From the Biographies of the Distinguished Martyrs: (17) The Mujahid Shaykh
A veteran of Hama 1982 and a casualty of the Second Battle of Fallujah
The seventeenth “distinguished martyr” is Abu Hamza al-Shami, whom Abu Ismail al-Muhajir calls the “Mujahid Shaykh.” Shami evidently earned this title given his storied jihadist career, spanning Syria, Afghanistan, and finally Iraq. He was a veteran of the Syrian Islamist insurgency during the late 1970s and early 1980s, in particular of the 1982 Hama Massacre. Unfortunately, Muhajir does not tell us the details of Shami’s experience in Syria. Instead, we learn that Shami considered Abu Mus’ab al-Suri’s book “The Syrian Experience” to be an accurate recounting of the insurgency, although it seems that Shami and Suri did not know each other in that period. Muhajir digresses to share grisly stories about the prisons of Ba’athist Syria. Here, we can see the intense jihadist hatred of Alawites in general and the Assad regime in particular. The preoccupation with the regime in the jihadist imagination stemmed from three factors. The regime was secular (not ruled by sharia), tyrannical (self-evident), and heretical (perceived as Alawite in character). These factors together made the Assad regime the “perfect enemy,” as Nibras Kazimi put it.
Upon the news of the Taliban’s Islamic Emirate, Shami secretly emigrated from Syria and went to Afghanistan, where he fought in the service of the Taliban against the Northern Alliance and Shiite rebels in Bamyan. After the fall of the Emirate, Shami again emigrated, this time to Iraqi Kurdistan, where he fought Jalal Talabani’s Patriotic Union of Kurdistan. Next, Shami went to Fallujah to fight the Americans. This was his final destination. Due to his long militant experience, he was appointed to the Fallujah Military Shura Council. Muhajir also seemed to have been on the Council, revealing a substantial presence of foreigners. The rest of the biography discusses Shami’s exploits in Fallujah, where he would be killed during the Second Battle. We learn that he was near Abu Ja’far al-Maqdisi at the time of his death.
In the name of God, the most Gracious, the most Merciful.
The Mujahid Shaykh
He is the experienced Shaykh, the seasoned lion, the compassionate father, the loyal companion, the humble and gentle soul, Abu Hamza al-Shami.
From the city of Aleppo, his father migrated from Turkey during the era of religious persecution under the late Kemal Atatürk. Thus, he was fluent in Turkish, the language of his father. That mountain of a man instilled in his son–as he once told me–a love for religion and its people, the values of dignity and pride, and, most importantly, a passion for weapons and hunting.
He recounted to me that when his father grew old and frail, his sons wanted to give him some respite. Knowing his lifelong passion, they took him on a hunting trip. When the young men began competing in target practice, the old man asked one of them to hand him a rifle. The young man laughed at the elderly Shaykh, and even his own son doubted his father’s abilities, thinking he had forgotten the skills of his youth. In front of the Shaykh was a metal can. He told his son to toss it into the air. Suddenly, the Shaykh, as if he had returned to his twenties, aimed with ease and grace, hitting the can dead center. He handed the rifle back to his son, leaving the young men in awe. It was under this father’s care and guidance that our Shaykh grew up, trained in all kinds of weapons, especially light arms, which were never absent from their home. As Abu Hamza himself put it, even during the darkest times, such as the tragic events in Hama1 and Aleppo, their home was never without weapons. Those painful events, which the tyrants of the Arab world tried to bury in oblivion–the oblivion of the hidden Alawite hatred against the Sunnis, the oblivion of humiliation and degradation, the loss of family and children.
And yet, the heroes of this story, like Abu Hamza and others, still live among us, imprisoned by the tyrannical and arrogant Hafiz al-Assad and, after him, his son, the enemy of God, Bashar.
Speaking of the brothers in the prisons of the Nusayri2 tyrant, I feel it is my duty to mention a story that happened with brother Abu Muhammad al-Masri, the martyr of Ayn al-Hilwa, and brother Abu Salih, may God free him from captivity. The story goes that when the two brothers, along with a group of other brothers, were imprisoned on charges related to a jihadist operation against Jewish forces in Jordan, Abu Salih was mistakenly placed in a cell with a group of "ghosts." The place is indescribable in its horror. It was a place where he found human-like creatures, people sitting crouched, covered only by what barely hid their private parts. Their hair was extremely long, their nails like the claws of a beast, and the stench of decay emanated from everything. There was complete silence, and a man with a weapon and a whip sat far from them, avoiding the smell. They brought my companion into this place.
He said,
When I saw them, my heart sank, and I felt a fear that dislocated my limbs. They seated me next to one of them. I tried to steal glances and speak to one of them, but no one responded. I tried again, but still, no one answered, except for tears, as if their limbs had turned to stone. Everything was still and silent.
After several hours, they called him and took him out. He later understood that he had been placed there by mistake, and what he had seen was not a scene from the horrors of the Day of Judgment. It was not a coma or a painful, disturbing nightmare. What he had seen were brothers who, more than twenty years ago, had declared "La ilaha illa Allah"3 in Hama and elsewhere.4 From that moment until today, they remain in the state he witnessed–no words, no sun, no nothing...
The second story is about brother Abu Muhammad, who told me: "When I entered the prison, I was still naive! Truly, I was foolish and ignorant." He said, "I called the Adhan for Fajr,5 and I waited until the sun was about to rise. Then I knocked on the door." My companion took a deep, painful breath and said, "I don’t know if I knocked on the door of the prison or the door of Hell. Immediately, their dogs came from every direction, amazed at this strange creature who dared to knock on the prison door before it was opened and before the appointed time." They asked him, "What’s wrong with you?" Before they could punish him, the poor man said, "Fajr prayer." They laughed and laughed, then their stubborn tyrant grabbed him, raised his harsh voice, and said, "You son of a dog, Fajr prayer? Are we infidels? Do you understand? We are infidels!" Of course, in their colloquial dialect.
Then the enemy of God began to beat my brother [Abu Muhammad], may God have mercy on him, on his ear until blood gushed out, and from many parts of his body. Then they left him as a lifeless corpse and walked away laughing. This is the Ba’ath regime, and to this day, let no one think any good of the enemy of God, Bashar. He is a tyrant, the son of a tyrant.
Returning to our Shaykh, Abu Hamza, the story of his participation in the events of Hama, the tragedy of his brothers–to this day in the prisons of the tyrants–led me to this. Abu Hamza himself experienced this torment, but in a very simple case for which he spent some time in their prisons.
During our time in the Second Battle of Fallujah, I would sit with the Shaykh and ask him to tell me about the events in Aleppo and Hama. Praise be to God, he narrated them to me from beginning to near the end. Then, at the end, he said to me, "Have you read the book 'The Syrian Experience' by Abu Mus’ab al-Suri?" I said, "Almost, I read the old, abbreviated edition, but not all of the new one." He said, "In any case, the man was fair in this book, and he is the best who has written on this subject. This is the testimony of a witness to the era described in that book."
When the Taliban state emerged, our Shaykh migrated to it through tricks and schemes, as he was banned from traveling. There, he fought alongside his brothers against both the Northern Alliance and the cursed Shia in Bamyan and elsewhere. He was the elderly Shaykh, pouring his tender affection on the youth, who loved him in return. They saw in him a father, a big brother, and a loyal friend. When the Islamic Emirate collapsed at the hands of the traitors in the Pakistani government, not just the Americans, he refused to return to Syria, even with a forged passport as one of his relatives suggested. Instead, our Shaykh moved to another battlefield, heading to the northern region of Iraq, Kurdistan, to fight the enemy of God, [Jalal] Talabani, and his criminal, atheist party [Patriotic Union of Kurdistan]. He [Abu Hamza] continued with them until the Americans entered.
Then he resumed jihad against the Americans, but in Fallujah, where I came to know our Shaykh. I saw a remarkable man, tireless in his work, whether under the scorching sun or amidst heavy bombardment.
I got closer to him and found him to be a brilliant, seasoned military man. I wondered how people like me could have opinions on war when this treasure was not among us. So, he was appointed to the Military Shura Council.
Our Shaykh was known for his silence unless asked, but when he spoke, his experience dripped from his words. I truly realized that the man loved gunpowder. Then the Second Battle of Fallujah raged, and our Shaykh was assigned to my sector with a group of lions in the Nazzal neighborhood. There, the lover of sniping never left his beloved–a Russian-made Dragunov with a well-calibrated scope. He moved from one rooftop to another, hoping to hunt an American rat.
As the battle intensified, the enemy stormed Nazzal, and I joined Abu Hamza. Despite being in his mid-fifties, the man leaped from one wall to another, and I witnessed his agility and lightness. I thought, "How true is the saying, 'The limbs we preserved in youth preserve us in old age.'" Here is a glimpse of the honor and jihad with our Shaykh.
He and a group of brothers retreated to a house as per the planned strategy, positioning themselves on the second floor. He and Abu Ja'far6 agreed that if the Americans entered to search the house, not all the brothers would shoot, to avoid wasting ammunition and to prevent friendly fire, especially if the mujahidin advanced toward the enemy.
Before they could finish their discussion, the Americans entered the house. A soldier climbed to the upper floor to search it, followed by a pack of rats. As soon as Abu Hamza saw the enemy of God, he rained bullets on him, and the soldier fell in front of him like a piece of filth dropped into a well.
Then he and Abu Ja'far advanced, showering the pack of rats behind him with bullets, forcing them to flee with their wounds. But the slain enemy of God remained with the brothers.
Abu Hamza and the brothers seized his weapon and ammunition, but the Shaykh preferred to give the weapon to Abu Ja'far. The battle raged on that day, from house to house, until our Shaykh, Abu Hamza, climbed onto the roof of one house to cross to another. There, he met his destiny, as an American sniper on a higher rooftop spotted him and shot him down immediately.
Everyone grieved his loss, for Abu Hamza was who he was. But the circumstances and the time left no room for tears or sorrow, for war grinds down the youth. The young men moved on, leaving the Shaykh behind with a lump in their throats. But this was minor compared to what pierced my heart with pain and regret, a pain that remains with me to this day and will surely die with me, until I argue with my Ummah and its scholars on the Day of Judgment.
We found ourselves in another house with a group of noble brothers, and we sent the mujahid Abu al-Zubayr al-Libi to retrieve the Shaykh’s body to attempt burial. But the man, with great difficulty, could only confirm the Shaykh’s death and bring us some of his personal belongings from his pockets. We hoped to return to him once the situation improved, but it only worsened. There is no power nor strength except with God. The snipers took position at the head of the alley separating our houses, and a tank fortified itself in the same area, cutting off our access. For several days, we could only look at him, unable to bury our brother. Regret consumed us, and pain tore at our hearts as we wept for the state of our Ummah’s betrayal.
At that time, I wrote my poem "The Ordeal," in which I referenced the story of the corpse. Then I followed it with a poem about my brother and Shaykh, Abu Hamza, whose real nickname was "Abu Abdu":
My grief for you, Abu Abdu...
A seasoned hero who races,
In times of hardship, a thousand strong...
By God, how great you were!
The youth sat, but you rose,
Fulfilling the duty of religion with generosity.
You were the teacher and the mentor,
A compassionate father... never harsh.
The noble rise to their fate,
While the slave races to the abyss.
People are resurrected as corpses,
But your fragrance, like musk, lingers.
May God elevate your status,
As you elevated the religion, truly.
Written by:
Abu Ismail al-Muhajir.
Referring to the Ba’athist government’s destruction of Hama after it had been seized by Syrian Islamist militants in 1982.
Sectarian pejorative for Alawites
“There is no god but God”
Some of these men may have been released during the HTS offensive.
Morning prayer
Referring to Abu Ja’far al-Maqdisi