’s a clear political distinction between Jawlani and Palestinian Druze. Jawlan Druze are Syrians with a state to return to, while Palestinian Druze, like all Palestinians, have a special status in the absence of their own state. Grouping all Druze together serves Israel’s agenda, particularly with regard to issues of religion and personal status.
As someone who has lived through significant historical events in the Jawlan, what is your vision for the future? How do you anticipate developments in the region, and what lessons can we draw from the history you’ve experienced?
First and foremost, we must learn from history. Over the years, we’ve seen groups and minorities whose identities were altered through “Israelization.” However, the occupation itself continually reinforces our sense of identity. Today, despite Israel’s attempts to grant the Druze a “special status,” we see contradictions. The Jewish Nation-State Law discriminates against us, yet simultaneously, Druze in Israel-Palestine are losing their youth in Israel’s conflicts and facing extensive land confiscation. These contradictions serve as a catalyst for awareness.
I firmly believe our future is intertwined with those around us, from Palestinians to Syrians. The policies of integration, containment, and subjugation are unlikely to succeed in manipulating people into serving Israeli agendas.
While we’re currently enduring perhaps the most challenging phase and witnessing what amounts to genocide, I remain hopeful. Despite these immense obstacles, I believe that the future of freedom and dignity belongs to us.
