AS Muslims around the world welcome Hari Raya Aidilfitri with the chanting of the takbir (prayer) Raya, those in Syria welcome it with the sound of war — from the thud and boom of artillery to rockets that pound rebel positions.
For Syrian refugee Muhanad Abbas Alhamad, 34, the nightmare of having his home and family store destroyed by bombs haunts him till this day.
“In a split second, they were gone,” said the father of three, who fled his hometown of Deir ez-Zor three years ago. After losing our home and business, I was determined to leave my country to find a better place for my family to live.”
Muhanad came to Malaysia in 2014 and taught Arabic at a religious school in Terengganu for two years with the help of his friends before coming to Kuala Lumpur this year.
However, not a day went by without him worrying of the fate of his family.
After four months, with enough savings, Muhanad brought his wife, Muna Muhammad Alfaraj, 28, and their two children to Terengganu.
His sister, brother and parents joined them the following year.
“This will be my second year celebrating Hari Raya with my family here. I am extremely grateful that my parents are safe in Malaysia, although I know they miss their other children, who are in Syria, Turkey and Sweden.
“It is my responsibility to ensure my parents’ safety and that my children grow up in a good environment.
“My children grew up without knowing the meaning of Hari Ra-ya or the practice of visiting relatives as it was dangerous to go out in a war-torn country.”
Now that they are in Malaysia, Muhanad said every time there was a festivity, the family would visit their friends and organise gatherings at their house.
Speaking in fluent Malay, he said his brother, who lives in Pahang, and sister, who lives in Terengganu, would visit his rented house in Sentul to celebrate Hari Raya.
“Traditionally, we prepare our version of kuih or sweets, like the maamoul and other delicacies from our village.
“I wish all my siblings can be reunited under one roof on this special day. We are always worried about them, especially my sister who is in Syria. I wonder if she is safe there. It is getting harder and costlier to flee the country now.”
Muhanad said during the now six-year war, it was common for families to be separated from each other for years.
He expressed his gratitude to Malaysians for their warmth and hospitality.
“When I first arrived here, I could not speak Bahasa Malay-sia, so I started mingling with the locals, and within a year, alhamdulillah (praise be to Allah) I was able to pick up the language and work without any problems.”
Muhanad teaches Arabic and Ulum Syariah at the Federal Territory Islamic Council’s Modern Islamic Institution, Al-‘Abaqirah.
He said he was thankful to non-governmental organisation Malaysian Life Line For Syria (MLL4S) for taking care of their family’s welfare, particularly the schooling of his children, Ruah Muhanad Alhamad, 7, and Ham-zah, 5, who attend the Jasmine Ash-Sham school in Setiawangsa, Kuala Lumpur.
“We have some 50 students. There is a plan to expand to accommodate 100 students. It (the school) runs only from public donations,” said MLL4S public relation and marketing officer Afdhal Raimi Roslan.
He said there were about 10,000 registered Syrian refugees in the country under the United Nations High Commission for Refugees (UNHCR), and the organisation would host a Hari Raya gathering annually so they could celebrate the festive season together.
For Muhanad and his family, fate will decide when they will return to their homeland. For now, Malaysia is home.
For a Syrian refugee family living in Ampang, this year’s Hari Raya was a quiet affair.
Although they have been in Ma-laysia for three years, celebrating Hari Raya in their home country is fresh in the minds of Abeer Alsharif, 42, her husband, Sami Alkhammash, 57, their son, Omar, 19, and her brother Aladdin, 31.
In Damascus, Syria, the family lived in a flat in a four-storeyed building and the residents would get together to clean the building.
“What would normally take two hours to complete, turned into a 24-hour task because we had so much fun working together. We didn’t even sleep.
“We would finish at daybreak when it was time for the men to go to the mosque. We called this ‘waqfatul-eid’, which means ‘stay standing’,” Abeer said when met at her home.
After performing the subuh and Hari Raya prayers, the men would visit graves of their relatives, which were located on a mountain.
Meanwhile, the women would prepare breakfast.
Abeer said: “Unlike in Malaysia, we did not have special Eid clothes or decorations, but we must wear new clothes and eat specially-cooked food for the celebration. We would not eat these food on regular days.”
These special foods were maamoul (small pastries filled with dates and nuts), baklava (sweet pastry filled with chopped nuts held together with syrup or honey), and a snack of broad beans.
Abeer’s father was the head of the family, so their house would be the gathering place for the relatives.
“There would be about 25 people sitting in the same room just chatting, eating, smoking shisha, singing and dancing for the entire day.
“Here, there are only the four of us. We cannot have the Eid we had back home.”
In Syria, the first day of Hari Raya would be spent at home, while the second day would normally be an outing for the entire family.
“We would eat at nice restaurants and take trips to the beach. We would fill six cars, sometimes even a bus, for these family Eid trips,” Sami said.
There were also mini fun fairs in the neighbourhoods in Syria, with many games for children during Eid.
Like in Malaysia, children would also get money packets called Eidia from the head of the family.
Sami said families in Syria were getting smaller because many had fled the country.
“There is not much for us to do here after the Eid prayer in the morning. Maybe we would visit friends, but there are no special plans.”
Abeer, Sami, Aladdin and Omar are among some 2,000 Syrian refugees registered with the UNHCR in Malaysia.