FARDIS, Lebanon (AP) — Alma Ayman Fakhr al-Din, an energetic 11-year-old with a love for basketball and language learning, was playing soccer a week ago in Majdal Shams, a Druze village situated in the Israeli-controlled Golan Heights, when tragedy struck as a rocket landed.

Ayman, her father, rushed to the scene, desperate for news of his daughter. "I saw a little girl in a body bag," he recounted, as he recognized her from her shoes and her delicate hand. "At that moment, I knew there was no hope—she was gone." Alma was one of 12 children and teenagers among the dead.

The wave of sorrow brought the Druze community together in grief and underscored the intricate nature of their cultural and religious identity, spread across several countries: Israel, the Golan Heights, Lebanon, and Syria.

Who are the Druze?

The Druze sect emerged in the 10th century as a branch of Ismailism, a Shiite Islamic interpretation. Conversion to the faith is prohibited, and most of its religious practices remain closely guarded. The global Druze population is around one million, with the largest numbers in Syria, over 250,000 in Lebanon, 115,000 in Israel, and around 25,000 in the Israeli-held Golan Heights, seized from Syria in 1967 and annexed in 1981.

Though separated by borders, the Druze communities have evolved uniquely, all while striving to preserve their heritage. In Syria and Lebanon, Druze have often sided with Arab nationalism and are allied with the Palestinian cause. In Israel, many Druze have gained esteem for their loyalty and military service, with many serving in elite combat units, including operations in Gaza. Meanwhile, the Druze in the Golan balance their historical Syrian identity with living under Israeli occupation.

Over the years, the communities, despite their differences, have managed to maintain ties. But the recent war in Gaza has strained those bonds—particularly after the deadly Majdal Shams blast, which has raised fears of deepening rifts should the region descend into broader conflict.

“Our children”

In the aftermath of the attack, Israeli political figures quickly converged on Majdal Shams, hoping to show their support for the devastated families and emphasize the enduring ties between the Druze community and Israel. Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu visited the soccer field, saying, “These children are everyone’s children; they belong to all of us.”

However, his appearance also triggered protests from locals, who accused officials of leveraging the tragedy for political gain.

While many Druze in the Israeli-controlled Golan have opted to retain their Syrian identity, approximately 20% have accepted Israeli citizenship, according to Yusri Hazran, a Druze scholar at Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Hazran noted that this number has grown over the past 15 years as Israel has further integrated the territory, whose annexation remains largely unrecognized by the global community.

Elsewhere, Druze within Israel, particularly in the north, embrace their Israeli identity—with around 80% of Druze men enlisting in Israel’s military, according to official data. This rate surpasses the approximately 70% enlistment rate of Jewish men. Notably, ten Druze soldiers have died in the war with Gaza—a significant number given the community’s small size.

Sheikh Moafaq Tarif, the Druze spiritual leader in Israel, was not surprised by the national outpouring of solidarity. “In times of mourning, people express their support,” he said. He hoped, however, that this support would endure even after the headlines fade.

“Many things need fixing,” he said, referencing the discrimination the Druze face in Israel. He noted that a third of the community’s households still lack electricity, a glaring issue in a supposedly modern nation. The Druze were particularly outraged by a 2018 law that officially defined Israel as a Jewish state without mention of its minority communities.

Meanwhile, in the Golan, some Druze still feel a strong affiliation with the neighboring Arab nations. Hail Abu Jabal, an 84-year-old Druze activist who has previously been jailed for challenging Israeli authority, echoed these sentiments.

“Before the borders were drawn by colonial powers, this was all one region, and the Druze were unified,” he said. “We share family ties, marriages, and a deep sense of belonging.”

Divided by borders

In the southern Lebanese village of Fardis, near the Israeli border, rocket fire is part of the daily rhythm, a bitter reminder of the ongoing skirmishes between Israel and Hezbollah. From Wissam Sliqa’s house, charred trees stand as a reminder of Israeli strikes breaking through the otherwise green landscape.

Sliqa, an advisor for Lebanon’s top Druze religious leader, voiced his concern, accusing Israel of sowing discord among the Druze. “This is yet another attempt to divide us,” he said, urging the Druze in Israel to refuse participation in the Gaza conflict and the volatile situation along the Lebanese-Israeli border.

Druze in Lebanon and Syria tend to refrain from criticizing their brethren in Israel, even as more openly advocate that Israeli Druze refuse military service. "They are doing what they believe is right for them," Sliqa said. “We don’t impose our views on them, and they don’t dictate theirs to us.”

The Druze communities in Lebanon are mostly concentrated in the central mountains, though some villages near the border house both Druze and Muslims or Christians as neighbors. Historically, the Druze of Lebanon and Syria have leaned into Arab nationalism. They point proudly to their role in resisting European colonialism and their strong support for the Palestinian movement.

“We’ve never viewed ourselves as a separate ethnic minority but as part of the Arab-Islamic fabric of the region,” explained Wael Abou Faour, a Lebanese Druze lawmaker.

One of the most influential Druze leaders, Walid Jumblatt, has a storied history — from once leading forces alongside Palestinians against Israeli troops in Lebanon to currently navigating the complex sectarian politics that define Lebanon. Despite his community’s small size, he is a major player in Lebanon’s political landscape.

Recently, Jumblatt engaged in a public dispute with Sheikh Tarif, exchanging harsh words over the Israel-Hamas war. Jumblatt condemned Druze soldiers fighting in Gaza, while Tarif reasserted that his people were proud citizens of Israel’s democracy. Jumblatt responded with outrage, denouncing the Israeli offensive, which he described as an attack on humanity.

Commenting on the discourse, Tarif said, “He is entitled to his opinion in Lebanon; we are Israelis, and we are proud of it.” Nevertheless, despite political differences, the overall Druze communities maintain a spirit of mutual support, especially in humanitarian matters.

Small white coffins

The rocket attack in Majdal Shams has deepened concerns about the Druze community’s fragility in the face of escalating conflicts, potentially drawing them further into a larger regional war.

Israel has pointed fingers at Hezbollah, blaming the militant group for the rocket that targeted Majdal Shams, citing the rocket's type and trajectory. Hezbollah, however, has issued an unusual denial.

Jumblatt, despite his political differences with Hezbollah, supported the group's denial and accused Israel of stoking division by laying blame on the Iranian-backed group.

This volatile situation escalated further when, on Tuesday, an Israeli airstrike in Beirut killed a senior Hezbollah commander, prompting a sharp response from Hezbollah. A day later, a blast in Tehran killed Hamas leader Ismail Haniyeh, with Iran accusing Israel and promising retribution.

As tensions rise and the region braces for possible revenge attacks, many Druze in the Golan Heights are urging peace. A statement from the local Druze religious committee emphasized, “We reject further bloodshed in the name of avenging our children.”

Hundreds of Syrian Druze gathered in the nearby town of Quneitra, holding a memorial service for the 12 children who died, placing the blame directly on Israel.

In Majdal Shams, the community mournfully buried 12 small white coffins in the span of just 24 hours.

“No one wins in war; there’s only loss,” said Bhaa Brik, a resident of Majdal Shams.

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Lidman reported from Tel Aviv, Israel. Contributions were made by Associated Press journalists Alon Bernstein and Leo Correa from Majdal Shams, Golan Heights.