Musab and Firas – Two brothers devoured by sectarianism in the embrace of family
Musab – A father whose dreams were stolen by sectarianism
Musab Daoud was fifty-two years old, a father who lived for his children in every detail. A man who toiled and endured, sowing his years in the soil of hope, waiting for the day of harvest. He pinned his heart on simple yet deeply meaningful wishes: to see his two sons complete their studies, to one day raise his eyes and see his daughter in her wedding dress, and to finally smile in peace, knowing that his struggles had not been in vain.
He worked diligently for the Syrian Oil Transport Company and returned every day, exhausted, to his modest home in Baniyas, but his heart was full — full in a way few could understand. He wasn’t rich in money, but he was rich in the love of his family and the sincerity of his dreams.
Firas – The educator who left before completing his mission
As for teacher Firas Ali Daoud, he was fifty-eight years old — an English teacher at “Fihm Muhammad” Secondary School in Baniyas, and one of the respected educational figures who left a lasting impression on his students, colleagues, and everyone who knew him.
He wasn’t just a teacher, but a role model in ethics and knowledge. A man who carried the mission of education with humility and patience, and spent his life working honorably to earn a decent living.
In the family home, he was a symbol of wisdom and calm. At school, he was the image of a true educator. His loss is not only a loss to his family, but to the entire community, and to a generation that was raised on his guidance.
The two men who sought refuge in family… only to be betrayed by their country
When the drums of fear sounded and gunfire began to tear through the sky and pierce the walls of homes, Musab rushed his family to the upper floor of the building — his father’s house — seeking refuge from a terror they had never known. He wasn’t alone; the house was filled with those who believed that family would shield them from madness. There he met his brother Firas, and his nephew Abdullah — the kind, soft-spoken young man, the only son of his mother, with dreams still glowing in his eyes.
The family home was no stranger to anyone — it had always been a haven of love and generosity. Musab, like the others, believed danger would not reach them. After all, they had nothing to do with the conflict, no weapons, no political affiliations — only a good name and clean hearts.
But they didn’t know that the winds of sectarianism do not distinguish between innocent and guilty, nor between involved and bystander. The beasts who stormed their world weren’t searching for justice — they came only for blood, hunting down souls indiscriminately and executing dreams without ever asking who held a weapon and who never even touched one.
They followed Abdullah… and the destination was heaven
Gunfire erupted in the living room, bullets fired between the legs of the gathered family members to spread fear. The gunmen then began separating the group, selecting the young men under the age of thirty and taking them to an empty neighbor’s house under the pretext of “interrogation”.
Everyone thought the questioning would be about weapons or wanted individuals — as was often heard on the news. No one imagined that the matter had nothing to do with guilt, but with identity alone.
In that room, which they thought was a place for questioning, only one question was asked — one that carried death inside it:
“Are you Alawite?”
That answer alone was enough to execute Abdullah and two other young men, in a scene devoid of any trace of humanity.
When the young men were taken, Firas and Musab did not stand idly by. Abdullah — their nephew — had sought their protection. Out of honor and manhood, they followed him, believing their presence might calm things or prevent a disaster.
The two brothers were taken to the rooftop, where they encountered a neighbor who had been hiding. Without hesitation, the gunmen shot him dead. Then Firas and Musab were led to an unfinished room, littered with broken glass and construction metal. There, the same question was asked — and they too were executed in cold blood.
The gunmen left as if they had not just spilled the blood of men, as if those killed were not human.
Irreplaceable souls
Musab left this world before he could see his sons achieve their dreams, before he could hear the joyful ululations at his daughter’s wedding, before he could reap the harvest of years of struggle.
And Firas left before he could finish his educational mission, before he could be rewarded for a lifetime spent instilling values and knowledge in the hearts of his students.
They left together — two brothers carried by life through years of work and endurance, and united in death by a moment of injustice that cannot be forgiven.
But their names will live on in our memory, not just as victims, but as symbols of kindness, diligence, and dignity that never dies.
