From the Biographies of the Distinguished Martyrs: (33) Abu Ammar al-Suri
Another Syrian jihadist in Fallujah
The thirty-third “distinguished martyr” is Abu Bakr al-Suri al-Halabi aka Abu Ammar al-Suri, a Syrian jihadist with transnational experience. He founded Jama’at Abu Aisha in Lebanon, but the group was discovered early on and broken up before it could commence attacks. From Lebanon, Abu Ammar went to Afghanistan where he worked for the jihadist humanitarian organization Al Wafa before eventually fleeing through Pakistan back to Syria and eventually Iraq where he brought his family. He met Zarqawi in Fallujah, where they commenced jihadist activities. American spying forced Abu Ammar to flee to Baghdad, where he met Abu Ismail al-Muhajir, presumably through the jihadist networks active in the city. Here, he also met Thamir Mubarak ‘Atruz, who makes a cameo. Abu Ammar and ‘Atruz both prepared suicide bombings against Coalition and Iraqi government targets. Abu Ammar, Abu Ismail, and others eventually had to flee Baghdad back to Fallujah, where they stayed in Umar Hadid’s house. The rest of the narrative discussed Abu Ammar’s exploits and the story of 14-year old son who also died as a jihadist in Iraq.
The Father of the Martyr: Abu Ammar
He was a man of high ambition and noble spirit, one who, when convinced, would innovate, and when he despised something, he would strike. His energy made even the swift envious, and laziness hid at the sight of him. A pioneer in jihad and steadfastness, a migrant to God with his family and children, one who sold his soul and wealth for God and by God–I speak of Abu Bakr al-Suri al-Halabi, known in the Land of Two Rivers as Abu Ammar al-Suri.
The martyr (may God have mercy on him) recognized early the truth of the mujahidin’s path and their elevated status. Conversely, he witnessed the depravity of the secularists’ ideology, the degradation of their schools of thought, the corruption of their intentions, and the malice of their aims. Like others with insight, he saw the treachery of the Arab tyrants and their submission to Zionist-Crusader arrogance. Thus, he joined Jama’at Abu Aisha in Lebanon early on–in fact, he was among its founders–and strove with them to revive the spirit of resistance in the Levant. But the decree of God prevailed; their activities were discovered prematurely, forcing him to flee with his family to Jordan, then to Afghanistan. There, he worked with the Wafa Charity Organization, founded by scholars from the Arabian Peninsula for humanitarian work.
Later, he traveled from Afghanistan to Pakistan, then to Syria, before finally bringing his family to Iraq. In Iraq, the true qualities of the leader–his exceptional abilities, lofty ambitions, and sharp intellect–began to shine.
As soon as the war with the Ba’athists ended, he set out with steps firmer than mountains toward dignity and sacrifice. He connected with the beloved leader Abu Musab al-Zarqawi (may God have mercy on him), embarking with him on the first journeys of jihad in Fallujah before it became a symbol of resistance. However, American spies and agents tracked him. Before they could capture him, the martyr had already settled in Baghdad, where I worked alongside him. He had exemplary manners, humility, energy, service–everything you could love in a brother. He helped prepare several martyrdom operations, including the first operation against American collaborators in the police force in al-Rashidiya, carried out alongside the beloved martyr Mullah Thamir (may God have mercy on him).
The martyrdom-seeker was Abdul Rahman al-Maghribi, a man of astonishing humility and devotion. Strangely, this brother did not know how to drive at all. Still, he wept, begging to carry out an operation. When we tested his driving, the wall was his first target, so we excluded him. He cried so much that we all grieved for him. When Mullah Thamir visited Abu Ammar and learned why, he said, "Come with me now." He took him and taught him to drive. Within three days, with just one to two hours of practice daily, the brother drove as if he had been doing so for years–and executed one of the most difficult operations, requiring high skill, teaching us an early lesson: God’s help, sincere determination, and supplication to the One who holds all affairs are the greatest aids in achieving one’s goal.
When we were forced to leave Baghdad for various reasons, I departed, and he accompanied me to the outskirts of Fallujah. We entered the city almost together, and fate decreed that I be with him in Umar Hadid’s house during the First Battle of Fallujah. We both emerged unarmed, yet victorious.
The heroic martyr then advanced toward the Golan neighborhood without prior planning. We found ourselves in the Kurdish neighborhood near the school, where several tanks attempted to advance. The heroic brother Salem destroyed the first, then Muhammad destroyed the second. Suddenly, a helicopter gunship appeared–Abu Ammar was among the first to fire at it with his RPG. Soon, all the brothers rained bullets upon it, and thick smoke was seen rising from its tail. Abu Ammar shouted "Allahu Akbar!" and we all embraced, watching the greatest enemy falter before our eyes. For the first time in Iraq, mujahidin dared to attack aircraft–and it became a habit, to the point that they sometimes wished for helicopters to come. The enemy learned this after several were downed, and so stopped sending its crows into the hunters’ net.
Later, Abu Ammar and I advanced toward Alwa al-Makhdar in the Golan neighborhood. There, he and the brothers said, "You are our leader." I replied, "No, I don’t know the city well–you lived here, Abu Ammar, you lead, and I will follow as a brother and servant." He refused, but I insisted, and he agreed. We organized the groups and boosted morale. Abu Ammar had the greatest share in this, truly a man of high spirit whose battle cries instilled confidence even in the coward.
When the enemy attacked from one direction, he would push the brothers forward: "Advance, O hero! From there, O lion! Allahu Akbar, you hit the target! This is how the martyrs fight!" His encouragement was relentless, yet he never allowed sin among us.
One dark night, the enemy poured its fire of hatred upon us. I was wounded, as were many brothers, and the enemy advanced into the city, seizing the Kurdish district. But Abu Ammar was the man for adversity. He never weakened, only grew stronger. Beside him stood his son Ammar, dragging his weapon, fighting alongside his father, refusing to go to his mother. She was among the few women who refused to leave the city, staying with the mujahidin–baking, cooking, and washing clothes for them in Umar Hadid’s house with her mother-in-law and brothers. May God protect them all.
Abu Ammar then purified the Golan neighborhood of sins, banning cigarette smokers from jihad there. Every stranger entering the district was questioned: "Where are you from? Who sent you? Who do you know? Why have you come?" Until the area was cleansed of spies, becoming a model of organization, courage, and defiance against the enemy.
Fate later willed that the enemy attempt to invade from the railroad side–the Golan neighborhood’s flank–but Abu Ammar and his brothers repelled them, exhausting them. I recall that in their final assault, the enemy attacked at dawn. Snipers advanced, then tanks. We repelled their first wave, destroying a tank. They paused, then attacked again–another tank destroyed. They retreated, then returned a third time. By then, exhaustion had overtaken us, nearing 3 PM, our ammunition nearly depleted, many wounded but (thank God) no martyrs. The enemy was pushed back, and a sniper-held house was destroyed. Abu Ammar then said, "Go encourage the brothers, I can no longer stand." I replied, "By God, neither can I." Such was our fatigue. Yet the enemy was defeated that day and never returned. The Golan neighborhood became a legend of bravery and discipline, and Abu Ammar, after God, had the greatest share in this.
After the First Battle of Fallujah, Abu Ammar helped reorganize the city but turned to external operations. He participated in several, including an attack on the CIA on Baghdad’s airport road and multiple operations against the police.
Later, the brothers decided to storm Abu Ghraib prison. Preparations were made, and the operation was led by the martyr Abu Muhammad al-Lubnani. The brothers surrounded the target, but delays in the martyrdom vehicles and the rocket team’s failure to act forced them to abort after 15 minutes. Five days later, they decided to strike again to preempt enemy reinforcements and to surprise them, as no one expected a second attempt so soon.
Three days later, Abu Ammar was found just two meters from the target, untouched–as if he had died moments before. He was buried near his brothers in the martyrs' cemetery, leaving behind a cub and a lion to continue his path: his son Ammar.
The martyr joined his brothers in Paradise–we hold this hope, and God is his Reckoner–leaving five children: four sons and a daughter. The eldest, Ammar, was 14. His mother rejoiced, for he walked his father’s path–a boy who loved gunpowder like incense and dust like perfume. His mother nurtured this spirit in him, and he trained with his uncles, especially in mortars with Abu Umar.
As the Second Battle of Fallujah approached, families fled–men and women alike. But Ammar and his mother refused with astonishing resolve. Before his father’s death, his mother had a dream: her husband would be martyred in the ninth month, and she would give birth. Exactly mid-ninth month, Abu Ammar was martyred with his brothers. When labor came, despite the siege, bombardment, and brutal clashes peaking two weeks before Ramadan, she refused to leave: "I will die here on the land of jihad among my brothers, I will not leave."
After checks revealed she might need a C-section, she reluctantly agreed to go to Baghdad. But three days after giving birth, during her postpartum recovery, she returned to Fallujah–to be buried, as she said, "in the land her husband loved and died in with his mujahidin brothers."
The situation worsened. Safe families were bombed, the occupier’s crimes became undeniable, and the sight of children under rubble became common. Still, she insisted on staying. Eventually, the brothers urged her: "Umm Ammar, no one remains to care for you and your children here. Your presence burdens us. May God reward you."
She replied: "The matter is with God… I will leave, but Ammar stays to fight with you."
And so, Ammar remained with his uncles, guarding, training, and fighting alongside them. During the Second Battle of Fallujah, as I stood in Nazzal district near al-Firdous Mosque–where many martyrs had ascended–Ammar passed by in a pickup, smiling and waving at me. It was the last smile I saw from the boy.
Two days later, I stopped near a Kia pickup. The driver said, "Ammar is here in the truck."
"Where?" My heart dropped.
"He’s martyred."
At the truck’s end, I saw him. "Indeed, to God we belong, and to Him we return." A grief beyond words seized me. I mourned him more than his father, though I do not know why. Was it pity for the boy? For his mother, who had lost both husband and son in the path of God, stranded in exile? The Alawite criminals had ordered her arrest, imprisoning her brother for a year because she left Syria with her husband after pledging not to. She endured tragedies only God knows.
Homeless in Iraq, she moved from house to house, rarely staying more than a month, for hosts feared harboring a foreign Arab family. May God protect her and her children, and grant us goodness in place of Ammar and his father. God is our Helper.
Written by:
Abu Ismail al-Muhajir