Bab Touma, the historic Christian Quarter, was twinkling with Christmas lights and abuzz with carols. As I strolled past crowds of Christian and Muslim families scurrying to the square, my eyes followed them to their destination - the dazzling Christmas tree in the center square. Often said to be one of the largest in the Middle East, the tree was a destination for Syrians near and far each December. Nearby, shoppers were piling up their bags with embroidered silk cloths, hand-carved wooden boxes, and freshly-mixed perfume along with the latest "Barbie" dolls and toy cars. Yes, this was my first Christmas in Damascus, celebrating together the life of a man so well respected by Christians, Muslims, and many others alike.
In 2006 I spent one of the most beautiful years of my life living in Damascus, funded by a US government scholarship. Unlike other Middle Eastern countries I had lived in as a student or US Foreign Service Officer, I experienced in Damascus a religious pluralism and tolerance amongst the people that I had not witnessed before. I had Syrian friends that were also Sunni, Shia, Catholic, Christian Orthodox, Jewish, Kurdish, Armenian, Palestinian, and Druze amongst others. I saw how many Muslims would visit the Christmas tree in the Old City during Christmas; and how some Christians would eat lunch away from Muslims at work out of consideration for Muslims who were abstaining from food in Ramadan. I experienced a prayer in a church built in the 4th century BC, recited in the same Aramaic language Jesus spoke and that is still spoken in some Syrian villages today.
The Syrian capital in which I lived was a reflection of this multi-culturalism. People of mixed faiths have continually co-existed in the city of Damascus longer than in any other city in the world. To this day, the city had remained largely untouched by global capitalism or brands - peppered with small stores, locally-made goods, and women in very tight jeans or very long and flowy dresses, socializing in the streets. Life seemed simple and relatively safe. Most families had no cars and lived in small one bedroom flats with fold up beds in their living rooms. And nights, before the war, were filled with family, socializing, and friends.
Each holiday season, when I hear calls for generosity, goodwill, and helping fellow man, I remember the random strangers in Syria that would help me on a daily basis. They would help me carry groceries up the 97 stairs to my house, show me how to pay my electric bill in an unmarked office in the middle of the park, and teach me how to fill gas in the roof of my apartment so I'd have hot water again. One time, my mother was visiting me and forgot a pair of shoes she bought at a store. Two months later, the modest store owner found me and gave me the shoes, saying he had been searching for me to give me what I rightfully bought. I was amazed.
Perhaps the city I lived in was a dream; perhaps as a foreigner I did not see the underlying currents of political discontent and sectarianism and was naïve in my appreciation for the generous culture I lived in, where success seemed to be measured by spirit rather than material wealth. But nonetheless, living in Damascus compelled me to rethink my outlook on life and I have remained forever unchanged. I felt a peace in my heart living in a place where people had so much to offer spiritually and at the human level. And it was this spirit that led me to return to the borders of Syria some eight years later, to try to give back to those people that taught me so much about civility, genuineness, and tolerance.
Last year, I traveled with an NGO to serve as a translator for SCM, an organization helping some of the two million Syrian refugees in Jordan. My experiences both humbled and likely forever changed me. When the war in Syria broke out in 2011, I was in disbelief. Like an Ostrich with my head in the sand, I couldn't watch. I thought it would all stop and it didn't. Hundreds of thousands of deaths, and millions of refugees later, it still has not stopped.
What I witnessed and experienced was beyond anything I imagined. I heard of the atrocities of war and sectarianism from peoples lips; saw its marks on their bodies, and its picture in their eyes. I saw refugees living in makeshift camps of tents for over three years, longing to return home, mourning the loss of loved ones, and not permitted to work, study, or to leave the prison-like walls of the sandy desert refugee camps. Life was at a standstill for them, yet in many ways it also was not. I met new widows, new brides, mothers of 14 children, and heard love stories and horror stories all in this makeshift camp. The signs of war, life, birth, and death were all around us.
So many faces and stories touched my soul, not only of the displaced refugees we met, but of those incredible people that volunteered their time, money, and spirits to help strangers in need in a far off land. For the first time in months, a part of my faith in humanity was restored - seeing such integrity, selflessness, and desire to make a difference. There is "good" left in this world - that is what I discovered working with these multi-faith, multi-nationality volunteers. Amidst the bloodshed, pointless wars, sectarian violence, and disregard for humanity...there is still some goodness. Kind acts of charity may not make headlines, but they do exist and continue to touch people's lives. And it seemed that we brought with our foreign accents and sometimes strange mannerisms a sense of hope to those who feel they may be forgotten...a newness in the prison-like camps where time stands still waiting for a war to end.
Sunnis. Shias. Muslims. Christians. Jews. The labels are endless, but what we make of them is our choice. I don't know the future state of the Middle East, but what I do know is that those who wage war over such differences have lost sight of the basic and universal values of human good and unity. The ideal world I dreamed of during my carefree days in Damascus does not exist anymore. But human good and civility still do.
As we approach the holiday season again, I am reminded of my Christmas in Syria, standing aside people of many faiths in the city square around a single tree. But, to be honest, my Christmas in Damascus was more than just that the one day of dazzling lights and holiday cheer. I felt the generosity we often refer to as the "Christmas spirit" almost every day from the Syrians I interacted with: kindness, compassion, tolerance, and a perpetual willingness to help a stranger in their land. And I felt it yet again when I returned last year to the Syrian refugee camps in the volunteers and in the refugees alike. I felt it in the Syrian children, who, when we gave their very hungry tummies something to eat, would insist on sharing half with us as a sign of the hospitality and gratitude they were raised with. This, to me, was the embodiment of the true Christmas spirit, and the human spirit.