This family in Syria has kept the centuries-old tradition of Sufi whirling dervishes alive

In the heart of Damascus, a group of men and boys dressed in long, white robes and tall headpieces stood in a semicircle.

Their chants filled the courtyard of a traditional Damascene house that was turned into a hotel. Potted jasmine and geraniums surrounded a fountain.

As the melody built up momentum, several of the men and boys began to twirl, their white skirts flaring out like blooming flowers.

The dancers’ synchronized rotations make them trance-like, seemingly detached from everything around them.

The al-Kharrats say they are the only family in Syria who have continuously performed the Sema, as the dance is known. It was introduced to the country in the 14th century and first popularized by the Persian poet Rumi in Turkey.

Through years of war, repression and threats from extremist groups like ISIS, the family has still been able to pass the ritual on to younger generations. Now, they say they are hopeful about new opportunities under the new Syrian government.

Moayyed al-Kharrat, one of the two brothers who oversee the dancers, said their great-uncle learned the Sufi dance and taught it to others in the family.

He compared it to a prayer, adding that each of the movements has a meaning.

“The spinning represents pilgrims moving around the Kaaba in Mecca,” Kharrat said, referring to the ritual performed by Muslims. “It’s also reminiscent of the planets moving around the sun.”

During the ritual, one hand is extended upward, palm facing the sky, he went on to explain, which symbolizes receiving divine blessing. The other one is turned downward, palm facing the earth, to pass the blessings to the world.

Preserving the tradition

Mahmoud al-Kharrat learned the Sema when he was 4 years old. He said that keeping the tradition alive in Syria hasn’t been easy.

Sufism is a mystical branch of Islam focused on spiritual closeness to God. It has long faced suspicion from extremists, who consider Sufis to be non-believers. ISIS fighters have attacked their shrines and killed and imprisoned the descendants of the saints and personalities they represent.

The regime of ousted President Bashar al-Assad didn’t prohibit the Kharrat family from performing, the brothers said. But it did make it difficult for them to get the right permissions.

The Assad regime used the arts to paint a more positive image of itself to the world, they explained. For example, when foreign dignitaries visited, they asked the family to perform for them.

As the civil war ravaged Syria, countries stopped issuing visas for Syrians to travel. The family found it almost impossible to take its performances to international audiences as it had done before.

One time, they managed to go to the US, but upon returning, Mahmoud was questioned by a border guard about why he hadn’t yet completed Syria’s mandatory military service, which all men had to complete at the time.

Mahmoud estimated that he ended up paying around $7,000 in bribes so he wouldn’t get sent to the frontlines.

This was a big financial hit to his family, but he said he didn’t want to be a part of Assad’s brutal military forces.

Back at the Damascene home-turned-hotel, the first part of the performance wrapped up, and the two brothers discussed with the younger members what they could improve on.

The boys listened intently.

After some discussion, they got ready for the next part of the performance — their long, white skirts sweeping the ground as they moved around.

“The best way to keep this tradition alive,” Moayad al-Kharrat explained, “is to pass it on to the younger generation.”

“This has to be done in the right way,” he said, “by making sure they learn the chants, and the full meaning of what this dance represents.”

Today, with Assad no longer in charge, the Kharrat brothers say they are hopeful about the future. They plan to spread knowledge and understanding about Sufi traditions.

One question Moayyed said he gets a lot from the audience and for those looking to take up the dance is how he doesn’t get dizzy from all the spinning and turning.

“It’s just like any other sport,” he said. “You have to practice and practice. And then you have to focus on the spiritual side of it to forget any pain and discomfort.”

“When I dance, I feel like I’m flying,” Mahmoud added.

“I feel like a child who has just been given a birthday present.”