When Dr. Nadia Khir decided to leave her traditional Druze village to study medicine in 1985, she set out on an unprecedented path, becoming Israel’s first female Druze physician and unknowingly blazing a trail that countless women have followed since.
“I wanted to do something revolutionary,” she told The Jerusalem Post in an interview, after receiving a reward of special recognition for her contributions to the advancement of Druze women from philanthropist Miriam Adelson.
Khir’s revolutionary legacy did not come easily, as her decision to leave the village of Julis and pursue an unconventional path was initially met with resistance from her community.
“It was a very, very, very traditional community,” she told the Post.
In Khir’s community, women and girls were not allowed to leave their villages to study.
Khir spoke with male relative to convince her family
“There was a mentality that we should keep our women safe in the village, because Druze all over history felt threatened,” she explained.
Restricted by societal pressure to stay in the village, Khir had to convince her family to allow her to pursue her dreams.
“I wanted my brother’s permission, but I was afraid to talk to him. I did not have the courage,” she told the Post. Instead, she sought out a male relative who had left the village to study at the University of Haifa to speak to her brother.
“I told him, please ask my brother if he would let me go and learn medicine. He talked to my brother and said to him, don’t worry, I will be near her,” Khir recalled, adding that the relative managed to convince her brother.
Convincing her religious mother was more difficult, she stated. “It was difficult to come and say, ‘Mom, I’m going to learn medicine,’ because it was forbidden.”
With support from her brother, Khir finally won the approval of her family.
In 1986, she applied and was accepted to the Technion-Israel Institute of Technology, one of Israel’s top universities.
While medical school welcomed her ambition, she still needed the acceptance of her community. Pursuing such an unconventional path carried the potential that Khir’s family would be punished by the village for her choices.
Khir specifically feared that her mother would be banned from the local khilwa, the Druze house of prayer.
“If someone has broken the rules, they do not let them get into this holy place,” she explained. “Let’s say I break the rules. I’m not religious, so they punish my mother.”
In a chance encounter one day, she met Sheikh Faraj Fadoul, one of her village’s religious heads, and took the opportunity to ask for his advice.
“Uncle,” Khir said, addressing Fadoul as family, as members of her tight-knit Druze community often do. “I want to study medicine. I know that my mother will be punished. What should I do? I have been accepted to the Technion.”
Fadoul pondered the issue for a moment before directly telling Khir to “just go and learn,” ensuring that her mother would not be punished for the decision.
“He found the solution for me. Without this, I could not be a doctor,” she asserted. “The promise that he made to me was real. He did not punish my mother.”
Week after week, her mother was continually welcomed to the khilwa, and she began her studies at the Technion, confronted by cultural differences that set her apart from her classmates.
Khir had received the majority of her education up until university in Arabic. While she studied Hebrew and English in school, the level of vocabulary used in medical school was unfamiliar to her.
But Khir’s dedication to raising her family’s economic status and helping people kept her motivated.
“After six years, I made the practical [clinical] year, the seventh year, and then became the first Druze woman doctor in Israel,” she beamed.
For her clinical year of medical school, Khir specifically chose a hospital located in an area near her village that allowed her to interact with and treat Druze patients.
While patients were often surprised to see a female Druze doctor when Khir first began practicing medicine, her treatment opened some patients’ minds. She showed them that Druze women did not have to sacrifice their ambition for the safety of their villages. Druze women in Israel could safely pursue education and build successful careers while uplifting their community.
Khir recounted that eventually, even those in the religious community who were originally skeptical of her decisions sought out her care. “When I became a doctor, the religious society was the first to come and have medical help from me.”
Education for Druze women 'entirely transformed'
IN THE four decades since Khir’s first day of medical school, the experience for Druze women seeking education has entirely transformed.
Khir’s own daughters have followed in her footsteps, with one in the process of completing medical school and two pursuing degrees in engineering.
Reflecting on the hardships she overcame, Khir told the Post that her daughters faced significantly fewer obstacles, “not from society, not from their economic status, [and] not from having anyone who should give them permission to go and study.
“All of them, every Druze woman nowadays... who wants to study at university, they can go, and they can study, and no one says anything.”
Khir said that she feels proud and satisfied watching young Druze women work toward their goals today, the tangible effect of the social change she helped enact.
Now, having her contributions to the advancement of Druze women recognized by Adelson, Khir expressed deep gratitude for Adelson’s advocacy for the release of all hostages previously held by Hamas in Gaza.
She added that the recognition feels like more than personal praise.
“This recognition is for the Druze community,” she stated. “This is for the Druze society, who have sacrificed a lot of soldiers over the last three years.”