I am so eager to talk about my background history because it really shaped me to who I am today. My parents were both born in Syria in the 1970’s. Life in Syria at that time was not simple. The Syrian Jews established themselves rather well, despite living among the duress of the Syrian government. Teachers were very strict in school; hitting students was an acceptable form of discipline. Punishments for arriving late to class ranged from sitting in front of the teacher to standing on one foot in the back of the room for the entirety of the class. The Syrian Jews were oppressed by Syrian government officials; no Jew had the faintest knowledge of the Syrian government and no Jew was allowed to know. The Jews lived in a tightly-knit community; however, they were not able to do whatever they wanted. There was no such thing as freedom; they weren’t allowed to travel to any distant country, nor were they allowed to publically state their own opinions. Despite the misfortunes of being born as a Syrian Jew, the greatest advantage was being able to connect and bond with each other and be a part of the growth of the large community.
The story that I am about to tell is very emotional to me and it is what helped me become a better and a more influential and friendly person today. The word Jido is Arabic for grandfather. My old Jido lived a simple life. He worked in a pharmacy with his brother. He had a wonderful wife and seven blessed children, one of which is my beautiful mother. For Syrians, work began at 8:00 AM in the morning, paused at 1:00 PM for a three-hour lunch break, and resumed at 4:00 PM until shutdown at 7:00 PM.
As my Jido was getting ready to close the pharmacy store at 1:00 PM before the break, two unknown Syrian men dressed in elegant suits stop by his store. Abruptly, a gun was pulled out and pointed into my Jido’s face.
“Sawi mitil lah min ilak hella,” these men said. This meant “do as we say now.”
Jido didn’t know what was going on, but he had to listen or else a .22 Caliber bullet would penetrate his skull. They covered him with a head mask and directed him to a white car. It was a quiet neighborhood; no one knew this cunning scene occurred. They took Jido to the “Muchabarat,” which resembled an undercover police station, only in Syria, it was completely controlled by callous and tyrannical government officials.
As the day proceeded, my mother and her siblings became worried. They were all wondering where Jido was since he would normally be back home by then. They went to check the pharmacy store, but it was closed. They went to check a nearby hospital to see if he was admitted to the hospital for any specific reason, but he wasn’t. They went to the police station to ask about him; at this point, they thought he had been kidnapped. No one knew what had happened, not even the “Muchabarat” (strangely enough.) My mother’s family spent an entire week just searching for Jido and inquiring about what happened to him on December 25, 1987, the day he went missing. Tears of suffering filled their eyes day and night. Every day that passed was like another eulogy said at a funeral.
Two full clueless and devastating months after Jido was ‘taken,’ his wife and children found out that he was near the “Muchabarat.” They went to visit Jido at an unknown government site. Jido appeared through a jail screen to talk to his weeping wife and kids. He wasn’t alone; four government officials with rifles stood by him monitoring the conversation and making sure Jido doesn’t say anything threatening. In fact, he didn’t say anything, neither did my mother and her siblings. They didn’t recognize Jido. He had lost more than half of his weight, grown a ten-inch beard, and was wearing dirty clothes. The entire meeting was just his family bawling in front of him. A long and gruesome week and a half passed until my mother’s family was informed about Jido’s life in the “Muchabarat.” He was locked up in a five by five-foot empty and silent room with one hole in the corner to perform all of his needs and duties. Food was thrown into his room once every day, and Jido had to assemble all the food on the floor to eat a barely-satisfying meal. Jido had still not known why he was put in this horrible prison. My mother and her family tried talking to the police to find out the reason for Jido’s imprisonment, and they requested a court trial for this injustice. However, everything was controlled by the Syrian government, and the “Muchabarat” was the one to make the decisions.
Jido’s family visited him on a regular basis. Many times, his family would make food for him and hand it over to the officials to give to Jido, but they would either just eat the food or throw it in the garbage in front of Jido and not give him anything. That was just the beginning. A rough year and a half passed until the “Muchabarat” announced to Jido’s family why he was imprisoned.
Two months before Jido was imprisoned, he tried to visit his two sisters and brother who had fled from Syria to Switzerland. He traveled to Switzerland, but once he arrived, a letter was sent to him from his siblings apologizing for not being in Switzerland. They went to Israel and had included in the letter a ticket to Israel. He decided to go to Israel. Once he arrived, he was faced with bad news. His brother had passed away. He stayed in Israel for two weeks, mourning over the loss of his brother while trying to enjoy the time he had with his sisters. Since Israel and Syria were enemies, Jido didn’t take a direct flight from Israel to Syria, rather, he flew back to Switzerland and then booked a separate flight to Syria. He returned to his family and everything seemed fine until he was ‘kidnapped’ two months later. The government suspected Jido of being an Israeli spy. At the same time, Jido’s other brother had gone on a business trip to Italy. When he returned to the Syrian airport, he was automatically handcuffed and taken to the “Muchabarat” for suspicion of him being a spy like his brother.
The “Muchabarat” tortured Jido. They would ask him the same question every week: “Why did you go to Israel?” His answer would always be, “To visit my siblings!” And then the suffering began. They would pull out some of his teeth, play with his nerves by asking him the same question after showing him a video of what they did when prisoners didn’t answer the question to their expectations, and struck him regularly. Jido would have to live like this for the next four years of his life as the “Muchabarat” made a decision that his sentence in the prison would be extended.
Life changed for the Syrian Jews, especially for Jido’s family. Meanwhile, Jido’s story became very popular in America. Politicians and congressmen met and spoke about Jido, and in a month’s time, they met with the Syrian president to speak about the unjust imprisonment and treatment of Jido and the Syrian Jews. After much consulting and negotiating, the “Muchabarat” released Jido from prison and all of the Syrian Jews were granted the right to travel or move to wherever they want, even Israel, in 1992.
Life did not get any better for my old Jido. He started getting hallucinations every time he got into a car or was in a closed room. He became depressed most of the time, and he suffered many diseases due to the poor conditions in his prison cell. Nevertheless, he was very delighted to live his normal life again. Jido now lives in Israel with his beautiful and happy family, except for my mother who lives here.
Many Jews visit Jido in Israel to receive blessings from him and talk about the dangerous time he lived through. Many private films have been made honoring my Jido’s bravery throughout his tough life. Many books have been written by politicians about my Jido’s prison days. The most important thing among the numerous things that I learned from Jido’s experiences is that you must enjoy every second of your life because you never know what challenges will come your way in the future.
My parents were fortunate to go to Damascus University in Syria, which is now destroyed to rubble and dust. Schooling in Syria was very complex and difficult. There was only one test that everyone had to take in high school (similar to SATs) that determined what they were able to study in college. A certain score in a bracket grants you the opportunity to study a specific field. The medical field required the highest score on the highest bracket. Pharmacy was second, Engineering was third, and the rest were all small and uncommon fields. Within those specific brackets, there are more specific brackets that branch out. For example, there are four different types of specific brackets within the engineering bracket that correlate the four different types of engineering. There was only one chance to take this test and if you didn’t take it, you weren’t granted the opportunity to study in college. My parents received the engineering bracket on their tests, but my mother received a higher specific bracket within the engineering bracket than my father. Both of my parents were ambitious, especially my mother. They both took on things upon themselves to improve and do better. My mother continued to study engineering and graduated the top of her class while my father took on a teacher job in Mathematics and taught most of the Syrians in the Jewish community. My mother received a Bachelor’s degree in Civil Engineering from City College after having moved here with my father. My mother sacrificed her career in Civil Engineering to take care of me when I was born while my father took on a salesman job to support the family. My parents set the mode for me to succeed. I grew and adapted into that ambitious character by my Syrian parents using their strict morals to discipline me and help me excel aggressively; I was not allowed to watch TV or go out with my friends until I finished my homework and studying. I became highly influenced in Math since my father instilled Mathematics in me when I was a little boy. My tightly-knit Syrian Jewish community along with my ambitious and strict parents shaped me to the academically aggressive person I am today. I thank my parents for everything because without them and without my background, I wouldn’t be the person I am today.
