A Syrian's risky choice to help young Iraqis heal

Forbidden to help refugees, a Syrian state pyschiatrist put his job on the line to treat Iraqi children.

Reporters on the Job
We share the story behind the story.

Page 2 of 3

Page 1 | 2 | Page 3

And so, after weeks of intense research on the Internet – and much encouragement from his physician wife – he devised a group-therapy program that incorporated games, puppet shows, and artwork. Every Saturday for seven months, the tiny chapel run by the Sisters was transformed into a clinic for 28 children, ranging in age from 7 to 14.

"I doubted myself at first. I was afraid that I couldn't help these kids, that I might open a wound that wouldn't heal," says Naim. "But circumstances can make you do extraordinary things."

All of the children had harrowing tales. Some had witnessed family members being killed or raped. Others, like Noor, were terrified of leaving their homes, for fear that they might be kidnapped. They'd come to the church, Naim says, but only after much persuasion and only because "they trusted the nuns."

"They'd cry, some would swear, they screamed," he says. "They'd tell me, 'Doctor, you don't understand, don't give us advice. You don't know. You didn't live it.' Some of them were unnaturally calm in the beginning."

The psychiatrist persevered, building a rapport with the children, making them feel safe and earning their trust. The Sunni, with cropped salt-and-pepper hair and a graying, neatly trimmed moustache, also had to overcome the sectarian suspicions of the children, most of whom were Christians.

"I was very touched that it didn't take them long to trust me – a Muslim – after what they'd seen and been through," he says.

"The Iraqi Muslims fear each other too much," he says, explaining his reason for working mainly with Christians. If he'd helped Sunnis, he says, he might be perceived as aiding only his own, while Shiites, he feared, might not get past his sectarian identity.

He created an Iraqi-Syrian dictionary to help the children understand the different northern Levantine dialect of Arabic spoken in Syria. Shared meals helped cement the bond between doctor and patients.

1 | Page 2 | 3 | Next Page

Related Stories
Get Monitor stories by e-mail:
(Your e-mail address will be protected by csmonitor.com's tough privacy policy.)
(Mary Knox Merrill/Staff)
EDITOR'S PICK Five cities that will rise in the New Economy
From Seattle to Huntsville, Ala., five cities are poised to prosper in the New Economy because of exports, innovation, clean technology, and healthcare.
POLITICS Patchwork Nation
The American voter beyond red and blue

Daily podcast

Monitor Reports

Discussions with Monitor reporters from around the world


Today

Pat Murphy

Kidnapped Israeli soldier Gilad Shalit could be on his way home.




Making a difference
Making a Difference

What happens when ordinary people decide to pay it forward? Extraordinary change. See how individuals are making a difference, finding solutions, overcoming adversity, and giving back globally.

Richard Berry stands in a former Sunday School classroom in the basement of Trinity Evangelical Free Church. The room has been turned into a men's homeless shelter.

Sarah Beth Glicksteen

A church that is home to the homeless

Pastor Richard Berry lives the motto 'faith without works is dead'