Less than two weeks after a pair of rockets from Lebanon hit the outskirts of this mountain village, one of the last inhabited communities this far north in Israel, residents were busy building homes, renovating streets, and inviting friends and strangers to lunch.
The Druze villagers, members of an Arab religious minority that has lived in the area for centuries, say their coexistence with Jews, Muslims, and Christians could be a template for easing enmity among neighboring countries mere miles away.
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In Beit Jann, an Israeli Druze village with views of Lebanon, Syria, and Jordan, the outlook is one of determined optimism. Even as the entire region is gripped by uncertainty and rising violence, villagers speak of peaceful coexistence.
Located in the heart of a nature reserve that had been witnessing a tourism revival, Beit Jann normally sees thousands of weekend visitors: bird-watchers, backpackers, and couples looking for a romantic getaway.
“We want everyone to come here, try our hospitality, and experience the peacefulness among these mountains,” resident Suzan says, taking her toddler to school on a day the village’s Peace Park was empty.
“There is concern and insecurity, but there is also something stronger: hope and peace,” says Beit Jann’s mayor, Radi Najm. “We want everyone to come here, share our message of peace … and see coexistence among peoples is possible. We can disagree with one another, but we can still show empathy, understanding, and respect.”
The first thing you notice in Beit Jann is the smiles.
Cheerful hellos, animated across-the-street waves, gentle needling and in-jokes – you would be hard-pressed to tell that these are people living on the front lines of an escalating war.
On Thursday, less than two weeks after a pair of rockets from Lebanon hit the outskirts of this mountain village in northern Israel, residents were busy building homes, renovating streets, hitting the gym, and inviting friends and strangers to lunch. And all amid analysts’ concerns that an Israel-Hezbollah war could erupt and place their village in the firing line.
Why We Wrote This
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In Beit Jann, an Israeli Druze village with views of Lebanon, Syria, and Jordan, the outlook is one of determined optimism. Even as the entire region is gripped by uncertainty and rising violence, villagers speak of peaceful coexistence.
“There is concern and insecurity, but there is also something stronger: hope and peace,” says Beit Jann’s energetic mayor, Radi Najm, making his daily rounds.
Residents say they are living an example of hope, insisting on a peaceful future, even as the entire region is gripped by uncertainty and escalating violence. They believe their peaceful coexistence with Jews, Muslims, and Christians could be a template for easing enmity among neighboring countries mere miles away.
Beit Jann’s residents are Druze, an Arab religious minority found across the Levant whose roots here date back centuries. They are active members in Israeli society and serve in the army.
Sprawling over nine oak- and cherry-tree-dotted hills across the Mount Meron range, 7 miles from Lebanon, today this village of 13,000 is one of the last inhabited communities this far north in Israel.
With the hillside geography intertwined with their Druze identity, Beit Jann’s residents refuse to leave their ancestral land, even as Israel evacuates nearby kibbutzim and the Israel-Hezbollah exchanges intensify.
Instead, they want people to come.
“We want everyone to come here, try our hospitality, and experience the peacefulness among these mountains,” resident Suzan says as she takes her toddler to school. (She declined to offer her last name.)
Located in the heart of a nature reserve that had been witnessing a tourism revival, Beit Jann normally sees thousands of weekend visitors: bird-watchers, backpackers, and couples looking for a romantic getaway in one of its dozens of guesthouses.
This weekend, no visitors were to be seen.
The village’s Peace Park, a collection of olive trees and a playground built by residents to commemorate the United Arab Emirates-Israel Abraham Accords normalization agreement, was empty.
Yellow ribbons and silver bells – tied to tree branches in solidarity with Israelis held hostage by Hamas in Gaza – fluttered and clinked in the wind.
Residents hope the war ends and tensions ease by spring, when the village holds its annual festival welcoming the short bloom of the wild peony, a vibrant violet flower rare in the Middle East and only found in Israel on one mountain at the edge of the village.
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Standing atop a hill, moving his arm just a few degrees, Mr. Najm points out Syria, Jordan, and Lebanon, all visible, but separated from Beit Jann by enmity, borders, and politics.
A century ago, these lands were connected. Today, they might as well be on different continents.
“We would love it if the Jordanians, Syrians, and Lebanese would all come to Beit Jann,” says the mayor, repeating with emphasis, “love.”
“We want everyone to come here, share our message of peace, visit this beautiful place, and see coexistence among peoples is possible. We can disagree with one another, but we can still show empathy, understanding, and respect.”
Mr. Najm drives up to another, steeper summit and checks on the work on a new park atop the highest peak in the village and one of the highest in all of Israel, overlooking the nearby Lebanese villages of Yaroun and Rmaich.
He urges the contractor to “get a move on.” He is anxious to have the park done by the end of January, ahead of the hoped-for spring visitors season.
The park, to be fitted with an observatory tower, gives visitors a 360-degree view of Israel, the Mediterranean, northern Jordan, the Golan Heights, and Lebanon.
“When we’re done, you’ll be able to see Nasrallah from here,” the contractor says of Hezbollah leader Hassan Nasrallah, without a hint of hyperbole or sarcasm.
Even as dozens of Beit Jann’s sons fight Hamas in Israel’s war in Gaza, Hezbollah and its patron Iran are on everyone’s minds.
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“There can be no peace if Hezbollah is there,” Eyhab, a police officer who offered only his first name, says as he wraps up a morning workout at the local gym.
“Hezbollah and Iran don’t want peace, even though the peoples in the region do. If we can get rid of Hezbollah and Iranian influence, there will be peace.” Eyhab flexes his bicep. “They think they can scare us, but we Druze are strong.”
Unlike many Israeli communities, Beit Jann has no public shelters, and many of the homes, built into mountain rock, some generations old, lack safe rooms for residents to run to.
When sirens blare, if residents cannot reach a safe room or the village school, they simply duck and cover in place.
Since two rockets landed outside the village Jan. 7, residents can no longer reach their vineyards and apple orchards closer to the border, threatening this year’s harvest of Beit Jann’s famous fruits.
“Everyone loses in war and no one gains,” Mr. Najm says. “The only question is how much suffering must there be until everyone realizes there is no alternative to peace.”