thedrifter
08-25-02, 08:40 AM
http://media.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/images/I56908-2002Aug24
From Middle East, Son Rises to Fight For Adopted Home
Strangers' Insults Spur Syria Native to Join Marines
advertisement
Born in Syria and raised in Alexandria, Raif Zakhem becomes just another U.S. Marine recruit during the first day of boot camp on Parris Island, S.C.. (Jahi Chikwendiu - The Washington Post
By Donna St. George
Washington Post Staff Writer
Sunday, August 25, 2002; Page A1
Only 10 years before, the Middle East was all he knew. Raif Zakhem remembers the narrow streets of Damascus, the stone buildings and small shops not far from his family's balcony apartment and the sweet smell of his grandmother's Arabic pastries. This was home. This was where he grew from baby to boy.
On a warm day in May, it became the land of his past. His mother had died, and his father was ill. The slight child with dark eyes boarded a plane, 9 years old and heavy-hearted, headed toward relatives in the United States. Looking out as the jet crossed continents, his stomach rumbled.
He was sick much of the way to America.
Now, he is 19, wearing his lucky necklace, on the second flight of his life. The plane is half-filled, and the January morning is frigid, and, out the window, the clouds are billowy soft. He is tired but cannot sleep. This is another sharp turn from what was, another passage into a portentous unknown.
This time he is leaving behind community college and a tight circle of friends and the very American life he had come to inhabit with his aunt and uncle in Alexandria. "I'm starting all over again," he tells himself. But what lies ahead now is more fathomable. He has joined the military in the aftermath of Sept. 11.
He has already imagined himself in uniform, defending the country he has come to call his own. First, he knows, he must persevere through 12 grueling weeks of boot camp. But the idea is reassuring: him, Raif, a Marine.
This is not how he was seen in the days after the terrorist attacks on the United States – when he was insulted by strangers in an Alexandria restaurant. Then, he was perceived only as an outsider with olive skin, an Arab. His critics were bitter, not seeming to understand when it was, exactly, that an immigrant felt all of the loyalties of an American.
Historic Crossroads
Amid the most decisive turns of history, lives are made and changed in unexpected ways. Deaths are mourned. Priorities are clarified. War plans are laid. The generation coming of age reconsiders its future.
This is how it was for Raif Zakhem – a child of Syria who arrived in the United States knowing no English and who navigated his adolescence in suburban America.
A year ago, at just the time he had graduated high school and was choosing his life course, the United States came under attack. He would soon find himself defined by the larger conflict, revealed as an individual amid the imperatives of history.
For Zakhem this was a striking convergence of where he started and what he had become – his life divided almost equally between the Middle East and the United States. His father was Lebanese and his French mother lived in Algeria; Zakhem was in Syria through the third grade.
When Zakhem enlisted in the Marine Corps, Syria was prominent on the U.S. list of terrorist-supporting states.
But now Zakhem was a U.S. citizen – in heart and in fact – trying to join the fight against terrorism. And his instincts were not so improbable. Nearly 9,000 active-duty Marines, about 5 percent, were born in countries around the globe.
On July 4, President Bush announced an executive order easing the way to citizenship for active-duty immigrants in the U.S. military. Speaking in West Virginia, Bush said he wanted to recognize "their brave service in this time of war."
That same day, Zakhem stood bleary-eyed with his duffle bags 350 miles away, at Reagan National Airport, bound to his first duty station. He had finished his training and was a full-fledged Marine, assigned to drive Humvees for an infantry unit.
How close he would get to the war on terrorism in the months ahead, he could only guess.
A Distant Past
In a photo album, Raif Zakhem can look back to Syria. He sees himself as 3 or 4 in the family apartment, celebrating his birthday with a white frosted cake. His American cousins, visiting, stand beside him, two little girls with dark eyes like his.
Back then, his grandmother was like a mother. She fussed and doted and baked for him. Zakhem recalls with fondness the chocolate-filled pastry she used to make. He cannot remember the name anymore, just the taste, his love of it.
From the second-story balcony in his grandparents' apartment, where he and his father lived, he used to call out the name of his best friend, who lived across the street. "Riyad!" he would yell. "Riyad!" The two boys would ride bikes or kick a ball in the street.
Zakhem did not get the chance to know his mother, who died giving birth to him. When he was a boy, his father, Elie Zakhem, a dentist, was diagnosed with a severe form of a genetic blood disorder called thalassemia. His father sought treatment for a time in the United States, but back then Raif stayed in Syria.
The region's historic religious tensions were a backdrop in his life. His mother was a Muslim and his father a Christian, and the couple – who met while both worked in Algeria – eloped to avoid a backlash. Their child grew up Catholic, in a Muslim-majority nation.
It was after Zakhem's grandmother died, in January 1991, that young Raif traveled to the United States, in the company of his grieving grandfather, uncertain how long he might stay. He remembers a flight attendant who gave him gummy bears.
His life, he knew, was about to change unimaginably.
A New Home
One of the first things he did was eat a McDonald's hamburger. Raif Zakhem arrived in the United States in May 1991 and, surrounded by chattering relatives he barely remembered, he sat at his aunt's kitchen table and carefully cut the burger with a knife and fork – wide-eyed and nervous, showing his best manners.
This was America – this spacious home that belonged to his father's sister and her family. This house with shutters and a sod lawn and a two-car driveway and rooms with fine furniture and a yard where bright flowers were planted in gardens and clay pots.
At first, the boy spoke only Arabic. This was not a barrier with relatives, who understood. But it made the larger American world impenetrable. His public school held him back a grade. Even in classes for foreign students, no one spoke the only language he knew.
Still, Zakhem lived in a home where the new and the old managed to coexist.
His aunt Hilda Zakhem Estephan, once a well-known singer in the Middle East, was one of the founders of the Syrian-American Club in Washington and worked as a computer specialist at the U.S. Information Agency. His uncle, Raymond Estephan, with a PhD from George Washington University, worked for a computer company in Maryland.
The couple had two girls, Natasha and Ramona, the cousins who had visited him on a birthday in Syria. In the beginning, homework at night brought the whole family together – two aunts, his uncle, two cousins – translating, gesturing, explaining.
At family gatherings, there were burgers on the grill, hummus on the table, cartoons on the television, Arabic music on the stereo. Conversations started in one language, flowed into another, went back again.
Raif became a Boy Scout. He played community basketball with the Alexandria Hawks. He vacationed in Ocean City. A year after he arrived, he was adopted by his father's youngest sister, Madlene Zakhem, who was unmarried; that way, the family reasoned, Raif Zakhem would keep his father's name. His father visited from Syria twice.
By sixth grade, his English was solid, strong.
When, at 13, his father insisted Raif return to Syria – for the summer, possibly longer – the boy was outwardly accepting. His father was healthier and wanted him nearby. But at a party before his July 4 flight, Raif confided his true distress to a friend.
Hilda Estephan found out and phoned Syria. There would have to be a change, she told her brother, Raif's father. It would not be wise, she insisted, to uproot the boy again.
"You come here," she urged.
His father, angry at first, came to agree with her, promising to make a trip soon. But his health declined unexpectedly. As the family made plans to fly to Syria, he slipped away, dying four days after Zakhem graduated from eighth grade in Alexandria.
Painful Questions
On Sept. 11, Raif Zakhem was a full-time student at Northern Virginia Community College, working two part-time jobs. In his free time, he hung out with four or five guys who would shoot hoops or throw a football or go out to eat. Not a drinker, Zakhem was low-key and likable; his cousins joked that he was the kind of sweet-hearted guy all their friends adored. He and his girlfriend had recently broken up; she was moving to Germany.
In his Alexandria bedroom, his great interest in movies was clear; posters hung on the walls. Zakhem could tick off favorites: "Scarface," "Gladiator," "Braveheart," "Lawrence of Arabia," "Amores Perros." But the film closest to his life ambitions was "Top Gun."
Zakhem had watched it so many times he lost count. He admired the Tom Cruise character's skill, daring, heroism. In painful ways, there were similarities between Zakhem and "Maverick." Both were coming into their own without their fathers.
Thinking about a career as a pilot, Zakhem had approached Navy recruiters early on. But midway through Annandale High School, he was injured in a car accident. He never regained the strong vision he needed.
continued
From Middle East, Son Rises to Fight For Adopted Home
Strangers' Insults Spur Syria Native to Join Marines
advertisement
Born in Syria and raised in Alexandria, Raif Zakhem becomes just another U.S. Marine recruit during the first day of boot camp on Parris Island, S.C.. (Jahi Chikwendiu - The Washington Post
By Donna St. George
Washington Post Staff Writer
Sunday, August 25, 2002; Page A1
Only 10 years before, the Middle East was all he knew. Raif Zakhem remembers the narrow streets of Damascus, the stone buildings and small shops not far from his family's balcony apartment and the sweet smell of his grandmother's Arabic pastries. This was home. This was where he grew from baby to boy.
On a warm day in May, it became the land of his past. His mother had died, and his father was ill. The slight child with dark eyes boarded a plane, 9 years old and heavy-hearted, headed toward relatives in the United States. Looking out as the jet crossed continents, his stomach rumbled.
He was sick much of the way to America.
Now, he is 19, wearing his lucky necklace, on the second flight of his life. The plane is half-filled, and the January morning is frigid, and, out the window, the clouds are billowy soft. He is tired but cannot sleep. This is another sharp turn from what was, another passage into a portentous unknown.
This time he is leaving behind community college and a tight circle of friends and the very American life he had come to inhabit with his aunt and uncle in Alexandria. "I'm starting all over again," he tells himself. But what lies ahead now is more fathomable. He has joined the military in the aftermath of Sept. 11.
He has already imagined himself in uniform, defending the country he has come to call his own. First, he knows, he must persevere through 12 grueling weeks of boot camp. But the idea is reassuring: him, Raif, a Marine.
This is not how he was seen in the days after the terrorist attacks on the United States – when he was insulted by strangers in an Alexandria restaurant. Then, he was perceived only as an outsider with olive skin, an Arab. His critics were bitter, not seeming to understand when it was, exactly, that an immigrant felt all of the loyalties of an American.
Historic Crossroads
Amid the most decisive turns of history, lives are made and changed in unexpected ways. Deaths are mourned. Priorities are clarified. War plans are laid. The generation coming of age reconsiders its future.
This is how it was for Raif Zakhem – a child of Syria who arrived in the United States knowing no English and who navigated his adolescence in suburban America.
A year ago, at just the time he had graduated high school and was choosing his life course, the United States came under attack. He would soon find himself defined by the larger conflict, revealed as an individual amid the imperatives of history.
For Zakhem this was a striking convergence of where he started and what he had become – his life divided almost equally between the Middle East and the United States. His father was Lebanese and his French mother lived in Algeria; Zakhem was in Syria through the third grade.
When Zakhem enlisted in the Marine Corps, Syria was prominent on the U.S. list of terrorist-supporting states.
But now Zakhem was a U.S. citizen – in heart and in fact – trying to join the fight against terrorism. And his instincts were not so improbable. Nearly 9,000 active-duty Marines, about 5 percent, were born in countries around the globe.
On July 4, President Bush announced an executive order easing the way to citizenship for active-duty immigrants in the U.S. military. Speaking in West Virginia, Bush said he wanted to recognize "their brave service in this time of war."
That same day, Zakhem stood bleary-eyed with his duffle bags 350 miles away, at Reagan National Airport, bound to his first duty station. He had finished his training and was a full-fledged Marine, assigned to drive Humvees for an infantry unit.
How close he would get to the war on terrorism in the months ahead, he could only guess.
A Distant Past
In a photo album, Raif Zakhem can look back to Syria. He sees himself as 3 or 4 in the family apartment, celebrating his birthday with a white frosted cake. His American cousins, visiting, stand beside him, two little girls with dark eyes like his.
Back then, his grandmother was like a mother. She fussed and doted and baked for him. Zakhem recalls with fondness the chocolate-filled pastry she used to make. He cannot remember the name anymore, just the taste, his love of it.
From the second-story balcony in his grandparents' apartment, where he and his father lived, he used to call out the name of his best friend, who lived across the street. "Riyad!" he would yell. "Riyad!" The two boys would ride bikes or kick a ball in the street.
Zakhem did not get the chance to know his mother, who died giving birth to him. When he was a boy, his father, Elie Zakhem, a dentist, was diagnosed with a severe form of a genetic blood disorder called thalassemia. His father sought treatment for a time in the United States, but back then Raif stayed in Syria.
The region's historic religious tensions were a backdrop in his life. His mother was a Muslim and his father a Christian, and the couple – who met while both worked in Algeria – eloped to avoid a backlash. Their child grew up Catholic, in a Muslim-majority nation.
It was after Zakhem's grandmother died, in January 1991, that young Raif traveled to the United States, in the company of his grieving grandfather, uncertain how long he might stay. He remembers a flight attendant who gave him gummy bears.
His life, he knew, was about to change unimaginably.
A New Home
One of the first things he did was eat a McDonald's hamburger. Raif Zakhem arrived in the United States in May 1991 and, surrounded by chattering relatives he barely remembered, he sat at his aunt's kitchen table and carefully cut the burger with a knife and fork – wide-eyed and nervous, showing his best manners.
This was America – this spacious home that belonged to his father's sister and her family. This house with shutters and a sod lawn and a two-car driveway and rooms with fine furniture and a yard where bright flowers were planted in gardens and clay pots.
At first, the boy spoke only Arabic. This was not a barrier with relatives, who understood. But it made the larger American world impenetrable. His public school held him back a grade. Even in classes for foreign students, no one spoke the only language he knew.
Still, Zakhem lived in a home where the new and the old managed to coexist.
His aunt Hilda Zakhem Estephan, once a well-known singer in the Middle East, was one of the founders of the Syrian-American Club in Washington and worked as a computer specialist at the U.S. Information Agency. His uncle, Raymond Estephan, with a PhD from George Washington University, worked for a computer company in Maryland.
The couple had two girls, Natasha and Ramona, the cousins who had visited him on a birthday in Syria. In the beginning, homework at night brought the whole family together – two aunts, his uncle, two cousins – translating, gesturing, explaining.
At family gatherings, there were burgers on the grill, hummus on the table, cartoons on the television, Arabic music on the stereo. Conversations started in one language, flowed into another, went back again.
Raif became a Boy Scout. He played community basketball with the Alexandria Hawks. He vacationed in Ocean City. A year after he arrived, he was adopted by his father's youngest sister, Madlene Zakhem, who was unmarried; that way, the family reasoned, Raif Zakhem would keep his father's name. His father visited from Syria twice.
By sixth grade, his English was solid, strong.
When, at 13, his father insisted Raif return to Syria – for the summer, possibly longer – the boy was outwardly accepting. His father was healthier and wanted him nearby. But at a party before his July 4 flight, Raif confided his true distress to a friend.
Hilda Estephan found out and phoned Syria. There would have to be a change, she told her brother, Raif's father. It would not be wise, she insisted, to uproot the boy again.
"You come here," she urged.
His father, angry at first, came to agree with her, promising to make a trip soon. But his health declined unexpectedly. As the family made plans to fly to Syria, he slipped away, dying four days after Zakhem graduated from eighth grade in Alexandria.
Painful Questions
On Sept. 11, Raif Zakhem was a full-time student at Northern Virginia Community College, working two part-time jobs. In his free time, he hung out with four or five guys who would shoot hoops or throw a football or go out to eat. Not a drinker, Zakhem was low-key and likable; his cousins joked that he was the kind of sweet-hearted guy all their friends adored. He and his girlfriend had recently broken up; she was moving to Germany.
In his Alexandria bedroom, his great interest in movies was clear; posters hung on the walls. Zakhem could tick off favorites: "Scarface," "Gladiator," "Braveheart," "Lawrence of Arabia," "Amores Perros." But the film closest to his life ambitions was "Top Gun."
Zakhem had watched it so many times he lost count. He admired the Tom Cruise character's skill, daring, heroism. In painful ways, there were similarities between Zakhem and "Maverick." Both were coming into their own without their fathers.
Thinking about a career as a pilot, Zakhem had approached Navy recruiters early on. But midway through Annandale High School, he was injured in a car accident. He never regained the strong vision he needed.
continued