BEIRUT — Recent violence in Syria’s southern province of Sweida has killed hundreds of people, shaken the country’s fragile new leadership and drawn in neighboring Israel.
At the center of the crisis are the Druze — a secretive religious minority that has long carved out a precarious identity across Syria, Lebanon and Israel, preserving strict traditions while adapting to regional powers.
That balancing act, once key to their survival, is now under strain as upheaval in Syria and Israel’s increasingly assertive regional posture leave the community newly exposed.
Closed to outsiders and often misunderstood, the Druze faith emerged in the 11th century as an offshoot of Ismailism, a branch of Shiite Islam. Though Druze share historical roots with Islam, they do not identify as Muslim. Their monotheistic religion blends elements of Greek philosophy, Hinduism and Neoplatonism, with sacred texts accessible only to a select few. That mysticism has long drawn both fascination and suspicion, and led some Muslim scholars over the centuries to brand them as heretics.
More than half of the roughly 1 million Druze worldwide live in Syria, making up about 3% of the country’s population. Most of the rest are spread across Lebanon and Israel, as well as the Golan Heights, which Israel captured from Syria in the 1960s.
The Druze traditionally pledge loyalty to the state they reside in — a principle rooted in their religious doctrine, which prioritizes pragmatism and self-preservation over political confrontation. Although that stance has led Druze in Syria, Lebanon and Israel onto divergent political paths, a strong transnational bond endures: one of kinship, shared memory and mutual protection.
“The strange thing is that this community has survived until today in one of the most violent places in the world, but we have a philosophy, and I do believe that philosophy is what saved us,” said Fadi Azzam, a Syrian Druze novelist and poet from Sweida who fled during the civil war.
Under Syria’s former ruler, Bashar Assad, the Druze largely avoided open rebellion while also resisting deeper integration with the regime. Many served in the Syrian army, but local militias maintained a degree of independence, often policing their own areas, including Sweida, the heartland of the Druze community.
That uneasy equilibrium has been tested in recent months as Syria’s new government, led by President Ahmad al-Sharaa, has moved to rein in the complex web of armed groups left over from the civil war. But it reached a boiling point this week when deadly clashes erupted in Sweida between Druze fighters and Bedouin tribespeople. That soon pulled in government forces, who were dispatched to quell the violence but began clashing with Druze gunmen distrustful of Syria’s new rulers.
More than 500 people have been killed amid the unrest, according to the Syrian Observatory for Human Rights, a war monitor based in Britain.
The crisis has also drawn in Israel, which has pledged to protect the group despite the wishes of many Syrian Druze.
In Israel, the violence prompted domestic unrest among members of the country’s own small but influential Druze community, who held protests, blocked roads and in some cases forced their way into Syria. The Israeli military responded by striking the heart of Damascus, the Syrian capital, but for many Syrian Druze, those attacks have only deepened their isolation from the country’s fledgling government.
“The Druze right now are between a rock and a hard place,” said Reda Mansour, an Israeli Druze historian and professor at Reichman University in Tel Aviv, Israel.
For now, a fragile ceasefire appears to be holding. But the conflict has reopened deeper wounds and recalled persecution that stretches back centuries to the Ottoman Empire and the Arab nationalist regimes of the 20th century. In the 1950s, a brutal campaign by President Adib Shishakli of Syria left hundreds of Druze dead and their towns shelled. That trauma shaped a doctrine of self-reliance that still informs Druze militancy in Syria.
“If we were to classify Middle Eastern societies, there are farmers and the shepherds, and there are those who trade, and those who fight — the Druze are fighters,” Azzam said. “This is part of the mystery about them.”
Beyond Syria, the Druze have carved out roles in other countries: asserting influence in some places and pledging loyalty in others.
In Lebanon, where they make up about 5% of the population, powerful Druze families have long acted as power brokers, balancing alliances with Christian, Sunni and Shiite factions through wars and crises.
In Israel and the Israeli-controlled Golan Heights, where the Druze number around 145,000 in total, the community occupies a unique space.
Unlike other Arab minorities, Druze men are conscripted into the Israeli military, and many serve in high-ranking military or political positions. Despite that, Druze citizens have expressed frustration over unequal treatment and a 2018 law that undermined their standing as full citizens.
“The Druze formula has been that whatever country you are in, you have to be the most patriotic community to survive,” Mansour said.
That approach has served the Druze for centuries — but in Sweida, its limits have been laid bare.
On Thursday, many residents emerged after hunkering down in their homes for days. They found a scene of carnage, with gutted shop fronts, rubble-strewed streets and still-smoldering tanks. Hundreds of miles away, Azzam was absorbing the loss of his aunt to the bloodshed and reckoning with what the future holds.
“I am not optimistic, but I am also not pessimistic,” he said. “Today is a raw day, and my feelings are also raw.”