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This Israeli village on the Lebanon border was isolated for decades. Now it’s a tourist hotspot.
GHAJAR, Israel (JTA) – A group of 40 tourists filed into Khateb Sweets on a recent Sunday afternoon, bringing chatter — and their cash and credit cards — to what had been a quiet cafe in this equally sedate village in the Golan Heights.
They left after consuming pastries and hot tea spiced with ginger, anise and cinnamon, whereupon an Israeli Jewish couple came in, then an Israeli Arab family and three Canadians.
The steady foot traffic typifies the wave of tourists that since last fall has hit this community of 2,900 people, nearly all Alawites, an Islamic sect.
Ghajar (pronounced RA-zhar) had for decades been unusually cut off from the rest of Israel. Residents could come and go, but outsiders could visit only through prior arrangement with the Israel Defense Forces, which considered the village within a closed military area where Lebanon and Israel’s Galilee and Golan Heights regions intersect.
The IDF’s lifting of the restriction without explanation on Sept. 8 led to an immediate rush of visitors eager to explore Ghajar.
How immediate? Ahmad Khateb, a pastry chef who owns the eponymous cafe, was working that day at his consultancy job at a hotel in the Galilee town of Tzfat, when his employee called to report an unusual stream of tourists entering the shop. The following morning, Khateb resigned to work at his café full time.
People enjoy a food truck in a plaza in Ghajar, Oct. 14, 2022. (Yossi Aloni/Flash90)
Approximately 4,000 people visited Ghajar the day the town opened, he said. Another 6,000 visited the following day — briefly tripling the number of people in town. For day three, a Saturday, Ghajar turned a soccer field into a parking lot.
“It’s like a gift that fell from the sky,” Khateb said of the village’s opening and his subsequent increase in sales. He’s now considering expansion to other locations.
Ghajar possesses a Forbidden City-like attraction for Israelis, who travel extensively inside their own country because it requires a flight to visit others.
“You know why we came here? Because there aren’t a lot of places [in Israel] we haven’t been,” said Shmuel Browns, a Jerusalem-based tour guide accompanying his brother and sister-in-law visiting from his native Toronto. “We wanted to get a sense of what makes this village unique.”
It is also notable as the only Israeli community of Alawites, a Syria-based ethnic minority best known as the group that the country’s dictatorial rulers for the past 52 years — current president Bashar al-Assad and his late father, Hafez — are descended from. Bilal Khatib, who is Ghajar’s accountant and spokesman, said Alawites tend to be secular people who value a person’s character and are respectful of other Muslim sects and different religions. Ghajar contains no mosques, since, except on holy days, people pray individually at home.
People gather in front of a shop in Ghajar, Oct. 14, 2022. (Yossi Aloni/Flash90)
“It’s a way of life,” Khatib said. “We respect people as people. Our religion is to be a good person, love everyone and hold no hatred against anyone, be they Druze, Jew, Christian or Circassian.”
But most unusual is Ghajar’s provenance, on which outsiders tend to stumble. “Ghajar was part of Lebanon, right?” the Israeli couple at the cafe asked Khateb.
No, he responded.
So began a short primer that residents are wont to recite to visitors — a timeline of a village of just one-fifth of a square mile. (The fields on Ghajar’s outskirts constitute an additional five square miles, on which the village plans to expand.)
Israel captured the Golan Heights, including Ghajar, from Syria during 1967’s Six-Day War and officially annexed it in 1981. After Israel ended its 18-year war in Lebanon in 2000, the United Nations certified the IDF’s withdrawal and established the two countries’ border going through, rather than around, Ghajar. Israel later announced plans to withdraw below the U.N. line. That would have split the village into northern and southern sections. Residents protested, preferring to remain under Israeli sovereignty rather than be divided. Ultimately, Israel didn’t erect a barrier inside the village.
A man drives a golf kart in Ghajar, Sept. 7, 2022. (Jalaa Marey/AFP via Getty Images)
“It’s a headache,” Jamal Khatib, a physical education teacher at the village’s lone high school, said of the chronology.
Orna Mizrahi, an analyst at the Tel Aviv-based Institute for National Security Studies, agrees with that characterization. As a member of the National Security Council, she briefed then-Prime Minister Ariel Sharon on Ghajar at what proved to be his last Cabinet meeting hours before he suffered a debilitating and ultimately fatal stroke in 2006.
As to why the IDF recently opened the town, Mizrahi cited the completion of a security fence around Ghajar, along with the lessened threat of cross-border attacks by the Hezbollah terrorist organization, due in large part to the recent maritime border agreement between Israel and Lebanon that incentivizes the government in Beirut to restrain Hezbollah.
“The security considerations are different. The situation in Lebanon is different,” she said.
Exactly why the United Nations associated the town with Lebanon, even though most of its residents are from a Syrian sect, is a point of confusion for many who visit. A 1965 Syrian map that Bilal Khatib printed offers an explanation: It shows Ghajar as an enclave completely inside Lebanon except for a narrow sliver connecting it to Syria proper.
Bilal Khatib (he, Jamal Khatib and Ahmad Khateb are unrelated) lives in the northern section and said he would not want his sister, who lives south of the U.N.’s 2000 demarcation, to be inaccessible.
The U.N.’s dividing point, known as the Blue Line, would be “splitting families,” he said. “We have to be united.” In practice, this line exists only on maps and has no impact on the life of Ghajar residents, who are fully under Israeli rule.
Ghajar residents tend to see themselves as Syrians holding Israeli citizenship. It’s a high-achieving population: According to Jamal Khatib, 400 Ghajar residents hold a college degree, making the town far more educated, on average, than Israeli Arabs overall. He said there are 50 physicians, 30 lawyers, 27 dentists and two professors, most commuting to jobs in the Galilee. Until Syria’s civil war began in 2011, Ghajar residents legally crossed at nearby Kuneitra to attend Syrian universities, he said.
An Israeli soldier secures a checkpoint at the entrance of Ghajar, Sept. 7, 2022. (Jalaa Marey/AFP via Getty Images)
“There’s no profession in Israel that’s not represented here,” he said.
Politically, Ghajar stands out for supporting mostly Jewish-majority parties. In the recent election, Benny Gantz’s centrist party got 24% of the 555 citizens who went to the polls in the village. The Arab party Raam got only 14% of the votes and the rest went to other Jewish lists, including the haredi Orthodox Shas party.
Ghajar puts a premium on livability. Fountains, parks and outdoor sculptures abound, landscaping and building façades are colorful and nary a speck of litter is evident. Homes are large and well-kept, on par with other upscale areas in Israel. Motorcycles and the honking of vehicles’ horns are prohibited. Visitors may not enter between 8 p.m. and 8 a.m., Jamal Khatib said, adding that Ghajar has long banned hotels and bed-and-breakfast inns and does not plan to change the rules in response to the flood of visitors.
Some visitors have littered and urinated in public, even entered residents’ homes without knocking, he said.
“A year ago, you wouldn’t have seen that,” said his son, Ryad, who works as Ghajar’s coordinator of volunteers, including handling traffic control on days when tourists abound.
Unlike many small towns in Israel, Ghajar operates its own sanitation service rather than linking up with other municipalities through a regional council. Doing so is an unusual expenditure, but it’s one that means visitors to the town may see Ghajar’s name on a garbage truck — a potentially powerful symbol.
Tourists explore the streets of Ghajar, Oct. 14, 2022. (Yossi Aloni/Flash90)
“We’re doing it not for you, but for ourselves,” Jamal Khatib said of the village’s quality-of-life values. “I like that people come, but they should respect the rules, respect our privacy.”
For its part, Ghajar projects respect for the wider society. Street signs and storefronts appear in Hebrew and Arabic. The Park of Peace includes a statue of the Virgin Mary, a sculpture of an open Koran, an Alawite sword symbol and a menorah.
“You and I believe in one God,” Jamal Khatib said. “Your deeds speak as to who you are.”
From his back porch a few moments later, a donkey’s braying could be clearly heard, hundreds of sheep observed and calls to prayer drifted over from a mosque – all in Aarab el Louaizeh, a village in Lebanon perhaps 100 yards away.
In a ravine below, soldiers of the United Nations and the Lebanese army in their separate posts walked outside. The U.N. soldiers entered two vehicles and began their twice-daily patrol of the border. Alongside the border road is the Hatzbani River, where Khatib fished as a young man. At his property line, a separate fence on Ghajar’s northern perimeter is nearly complete.
But the fence wasn’t erected to divide people or demarcate boundaries: It’s to keep boars, jackals and porcupines from scaling the slope and entering the village, Khatib said. He soon received an alert on his phone.
“The notification says there are cows on the road,” he explained. “It’s dark. Be careful.”
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How Hezbollah Terrorists Became ‘Local Residents’ in the Media
Lebanese army members stand on a military vehicle during a Lebanese army media tour, to review the army’s operations in the southern Litani sector, in Alma Al-Shaab, near the border with Israel, southern Lebanon, Nov. 28, 2025. Photo: REUTERS/Aziz Taher
During an operation earlier this month, the IDF reportedly clashed with Hezbollah operatives and “civilians” in the Lebanese village of Nabi Chit, leaving 41 people dead and another 40 injured.
At least, that is what CNN, the Associated Press (AP), Sky News, BBC, and The Guardian all reported.
But not a single outlet actually questioned who these “civilians” were that clashed with the IDF, or why there were clashes in the first place.
The operation was carried out in an attempt to return the remains of Ron Arad, an Israeli navigator who has been missing since his fighter-bomber was shot down over Lebanon in 1986. He was believed to have originally been captured by the Amal Movement and handed over to Hezbollah, before being presumed dead.
As is the protocol with any missing person or soldier, the State of Israel works to recover every body for a proper and dignified burial in their homeland.
Based on intelligence, the IDF believed Arad’s body to be buried in a cemetery in Nabi Chit, a village located close to the Lebanese-Syrian border in the Beqaa Valley.
IDF special forces initiated a raid into Lebanon in an attempt to recover the remains of Ron Arad, an Israeli airman shot down in 1986.
But it wasn’t only Hezbollah terrorists who engaged in a firefight with IDF soldiers on the ground:
@guardian: Hezbollah “fighters ambushed… pic.twitter.com/wOuWa9AXVj
— HonestReporting (@HonestReporting) March 8, 2026
On Friday, March 6, well before the operation began, the IDF issued an evacuation warning, urging innocent civilians to leave.
The village has long been a stronghold of Hezbollah, with several past leaders, including the second secretary-general, Abbas al-Musawi, born there. Being that Hezbollah has systematically embedded its infrastructure and operatives into the town itself, many — presumably including a significant number affiliated with or supportive of Hezbollah — appeared to defy the evacuation orders, staying in their homes.
Late Friday evening, Israeli commandos entered the village, hoping to quickly locate the body of Arad and leave without disturbance. According to some reports, the IDF forces arrived undercover. Had the IDF been seeking a battle, it would have entered openly rather than disguised, indicating that the goal was a targeted retrieval mission, not a confrontation.
However, soon after the IDF’s arrival, a firefight broke out between Israeli forces and Hezbollah operatives. This is precisely where international media coverage begins — and where the crucial context disappears.
Hezbollah operatives are suddenly grouped in with the “civilians” or “local residents” who supposedly rushed out to defend their homes against an Israeli invasion, leaving their houses with guns to engage in battle with the IDF.
But the IDF had entered the village on a limited mission: to retrieve the remains of a fallen soldier. There was no broader offensive and no threat to civilian homes. That raises a fundamental question: why did so many outlets lead with descriptions of “residents” or “local fighters” joining Hezbollah in “defending their homes,” when their homes were clearly not under threat?
Following the ensuing battle between the IDF commandos and Hezbollah, the Israeli Air Force provided air cover through targeted strikes to ensure the safe extraction of all troops. Sadly, they were unsuccessful in locating the body of Arad.
By the time the operation ended, the Lebanese health ministry reported that 41 people had been killed and 40 wounded. Yet, when reporting these casualties, the media failed to acknowledge the obvious likelihood that many of those casualties were Hezbollah operatives — or what Sky News and AP described as “local fighters.”
The narrative that Israel intentionally killed innocent civilians was not limited to the international media, but quickly spread across social media.
Posts circulating online framed the operation as a reckless mission designed to target civilians with no clearly defined operational purpose. This is despite the IDF’s clear intention to limit civilian harm while preserving the dignity of all Israeli soldiers, no matter how long ago they fell in battle.
Israelis can be weird. They sent special forces into Lebanon to retrieve the remains of a dude who died 40 years ago, and this against the wishes of his widow. They randomly killed scores of civilians in the process and failed to find any bone, and yet they are bragging about it. https://t.co/DzEutjWCpP
— Prof Francois Balloux (@BallouxFrancois) March 8, 2026
Hezbollah’s strategy of embedding its infrastructure and operatives within civilian areas has long blurred the line between civilians and combatants, resulting in armed terrorists who attack Israeli forces being framed in media coverage as innocent “local residents.” The IDF’s operation in Nabi Chit and the ensuing battle illustrate this strategy in full, exposing just how effectively Hezbollah has manipulated the media.
The author is a contributor to HonestReporting, a Jerusalem-based media watchdog with a focus on antisemitism and anti-Israel bias — where a version of this article first appeared.
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In the work of 21 artists, 49 different ways to be Jewish
As I walked through the exhibit, Envisioning the Sacred: Modern Art from the Collection, at the Derfner Judaica Museum and Art Collection, I wondered aloud which was the more defining element in these 20th and 21st century paintings, drawings, prints and linoleum cuts. Was it the modernist sensibility, which encompassed figurative, abstract, symbolic and metaphorical approaches? Or was it the Jewish-themed content?
In the 49 pieces by 21 artists (including two etchings by Marc Chagall), there were illustrated Biblical characters and stories; depictions of traditions and rituals; and a fair number of the works employed the Hebrew alphabet to evoke emotion and inspire the composition.
“The exhibit shows how artists use a modern visual language to express their Jewish identities,” said Susan Chevlowe, chief curator and museum director who guided me through the light-filled gallery, which is part of the Hebrew Home at Riverdale and set on a shallow hill that slopes down to the Hudson River.
“It’s hard to separate the two elements or say which is more defining,” Chevlowe said. “The majority of these artists were artists early on in their lives, drawing and sketching as children. Some grew up steeped in a Jewish tradition and others came to their Jewish identity later in life, especially in the post-Holocaust years. Percival Goodman is an example. An agnostic, he was best known as a modernist architect. But in the post-Holocaust years he became interested in Biblical figures.”
Chevlowe pointed to Goodman’s painting “Rebekah and Jacob,” presenting two large, sharply drawn flat heads. The bold colors outlined in stark black stripes summon forth figures that border on the cartoonish, yet are also strikingly beautiful. Here, the matriarch Rebekah beams at her younger son Jacob with whom she is scheming to steal her older son Esau’s birthright.
A number of the works reflect, in subtle and layered ways, Jewish traumas coupled with homage and pride and in some instances a touch of the elegiac.
Adam Muszka’s “Sabbath Meal,” painted in the 1960’s is a nostalgic look back at the lively Polish shtetl that he grew up in and that no longer exists. With its sentimental tone, the painting evinces distortion. Two figures in the foreground are over-sized, while the homes in the background are shrunken and lopsided — an indication, perhaps, that this is a falsely rosy memory.
In the seemingly more realistic 2003 painting, “Choral Synagogue, St. Petersburg, Russia,” one of the more recent works on display, Joyce Ellen Weinstein brings to life the massive temple entrance and the decorative gate in front of it, “which is slightly off kilter,” Chevlowe pointed out. “Notice the barbed wire on top of the gate. The painting suggests the dignity of the synagogue and its people and also the difficult position of Russian Jews throughout history.”
Chevlowe was hard pressed to pick a favorite, though she admitted a special fondness for Jane Logemann’s 1996 “Alphabet,” a series of pale blue and purple ink wash panels adorned with repeated pairs of Hebrew letters, in pen and ink, which create a vertical pattern from the top of the page to the bottom. The series is poetic, lyrical.
“Logemann is interested in patterns and structures of nature,” said Chevlowe. “Some letters are large, others small. There’s a randomness here. Her choices are intuitive. For many artists the abstract is spiritual. For some mysticism and spiritual quest are essential in their work.”
One of the better known artists in the group is Mark Podwal. In his 2002 “Dreidel Hanukkia,” an acrylic painting, we see a menorah balanced on a dreidel and on the opposite side of the page there’s a less readily definable bench lamp.
“It’s modern and old and very playful,” said Chevlowe. “And each Hanukkah light, the menorah and the bench lamp, is cut off by the frame, cut off by the rest of the world. It’s a fragment. We often see that in Degas too.”
Some of the painters are more deeply embedded in or influenced by particular schools of art than others. In Jacques Yankel’s joyful and expressionistic “Torah,” one can see the Marc Chagall and Chaim Soutine lineage. Yankel’s emigre artist father lived in Paris and was very much part of the Paris school of art, which included Chagall and Soutine.
In New York, Ben-Zion, a Russian-born painter who arrived in the United States in 1920, was a recognized member of “The Ten,” abstract painters that consisted of, among others, Mark Rothko and Adolph Gottlieb, though curiously enough Ben-Zion was never really an abstract painter.
Moses was a frequent subject of his. In his 1962 “Moses Looking Down to the Promised Land,” our title character is viewed from the back, an imposing, heavily draped figure perched on a rocky terrain. He is staring out at Jericho, at once so close to and yet so far away from The Promised Land.
Abraham Rattner also employed Moses as the central figure and theme in his vibrant Picassoesque “Moses,” which features the Prophet clutching two blank tablets, devoid of the commandments or, indeed, any writings. His head twisted to the side and an integral element in a wild abstract design is as unsettling as it is thrilling. It is perhaps my favorite in the collection.
“I would like viewers to appreciate the richness in stylistic range and to be aware that these are highly trained, skilled and knowledgeable artists who come from a rich cultural tradition that includes all of art history,” Chevlowe told me. “At the same time they create something that’s original, authentic and beautiful.”
The post In the work of 21 artists, 49 different ways to be Jewish appeared first on The Forward.
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Forverts podcast, episode 8: Israeli voices
דער פֿאָרווערטס האָט שוין אַרויסגעלאָזט דעם נײַנטן קאַפּיטל פֿונעם ייִדישן פּאָדקאַסט, Yiddish With Rukhl. דאָס מאָל איז די טעמע „ישׂראלדיקע שטימעס“.
אין דעם קאַפּיטל וועט איר הערן צוויי אַרטיקלען: מיכאל קרוטיקאָווס רעצענזיע פֿון שירי שאַפּיראַס בוך דערציילונגען, וואָס אַנטפּלעקן דאגות פֿונעם „מילעניאַל“ דור, וואָס איר קענט אַליין לייענען דאָ, און בני מערס פּערזענלעכן עסיי, „דאָס אײַנפּאַקן אַ טאָרבע פֿאַרן לויפֿן אין שוצקעלער האָט עפּעס דערוועקט אין מיר“, וואָס איר קענט לייענען דאָ.
צו הערן דעם פּאָדקאַסט, גיט אַ קוועטש דאָ.
שירי שאַפּיראַס דערצײלונגען
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