Page 1 Page 2 Page 3 Page 4 Page 5 Page 6 Page 7 Page 8 Page 9 Page 10 Page 11 Page 12 Page 13 Page 14 Page 15 Page 16 Page 17 Page 18 Page 19 Page 20 Page 21 Page 22 Page 23 Page 24 Page 25 Page 26 Page 27 Page 28 Page 29 Page 30 Page 31 Page 32 Page 33 Page 34 Page 35 Page 36 Page 37 Page 38 Page 39 Page 40 Page 41 Page 42 Page 43 Page 44 Page 45 Page 46 Page 47 Page 48 Page 49 Page 50 Page 51 Page 52 Page 53 Page 54 Page 55 Page 56 Page 57 Page 58 Page 59 Page 60 Page 61 Page 62 Page 63 Page 64 Page 65 Page 66 Page 67 Page 68 Page 69 Page 70 Page 71 Page 72 Page 73 Page 74 Page 75 Page 76 Page 77 Page 78 Page 79 Page 80 Page 81 Page 82 Page 83 Page 848 Plough Quarterly • Spring 2016 had recently been expelled from the country. Father Paolo had been too outspoken in his criticism of the Assad government, which had responded to the Syrian people’s call for freedom and democracy – a call that had remained peaceful for nine months – with arrests and torture, with truncheons and assault rifles, and finally with horrific massacres and even poison gas until the country descended into civil war. But Father Paolo had also confronted the leadership of the official Syrian churches, which remained silent about the government’s violence. He had attempted in vain to persuade Europe to support Syria’s democracy movement and had called in vain on the United Nations to impose a no-fly zone or at least send observers. He had warned in vain of a religious war if the secular and moderate groups were abandoned and foreign aid went only to the jihadists. He had tried in vain to break through the wall of our apathy. In the summer of 2013, the founder of the Mar Musa community secretly returned to Syria to help recover some Muslim friends who were in the hands of ISIS, and was himself abducted by its forces. There has been no trace of Father Paolo Dall’Oglio since July 28, 2013. Father Jacques, now responsible for the Mar Elian monastery in Dall’Oglio’s absence, is very different in character: not a gifted orator, not a man of charisma, not a passionate Italian, but rather, like so many Syrians I met, a proud, thoughtful, and extremely polite man, quite tall, with a broad face, his short hair still black. I did not get to know him well, of course; I attended Mass, which consisted of enchantingly beautiful singing as in all Eastern churches, and observed how warmly he chatted to the faithful and to local dignitaries at the subsequent lunch. After farewelling all the guests, he led me to his tiny room and placed a chair for me next to the narrow bed upon which he sat for the half-hour interview. It was not only his words that amazed me – how fearlessly he criticized the government, and how openly he also spoke of the hardening in his own Christian community. What made an even more profound impression on me was his demeanor: I experienced him as a quiet, very conscientious, introspective, and ascetic servant of God who, now that God had given him the task of caring for the beleaguered Christians in Qarya- tain and leading the monastic community, was carrying out this public duty with all his might. He spoke quietly and so slowly – often with his eyes closed – that it was as if he were consciously slowing down his pulse and using the interview as a time to rest between other, more strenuous commit- ments. Yet he chose his words with great care and articulated his thoughts in press-ready sentences. What he said was of such clarity and political incisiveness that I kept asking whether it might not be too dangerous to quote him verbatim. Then he opened his warm, dark eyes and nodded wearily – yes, he said, I could print everything, otherwise he would not have said it. The world had to learn what was happening in Syria. This weariness was perhaps my strongest impression of Father Jacques – it was the weariness of one who had not only realized but indeed had consented to the fact that he might never rest until the next life. It was, too, “We Christians are a part of Syria. Arab culture is our culture!” Jacques Mourad