It is amazing to me how, in the process of writing a narrative, one discovers meaning. Let me tell you the story of how I have processed the Mamilla experience so to identify the violence that most moved me that evening.
Yesterday, for the first time since I've been here, I awoke without hope. Neither my readings and prayers nor a delicious Middle Eastern breakfast helped. Seeing what hatred looks like had drastically disoriented me.
A filmmaker friend of mine asked me for ten minutes. Thinking he wanted to have a cup of coffee and sit outside, I silently nodded and followed him out of the room. Instead of seeing coffee, I saw that he had his camera set up. We sat down and he said this:
"You look noticeably different today...as though something very dark and heavy shadows your soul. Can you tell me about it?"
He pressed record and I started to tell the story of Mamilla.
As an experiential storyteller, I choose to relive the story as I tell it. I felt the sweat on my forehead from the long walk, I smelled the soil of Mamilla, and I saw the eyes of the Israeli kids with guns.
Military service is mandatory here. Immediately following high school graduation, boys and girls must serve in the Israeli defense. Their boot camp experience involves a deep understanding of their narrative which, sadly, is not the ancient narrative of the Hebrew Scriptures. Rather, it is the very contemporary narrative of their demise in the Holocaust, the International reparation in the giving of the land of Palestine to Israel in 1948, and their military conquests of 1967 and beyond. "Never again" is the national slogan: indoctrinated kids with guns is their solution.
It was in the storytelling and seeing their eyes again that I recognized why I was so disoriented and why "something very dark and heavy" shadowed my soul: my heart didn't break for these kids. Violence, I discovered during my interview, was being done to my perspective of me.
Ethicist, Theologian, and Provocateur Stanley Hauerwas calls himself a pacifist because he knows what a "violent son of bitch" he is. I resonate more deeply with his sentiment now, yet I long for my language to be something like this: I am a peacemaker because I am moved by my Rabbi into the way of creative love.
There is pain in the experience of living between who I am and who I want to become. Grace accompanies the pain.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Monday, June 27, 2011
Mamilla Plaza
I went for a long walk tonight.
Earlier today, we were in a conversation with Dr. Nabael Shaath who is Palestine's Hillary Clinton. Currently, his work is to travel around the world in an effort to garner support for Palestine as a distinct nation. In September, Palestine will go before the U.N. in order to declare unilateral independence.
A distinct nation, according to Dr. Shaath, is:
a country with clear boarders;
a country that is no longer occupied by Israel and has no more settlements;
a country filled with citizens who have the internationally agreed upon human rights.
As he talked about the injustices of the occupation, he mentioned that just last night (11pm), three Israeli bulldozers, 2 trucks, and 20 Israeli officials entered a 12th Century Muslim cemetery in East Jerusalem and bulldozed 100 graves. The cemetery was called Mamilla.
I am in East Jerusalem right now. I've heard stories of Israeli's bulldozing Palestinian homes (places of the living), but never had I heard of them desecrating Muslim cemeteries (places of the dead). Why the bulldozers? Two reasons: First, they seem to want to wipe out the memory of the Palestinian from the land; Second, they want a playground for their kids.
Later this afternoon, upon our return to our hotel, I noticed that I had received an email from a friend in Bethlehem letting me know that the cemetery bulldozing had occurred. I Googled the location to find that it was no more than a 20 minute walk. I grabbed my camera and left. I needed to see what this kind of hatred looked like: hatred that causes one group of people to attempt to wipe out the evidence and memory of another.
I didn't know what it was that I would see or if I would see anything at all. What I knew was that a community of oppressed people had just been humiliated and insulted again. If nothing else, I wanted to communicate my solidarity with the oppressed, humiliated, and insulted.
As I walked, I considered the writings of the Prophet Jeremiah who repeatedly called Israel to walk in the way of justice with the nations. I recited the lines of Psalm 87 where the Psalmist envisioned YHWH standing at the gates of Jerusalem inviting the Babylonians, the Philistines, and the Egyptians (Israel's greatest enemies) into the City because it belonged to them. I observed the artificially lit city walls and the sunset reflecting off the rolling Judean countryside.
"Beautiful." I thought to myself
I walked by one Israeli police SUV...and then another. 18-19 year old "officials" manned the vehicles and watched me, a solitary, tall, Scandinavian American, with more than a little suspicion. As I neared the cemetery I heard laughter...not necessarily the sound I was expecting. I rounded a corner and looked up at where the cemetery was located to find 17 Israeli troops around its perimeter. They were 25 meters up a hill and looked as though they expected trouble.
"Loaded automatic killing machines carried by 18 year-olds." I thought to myself. "This is what hatred looks like." The place was suddenly far from beautiful.
I leaned against a rock fence, looked up the hill, and made an observation about myself. My heart did not break for these 17 kids. My heart has broken over and over again in the last 7 days...but it did not break for these 17 kids. Naturally, I was troubled by that so, in the ancient tradition of the people with whom I now shared company, I asked YHWH a question:
"Why does my heart not break?"
In the silence that followed I began to recognize these 17 kids for what they were...kids that happened to be in the grip of a senseless cycle of violence. Then, my heart started to break.
I knew that I wasn't going to be able to get any closer so I entered into another ancient practice of the diverse peoples of this land: I prayed for them. In my prayers, I blessed them and asked that God would stir a crisis in them on this night that would move them from the cycle of violence and into His embrace.
It was time to go. I smiled, put my right hand over my heart, and bowed my head ever so slightly. None of them responded.
It was dark by then so I began my return journey, my soul filled with questions...and one request: "I need to see the goodness of these people. Will You help me see the goodness of these people?"
My journey took me through Muslim and Jewish neighborhoods, a theater district, and a park.
And then I heard music...Jewish music.
I was drawn by the rhythm and unique sound of music and laughter. The closer I got the more intrigued I became about the source of the sounds...and then I saw them...Jews from around the world singing and dancing the same songs and dances they've sung and danced for thousands of years. It drew me...they drew me. It was good.
And there was beauty again.
As I drifted into the shadows, I looked up at a sign above the very alive, dancing community. The sign read: "Mamilla Plaza".
Earlier today, we were in a conversation with Dr. Nabael Shaath who is Palestine's Hillary Clinton. Currently, his work is to travel around the world in an effort to garner support for Palestine as a distinct nation. In September, Palestine will go before the U.N. in order to declare unilateral independence.
A distinct nation, according to Dr. Shaath, is:
a country with clear boarders;
a country that is no longer occupied by Israel and has no more settlements;
a country filled with citizens who have the internationally agreed upon human rights.
As he talked about the injustices of the occupation, he mentioned that just last night (11pm), three Israeli bulldozers, 2 trucks, and 20 Israeli officials entered a 12th Century Muslim cemetery in East Jerusalem and bulldozed 100 graves. The cemetery was called Mamilla.
I am in East Jerusalem right now. I've heard stories of Israeli's bulldozing Palestinian homes (places of the living), but never had I heard of them desecrating Muslim cemeteries (places of the dead). Why the bulldozers? Two reasons: First, they seem to want to wipe out the memory of the Palestinian from the land; Second, they want a playground for their kids.
Later this afternoon, upon our return to our hotel, I noticed that I had received an email from a friend in Bethlehem letting me know that the cemetery bulldozing had occurred. I Googled the location to find that it was no more than a 20 minute walk. I grabbed my camera and left. I needed to see what this kind of hatred looked like: hatred that causes one group of people to attempt to wipe out the evidence and memory of another.
I didn't know what it was that I would see or if I would see anything at all. What I knew was that a community of oppressed people had just been humiliated and insulted again. If nothing else, I wanted to communicate my solidarity with the oppressed, humiliated, and insulted.
As I walked, I considered the writings of the Prophet Jeremiah who repeatedly called Israel to walk in the way of justice with the nations. I recited the lines of Psalm 87 where the Psalmist envisioned YHWH standing at the gates of Jerusalem inviting the Babylonians, the Philistines, and the Egyptians (Israel's greatest enemies) into the City because it belonged to them. I observed the artificially lit city walls and the sunset reflecting off the rolling Judean countryside.
"Beautiful." I thought to myself
I walked by one Israeli police SUV...and then another. 18-19 year old "officials" manned the vehicles and watched me, a solitary, tall, Scandinavian American, with more than a little suspicion. As I neared the cemetery I heard laughter...not necessarily the sound I was expecting. I rounded a corner and looked up at where the cemetery was located to find 17 Israeli troops around its perimeter. They were 25 meters up a hill and looked as though they expected trouble.
"Loaded automatic killing machines carried by 18 year-olds." I thought to myself. "This is what hatred looks like." The place was suddenly far from beautiful.
I leaned against a rock fence, looked up the hill, and made an observation about myself. My heart did not break for these 17 kids. My heart has broken over and over again in the last 7 days...but it did not break for these 17 kids. Naturally, I was troubled by that so, in the ancient tradition of the people with whom I now shared company, I asked YHWH a question:
"Why does my heart not break?"
In the silence that followed I began to recognize these 17 kids for what they were...kids that happened to be in the grip of a senseless cycle of violence. Then, my heart started to break.
I knew that I wasn't going to be able to get any closer so I entered into another ancient practice of the diverse peoples of this land: I prayed for them. In my prayers, I blessed them and asked that God would stir a crisis in them on this night that would move them from the cycle of violence and into His embrace.
It was time to go. I smiled, put my right hand over my heart, and bowed my head ever so slightly. None of them responded.
It was dark by then so I began my return journey, my soul filled with questions...and one request: "I need to see the goodness of these people. Will You help me see the goodness of these people?"
My journey took me through Muslim and Jewish neighborhoods, a theater district, and a park.
And then I heard music...Jewish music.
I was drawn by the rhythm and unique sound of music and laughter. The closer I got the more intrigued I became about the source of the sounds...and then I saw them...Jews from around the world singing and dancing the same songs and dances they've sung and danced for thousands of years. It drew me...they drew me. It was good.
And there was beauty again.
As I drifted into the shadows, I looked up at a sign above the very alive, dancing community. The sign read: "Mamilla Plaza".
Thursday, June 23, 2011
"Fence" or "Wall"?
I'm confused...I keep hearing this 25'-tall cement thing referred to as a "fence"
Thoughts?
Thoughts?
Yesterday's Quote...Today's Understanding
Yesterday, a Palestinian friend of mine (her family has lived here for generations) said, "Language Creates Reality."
I'm someone who uses words enough to have an idea of what she meant...or so I thought.
Today, I shared a table with the Senior Editor of the Jerusalem Post who is a Jew whom recently migrated from Massachusetts. As Senior Editor of arguably the most influential Zionist Newspaper in the Holy Land, she is creating a future reality for my Palestinian friend and her family by the words she uses.
Here's how:
1. When referring to herself and her people, rather than using the word "Jew" or "Jewish", she used the word "Israeli". When referring to Palestinians, she used the word "Arabs". The use of these identifiers caused my radar to go up but it caused my friend, the only Palestinian in the room, to drop her head. Why? Because my Palestinian friend is Israeli too. When a powerful Jew, whose words ripple globally, excludes Palestinians from Israeli identity, it gives the global community permission to exclude Palestinians as well. Israeli as "Jew-only" is propaganda that alters psychological reality. Further, by referring to Palestinians as "Arabs" is to lump this people group in with an amorphous group of people with no identity, no place, and no rights.
2. The focus of the Editor's journalism is to report on the development of Jewish Settlements. Settlements are Jewish neighborhoods that are intentionally springing up in Palestinian territory with specific goals in mind: to steal land and to further displace Palestinians. Rather than referring to this as land stealing and displacement, the Editor referred to the transitioning of "Arabs" to specific, non-ideal portions of land that do not include major Jewish religious places. Her language dehumanized the Palestinians into objects that can be moved around like one would rearrange living room furniture. To visualize the land stealing and Palestinian displacement, see the image below.
3. Frequently, her references to "Arabs" were accompanied with quotes of suicide bombings, danger, and Jewish national fear. In so doing, it became clear that she saw the "Arab" as an enemy and as a disease that must be cut from the "body". Through the use of language, she is creating a reality for Palestinians and for the Global Community: when the Senior Editor of the Jerusalem Post refers to Arabs with enemy/disease language, it alters the perspective of the Global Community such that we begin see them as the "enemy/disease" as well. Further, it creates an ideal reality for the Jewish Community as, with Palestinians seen globally as "enemy" the Jews become seen as wise and generous in the "gifting" of parcels of the land that is "rightfully theirs."
When the conversation was over, I asked my Palestinian friend what she thought of that. She took a deep breath and simply repeated her quote from yesterday: "Language Creates Reality."
I'm someone who uses words enough to have an idea of what she meant...or so I thought.
Today, I shared a table with the Senior Editor of the Jerusalem Post who is a Jew whom recently migrated from Massachusetts. As Senior Editor of arguably the most influential Zionist Newspaper in the Holy Land, she is creating a future reality for my Palestinian friend and her family by the words she uses.
Here's how:
1. When referring to herself and her people, rather than using the word "Jew" or "Jewish", she used the word "Israeli". When referring to Palestinians, she used the word "Arabs". The use of these identifiers caused my radar to go up but it caused my friend, the only Palestinian in the room, to drop her head. Why? Because my Palestinian friend is Israeli too. When a powerful Jew, whose words ripple globally, excludes Palestinians from Israeli identity, it gives the global community permission to exclude Palestinians as well. Israeli as "Jew-only" is propaganda that alters psychological reality. Further, by referring to Palestinians as "Arabs" is to lump this people group in with an amorphous group of people with no identity, no place, and no rights.
2. The focus of the Editor's journalism is to report on the development of Jewish Settlements. Settlements are Jewish neighborhoods that are intentionally springing up in Palestinian territory with specific goals in mind: to steal land and to further displace Palestinians. Rather than referring to this as land stealing and displacement, the Editor referred to the transitioning of "Arabs" to specific, non-ideal portions of land that do not include major Jewish religious places. Her language dehumanized the Palestinians into objects that can be moved around like one would rearrange living room furniture. To visualize the land stealing and Palestinian displacement, see the image below.
3. Frequently, her references to "Arabs" were accompanied with quotes of suicide bombings, danger, and Jewish national fear. In so doing, it became clear that she saw the "Arab" as an enemy and as a disease that must be cut from the "body". Through the use of language, she is creating a reality for Palestinians and for the Global Community: when the Senior Editor of the Jerusalem Post refers to Arabs with enemy/disease language, it alters the perspective of the Global Community such that we begin see them as the "enemy/disease" as well. Further, it creates an ideal reality for the Jewish Community as, with Palestinians seen globally as "enemy" the Jews become seen as wise and generous in the "gifting" of parcels of the land that is "rightfully theirs."
When the conversation was over, I asked my Palestinian friend what she thought of that. She took a deep breath and simply repeated her quote from yesterday: "Language Creates Reality."
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Kids with Guns...
A late night walk through the Muslim, Christian, Jewish, and Armenian Quarters of the Old City spilled me out at the Western Wall, the only remaining portion of Herod's Temple Mount. As I sat on the foot-polished stones and watched the artificially lit scene before me, I considered the original intentions of the Temple: this was the place where the community of God and the community of humanity merged; it was the place that hosted God's focused presence within Creation; and it was the place where every nation was supposed to fuse in worship.
Last night, I watched and listened to the prayers of the Orthodox Jews. I saw their rhythmic motion and three sporadic jumps ("Holy! Holy! Holy!"). I heard their unintelligible moans. Something authentic seemed to be happening before me as they were calling upon a Power greater than themselves.
Between my own prayers, I wondered to myself, "What are they praying? Was God listening?"
And then I saw three kids wearing jeans, t-shirts, and sneakers who couldn't have been older than 18 work their way toward the Wall. Like the Orthodox Jews, their heads were covered and they seemed very serious about this very spiritual moment. However, rather than carrying a copy of the Hebrew Scriptures, they carried these...
As tears dripped, I wondered to myself, "Whose power do they trust in? What are they praying? Was God listening?"
Last night, I watched and listened to the prayers of the Orthodox Jews. I saw their rhythmic motion and three sporadic jumps ("Holy! Holy! Holy!"). I heard their unintelligible moans. Something authentic seemed to be happening before me as they were calling upon a Power greater than themselves.
Between my own prayers, I wondered to myself, "What are they praying? Was God listening?"
And then I saw three kids wearing jeans, t-shirts, and sneakers who couldn't have been older than 18 work their way toward the Wall. Like the Orthodox Jews, their heads were covered and they seemed very serious about this very spiritual moment. However, rather than carrying a copy of the Hebrew Scriptures, they carried these...
As tears dripped, I wondered to myself, "Whose power do they trust in? What are they praying? Was God listening?"
How many words is a simple picture worth?
I've been in Jerusalem for 32 hours and have heard and seen something significant about this place: everything, everyplace, and every occurrence carries at least two different explanations.
I have two new friends Shira and Fukhira. Shira is an Israeli Jewess who has served in the Israeli military for two years (Jewish Quarter), has been a tour guide for 4 years, is currently a student at Hebrew University, and is maybe 24 years old. Fukhira is an Israeli Palestinian Christian who has been a social worker for several years, has advocated for Palestinian Intifada "criminals", is actively pursuing a Ph.D. in Conflict Resolution, and is maybe 30 years old. These two young women are serving as the primary guides for my journey into the Conflict here and are working out the complexity of the Conflict in front of our eyes. Their work is to help us understand everything from two different perspectives.
Some examples of things/places/occurances with different explanations:
The Temple Mount (Jewish) is also called Mount Moriah (Arab).
Mount Moriah is the place where Abraham demonstrated his faithfulness by binding Isaac and is also the place where Mohammed both received the 5 prayers and ascended to Allah.
Mount Moriah is the past location of Solomon's (1st Temple) and Herod's Temple (2nd Temple) and is the current location of the Al Aqsa Mosque and the Dome of the Rock.
The Western Wall (Jewish: last remaining portion of Herod's Temple Mount) is also called The Al Buraq Wall (Arab: Where Mohammed tied up his horse "Buraq").
The site itself is one of the most important worship sites in Islam, but is fully controlled by Israeli soldiers.
A different kind of example:
This morning, we stood on the Mount of Olives overlooking Jerusalem. To the naive eye, the space immediately to the left of the Old City looks like an urban neighborhood with limestone homes roofed with orange terracotta shingles and augmented by a large Israeli Flag. From a Jewish perspective, this sight inspires awe and cultivates hope: we are expanding...we are reclaiming what is rightfully ours! From a Palestinian perspective, this sight stirs despair and reinforces hopelessness: our homes have been taken from us...we are occupied.
If in most places, a picture is worth 1,000 words...here, every picture is worth 2,000.
I have two new friends Shira and Fukhira. Shira is an Israeli Jewess who has served in the Israeli military for two years (Jewish Quarter), has been a tour guide for 4 years, is currently a student at Hebrew University, and is maybe 24 years old. Fukhira is an Israeli Palestinian Christian who has been a social worker for several years, has advocated for Palestinian Intifada "criminals", is actively pursuing a Ph.D. in Conflict Resolution, and is maybe 30 years old. These two young women are serving as the primary guides for my journey into the Conflict here and are working out the complexity of the Conflict in front of our eyes. Their work is to help us understand everything from two different perspectives.
Some examples of things/places/occurances with different explanations:
The Temple Mount (Jewish) is also called Mount Moriah (Arab).
Mount Moriah is the place where Abraham demonstrated his faithfulness by binding Isaac and is also the place where Mohammed both received the 5 prayers and ascended to Allah.
Mount Moriah is the past location of Solomon's (1st Temple) and Herod's Temple (2nd Temple) and is the current location of the Al Aqsa Mosque and the Dome of the Rock.
The Western Wall (Jewish: last remaining portion of Herod's Temple Mount) is also called The Al Buraq Wall (Arab: Where Mohammed tied up his horse "Buraq").
The site itself is one of the most important worship sites in Islam, but is fully controlled by Israeli soldiers.
A different kind of example:
This morning, we stood on the Mount of Olives overlooking Jerusalem. To the naive eye, the space immediately to the left of the Old City looks like an urban neighborhood with limestone homes roofed with orange terracotta shingles and augmented by a large Israeli Flag. From a Jewish perspective, this sight inspires awe and cultivates hope: we are expanding...we are reclaiming what is rightfully ours! From a Palestinian perspective, this sight stirs despair and reinforces hopelessness: our homes have been taken from us...we are occupied.
If in most places, a picture is worth 1,000 words...here, every picture is worth 2,000.
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