Doing Druze: Where’s the Beef?

Today we’re doing Druze.

I have no idea what that means; I am sadly ignorant on this.  There is absolutely nothing in my memory I can reference.  The American idiot abroad is at play again, it seems.

We are going to Daliyat al-Karmel, a Druze village in the North District of Israel.

Druze are a relatively small Middle Eastern religious sect with an eclectic system of doctrines and a loyal cohesion among its members that have helped them maintain a close-knit identity and distinctive faith.  According to the Druze, their religion is the renewal of an ancient faith that became a secret known only to the group’s sages.  You cannot convert to Druze, nor are you married into it.  It is an exclusive faith.

Daliyat al-karmel was founded in the 17th century by Druze from Mt. Lebanon. This village is most famous for its market, gastronomic offerings and hospitality.

The market is primarily on main street where dozens of stores offer a variety of arts, crafts, textiles & souvenirs.  There are also many restaurants, bakeries and food stands for local farmers to sell their olives, bread and labaneh cheese.  We are fortunate.  The markets are not too crowded today, probably a result of passover week holidays.  And yet somehow we’ve managed to veer off course to wander through the streets and enjoy the architecture.   This is a treasure chest of color and perspective.

In recent years the villagers have begun hosting groups in their homes, and such a visit offers a glimpse of their houses, culture and tradition. The local residents offer tourists and genuine ethnic foods, wear their traditional clothes, tell stories about the Druze heritage and there are even guest houses designed with an authentic Druze décor.  We wandered into one of these transitional home restaurants.

Built on the upper level of the home, this family-owned restaurant offered a minimum seating area (only 10 tables) but an abundance of food.  We’d barely been seated before the appetizer course was presented.  It was quite a spread, including aba ghanoush, pareve, tabbouleh, hummus bi tahini, and pita bread. My friend asked for a menu, but we were surprised to discover there weren’t any.  The owners select the meal they want to serve you.  Of course, this comes with the expectation that you will not only enjoy it, but clean your plate.  For two women who were avoiding meat, this was a risky set-up.

The food is outstanding.  Delicious.  But it is too much.  Therein is the root of our problem and the beginning of bondage.  The Druze culture considers it an insult to not finish the meal.  Do we insult our host and leave the food, or do we binge and make ourselves completely miserable?

As our host joins us and begins to explain Druze history and culture, we move our food around on our plates to appear as if we are eating as we hang on his every word.

Our performance must be lacking. Without pausing in his storytelling, he begins to dish more rice and beef onto our plates, repeating “eat, eat!”  Clearly we are being held hostage.  We need an opening, some time to plan a polite and friendly escape.

The opportunity arrived when he left to make tea.  With gazelle-like speed, we scrape the meat into our napkins and I shove them in my pockets.  As he approached with the tea,  he smiles broadly, noting our plates are cleaned.  We proclaim we are happily stuffed.  He is so pleased, he won’t let us leave without relaxing in his garden.

“Please, please,” he said as he almost pushes us down the steps toward the back of the home.  “Take your tea.  Enjoy!”

At this point it could get frustrating, but this is part of the culture, and an insight into their world. Instead of getting angry at the polite-yet-bullying behavior, we could clear our minds of expectations, schedules and timelines to be in the present and truly experience the moment.  And so we did…for just a few seconds.   We moved in close and began to plan our escape.  Jumping the wall to enter the restricted area is looking appealing, but we elect to avoid possible arrest for a more common and polite approach.

“We have so enjoyed this, but we have an appointment we need to get to,” my friend says, as I distract him by asking for a photo.  As soon as the camera clicks, we hit the ground running…or at least walking at a fast pace.

We drive away from Daliyat al-Karmel on route to our next destination.  The stray cats have been fed well from the meat in my pocket, my friend is breathing again, though clearly suffering from post-traumatic stress, and I smell of beef fat.  Shalom!