A Pilgrimage to Sadad

For three years now, close friends have insisted that I join them for a respite in their place of origin, a Syriac Orthodox village that is twice named as Sadad in the Bible. Though several Damascenes did not recognize the name of the village when I told them where I was going, it seemed to me that everyone should know about this place that maintains, with nary an investment in cultural heritage, persistent links to its biblical legacy. For instance, my hosts claim to be of Sadad-- both husband and wife were born in the village and can attest to kinship structures that maintain the purity of their ethnic-religious identity. As they tell it, each generation has been born in Sadad. My girlfriend laughed when I told her I was the complete opposite-- a cocktail of persons from different regions and ethnicities in China who immigrated to North and South America (south Caribbean coastline) in the late nineteenth century, not to mention blends of Eastern Europeans who disembarked in Beantown, Mass. about a century ago. Nevertheless, I was recognized by my hosts as a person of the Book, e.g. one of Sammi linguistic descent, and, assuming that I therefore possess intrinsic interest in related matters, they proceeded to identify for me precisely where Sadad appears in the Arabic-language Bible.

I had first heard of Sadad back when we met in 2004 and got a sense of the community when they showed me pictures of their wedding. It truly was a hafla to remember -- more than 1,000 guests with music and dancing until the wee hours of the morning. I had tried to visit Saddad that summer but was held up in Beirut at the time, so it was with great anticipation that I met my friend at Sahat Bab Touma (the Christian area of the Old City). Saddad proved to be well worth the wait -- we settled back comfortably in his newly financed Ford sedan and cruised for an hour or so until we sighted the entrance to the town. Fruit trees -- riman (pomegranate), tin (fig), and mishmish (apricot) dangled over the road with ripe fruit hanging with temptation, making me wonder how Eve was ever seduced by the apple when she had so many other delicacies to nibble on. N. pulled over to the right and showed me a sed, or natural reservoir, that served as the source of water and the cause celebre of Saddad's inhabitance since time immortal. About fifty years ago, the sed dried up and the town began to use another reservoir that continues to supply water and fish (farm-stocked by the Ministry of Agriculture). Yet inexplicably, the water came back this year and now this mythical sed is filled with about 5 feet of water and at least twice as much green algae.

We continued on and N. pointed out all that was "very old," a qualifier which, laughingly, turned into a leitmotif for the weekend. I wasn't able to get a handle on exactly what "very old" could mean in terms of different phases of housing but several of the fourteen churches date back to 1100 AD. Each church is named after a different saint and that evening, during the Festival of St. Sarkis and St. Bakhos which falls on the fourth Sunday after the Festival of the Holy Cross, we visited three of them. I wasn't sure what to expect in terms of a festival, but there was no centralized celebration, ritual gathering of community, or formal preparations (dress, food, etc.). Rather, old and young began to visit churches after sunset and made individual prayers at each altar. Greetings were exchanged communally and people inquired about each other's health, families, and jobs. I was introduced as a close friend (rafeeqa) of both N. and J. from America, and was received warmly with many a handshake. The interior of the churches differed remarkably in just the three that we visited. Due to construction, Mar Girgis (St. Georges) was closed to the public but we picked up a key prior to entry and I was informed that J's grandmother was the guardian of this key until she passed away several years ago, a role that afforded her intimate knowledge of many community relations ;-). This church is known in Saddad for its chandeliers and of the many that hung from the ceiling, one corner chandelier in particular dates back to centuries ago. While paintings on the rear walls of the church had been restored as of four years ago, those on the front walls also bore testimony to the passing of time. As well, R. showed me the baptism chamberpot that has been in use for something like 800 years, up to and including the baptism of both N. and his 3 y.o. daughter. "very old?" "very old."

The two other churches that we visited were linked to the festival -- the very old Mar Bakhos, that is dedicated to the Virgin Mary. Set down into the earthground level with a low ceiling, it was rather scant of ornament, decoration, and lavish investment, and beloved because of this simplicity. Across the street, the main church (Mar Sarkis) was preoccupied with the festive gathering of a youth group (mixed boys and girls of high school age), but we had a chance to look briefly at, you guessed it, more and more ancient paintings. Like in the other churches, the paintings were inscribed with Aramaic, which is still spoken in this town -- although at the present moment, it's understand as a passive language by the older generation rather than an active language by all generations as in Maaloula, a nearby town that's also Syriac Orthodox and on the verge of becoming a household name in the States ("The Bread of Angels" by Stephanie Saldana).

The rest of the evening was filled with the restive activities of weekends in the village -- casual, relaxed conversation punctuated by meals, coffee, and evening walks. I was shown to my bed at 7:30pm, (laughing to myself that this was the same time that the 3 y.o. was being put to bed) but one thing led to another and I finally retired from my hosts at about 1:30am, having fully renewed our friendships.

The next morning came quickly and by noon, we were headed back to Damascus.
But not empty-handed! I fell hard for a certain mezze dish of Sham called makdous, or stuffed eggplant. R. carefully explained to me how she makes this preserved concoction over the course of four days, once a year in the middle of September (about two weeks earlier). The stuffing is attacked first, and this particular variation had red peppers (sweet and hot), almonds, and tomatoes as well as salt, pepper and garlic. These are laid out in the sun to dry for two days. Meanwhile, 30kg of baby eggplants are prepared by salting, soaking, and smushing before also being put in the sun to dry. On the fourth day, the eggplants are split open and stuffed, then stacked thickly in jars with olive oil. Absolutely delicious!

I also became acquainted with a variety of cheese distinct to this region of Homs -- the shanklish. It's basically fermented goat cheese that's rolled in zaatar, itself a very popular spice blend of thyme, sumac, and sesame that one finds all over the region as a topping in all sorts of dishes. Aged about two years, shanklish is as moldy and strong as Danish blue cheese and is excellent when paired with bites of makdoush, or with khubz and a pat of butter. This is certainly the land of finger food!

My lovely hosts also showed me how they make their own araq, and when my Syrian Arabic dialect is good enough, I hope to post the how-to video that we shot in their basement cellar.

My other obsession this weekend was with the construction of houses. New houses, such as the one that houses their barrels of araq, are made from concrete which is a bustling and live industry across the greater region of Syria and Lebanon. What I was primarily interested in, however, was the roofing. Why? According to popular narratives, the dabke (footstomp) dance originated from the communal gathering of village dwellers to make the material for roofs. The sharp, heavy attacks of the footwork are attributed to the stomping of men (and women during wedding parties) as they prepare mud for year-long protection and insulation. I saw several "very old" houses, no longer inhabited of course, that featured this kind of material and design which is associated with rural life. A. took me on several tours to see other roofs which were supported by akhshaab, or criss-crossed wood planks, set in with concrete, as well as small strips of branches bundled together for garden roofing. Each property also featured outside gathering areas covered overhead by latticework that was gracefully draped with grapevines.