It began with a scuffle at the entrance to the packed Mar Elias Greek Orthodox Church in Dwelaa, after which a man dressed in loose military attire opened fire, shouting, “You pigs.” Worshippers rushed to stop him, not realizing he was wearing a suicide vest. Two hundred and fifty people were gathered inside — dressed in their Sunday best, heads bowed in prayer — as the blast ripped through the church.
In this densely populated, working-class area on the eastern edge of Damascus, the explosion during the celebration of the Divine Liturgy on Sunday killed over 20 people, injured more than 50 and left blood pooled on the floor, bodies scattered among broken icons and charred ceilings above fallen crosses.
The attack shattered the heart of a neighborhood that is home to a tight-knit Christian community, where many families are related by blood or marriage. “Everyone here is someone’s cousin,” said Anna, a 19-year-old student who lives in Dwelaa and was a witness to the tragedy. “When one person dies, it feels like we all lose a piece of ourselves.
“The explosion tore through the crowd. I saw young men, neighbors, jump in to stop him, but they couldn’t. People were in shock when it was happening — many of the victims were women I’ve seen at church every Sunday.”
In the aftermath, families in Dwelaa, an impoverished neighborhood already facing deep economic hardship, were forced to crowdsource donations just to bury their dead. In a place where faith and poverty walk hand in hand, mourning came with a heavy price tag.
Anna said there had been incidents in the district leading up to the attack. “Just months ago, when a car pulled up outside the same church promoting Islamic proselytization, residents reacted fiercely, driving the group away, and videos of the confrontation later circulated online. Since then, members of the community have faced threats on social media.”
For the Syrian interim authorities, the bloody incident marks yet another challenge to social cohesion following massacres of members of the Alawite sect, to which deposed dictator Bashar al-Assad belonged, in the western parts of the country and clashes with Druze fighters in the south and in the Druze-majority town of Jaramana at the edge of the capital.
After the June 22 attack, the Syrian government moved quickly. President Ahmad al-Sharaa condemned it in a statement, saying, “We promise … that we will work night and day, mobilizing all our specialized security agencies, to capture all those who participated in and planned this heinous crime and to bring them to justice.” The attack “reminds us of the importance of solidarity and unity of the government and the people in facing all that threatens our nation’s security and stability,” he added.
The Interior Ministry later blamed the bombing on Saraya Ansar al-Sunna, a sleeper cell linked to the Islamic State group, which had little public profile, raising questions about its origins, motives and potential ties to other jihadist networks. The ministry said that the cell had been uncovered in raids carried out in cooperation with military intelligence.
“This cowardly act goes against the civic values that bring us together,” said Syrian Information Minister Hamza Mostafa. “We will not back down from our commitment to equal citizenship, and we also affirm the state’s pledge to exert all its efforts to combat criminal organizations and to protect society from all attacks threatening its safety.”
Yet while the Syrian government condemned the bombing and vowed to bring the perpetrators to justice, many Christians want more than condemnation and view the issue as deeper than this specific tragedy, citing a lack of trust in the authorities.
Syrian activists from Douma, Daraya, Homs and Idlib came to the funeral to pay their respects to the departed. They, along with Syrians who voiced shock and condolences online and in person, represented communities from across the country’s socioreligious spectrum — a show of solidarity that gives hope that such violence is unequivocally condemned and abhorred by all Syrians. The scenes left Syrians in shock, with videos and news of the attack circulating on WhatsApp messages and becoming a source of lamentation at home and in public. Reflecting the mass grief and anger, the government announced a three-day period of national mourning. Activist Celine Kasem joined the many voices that were appalled by the act: “May God have mercy on all the martyrs and grant patience to their families. May God grant the injured a speedy recovery and patience to these exhausted people. And may God curse all those who are not satisfied with the shedding of Syrian blood.”
The Rev. Romanos Baghdan of Saint Paisios Church in Jaramana told New Lines: “The church rejects this massacre, not only as a crime against Christians, but against all the Syrian people. Syria has always been a country of freedom, knowledge and culture. What happened is alien to our values and completely foreign to the morals of our society. This extremist ideology aims to incite hatred and division among Syrians and to sow sectarian strife that could lead to civil war, something we are fundamentally against and far removed from.”
“We had hoped for a greater level of official attention,” Baghdan added. “This was a massive terrorist attack that claimed the lives of at least 22 martyrs and left over 50 injured in hospitals. Yet no senior government representative visited the site of the bombing or attended the funeral prayers. Even the official statement issued by the authorities was insufficient — it failed to reflect the gravity of the incident, and not a single word of condolence was offered to the Christian community or the families of the victims.”
Hind Kabawat, Syria’s Minister of Social Affairs and Labor and the only Christian woman serving at the ministerial level in Syria’s Cabinet, visited the site in the immediate aftermath of the attack. Kabawat was visibly shaken at the scene. The governor of Damascus, Maher Marwan, and several deputies also attended, despite the absence of the highest tier of political and security figures. But most noticeable to the grieving Christian community was the absence of the minister of the interior and the popular foreign minister, Asaad al-Shaibani.
What followed was a public display of Syria’s socioreligious tensions. The Greek Orthodox patriarch of Antioch, John X, a revered leader in the Christian community, thanked the Syrian president for his phone call of condolence, yet laid the blame for the attack at the doorstep of the government. “We are grateful for the phone call. But the crime that took place is a little bigger than that.”
“We as Christians do not want anyone to shed crocodile tears for us. … The abominable crime that took place yesterday in Mar Elias Church is the first [of its kind] in Syria since the Damascus massacre of 1860, the first massacre since 1860, and we do not accept that it should occur in the days of the revolution and during your esteemed time [in government].”
The rousing speech echoed the sentiments of much of the Christian population in Syria and drew applause from the grieving crowds, even as it was cut mid-broadcast on Syrian state television. The screens faded to black after the patriarch placed blame on Damascus. But the symbolism was not lost on viewers: The state, it seemed, was more concerned with managing perception than honoring grief.
The tragic bombing of the Mar Elias Church didn’t happen in a vacuum, but is part of a broader context. It’s a symptom of what happens when a country is forced quickly through a jarring transition without proper oversight, reconciliation or security structures. In some cases, extremists have exploited the openness to move, to regroup and, as we’ve now seen, to attack.
Since the liberation from the Assad regime in December, the country has entered a dynamic and complex phase. For the first time in years, people can travel more freely between provinces. Damascus has seen the arrival of a cross section of society: Christians, Alawites, former residents of Idlib, members of extremist factions, foreign fighters such as Chechens and Uyghurs, even loitering regime remnants and others who were previously isolated. What has emerged is a new Syria: fluid, unstable, nostalgic and trying to redefine itself.
Baghdan elaborated: “We expected more, especially in a country that claims to have emerged victorious from its revolution and to stand for freedom, openness and respect for others. Sadly, none of these values were demonstrated in the aftermath of this tragedy.”
The Assad regime spent decades instilling fear into Christian and other minority communities in Syria, warning them that the regime’s fall would inevitably lead to a doomsday scenario filled with battling Muslim extremist groups, even touting the U.S.-led “war on terror” as an excuse for domestic oppression and the killing and forced disappearance of hundreds of thousands of Syrian civilians. That cynical strategy served to create more division and barriers of fear between communities, reinforcing sentiments that come to the fore with any incident.
Baghdan makes it clear that the Christians are here to stay: “So why now are some trying to suggest that we do not belong in this country? Are we strangers or guests? We are the original people of this land. We are not visitors. This is our home — and this is the message of every Christian who wants to live here in dignity and security.”
The new landscape in Syria is marked by competing social, sectarian and ideological agendas vying to shape the country’s politics and direction. People from vastly different backgrounds — both religious and political — are suddenly side by side in towns, cities and even places of worship. With this mixing has come friction. There’s been a culture shock of sorts, a clash of worldviews, beliefs and loyalties. In many ways, Syria today is a country in transition, not just politically or economically, but socially — and sometimes violently.
In Hama, a central Syrian city with a dwindling Christian population, fear has taken hold, and the interethnic problems have been magnified more than in Damascus. Danny Makdissi, a 24-year-old from the predominantly Christian al-Madina district, described the attack as “a nightmare we thought we had left behind,” adding, “There are only around 4,000 Christians left in Hama. We’ve survived war, extremism and siege. Now, after everything, to be attacked in a church, in prayer, is something else entirely. It’s an attack on our existence.”
In the immediate aftermath of the suicide attack, Christian communities in Hama stopped all public gatherings. “To extremists, we’re not fellow Syrians. We’re infidels. That’s a terrifying way to be seen,” Makdissi said.
“We want prevention, not condolences. We want to feel safe when we pray. We want our children to grow up without fear,” he added. “Syria is our country. We were here before Islam. We belong here as much as anyone else. We just want to live in peace — to bury our dead in peace, to worship in peace and to stay rooted in the land that raised us.”
Central to the outpouring of anger has been the lack of empathy shown by the authorities, who called the fallen “killed,” as opposed to martyrs. “That hurt. It provoked a lot of anger. Yes, they eventually found the cell behind the attack, but trust doesn’t come back that quickly. It’ll take time for us to feel safe again,” Makdissi said.
Despite the growing threats, he remembers neighbors from the Sunni community often stepping in to help — a reminder that not all of Syria’s divisions run along sectarian lines. “They’d try to stop outside forces from causing trouble in Hama. We all grew up together. But things were changing slowly.”
The attack comes at a time when Syria is facing mounting economic hardship, rising migration and growing despair. It may push more Christians, already a shrinking minority, to consider leaving. But for others, it has only deepened their attachment to their homeland.
Christian leaders and community members are demanding greater protection and accountability. Many feel that threats and provocations in recent months, including vandalism of cemeteries and religious symbols, were not taken seriously. “In one of the graveyards here in Hama, crosses were destroyed and desecrated,” Makdissi said. “Nothing happened. No one was arrested. It’s like we don’t matter.”
“In our neighborhood, some cars parked in front of Christian homes were booby-trapped. It was terrifying. But I have to say — our Sunni neighbors always stood by us,” he added, lamenting other incidents that should have been clear warning signs for the authorities.
“The Christmas tree in Suqaylabiyah was torched. Women started getting harassed for simply walking down the street without a veil. That wasn’t how things used to be,” he said.
Threats by obscure groups to bomb churches have put the new authorities in Syria under serious pressure. The country’s social fabric, deeply diverse and already fragile, is being tested. The problem for Damascus is that these groups only need to succeed once or twice to trigger real instability. Years of state-driven Islamophobia, pushed by the old Baathist regime to fuel fear and justify its grip on power, have shaped the way many Syrians think. For minority communities, especially, fear comes quickly. And attacks like these make it worse.
Supporters of the Syrian state are calling for swift and clear action. There is growing pressure to eliminate any spaces where militant or extremist groups can operate. These include Islamic State remnants, Saraya al-Sunna and other violent actors that continue to function discreetly. The concern is that if these groups are left unchecked, they will pose a growing risk to national stability and undermine international confidence in the new government.
Most Christian communities remained largely on the sidelines during the 14 years of conflict, and they often paid the price for their neutrality. As Makdissi explained, “A lot of the gold merchants and jewelers in Hama are Christian. Under the Assad regime, many of them were arrested and sent to the Al-Khatib branch in Damascus.”
The Assad regime’s repression did not distinguish between groups. Its priorities were its own survival and the extraction of resources from the population.
“They were thrown into solitary confinement until they paid up, not because they did anything wrong, just because the regime needed cash. We’ve suffered for years. None of us loved that regime. We were relieved when it fell. We were ready for something better,” Makdissi said.
The current government in Damascus is operating under closer public scrutiny, as the environment now allows for more open expression than during the previous era. Over the past six months, Syria has experienced renewed engagement from abroad, a partial lifting of U.S. sanctions and the reopening of borders. These developments have been accompanied by signs of economic recovery and a more visible sense of civic freedom. But persistent threats to public safety continue to present a major obstacle.
These threats are not only directed at minority groups such as Christians but also challenge the broader credibility of the state itself. “In the last six months, we’ve seen better security during religious holidays. Patrols were present, and they kept bad actors away. Since the Dwelaa bombing, there’s been a constant police presence in our area. That’s something we appreciate, a sign they’re taking this seriously now. But the truth is, it’s heartbreaking that we even need that kind of protection at all,” Makdissi said.
Security measures have helped to maintain a degree of public confidence. But with various unknown or sidelined armed groups still active across the country, many of them discontented in the wake of the transition from insurrection to formal statehood, there remains a significant risk of disruption. These groups continue to serve as a pool for potential recruitment by actors seeking to destabilize Syria’s fragile social order.
The recent attack on the Mar Elias Church is widely seen as a test of leadership for al-Sharaa. Officials are expected not only to respond with heightened security, but also to examine how these threats have been allowed to grow. Containing future risks will likely require a comprehensive approach, including the dismantling of any networks, regardless of affiliation, that undermine public safety and trust.
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