By Doreen Abi Raad
The scent of cinnamon from freshly prepared bowls of custard filled a communal kitchen at the Syriac Center before the daily meal preparations began.
Reem checked on a casserole in the oven, while Marina filled cups with water from a kettle.
“In this floor we are like a whole family: cleaning, working, cooking, chatting together,” said Rosemaria as she chopped tomatoes.
The women share a common bond as Christian refugees who face an uncertain future after fleeing the civil war in Syria.
St. Gabriel Syriac Orthodox Church houses the center, which houses about 150 refugees in this mountain village 19 miles north of Beirut.
As the women worked, they shared stories of lives turned upside down. They asked to be identified by pseudonyms to protect family members still in Syria.
Rosemaria’s son was enrolled in college in Damascus, Syria, until October when a bomb hit close to where he was living, sending pieces of shrapnel into his apartment window. He returned home to Hassake after that close call. But before long, people were kidnapped and held for ransom. Some of the missing turned up dead. So the family left, riding the bus to Damascus for 22 hours, then taking a taxi to Lebanon.
Rosemaria said when she asked the bus operator if the journey was safe, “He told me, ‘God only knows.’ So I brought my Bible with me for the trip and my aunt carried her Blessed Mother statue — the most important things.”
“We sold our house at a small price just to escape and took only whatever we could gather,” she said.
Marina, a mother of three girls, is from Qamishli. One daughter, 12, a top student in her class who never wanted to miss a day of school, was particularly affected by the fighting, she said.
“When the windows in her school were blown out, my daughter said to me, ‘It makes no difference. Every day we are getting threatened, so let’s die,'” Marina recalled.
“I told her, we should fear nothing, because only what is God’s will will be done. I wasn’t afraid for me, but for my daughters and husband,” she said.
Like other refugees in Lebanon, Marina and her family faced a new set of challenges. They arrived too late in the school year for the girls to enroll in classes. Besides, most schools are overwhelmed with refugees.
“It’s so hard, because every day my 15-year-old daughter is crying to go to school. I try to convince her that her life is better here; at least now there are no kidnappings and killing, and we can stay in a place that is safe,” Marina said.
Rosemaria said she worries about her sons finishing college, which is free in Syria at government-run institutions. Her husband, who worked as a schoolteacher, sat quietly at a small kitchen table, playing solitaire. Every so often he stood up from his chair and paced.
“He has a master’s degree,” she said of her husband. “And he’s a poet and a writer.” That prompted him to take out his wallet to show photos of the couple in earlier days, when no lines of worry etched their faces.
Laughter erupted, prompting Reem to acknowledge the reality the three families share.
“We are longing for a smile,” she said. “We miss smiling and laughing, because everything is sad and heavy. I forget for a minute. Then, anytime I smile or laugh I feel guilty afterward, because I remember my family (members) who are still there.”
George, a middle-aged father of three who managed a transportation company, passed the kitchen and joined the conversation.
“We don’t want to talk politics, but it’s a fact the Christians are being targeted,” he said.
“First of all, the revolution was to put in democracy and freedom. But it appeared very quickly that those who are working on the ground as opposition are not opposition. They are Jabhat al-Nasra, a branch of al-Qaida.
“They are beheading anyone who has ideas contrary to theirs, even moderate Muslims. They are kidnapping, and they are demanding ransoms,” he said.
Reem’s brother, Youssef, 25, showed up with a laptop with videos and photos of how life once was.
“We had religious freedom in Syria. No home was without a cross on its door. Now (in Syria) we are hiding our Christianity. One way or another, we are targeted,” he said.
Closing the laptop, Youssef listed concerns: Refugees have no jobs, and Lebanon’s unemployment is high, money is running out and life in Lebanon is far more expensive than in Syria. Even local cellphone calls cost 35 cents a minute in Lebanon compared to about $1 for 20 minutes in Syria.
Like other refugees, Youssef hopes to start a new life in another country. While a few of the families at St. Gabriel have received visas to European countries in recent months, those opportunities appear to be drying up. Youssef’s application to Belgium was denied because he is single and priority is being given to families. Yet families also are being denied visas, he said.
Many of the refugees are considering picking up and leaving yet again, believing their chances to emigrate to Europe would be better in Turkey.
Meanwhile, waves of refugees continue to flow into Lebanon, Jordan and Turkey. Lebanese President Michel Sleiman said March 14 the number of Syrian refugees in Lebanon had reached 1 million, equal to one-quarter of the country’s population, and that Lebanon lacked the “physical, human or geographical capabilities to provide the appropriate assistance.”
St. Gabriel parish also needs help. Although it is receiving assistance from Caritas Lebanon and Caritas Germany, nongovernment organizations and private donors, much more help is needed, said Tony Boulos, who directs the center providing outreach to refugees.
“Every day I dream that all their problems are solved,” Boulos says. “They are like my family.” – CNS