Jonathan Sa'adah

Category: Middle East

  • The Bittersweet Story of Syria’s Christians

    The first in a series introducing my new photo book “Return to Damascus: A Personal Journey.” This post is about my family’s long-term history in Syria and at least some of the story of how we ended up in America.

    “He saved us with a single act of mercy.”

    These words, spoken by my father, referred to Abd el-Qadir al-Jaza’iri’s heroic intervention in Damascus in 1860 – a moment that shaped my family’s destiny and countless others.

    ▲ Abd el-Qadir (1808-1883) was trained as a religious scholar but for 15 years (1832-1847) he led the Algerian resistance against French colonization. After his surrender in 1847 he was imprisoned in France for five years before being released by Napoleon III and moving to Damascus. He lived in the city as a respected figure with a retinue of Algerian followers, so he was uniquely positioned to intervene in the anti-Christian violence of 1860. (US Library of Congress)

    When I set out to understand my family’s roots, I discovered that the story of Levantine Christian migration is both a tale of lucky survival and and stubborn resilience. It stretches from the violence that erupted in Mount Lebanon and Damascus in 1860 to the streets of Montreal, Brooklyn, Detroit-Dearborne, Brazil, Argentina, and many other places today. Syrian Christians have forged new communities across the globe, carrying traditions, languages, and memories with them.

    The 1860 Watershed

    In the spring of 1860, centuries of relative coexistence between Christians and Muslims in the Ottoman Empire shattered. Economic tensions, administrative reforms, and armed conflicts in Mount Lebanon spilled into Damascus, where Druze militias and local mobs attacked Christian neighborhoods. Thousands were killed, and homes and churches were destroyed. It was a catastrophe that reverberated across the Mediterranean world.

    ▲ The Christian quarter of the Old City in Damascus after the 1860 violence In spite of Abd el-Qadir’s intervention an estimated 2,500 Christians died in Damascus alone, with 1,500 homes burned and 270 houses destroyed by looters. (US Library of Congress)

    Amid the chaos, one leader stood out: the Algerian-born Emir Abd el-Qadir. Living nearby, he intervened to protect Christian refugees – placing his family and followers between the mobs and Christians and personally leading women and children to safety.

    ▲ My paternal grandparent’s wedding photo My grandfather is wearing a fez because under Ottoman rule Arab Christians were required to show subservience. My grandmother was not born in Damascus but came from the nearby Christian village of Yabrud.

    This 1860 violence triggered the first large wave of Christian emigration. Families, traumatized by the massacres and fearful of a repeat, turned their eyes westward.

    Pioneers to Canada

    The earliest Levantine Christian settlers in Canada arrived in New Brunswick in 1879. Unlike the later urban enclaves in Montreal and Toronto, these pioneers ventured into small towns – opening general stores and peddling goods across rural routes. They etched their names into local histories as hardworking merchants who bridged cultural divides. Many never expected to settle permanently. They did though, building homes, marrying local partners, and raising children who knew their Syrian history only through photographs and stories passed down at the dinner table.

    America’s Mass Migration

    Simultaneously, a much larger exodus was underway to the United States. Steamship companies marketed opportunities in Philadelphia, Chicago, and New York – highlighting factories hungry for labor and the potential for a better life. Between 1860 and 1914, nearly half of Mount Lebanon’s Christian population emigrated, with Syrians joining the ranks of what was referred to at the time as “the new Americans.”

    In Philadelphia, Syrian entrepreneurs opened fruit stands and textile shops. In Chicago, they staffed steel mills during the city’s rapid expansion. My father, who left Damascus in the 1920s for Beirut and later America, found work in a Vermont school teaching Arabic and in a couple of nearby churches as an Universalist minister. Like many, he sent letters back home – describing snowdrifts blocking roads and the smell of pine forests in ways that made our family’s memories of olive orchards and souks feel like distant dreams.

    ▲ Mounir Sa’adah, my father, on the porch of the Universalist Church in Woodstock, Vermont, where he served as minister from 1946-1964. (Ken Miner, Photographer)

    A Special Bond with France

    Across the Atlantic, France held a unique allure for Levantine Christians. The French “Protectorate” over Lebanon and Syria (1920-1946) created educational, linguistic, and administrative ties, making Paris a natural destination for students and professionals. Catholic missions in Beirut and Aleppo funneled promising young Christians into French universities, where they studied law, medicine, and literature.

    After graduation, some returned home; others remained in France, blending into Parisian neighborhoods. Their emigration differed from North America’s because they often enjoyed closer political ties and shared religious networks – and yet, they encountered challenges of assimilation and identity that echoed those of their North American counterparts.

    ▲ Syria’s complicated history with France In the text I put “Protectorate” in quotes because the reality is that France forcibly prevented Syrians from forming their own independent nation. These are buildings bombed by the French in 1920, at the same time the roof of the main souk was shot up. (US Library of Congress)

    Economic and Social Drivers

    These early migrants were motivated by more than fear. Steamship agents sold tales of golden opportunities, churches organized sponsorships, and community letters home detailed business successes. Young men also sought to avoid Ottoman military conscription, which often meant years of service under harsh conditions.

    This “emigration fever” spread quickly. Prosperity stories – of peddlers returning with wagons full of cash – encouraged others to risk the voyage. Similar stories were repeated by migrants to Mexico and South America. Families pooled savings to buy single tickets, hoping to reunite later. Missionaries and diaspora societies provided lodgings, language lessons, and job placement assistance.

    Preserving Culture in the Diaspora

    Diaspora communities across Canada, the United States, and France worked hard to preserve their culture. Churches taught Arabic and Aramaic liturgies; social clubs hosted dance nights; local grocers sold za’atar and ma’amoul; newspapers in Arabic bridged generations. Families celebrated Christmas with mezze spreads, blending Levantine recipes with North American traditions.

    Through these practices, they maintained a strong sense of identity – one that connected them to the villages of Mount Lebanon, the courtyards of Damascus, and the stone village of Ma’lula. Yet, each new homeland shaped them in turn, creating unique hybrid cultures that were neither fully Syrian nor completely Western.

    Weaving Family and Diaspora

    My own family’s journey followed these patterns. My paternal grandparents remained in Damascus where my father was born in 1909, later attending the American University in Beirut. In 1946, he and my mother traveled to Vermont. After departing the Middle East, he never returned for any extended period, yet It remained a strong part of him.

    My mother, who was not Syrian but Armenian, had three children with my father, of which I was in the middle. The book “Return to Damascus” is loosely about my father’s own pilgrimage to Damascus in 2000 when he was ninety years old and where he retraced his arc: from the United States back to the streets he had grown up on.

    ▲ Early 1990s family trip to Montreal to purchase Syrian groceries We drove up from Vermont on a day trip to shop in a small Syrian grocery store. I have my arms around my parents and the woman on the left (next to my wife, Beth) is Abbe Sawabini, who married into a Palestinian family and lived in Burlington, Vermont.

    Setting the Stage for Cultural Preservation

    History plays an important role in my photography book. The images of Ma’lula, the candid portraits along with the streets and places of Damascus, carry deeper meaning for me because of the family diaspora story. But our stories are by no means unique. My family’s history reminds me that many family photo albums hold stories of departure and return, of belonging and loss. But for me the journey from Damascus to Montreal is not just geographical – it is a testament to the enduring spirit of Levantine Christians who carried their heritage across oceans and generations.

    “Return to Damascus: A Personal Journey” can be pre-ordered from Phoenicia Publishing at a discount for delivery in November.

  • The Other Hagop

    About 1925. Hagop has his arms crossed, on the right.
    About 1925. Hagop Topalian has his arms crossed, on the right.

    I’ve been reading Paris 1919, a multi-threaded account of the six month period at the end of World War One when the French, British, and American leaders met in Paris to sort out the debris from the war and set the way forward. Nobody comes out looking too good. The author is a Canadian and the grand-daughter of Lloyd-George.

    Embedded in the book are stories of many ethnic groups and how the Paris Conference attempted to deal with their claims. The Armenians were a medium-sized piece in this puzzle. What remained of them was a ragged, male-depleted group living outside the bounds of present-day Turkey. What supported them at the conference were the Americans, who actually had tried to help the Armenians as they were being slaughtered by their Ottoman tormentors.

    Hagop Topalian – the other Hagop – had been lucky. His parents Kevork and Ardem lived in Cairo, where he was born in 1897. The family had a relatively safe place to grow up. At least it was safer than Konya, in the Anatolian highlands, where my mother’s family was from.

    Some time soon after the remains of my maternal side of the family settled in Alexandria (about 1920) Hagop became a family friend, and remained one right up until his death in the late 1980s. The photo that you see him in here is a scan from an 8-10 silver contact print (it’s cropped in this blog version), shot complete with Somali camel guides.

    Back to the book, though.

    Perhaps if you identify yourself as long-generational from England, France, or the United States the experience of reading it is different, but I was quite aware of the different ethnic groups being discussed and found myself getting critical as I read about “my” tribes. The story of the Armenians was horrible, and told with details I had never read. I had a hard time stomaching that the author allows the Turkish side to even voice the argument that Armenians were traitors, but she does. On the other hand, it doesn’t really matter. As the UK/FR/US leaders politicians shifted their view eastward (and past the Balkans, where they made enough of a hash) their objectives also shifted – from at least an attempt at power/economics balanced with societal/ethnic fairness to more obvious self-interest: mainly buffering the new Bolsheviks and the black stuff that pooled up on the ground around Mosul. They knew that a military based on a liquid petroleum had a big advantage over one burning coal, and Mosul looked like a good supply bet – especially for the British. Anyway, as was said, “who’s ever going to remember the Armenians?”

     

     

  • Hagop the optician

    Hagop the optician
    A large number of Armenians lived in Damascus, including this man with his two sons. I felt a connection to Hagop because his family endured the same Turkish/Ottoman exodus that had engulfed my mother’s side of the family. Added to that connection was his name – Hagop. It was the same as an elderly man who had been a surrogate grandfather to me.

    On this day Hagop was displeased. He complained to me (in English) that his sons were not as capable of running the store as he was. Here they don’t look happy either. He probably wasn’t an easy person to work for.