"It Has Its Share of Its Name"
Beit Jinn… the distilled tale of a name when a name becomes destiny. It is not merely a village perched on the slopes of Mount Hermon, nor a remote hamlet whose name was lost among echoing valleys. It is a place whose very name summons questions about the jinn of old myths—guardians of secrets, keepers of hidden worlds. Concealed beneath oak trees, protected by terrain and legend alike, Beit Jinn did not choose its location by chance, nor did conflict choose it randomly. It stands as a gateway between two worlds, at a time when human beings seem determined to poison everything on this earth still worthy of life. And so it was, and thus it remains.
Snow descends slowly and gently, like a message of peace, only to be trampled beneath the tools of death. Rivals fight over an inheritance none of them truly own, searching for a window overlooking the hills and slopes of the Golan. They arrive with locks and grudges, indifferent to the people of the land. The jinn that once altered human fates in folktales—moving things from behind a veil—have turned into real humans no less reckless or destructive than the storytellers imagined. Armies advance and retreat according to calculations far beyond the village’s ancient homes and narrow alleys. It is as if fate is asking its people whether they are dreaming—or whether this is a reality from which there is no escape, chosen or unchosen. For no voice rises above the voice of death.
It is no mere village, nor a dot on a map blurred by stories. It is a place coveted by soldiers and strategists alike—a town gifted by nature with everything that tempts the logic of war. Power blocs compete over it and fear it, as if it refuses to be reduced to a bargaining chip. Its history is too deep, its location at the gateway to the Golan too significant. Geography and history exact their dues when interests intersect and collide, battering the lives of people who have lived here for hundreds—indeed thousands—of years.
Between two eras, two projects, and the many smaller ambitions that lie between them, its name circulates as an advanced outpost. For some, it is a defensive shield against loss of control; for others, it is one of the last symbols of sovereignty. For yet others, it is an early line of confrontation—an inevitable conflict in the making. The people of the land, owners of orchards and pastures, have no say in any of this. Instead, they are forced to choose between two bitter options, imagining dreams of “the land of milk and honey,” only to be reminded by others of their proud past: defending their land against French, Turkish, and countless other invaders. Then the new rulers, with their long beards, break the silence: “Our eyes see far, but our hands are short.” The palace and the promise of new worlds take precedence.
On the fault line between myth, geography, and history, the town stands tall with its people and its past, clinging to the shoulder of Mount Hermon. Generations pass, but it remains—the microcosm of Syria’s story, from gate to sanctuary. A land torn by powers with endless appetites, standing on the edge of meaning and map alike. Its people did not choose to guard the gateway of a conflict, yet there they stand—between two fires, or rather dozens—shaped by shifting alliances. Beit Jinn remains proof of one truth: some places are destined to become long chapters in the books of history and politics—tests of patience, endurance, and survival. Otherwise, how could it truly live up to its name?
It has become a symbol of the new Syria and its uncertain trajectory—a struggle of influence and repositioning among international powers. Some welcome it; others fear it. A year ago, the Assad regime collapsed dramatically. Since then, the depth of conflicting interests has become clearer. The losers refuse to accept that their influence has ended, while the new rulers, with all their alliances and support, have yet to impose control over all Syrian territory.
Iranian influence has faded—almost vanished—replaced by a growing Turkish presence. Israel, which orchestrated Iran’s retreat, is now the most uneasy about Turkey’s expanding reach. In this arena, it does not collide with Turkey alone, but also with its most important ally—the United States—and much of the international community, which believes the new Syrian leadership should be given a chance. Israel, still reeling from the catastrophe of October 7, sees in this change another disaster of its own making. It can no longer afford to wait or test any form of Islamist rule near its borders, even one rebranded in global intelligence basements.
Ethnic pockets—Druze, Alawite, Kurdish, and others—stand backed by governments, interests, and power centers. The Americans, despite overwhelming warmth toward the new rulers and their red-carpet welcome in the White House, will not abandon the Kurds. Nor will the Iranians—or the Russians—abandon the groups tied to them. As for Israel, geography dictates that it will not hand over the keys to any major actor. It will insert itself into every detail, even if its interests clash with its allies and align with its rivals. It will not offer stability to the new system until it extracts an unprecedented surplus of benefits.
Around the major players orbit countless smaller actors—left behind by shifting alliances—assigned tasks far bigger than the new Syrian landscape can accommodate. Their expectations of swift empowerment under the new regime have collapsed. Now they find themselves in a hostile environment, where the slogans of “resistance to Israel,” once shouted for years, have turned into an escape from one death to another. It is survival instinct—"Better to erode than to rust."
As for the Arab states, though publicly aligned with the new Syrian leadership, they still walk in the shadows of the major powers. They have yet to assume genuine leadership of the Syrian file to secure stability and balance among its diverse communities. Without such balance—beginning with a constitution that reflects Syrian aspirations—the consequences will be dire, affecting the region whether it wishes it or not.
Conclusion
From jinn to jinn, the madness of men tosses Syria—its history, and the rights of its people to freedom and independence—back and forth. A country emerging from more than fourteen years of bloodshed needs all its children to rebuild it. Stability will never be achieved if the logic of domination persists. The sectarian monopolies replacing the old party monopoly will only reproduce the same disaster. The specter of partition will continue to loom, feeding those who prefer Syria broken and dependent.
For Israel—which seized the Golan and expanded into southern Syria—and for Iran, seeking a corridor from Iraq to Lebanon, the incentives to keep the wounds open remain powerful. Whether Hezbollah is replaced by the Islamic Group or another faction, the outcome is the same: wounds kept open, bleeding without end.
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