"One day we’ll drive from Damascus to Jerusalem"

"I am doing good, thank God. Thank God for everything," says Henry Hamra in a Brooklyn accent which bears no sign of the first 15 years of his life, which he spent in his home country, Syria. 

Hamra can still remember the day his family left Syria thirty-four years ago. His father, Rabbi Yosef Hamra, stood in the kitchen, holding a cup of water, and told him, "I don't know when we’ll drink this water again."  

The decision to leave was hard. His mother could not stop crying, the house held so many memories. They had renovated it the year before, and all her sons had been born there. Yet, at the time, Henry recalls, the place had "no future for us."  

The Hamra family stayed there longer than most. At its peak, the community numbered around 50,000, while some estimates placed the number at 60,000. Already in the 19th century, as the Ottoman Empire began to succumb to encroaching European colonial powers, the emigration of Syrian Jews began. 

Under the Islamic empires, Jews and other religious minorities were typically recognized as dhimmis, or non-Muslim subjects, who were granted protection and allowed a degree of religious and legal autonomy, though they faced some legal and social restrictions. 

As Christian denominations gained influence amid growing European involvement, anxieties over shifting power erupted into sectarian violence. Jews increasingly became victims and emigration accelerated.  

Syria's Jewish community is virtually extinct 

"My time was not as hard as my father’s," explains Henry, referring to Rabbi Yosef Hamra, who was born in 1948, the year of the declaration of the state of Israel. Although sectarian violence targeting Jews had already begun, mass departures began after the 1947 United Nations partition plan, which enshrined the intention to establish a Jewish state in British mandatory Palestine. 

Riots targeting the Syrian Jewish community killed 75, injured hundreds and destroyed parts of the historical Jewish quarter of Damascus. By the end of 1948, only 5,000 Syrian Jews remained.

Life for the remaining Jews in Syria became increasingly difficult. Laws were introduced prohibiting emigration, selling property, freedom of movement, or working in government or banking. While some of these restrictions eased over time, government suspicion meant the community was under constant surveillance by the secret police.  

Looking back, Henry remembers not only the persecution of his faith but also a sense of coexistence. "We were all living together," he says. "I was friends with everyone, even Palestinians." Many people did not even know what being Jewish meant. 

It was his father’s responsibility as rabbi and leader of the dwindling community that convinced the family to stay, despite the growing pressures. Then, in the early 1990s, during a brief relaxation of emigration laws under the Assad regime, the last wave of Jews left, leaving the community virtually extinct. By 1998, only 250, predominantly elderly people, remained. 

"The goal is to build the foundations for a return" 

When a surprise offensive toppled the Assad government just over a year ago, Henry Hamra, at the invitation of the new authorities, seized the opportunity to come back from New York to Syria. He visited his old home and found it in ruins.  

"It was hard to see," he explains, adding that he has now started renovating it. "I want it to be the same as it was," he says, referring both to the house and the possibility of living a Jewish life in Syria. 

After running unsuccessfully for a seat in parliament in the first elections under the new government last year, Hamra founded Syria’s first Jewish NGO. Called the Jewish Heritage in Syria Foundation, it lists 16 synagogues in Syria, spread across the country and all in need of repair. "The goal is to build the foundations for a return," he explains.  

Unlike in Europe, Jews under Ottoman rule were not relegated to ghettos but were independent in terms of organising the education and administration of their religious communities. Requirements of Jewish life, such as a prayer quorum, ritual bath, kosher food, religious schools, and cemeteries, were concentrated in urban centres like Aleppo and Damascus. 

Among others, the Jobar Synagogue on the outskirts of Damascus has particularly captured Henry’s imagination. Thought to be among the oldest in the world, it testifies to the ancient Jewish presence in the country. Jews began settling in Syria after the Romans destroyed the Second Temple in Jerusalem.  

According to an inscription that once hung in the synagogue, it was founded by the prophet Elisha himself. Today, however, only a mound of rubble remains. Like many of the neighbourhoods in the outskirts of Damascus, it was destroyed by fighting during the civil war.  

Since Assad’s fall, Henry has returned to Syria four times. Each time the delegation grew to include more members of the Syrian-Jewish diaspora. Many Syrian Americans want to go back, if only to visit. Most have never been to Syria yet identify as Syrians. They want to see where their grandfather and father lived, where they went to synagogue and school. Eventually, Henry hopes, some will choose to settle in the country. 

When Henry ran for Parliament in September last year, he was the first Jewish candidate to do so since the 1940s. He campaigned on "building a future together with our fellow Syrians—one where synagogues, mosques, and churches stand side by side in peace."  

Henry was invited to run as a candidate by state officials. Although he did not win a seat, he still hopes to be appointed directly by interim president Ahmed Al-Sharaa. A third of the seats in the new parliament are chosen by him, a decision which has received criticism as an attempt to consolidate his power. 

Unlikely alliance of a former jihadist and a Syrian Jew

In 2025, Western countries such as the United States and the United Kingdom removed Hay’at Tahrir Al-Sham from their terrorist designation lists, and later that year also lifted sanctions on its leader Ahmed Al-Sharaa. Since then Al-Sharaa’s pragmatic approach, aiming to end sanctions and encourage foreign investment, has proven effective in normalising relations with the West.  

For Henry, the unlikely alliance of a former jihadist and a Syrian-Jewish community leader has its roots in a common goal to rebuild Syria. "Syria is a great country, and I want to give something back." As well as an opportunity for religious pluralism, he says the diaspora contains "many people who want to do business in Syria." 

Despite his hopes for the future, risks remain. Reports of violence against minorities in Latakia and Suwayda have reignited fears of ethno-religious fragmentation. Israeli support for the Druze community escalated with bombing in Damascus last July, the second such campaign since Assad’s fall. Furthermore, Israel has further expanded its occupation of southern Syria, and negotiations on ending the occupation have yielded no results so far.  

Henry, however, remains optimistic: "The only answer is peace, everyone is done with war. Everyone wants to have their kids at their table," he says. In his view, Syria shouldn’t focus on a single religion or a culture but should rather work towards the best interests of the country. "Who knows, maybe one day we’ll take a car and drive from Damascus to Jerusalem. I don’t think that’s so far-fetched."