National GeographicFor Yazidis, Exile From Spiritual Homeland in Iraq Dilutes Ancient CultureSome are contemplating migration, severing ties to their holy land. Others want to stay and protect their shrines. LALISH, Iraq—Pir Said stood reverently barefoot, like all those in the inner temple sanctuary, on the warm inner stone courtyard of the holiest shrine in the Yazidi faith, the tomb of Sheikh Adi in the town of Lalish.
Lalish, in Iraq's northern Kurdish mountains, is to the Yazidis what Mecca is to Muslims, or what Jerusalem is to followers of the three great monotheistic faiths: Islam, Christianity, and Judaism.
It is the holiest site of an ancient Kurdish minority faith whose members have been in flight since early August, scattered by the tempestuous advance of Islamic State (IS) insurgents into Sinjar, a majority Yazidi town in northwestern Iraq, and its surroundings.
The Yazidis were propelled into the international spotlight last month, when tens of thousands fled on foot, climbing into the imposing but largely barren Sinjar Mountain range to escape IS militants besieging them at its base.
The United Nations doesn't have a specific figure for the number of displaced Yazidis, because it is considering Iraqis as a whole and not differentiating among the country's various religious communities, a spokesperson said. But it's clear from talking with displaced Yazidis that entire villages have been emptied of their inhabitants.
Their plight prompted U.S. President Barack Obama's administration to try to prevent a humanitarian crisis by delivering food and water via airdrops by the Iraqi and U.S. air forces, a strategy that was combined with U.S. airstrikes against IS positions around the mountain.
Most of the Yazidis who were on the mountain are now in makeshift camps in the governorate of Dahuk and other parts of Iraqi Kurdistan. Some 450 displaced families are staying in Lalish.
With the initial emergency over, the news cycle has moved on from the tragedy of the Yazidis, as it invariably does. But the fate of this community remains uncertain.
Entire villages have been emptied, their residents left to ponder if or when they can safely return. Some are contemplating migration, severing ties to a land they deem holy. Others are determined to stay and protect their shrines.
Spiritual HeartlandLalish is safe for now, tucked away in a lush valley enclosed by gently undulating hills, some sparsely forested, others carpeted in a dry grass that makes them look like sun-kissed golden waves.
The place is so inconspicuous that it's easy to miss from the main ribbon of asphalt running alongside it. A left turn takes you to a small checkpoint manned by Kurdish peshmerga forces guarding the entrance to the town. On the right, there's a gas flare, its bright orange flame signposting the energy riches below the soil.
But it's the riches above the soil—the many religious shrines—that most concern adherents of this ancient faith, which according to their lore, is at least 6,700 years old.
Pir Said, a black-bearded 37-year-old dressed in baggy white pants and a loose long-sleeved white shirt, is a "servant of the house," dedicated to the temple sanctuary. He is one of only 25 people traditionally permitted to live permanently in this holy town.
He stood in the shade of one of the few mulberry trees—their thick, gnarled trunks sprouting from the stone floor—whose sprawling branches shield pilgrims from a merciless sun.
Several children rushed past him, kissing the stone archway before entering the cool cavernous interior of Sheikh Adi's tomb, carefully stepping over, but not on, the threshold as tradition dictates.
"I cannot leave Lalish, or live without it," Pir Said said. "People, whoever they might be, are most present in their own land. When they leave it, they disappear—they melt into other communities. We're present here as a community in Lalish. If we leave, we think we will be weakened."
As with Muslims and Mecca, Yazidis must undertake a pilgrimage to Lalish at least once in their lifetime if they can, and those who live in Iraq should do so at least once a year.
The Yazidis are no strangers to persecution. They've endured it at least 72 times in their history, they say. This episode marks number 73. Estimates of their numbers range from a million to 700,000 to a few hundred thousand. There's a large Yazidi community in Germany, and others in North America, Turkey, and Syria, but most Yazidis live in northern Iraq, in an area radiating from Lalish.
A Rigid Belief SystemTheirs is not an inclusive community. Yazidis forbid converts and abide by a strict caste system–a vestige, along with a belief in reincarnation, of their time in India thousands of years ago—that prohibits not only marriage with non-Yazidis but also intermarriage between the castes. (According to some accounts, the Yazidis fled from Kurdistan to India long ago, whereas others claim they originated from there.)
Like the IS adherents who are tormenting them, Yazidis declare followers they perceive to have strayed from their rigid belief system to be infidels.
Yazidi religion, which blends Zoroastrianism and Mesopotamian rituals with Christian, Jewish, and Sufi influences, centers around seven great angels led by Malik Taus (or Tawsi Malik), also known as the Peacock Angel or, less charitably, Shaytan—Satan.
Unlike members of the three great monotheistic faiths that consider Satan a fallen angel, the Yazidis believe that he was forgiven, his tears of redemption so voluminous that they extinguished the fires of hell.
And in the same way that Muslims turn to Mecca to pray, Yazidis face the sun.
It is for these reasons that IS followers, and others before them, consider Yazidis devil and sun worshipping apostates.
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