Question 4: What can I do?

While there is much to be done nationally and internationally, there is equally as much to be done internally and communally.

Here's what I mean:
Often times, when we hear stories of crisis and/or injustice our initial response is to say, "I need to go there and do something."  It's a righteous response and the stuff of a breaking heart.  However, too infrequently do we allow the stories of crisis and/or injustice to undo what must be undone within ourselves or the communities of which we are a part.  That is, we're quick to parachute into other's issues of injustice before examining ourselves and discovering our own prejudices, racism, hatred, etc.

What I'm not saying: 
I'm not saying that it is wrong to want to do something tangible in response to what you've read of the Israeli/Palestinian Conflict.  By all means, there's much to be done!

What I am saying: 
We must become people who allow ourselves to be moved, changed, refined, and formed by God.  There are times, probably frequently, when I need to allow violence to be done to my perspective of me; that is, I daily need to allow myself to be undone and remade by God into a more accurate image of Himself such that His thoughts, words, and actions become mine.

So what can we do?
First, pay attention to what moved you most in the stories below and ask God why it moved you so.  Get curious with God, yourself, and those closest to you about what God may be confronting, undoing, and reforming in you.  We cannot become a part of any solution until we have confronted the reality that are a part of the conflict.

Then...
1.  Develop the capacity to hold multiple narratives at once.  This is complicated, messy, and necessary.  Perhaps the start point is to introduce a rhythmic prayer like this into our daily repertoire: "God, empower me to step into others narratives with the same compassion that you stepped into mine."

2.  Practice radical presence.  We must cease so filling our lives with stuff that we are incapable of being present in the gift and/or pain of the now with others.


3.  Embrace a Hebrew understanding and Jesus-practice of "Love your Neighbor."  In the Talmud, loving the neighbor is equivalent to being pro-people.  The Talmud describes my neighbor, created in the image of God, as more important than me.  "Love your Neighbor" does not just mean "Love those who are like me." but includes "Love those who are different than me, who persecute me, who abuse me, who hate me."  In the Gospels, "Love your Neighbor" means give all of yourself away for the sake of the other.

4.  Embrace a Palestinian understanding and Jesus-practice of hospitality: when you are with me, you are the resident and I am the guest.  In the Gospels, the Cross communicates hospitality at the highest cost: "you belong with Me!"

5.  Embrace a Hebrew understanding and Jesus-practice of peace-seeking.  According to the Talmud, seeking peace involves an insane pursuit of places and people where peace is not a reality.  Once finding the place and/or people void of peace, actively work to build it.  In the Gospels, the most important act of worship is reconciliation.  It may be sin for us to sit on our hands in our own personal illusion of peace while there is conflict elsewhere.

6.  Get creative in love.  Words are becoming progressively meaningless in our world.  Thus, we must encourage one another into creative, redemptive, compassionate, toward-people-moving action.

7.  Become adept at traversing cultural boundaries with emotional connection and sensitivity.  Perhaps the first step is identifying multi-culturalism in our contexts and then courageously and graciously crossing the threshold.
(Note: "Culture" is a term that I use generally to refer to groups and sub-groups of people who organize themselves around a specific identity and set of practices.  We DO NOT need to get on a plane to cross cultural thresholds!)

8.  Be about "human rights" but shift our understanding from "my" rights to "our" rights.  Human rights do not exist for my individualized gain but so that we can come to the defense of those whose rights are being compromised.
(Note: One's shift in understanding of human rights from "my" to "ours" begins when we start paying attention to humanitarian crises in the world around us.  Ask, "What humanitarian crisis moves me in my local context?  Global context?"  Ask, "God, how are you inviting me to participate with You in being the solution?")

9. Cease the non-helpful kind of spirituality where we are committed to proving how smart we are.  In reality, people care very little how smart we are, nor are they longing to be guided by smart Christians.  Rather, what people are longing for is to be guided by people whose lives reflect the Story that we claim.

10.  Deal with the religious extremism caused by poor and/or convenient understandings of the Scriptures in ourselves and within our own faith communities.  We have no right, nor do we have a voice, to deal with extremism within other faiths or communities.

11.  Pay attention to the Freedom Flotilla that is trying to bring humanitarian aid to the Gaza Strip.  Currently the boats are being held, at gun point, in the Greek port under an American and Israeli threat to Greece.  To get updates on this, follow US BOAT TO GAZA on facebook.

12.  Pay attention to the Palestinian Unilateral Declaration of Independence that will occur within the UN in September.  Much of the International Community will support this declaration...The United States has already declared its intention to veto.

13.  Watch the internationally recognized documentary Budrus, the story of one Palestinian village's remarkable non-violent resistence to the building of the Wall, and then do a screening of it with your community resourced with the stories and theological reflections from The Unconventional Way that were helpful for you.

14.  Come with me some day and meet the Jewish and Palestinian heroes on the ground.

15.  Keep exploring and stepping into the Just Heart of God.
He has told you, O man, what is good;
and what does the Lord require of you
but to do justice, and to love kindness,
and to walk humbly with your God?

Question 3: How are we to think theologically about the Israeli/Palestinian conflict?

Rather than addressing this in totality, I am going to explore one tiny facet of this third question: Has the Church replaced Israel and, therefore, is Israel excluded from relationship and participation with God?

Before wading in to this, I want to offer eight brief thoughts that form some of my frame on theology:

1.  We are all theologians: We all have thoughts about who and how God is.
2.  We are all practicing theologians: Our thoughts about God inform how we live.  Therefore, thinking carefully about the who and how of God is essential.
3.  Our theology will eternally shift: God is fully committed to our process of becoming...our becoming like Him will take forever.
4.  Theology unites and divides: For good and for bad, we tend to pitch our tents near those whose theology is like ours and far from those whose theology is different.
5.  Theology is mostly retroactive: We tend to develop theology to justify what we do to others.
6.  Theology is but a thin mist of reality.  Language that is created to describe our thoughts about God represents the slightest fraction of who and how God really is.
7.  Sometimes our theology is wrong.  It is when we convince ourselves that "our" theology is "right" that we wade into a kind of calcified arrogance that interrupts our relationship with God, and others.
8.  God longs to be known...thus, the reason He created us with a mind and with senses.  His knowability and longing to be known is THE reason He put on flesh and camped in our neighborhood.

Thinking theologically is a comprehensive, life-long pursuit.  From my perspective, God is always in the process of forming, adjusting, shifting, and even changing our theology.  I see this most explicitly in Acts 10 as God very clearly changes Peter's theology.

In the story, Peter has a very clear theological stance that, in his opinion, is right, complete, and air-tight.  His calcified theology told him that God was for Israel, that God had a "side", that the gospel was for Israel only, and that, therefore, his attention was to be directed exclusively on Israel.  He was crystal clear on who God was, how God worked, and who God was for...or so he thought.

In a hunger-induced vision on the rooftop of a taxidermist's house (read the irony here!), God began to change Peter's theology: Don't exclude anyone...I AM for everyone!

With shifting theology, Peter moved toward people whom he'd never imagined that he would move toward: Gentiles (the nations)!  Because he did, the Story of a Redemptive God flooded into the home of a Gentile and the viral, global movement of the Kingdom of God was ignited.

Peter allowed his theology to shift.
He was humble, curious, and teachable.

Peter found himself among those he formerly referred to as defiled. 
His shifting theology caused him to humanize others and to stand in solidarity with them.  He crossed their threshold.  He became the resident in the embrace of Gentile hospitality.

Peter, no doubt, was scratching his head, wondering if it was okay that he was there.
It was a huge risk.  It could have cost him is reputation and standing.  He could have been wrong...it might have been the voice of hunger rather than the voice of God that he had heard.

Peter participated with God in initiating a viral, world-wide revolution of love.
Peter, a Jew, fully embraced the vocation and destiny of Israel: in word and action, He put God on display among the nations.  Because he did, the multi-cultural, global Bride began to take shape and, empowered by the Holy Spirit, assumed the same vocation and destiny of Israel: to become the accurate demonstration of God in the unique soil of the now.

This raises our theological questions: What about Israel?  Are there now two distinct communities with the same vocation?  Did the Church replace Israel?

Some would suggest that Israel has been punitively replaced by the Church due to Israel's rejection of Jesus and His work on the Cross.
In response, I would suggest that, while many reject God, God rejects no one.  He zealously chases after us...all of us.  I would suggest that goal of the Cross is to reconcile, not to divide; to include, not to exclude.

Some would suggest that Israel has been functionally replaced by the Church due to Israel's rejection of Jesus and His work on the Cross.
In response, I would affirm the teachings of the Scriptures: Gentiles have been grafted into the Jewish vine.  That is, Jesus did not plant a new tree; rather, through the Cross and Resurrection, He had the authority to graft us in.

Some would suggest that Israel made her final decision in her rejection of Jesus and, therefore, has no hope of being included in the New Community that God is making.
In response, I would suggest that, like everyone else, contemporary Israelis must decide what they do with Jesus.  Like me, they can choose to acknowledge that their sin has interrupted their relationship with God, themselves and the other or not.  Like me, they can either choose to identify with the crucified or with the crucifier.  The choice that we make will radically impact they way we see, interact, and participate with God, ourselves, and the "other." 

Thus, in exploring this tiny facet of our larger third question, perhaps we have addressed the entire question.  That is, we are to think about the Israeli/Palestinian Conflict through the lenses of the redemptive, all-of-humanity-focused, Cross.  For, on the Cross, God says to every person of every tribe: "YOU are worth my Son!"

Question 2: What do we do with the Conquering God of the Hebrew Scriptures?

Perhaps before moving into this second question, it would be helpful to re-read my previous posts entitled "Yad Vashem and the Jewish Paradigm" and "Story Start Points: The Root of Societal PTSD".  Both will give context to the work that we're going to do below.

...

My first encounters with Israel occurred hours before my airplane touched down in Tel Aviv.  As I waited for my delayed plane to begin boarding, I was captivated by the pious activities of the very large number of Orthodox Jews who waited with me.

At our gate, a window gave view to the massive light-blue nose of the jumbo jet that we were waiting to board.  This particular window faced East (it faced Jerusalem), so to this window, the Orthodox Jewish men, dressed in black suits with long coats and black full-brim hats, gathered to begin their full-body rhythmic prayers.  I watched with rapt curiosity as nearly fifty men rocked back and forth and sounded their prayers toward Jerusalem.

Once on board and, having been in the air for seven hours, I awoke from a restless sleep to see the man sitting next to me no longer sitting.  Rather, he was standing, shrouded in his white and black prayer shawl, arm wrapped with leather strap, and rocking to the same rhythm as were the men at the window in New York.

"Israeli Jews are extremely religious people!" I thought to myself.  I began to wonder if all of Israeli Jews were as religious...as pious...as the man now standing and rocking next to me.

It didn't take long to recognize that the nation of Israel is not nearly as religious as the man who shared my cramped airborne quarters.  While Orthodox Jews have a growing presence in the land, I would suggest that, rather than Israel's faith experience being Judaism, it is, in fact, atheism.  In dialogue with a Rabbi, I also discovered that contemporary Judaism is 10% informed by the Hebrew Scriptures and 90% informed by what the Rabbis have said over the years.  Thus, the Judaism of today is far different from the experience of the Israelites of old.

In light of the predominance of atheism and the evolution of Judaism, I was stunned to hear Israeli Jews, atheistic, pious, and cultural, repeatedly justify both their rights to the land and the unjust ways in which they are repossessing it in the name of YHWH, the Conquering God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.

"In our Scriptures, our God justified violence in order that we might take the Promised Land."

This created a crisis for me.  It is true.  The image of the Conquering God does seem to be prevalent, especially as Israel crossed through the Jordan River and into the Promised Land.  What do I do with that?  How might we understand Joshua and the conquest narratives within?  What do we do with the Conquering God of the Hebrew Scriptures especially when this imagery is being used to initiate an ethnic cleansing today?

Let me highlight two alternative readings of the Conquering God imagery of the Hebrew Scriptures.

First, if taken literally, we can understand the time and place of the conquest of the Promise Land as a time and place far different than today.  This was a time and place, void of foreign diplomacy and the United Nations, where disputes were settled by war and conquest.  The rules of the day were conquer or be conquered; to be served by or to serve another.  Simultaneously, this was a world rich in mythology where it was believed that the gods fought on the behalf of their people.  Thus, the conquest of one nation by another pronounced the supremacy of not only that people but also of that people's deity.

Consider Israel.  They had just spent generations (430 years) in chains under the rule of the extremely spiritual Egyptians.  The Egyptians had no chief god; rather, they had deities over specific spheres: the earth, the sky, the Nile River, the fields, the livestock, etc.  Their polytheism created an incredibly complicated experience of life: constant blessing of the gods was necessary in order to be blessed.  Constant blessing required constant reminders: thus the creation of massive statues and monuments.  The idea was, if the Egyptians made big, elaborate enough statues and monuments of their gods, then the people would constantly see, be reminded, and bless the gods and, therefore, the gods would be pleased.  In slavery, the Israelites were the primary workforce behind the creation of the statues and monuments of the Egyptian gods.

In chains, Israel built the monuments to the gods of the most powerful, influential, affluent, seemingly blessed people in the world.  A generations-long experience of this does something to a people's perspective of their God, themselves, others, and other's gods.  For years, they had cried out for YHWH to deliver them and for years YHWH had seemingly remained silent.  I imagine that, after years of feeling ignored, the appeal of Egypt's pantheon of gods and goddesses increased.

Into the complexity of this, YHWH entered the created order in the form of fire: he was eternal combustion without consumption and He got Moses' attention.  He had heard the cries of His people and was going to do something about it.  Because Moses' heart broke for the same thing (reference his two failed rescue attempts in Exodus 2), God invited him to participate in being a part of the solution.  Eventually, Moses agreed and God demonstrated that was not "one of" the gods but was, in fact "THE One": as Egypt (and their pantheon of gods) licked their wounds, the people went free.

However, freedom was a dynamic experience for Israel.  They stumbled into the wilderness like a new-born fawn: they had no idea how to survive as a people.  Watching from within the community, God said, "I need to teach my people how to live!"

"Hear O Israel, the LORD your God.  The LORD is one.  Love the LORD your God with all of your heart, with all of your soul, with all of your strength."

Their wilderness wander was an experience through which God taught them who He was, who they were, and what it meant for them to live as participants in His unfolding Story.  They were to be the light to the nations.  Dancing in the rhythms of the Creator, their vocation was to become an accurate demonstration of who God is; their destiny was to bless the whole world.

After a forty-year wander, they crossed through the Jordan River and into the Promised Land as a new generation.  Far different from a democracy, they existed in a theocracy where YHWH was their God, their King, their Mighty Warrior, and their Provider.  In the Promised Land, God's formation of Israel shifted from the learning-lab of wilderness wander to the learning-lab of disproportionate war.

With God, Israel would enter in to each battle as the underdog and, if they were faithful, they would come out victorious.  Complete victory, an ancient common-place practice of warfare where no one was left living, was to give evidence to the might of a people's god.  Complete victory is what YHWH desired as, through complete victory, YHWH would be seen by the watching world as THE God.  Simultaneously, complete victory would enable a new generation of previously oppressed people to establish life in the way of the Creator in a specific place.

If taken literally both the Conquering God and the conquest was real and happened in a time and place where this kind of foreign policy was the standard.  However, to justify a contemporary ethnic cleansing and formation of an ethnic state in the name of the Conquering God found in Joshua is unreasonable, unjust, and internationally illegal.

There is a second way to consider the image of the Conquering God in the Hebrew Scriptures.

A common understanding of the Pentateuch (Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, Deuteronomy) suggests that Moses wrote these five books.  If that is the case, then it stands to reason that God whispered not only the words of the Law (10 Commandments, etc.) but also the two Genesis accounts of creation, the Garden of Eden, Noah and his ark, etc.

Internal evidence suggests a different possibility.  For example, if one were to place the first Genesis account of creation (Genesis 1) next to the earlier Babylonian account of creation, one would find remarkable similarities.

Enuma Elish is the name of the Babylonian account that predates the Genesis account by several hundred years and tells the story of the gods, how the universe was created, and why human beings were introduced into the story.  In short, the universe occurred as a result of a god's death and human beings were created to work for the gods by doing the things that the gods despised.

The author of Genesis tells an oddly similar story.  It's a story about God, how the universe was created, and why human beings were introduced into the story.   However, rather than the story being about the gods, it is about The God who, rather than creation occurring as an accident, very intentionally and lovingly spoke existence into being.  Most importantly, the Genesis story exposes humanity as the pinnacle of God's creation: unlike any other creation, human beings were created in the very image of God.

The question is, if the Genesis accounts were influenced by the Babylonian account, how did this happen and why?

Let me suggest a possible answer.

First, we'd need to consider the fact that Israel's form of storytelling was not written...it was oral.  The story of the ancients were augmented, enhanced, changed, and passed down from generation to generation.  This is the nature of the oral tradition.  It is not likely, therefore, that Moses had, or would even have needed, to write down the stories of the past.  Eventually, however, it became became important for the stories to be decided upon and locked into a new medium: the written word.

As to when this actually occurred, no one is certain.  However, there exits a fair amount of internal evidence from within the pages of the early Scriptures that it may have occurred while Israel was in captivity in Babylon.

If this is the case, then two primary (among others) questions likely informed the ways in which the stories were recorded:  "Who is our God?" and "How did we get here?"  That is, in drafting the stories, Israel sought to make sense of who God was, who they were, and how they had arrived in captivity (again).

Within this theory, the story-forming began by answering the question about God, the universe, and the existence of humanity by borrowing from the myth of their captors.  However, while they borrowed the Babylonian myth, they took creative liberty with it so to identify the supremacy of YHWH.  That is, in captivity they needed to believe that YHWH was stronger than the gods of their captors.  Next, they reminded themselves of a former captivity (Egypt) in which YHWH had proved Himself as the One who heard and responded to His people: they reminded themselves of YHWH who proved Himself mightier than the gods of Egypt.  The story continued with the YHWH's promise to Abraham coming true in the conquest of the Promised Land. YHWH was their God, their King, their Mighty Warrior, their Provider!

The problem was, they were in captivity again.  How had they gotten here?  Something had gone wrong such that they found themselves in chains again.

The primary answer, found in the voices of the pre-exile prophets, is Israel's idolatry.  They had allowed the pagan practices and cultural gods and goddesses of their context to become marbled into their experience of worship.  They had failed to worship YHWH exclusively and, therefore, found themselves in chains.

But there had to be an explanation for the idolatry, right?  There had to be someone else to blame for the suffering of Israel in Babylon.  Someone, somewhere, once upon a time, had certainly done something wrong...right?

Enter the created imagery of a Conquering God who sought complete victory.  Enter the imagery of the Conquering God who is for us and against the nations.  Enter the Conquering God who validated ethnic cleansing in order that the land could be inhabited by Israel.  Simultaneously, enter the imagery of a former generation (not us!) who didn't do what they were told and gave entrance to idolatry.

"They (the former generation) are the reason we are captives in Babylon."

If taken retrospectively, the imagery of the Conquering God was developed to explain a current experience of suffering and to generate hope that He was capable of their release as He had been once before.  Thus, to justify a contemporary ethnic cleansing and formation of an ethnic state in the name of the Conquering God found in Joshua is unreasonable, unjust, and internationally illegal.

Therefore, regardless of which of the two alternative readings one prefers, neither of the two justify what is currently taking place in Israel.

Let me conclude with a couple of additional thoughts from within the pages of both the Hebrew Scriptures and the New Testament:

First, the prophets give voice to a God who is for Israel, is for justice, and is for the nations.

Second, the prophets give voice to a God who consistently implores Israel to be the light to the nations by humanizing them, moving toward them, and practicing justice on their behalf.

Third, the prophets give voice to a God who says, "I am for the oppressed, the persecuted, the marginalized, and the occupied even if they are not you, Israel."

Fourth, as followers of Jesus, we are to read the Hebrew Scriptures through the lenses of Jesus.  While Jesus references the Exodus, he never references nor validates a conquest of the Promise Land.  If there is a conquering that Jesus exposes, it is God's complete victory over the power of sin.

Fifth, Jesus said things like, "Blessed are the peacemakers." (Matthew 5:9) and "When power is abused and you're the victim, don't get even, get creative in love." (Matthew 5:38-42).  Jesus taught and then embodied these teachings and it cost Him His life.  The greatest news, though, is that He didn't stay dead: Jesus, the living, resurrected reality invites and empowers us, by His Spirit, to live likewise.

Question 1: What do we do with the Abrahamic Covenant?

The Story goes like this:

The Creator began to author an epic Story in which He was the Main Character.  Because it pleased Him, He began to speak existence into being: light, dark, land, water, fruits, vegetables, dogs, the rest of the animal kingdom, then cats...

Then, the Creator did something He had never done before: He entered into the created order.  Genesis 2 offers a picture of Him on His hands and knees, playing in the dirt.  As He played, He lovingly fashioned the form of a human being and then breathed His breath into him.

The human being woke up to the face of the Creator and, in that moment, knew that everything that he was, would ever become, and ever needed would come from the One who had just exhaled into him.  While He woke up to the face of the Creator, he also woke up to a Story that was already in process...a Story that was not about him.  He knew that he was a participant in this Story.

The Creator put the human being back to sleep and woke him up a second time, this time to the face of the pinnacle of God's creative work: the woman!  Together, they danced in the rhythms of the Creator...it was the way it was supposed to be...and it was very good.

Before long, however, the rhythms of the Creator didn't work for the human beings.  You see, they began formulating a fantasy that was different than the Way of the Creator.  Eventually, convinces themselves that their fantasy was a trade up, they chased their fantasy and found themselves hiding, isolated, blaming, fabricating tragic stories about God, themselves, and each other, and, for the first time in the history of the world, fueled by fear.

In Genesis 3, we find the Creator walking in the coolness of the Garden asking a question: "Where are you?"

The Creator didn't really get an answer until, finally, years later, a man named Abram said, "Here am I!"

And the Creator said, "Yeah.  There you are.  I see you.  I love you.  I choose you as the next primary participant in my unfolding Story.  Here's what this is going to entail: Leave your identity reinforced by your people, your pagan practices, and your place.  Along the way, you will discover a new, better, more whole identity.  I will bless you.  I will multiply you.  I will give you a new place.  And your massive family will bless the world."

So Abram said, "Okay.  I'm up for that.  I'll participate in your Story.  There's just one glaring problem: my wife and I can't have kids!"

God smiled on Abram, renamed in Abraham, and give him not one, not two, but eight sons, the first of which were Ishmael and Isaac.

Ishmael came as the result of Abraham and Sarah taking matters into their own hands.  God had made a promise...they were going to see to it that the promise was fulfilled.  So, Abraham impregnated Sarah's servant Haggar.  A son was born and Ishmael became the recipient of Abraham's affection.

Shortly thereafter, Issac appeared as a result of the faithfulness of an extraordinary God.  God had made a promise and He was good to see it fulfilled.  So, the ancient Sarah became pregnant and a second son was born: as he was obviously the son of the promise, Isaac usurped Abraham's affection.

Within moments, Ishmael became the first of two sons that Abraham was willing to sacrifice: he kicked Haggar and Ishmael to the wilderness.  Outside of the intervention of God, Haggar and Ishmael were sure to die.  But God saw and heard the cries of the oppressed, entered into their suffering, tangibly loved them, and blessed their future.  Like his daddy, Ishmael would become the father of many nations and would have a place to call home.

Isaac became the second of two sons that Abraham was willing to sacrifice.  Outside of the intervention of God, Isaac was sure to die.  But God saw and heard.  He was pleased by the faithfulness of Abraham so He tangibly loved them, and blessed their future.  Like His daddy, Isaac would become the father of many nations and would have a place to call home.

Isaac eventually had two sons of his own, "Hairy Red Man" (Esau) and "Deceiver" Jacob.  God loved and blessed them both, but because it pleased God, He chose the Deceiver as the next primary participant in His unfolding Story.

God and Jacob had a bizarre, love-hate relationship: they continually wrestled with each other, so much so that God eventually renamed "Deceiver" Israel or "Wrestles with God."

Israel inhabited the land that God had promised Abraham...and it was very good...until a famine hit the land.  From that point forward, Israel has been on an extraordinary forever-journey into and out from the land.

Why this extraordinary forever-journey into and out from the land?

Consider the conditional voice of God through the prophet Jeremiah (7:5-7):

"For if you truly amend your ways and your deeds, if you truly execute justice one with another, if you do not oppress the sojourner, the fatherless, or the widow, or shed innocent blood in this place, and if you do not go after other gods to your own harm, then I will let you dwell in this place, in the land that I gave of old to your fathers forever."

It seems as though the journey has been forever in and out of the land because the condition, arguably given clearest voice in Micah 6:8, has not been met:

"He has told you, O man, what is good;
and what does the LORD require of you
but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?"

The people of God's sins of commission have consistently been idolatry and injustice, both of which have continually disqualified the people of God from the land.

 What was the plot of land that God promised to Abraham?

Consider Genesis 15:18

"To your offspring I give this land, from the river of Egypt to the great river, the river Euphrates..."

It appears as though the land would technically include Egypt, Gaza, Israel, West Bank, Jordan, Syria, and two-thirds of Iraq.  A contemporary consensus would expose that approximately 15% of the land's inhabitants are Jewish and 85% are Arab.

To whom did God promise this plot of land?

With another look at Genesis 15:18, it appears as though this plot of land was to be inhabited by the "offspring" of Abraham.  While it pleased God to invite Isaac's line rather than Ishmael's as the next primary participant in His unfolding Story, God did not forget Ishmael, nor did He cut Ishmael's line from Abraham's family.  Ishmael and his line descended from Abraham, was made numerous and powerful (Genesis 16-17), was given land, and is yet considered Abraham's offspring.
Here's where it gets interesting.  Even if we were to cut Ishmael's branch from Abraham's tree, we'd still have to deal with the birthright-selling Esau who, despite his appetite-driven, short-sightedness, was still a descendant of Abraham and was blessed with a right to the land.  This is the same Esau who married two Hittite women: Esau married into Ishmael's line.  What does this mean other than Isaac's line includes Arabs?

Thus, if we're considering the plot of land from the Abrahamic Covenant found in Genesis 15, then we could say with confidence that Abraham's offspring do, in fact, inhabit the land that is theirs and that each nation, Israel and Palestine included, should be given the right of place.

What was the significance of the land then?


Let's go back to Genesis 12.

"Now the LORD said to Abram, "Go from your country and your kindred and your father's house to the land that I will show you.  And I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you and make your name great, so that you will be a blessing.  I will bless those who bless you, and him who dishonors you I will curse, and in you all the families of the earth shall be blessed....When they came to the land of Canaan, Abram passed through the land to the place at Shechem, to the oak of Moreh.  At the time the Canaanites were in the land.  Then the LORD appeared to Abram and said, 'To your offspring, I will give this land.'"

Historically speaking, this particular plot of land was where the known world collided; the roads of the nations crossed here.  God's specificity of this plot of land seems to highlight the land as a means to an end rather than an end unto itself.  That is, there seems to be something far more significant in the Abrahamic Covenant than land: blessing.  The whole point was that the entire world would be blessed as they came into contact with Abraham's offspring.

What might be the significance of the land today?

Israel is still to be a blessing to the nations.  However, in order for them to be a blessing to the nations, they must assume a posture of powerlessness and practice justice on behalf of the Palestinian. Practicing justice must involve the cessation of land stealing, the granting of a fair portion of land, and the crumbling of the Apartheid Separation Wall.

As American's we have a role to play in Israel becoming pro-justice and pro-Palestinian:

We must encourage Israel to take their foot off the throat of the Palestinian and to allow them to stand up.  We must encourage the Israel to see the Palestinian as a human being with rights.

It also means that we must stop supplying the boot that's on the Jewish foot that's on the Palestinian neck.  It means that we must give up our American interest in the land.

Finally, it means that we must stop supporting the ethnic cleansing that is occurring in the land.  Israel as an ethnic state will not expedite the return of the Christ, especially in light of the way that Israel is becoming Jewish.  Simply put, God is not honored by what is occurring among Abraham's family within the land.

The Corner I'm Turning

As the stories of my experience have unfolded on the very public forum of The Unconventional Way, I've been inundated with fabulous, messy, complicated, raw, and unanswerable public and private questions.  I'm humbled that you would dare to ask the questions that you're now asking and join you in a posture of curiosity with God, myself, and my local and global community.  My desire is that, together, we would continuously become the place where the thoughts, words, and actions of Jesus become real in the unique and complicated soil of today.  Further, my desire is that we would become formed along the way such that we can fully participate with God in becoming the answer to the questions we're asking and prayers we're praying.

Therefore, within the subsequent four posts, I humbly seek to think some thoughts in relation to the four recurring questions that you, the community who has tread into the deep waters of this blog, are asking.  I will attempt to keep these thoughts as focused as possible such that we can find ourselves in a helpful, solution-searching dialogue in the comment section below.

The 4 Questions:
Question 1:  What do we do with the Abrahamic Covenant (Genesis 12)?
Question 2:  What do we do with the Conquering God of the Hebrew Scriptures?
Question 3:  How might we think theologically about the Israeli/Palestinian Conflict?
Question 4:  What can I do?

Before navigating into these questions, I want to mention that the thoughts that will emerge below (or above as the case may be) are a result of hours of lecture, reading, dialogue, and reflection, mostly over shared meals with friends and mentors.  Together, we found ourselves trying to sort out the complexities of the God-Life in the midst of a complicated social location.

Guides, Facilitators, and Co-Conspirators:
Dr. Glen Stassen, Lewis B. Smedes Professor of Christian Ethics, Fuller Theological Seminary.
Dr. Mark Gopin, Director of George Mason University's Center on Religion, Diplomacy and Conflict Resolution.
Dr. David Gushee, Distinguished Professor of Christian Ethics, Mercer University.
Dr. Salim Munayer, Israeli Palestinian and Founder of Musalaha
Dr. Naim Ateek, Israeli Palestinian, Liberation Theologian, and Founder of Sabeel
Shira Nesher, Israeli Jewish Facilitator
Fakhira Halloun, Israeli Palestinian Facilitator
Jon "Huck" Huckins, SoCal Co-Conspirator
Steve "Steve-O" Martin, Southeast Co-Conspirator
David "PB" Bridges, Texan Co-Conspirator
Christy Reiners, Co-Conspirator, West Bank-living Founder of In His Steps: Pathways of Peace.


I'm grateful beyond words for the contributions these eleven people made into my life in a very short period of time.


Now...into Question 1 we wade.

The Sights, Sounds, and Smells of Injustice

I was incensed.

We had bypassed the Hebron Souk.

This was THE place that I wanted to visit.

"I'll be back." I thought to myself as the bus carted us to our appointment with the Mayor.

Five days later, with the learning delegation completed, I made good on my commitment: I returned to the Hebron Souk.

Words cannot adequately describe the remnant of the Souk.  It's inhabited by men and women who are tying to eek out an existence under the worst imaginable circumstances.  You see, built on top of the Hebron Souk is the Beit HaShalom Settlement.  High-rise apartments filled with Jewish settlers reach toward the sky and overlook the narrow Souk below.

This is the place where I learned what hatred, racism, occupation, and violence look, smell, and sound like.

Their vantage point gives settlers the ideal location to terrorize both the shop-owners and the shoppers of the Souk.  From their elevated apartment complexes, settlers began dropping rocks, and then bricks, and then boulders the size of the human head down on the Palestinians below.  From two to eight stories, rocks are designed to irritate and, if big enough, cause discomfort.

Bricks and boulders are intended to kill.

The shop owners initiated a non-violent response.  Together, they fastened chain-linked fencing together and fixed it just above their shops.  While this creates a caged in feel from the street level, it is preventing the death of owners and shoppers and the remnant is able to survive another day.

Jamal is a shop owner who sells specialized Palestinian embroidery.  Following in his father's footsteps he has chosen to remain in the Souk even though it would be far more lucrative for he and his family to go elsewhere.  Jamal endures unspeakable injustice to keep his father's shop open.

A friend had told me to find Jamal so, equipped with a mental picture, I searched high and low.  As I was beginning to wonder at the likelihood of finding him, I saw him...he stood at the entryway of his shop and was looking at me with an inviting smile.

"You must be Jamal!" I said, extending my hand.  "Your goods and your company come with the highest of international recommendation."

Hand over heart, he responded, "You are too kind.  Please.  Sit."

As I took in the size of his tiny shop, I noticed that the interior seemed recently repainted.

"What an inviting shop!" I began, "and I've never seen your work rivaled."  As a matter of fact, I'd never seen anything like Jamal's work.

He went on to explain to me the uniqueness of the work that he did.  As he talked, I felt myself so drawn into his passion that I momentarily forgot the size of the rocks and bricks and the colors of the glass bottles that rested on the cage directly above his shop.

Eventually, I asked him about the cage, the rocks, the bricks, and the bottles.

"Oh yes." he began.  "Don't forget the chlorine, the chemicals, the petrol, the human waste, and the egg....  The cage catches most of the solid material but can do nothing to contain the liquid.  Please.  Come with me."

He led me out of his shop to a rack of beautiful shawls and scarves.

"Have a look." he invited as his hand disappeared into the spectrum of colorful folds.

"Stunning!" I began to say until I saw what it was that Jamal wanted me to see.

While beautiful from a distance, every shawl had been ruined by toxic liquid cocktails poured from above.

What could I say?

Knowing that he would never sell these shawls, I offered to buy them and was shocked by his response.

"You cannot buy these.  I will never sell these shawls.  They tell a story that I cannot."

Sensing that I was struggling, he reached out and took my hand: "Jer.  Do you know what you can do?  Go home and tell the story of what you have experienced here."

As we walked back into his shop, a small platoon of heavily armed Israeli soldiers made their way through the Souk.  As they went, the muzzles of their rifles knocked goods from tables and shawls from racks.  I stood as they walked by Jamal's shop and looked to the left and to the right.  The platoon had a left a wake of shop owners scrambling to pick up their goods before they could be trampled by shoppers.

Returning my attention to Jamal, I complimented the paint job on the ceiling.  He smiled and said, "Thank you."

I sensed something behind his smile so I got curious.  The story that unfolded further undid me.

It had been a relatively recent and necessary remodel as, not long before, settlers had drilled into his ceiling from above and had poured gallons of human waste into his attic.

It wasn't the last nor the worst story that I heard that day.  At the final bend of the Souk, I met someone my age: a Palestinian daddy of two boys.  After we talked for a while, he invited me into his home for tea.  Naturally, I accepted and, entering into his home, sat in a room with windows welded shut.

"This is my eldest son's room." he beamed.  "It used to be the brightest room in the house."

"Used to be?"  I asked.

"Yes.  Not long ago, we were able to open all of our windows."

Although I feared what I would hear, I asked, "Why can you no longer open your windows?"

"Because the settlers kept throwing fire at my son."

I looked on the floor.  Sure enough, there were charred marks all over the artisan rug.

Later, I asked to meet his eldest. 

"I can show you only a picture." he said, leaving to retrieve his favorite picture of his boy.  "He's in Jordan recovering from a surgery."

"What kind of surgery?" I asked, innocently.

"They dumped chlorine in his eyes from above.  It blinded him.  I guess they finally got him."

Bypassing the Souk to Walk Shuhada

From the Ibrahimi Mosque, our learning delegation chose an interesting route.  We walked Shuhada Street.

Shuhada Street is where the most extremist, violent, hate-filled settlers live.  It's where David lives, armed with his 9mm, within the walls of Beit HaShalom.  Because of the Settlement and the presence of 400 settlers defended by 2000 Israeli troops, a major portion of the Hebron Souk has been shut down, welded closed, and tagged with the Star of David.  Many Palestinians have chosen to relocate.  Some have chosen to stay.

Once upon a time, the Hebron Souk was a thriving location of Palestinian commerce.  This was the place where men and women would come to buy, sell, and trade their goods.  It was the space where friendships were forged, families worked together, parents negotiated love, and a collective future was imagined.  Now, it is nothing more than an Israeli controlled ghost town augmented with reality-creating language.

One image in particular caught my attention.  Tagged on a "temporary" cement barrier wall was the image of the "3rd Temple."  This is the one that Zionists believe will be built on the Temple Mount where the Dome of the Rock and Al Aqsa Mosque currently stand.  Naturally, this would only occur if Israel became an ethnic state and held dominion over every square inch of "the Land."  The building of the 3rd Temple would require the demolition of the Dome and Al Aqsa.  The image, tagged near Beit HaShalom, communicates a presumed and desired future.

It was an eerie, hair-raising experience to be a part of a large group of Americans walking down Shuhada Street in the middle of the day in complete silence.  The only signs of life were the occasional movements from within the Israeli guard towers and the overgrown vines that threatened to forever close off what used to be homes and thriving storefronts.

Two Palestinian kids courageously followed us trying to seduce us into buying their goods: beaded key chains and Palestinian bracelets.  I loved what they were selling, but didn't feel like buying...nor did anyone else in our delegation.  They disappeared as we neared Beit HaShalom.  They knew David well and did not want to be seen by him or any of his people.

After the brief, troubling lecture by David in which he asserted, "We didn't conquer or occupy...we took what was ours." we were on our way again.  Our two young Palestinian salesmen materialized and resumed the peddling of their goods.  I took another look and found myself fond of a specific key chain that presented the Palestinian flag in strands of beads.  We had been told that we were heading to what was left of the Hebron Souk, so I held off.

A few meters down the road, we came to a Checkpoint: another safety valve to protect the settlers of Beit HaShalom.  As we approached the gate, one of the Palestinians barked, "You people are horrible!  You listen to them and not to us?!"

I didn't understand until shortly thereafter what had just happened.

As we made our way through the Checkpoint and into the epicenter of Hebron, a bustling downtown, I recognized that we hadn't gone to the Hebron Souk.  I inquired of one of the ethicists and primary guides of our experience as to why.  

"Too dangerous." was his short response.  "Besides, we're late for a meeting with the mayor of Hebron!"

As we piled into our bus, the words spoken by the Palestinian peddler made sense.  We, an American delegation seeking to hold dual narratives in tension, had walked Shuhada Street but we had not also walked the remnant of the Hebron Souk.  We were in the West Bank and had just blatantly stood in solidarity with the some of the most extreme settlers in the country.

Six days later, as my entire suitcase was dumped out, checked, and re-checked for explosives at Ben Gurion, I looked on the floor behind the young Israeli conducting the search.  There, next to the garbage can, was the very key chain that had drawn my eye that day on Shuhada.  I imagined that someone had chosen to stand in solidarity with the oppressed, only to have the souvenir discovered and discarded of at the airport.

The Irony of Artistic Expression: Part 2

World War II saw the branding of the yellow Star of David as the representation of the Jew.  In November of 1938, head of the German Gestapo, Reinhard Heydrich suggested that every Jew should be required to wear the yellow Star of David on his or her clothing.  Prior to this, it was very difficult to distinguish European Jews from non-Jews.  Once implemented, the yellow Star of David became the badge worn by every Jew, and the very public persecution of the Jews was underway.  Forced to wear the star, Jews were immediately recognizable, kicked to the edge of society, herded into open-air prisons called ghettos, cattle cars, and, eventually death camps.

At first, Jews were humiliated by the badge.  Eventually, they were terrified. A Jew caught without a badge could be fined, beaten, imprisoned, or killed.  Caught with a wrinkled Star or one slightly out of place could result in a severe beating.  Wearing a yellow star meant exclusion from society, access to schools, and business.  Before long, people wearing the Star mysteriously began disappearing, never to reappear.

Simultaneously, the Star of David was painted on the window of Jewish owned shops.  A very public campaign to boycott all of the Jewish economy was underway as people stayed clear of any shop tagged with the Star of David.

 

Today, because of the atrocities of the Holocaust, the Star of David has become a national symbol.

But it has also become a symbol of racism, power, hatred, and occupation.  Today, closed down Palestinian shops are being tagged with the Star of David.

Here lies the second irony of artistic expression.

The Irony of Artistic Expression: Part 1

Visual art is everywhere.  It tells of our deepest longings, of our most cherished moments, and of our worst nightmares.  Art gives voice to the workings of humanity's soul and uncovers, in brilliant colors, our very best and our very worst.  Art tells the stories that words fail to express;  it can be a form of activism and/or defiance.  While we all see art from a different perspective, one thing remains consistent: we all see it.

Living on both sides of the Wall, I noticed an irony of artistic expression.

On the Israeli side, the art is encased in ancient walls, windows, and ceilings.  The story told is an ancient story of a God who lovingly led His people.  Artistic expressions of the extent of this God's love draw Christian pilgrims from around the globe.  We travel to the other side of the planet to see paintings and sculptures of Jesus who lived in a real time and a real place.  We see his teachings calcified in stained-glass, in chiseled words, and in bronze statues.

In Palestinian territory, the art is displayed on a contemporary wall with no windows and no ceiling.  The story told is an ancient/future story of a people who long for the very things that Jesus lived, taught, brought, and accomplished.  The art on these walls cry out for Jesus to be unlocked from the prison of windows, walls, and ceilings and to be made real in this place again.

The Tragedy of Tourism

Last year (2010), 3.45 million people traveled to Israel from all over the world.

69% of global tourists were Christian.
19% (645,000) of global tourists were from The United States. 

The most popular tour in Israel is called "The Gospel Trail" and includes the streets of Nazareth, the ruins of Capernaum, the Sea of Galilee (by foot, bike, car, or sailboat), the Church of Transfiguration, the antiquities of Migdal, and the Church on the Mount of Beatitudes.  For those who make their way south to Jerusalem, their pilgrimage would include the amphitheater on the Mount of Olives, the chapel at the Garden of Gethsemane, one or all of the four churches where various traditions say Jesus ascended from, and the Church of the Holy Seplechure where various traditions say Jesus was crucified.  For those who dare make their way into the West Bank, their only stop will be the Church of Nativity where various traditions say Jesus was born.

For an American Christian to "walk where Jesus walked" is a remarkable experience through an expertly designed and well manicured route guided by Israeli or, sparingly, Palestinian guides who are on the payroll of Israel's Department of Tourism.

Tourism is a BIG deal to Israel.  As of 2010, Israel ranked only 49th of 222 in global exporting.  They export $54.31 billion (USD).  3.45 million tourists per year translates into billions of dollars.

I didn't see this as problematic until I met a woman from Oklahoma.

Three friends and I were taking our lunch in a Druze restaurant in the Galilee.  We ate in a large restaurant that was already quite full with a coach bus of American tourists from Oklahoma.  I observed them interact with each other and with the staff of the the restaurant.  They did nothing out of the ordinary for American tourists, but yet, from a distance, I willed them to be gracious and generous with those who served them.  I know that American Christians have a reputation as being rude and horribly stingy and imagined that this carried over to American Christian tourists as well.

After a delicious meal of falafel and kabobs, I washed up and began to make my way through the crowded room.  Simultaneously, an Oklahoman woman stood and began her own journey to the door.  We arrived at the door at the same moment.

"Delicious Druze falafel wouldn't you agree?" I asked, followed by "How are you?"

"What is Druze falafel?" she asked, obviously confused.

"The Druze are the people that live here." I answered.  "I think they have the best falafel!  I'm Jeremy."  I stuck out my hand to shake hers.

"Deborah." she responding taking my hand.

"A pleasure to meet you.  So, where have you guys been?" I inquired.

Her answer mirrored the path of "The Gospel Trail" that they had toured for the past 12 days and continued with how beautiful this place was and how grateful she was to have gotten the opportunity to "walk where Jesus walked."

"Where have ya'll been?" she reciprocated.

"Jerusalem, the West Bank, Ramallah, and Hebron.  We just arrived to the Galilee this afternoon."

Eyes wide, she asked, "What were you doing in the West Bank?"

"Building friendships and listening to stories." I responded.  "We're not so much a tourist group as a learning community.  We're focusing our work on conflict resolution and peace-building."

What she said next will fuel my work with the American Church in regards to our ignorance and apathy toward what is actually happening on the ground in Israel & Palestine for years to come.

"Oh my!" she began.  "Isn't it something how these two people groups live in such peace with one another?"

How is it possible that a group of American tourists could spend twelve days in Israel and describe the relationship between Israelis and Palestinians as "peaceful"?

It is quite easy, actually.  By focusing the tours on where Jesus "walked" the tourists are conveniently routed around and away from where Jesus would most certainly "walk" today.  By leveraging the tourists' intoxication with the the ancient narrative, the tour guides hardly have to give mention to the contemporary narrative.  Tourism caters to the American Christian Zionist paradigm which blindly celebrates and supports Israel as an ethnic state by showing the tourists that their dollars are being well spent: Israel is thriving as a Jewish state!  Tourism in Israel accomplishes two objectives: it generates cash and it disseminates propaganda.

What do I mean by propaganda?  645,000 Americans returning home and narrating their experience of Israel with: "Isn't it something how these two people groups live in such peace with one another?"

Courageous Hospitality: The Way Forward.

After days of wrestling through the complexity of place and people, we found ourselves in a Druze village with the best cup of tea I'd ever tasted in hand.  As I sipped my heated, cinnamon flavored drink, shielded from the unrelenting sun in the coolness of a Druze home, I settled into my backless chair, not expecting to learn, for the first time, what hospitality really meant.

I was at a personal saturation point.  I had learned and observed more than I had the capacity to contain.  As I considered this, I heard our host say:

"Among our people, hospitality means that the guest becomes the resident and the resident becomes the guest."

The conversation continued from there, but I heard nothing else.

"...the guest becomes the resident...the resident becomes the guest."

In that statement, many things happened at once: I heard the voice of Jesus; I learned what courageous hospitality meant; I was confronted with my own feeble attempts at hospitality; and I discovered the way forward for Israelis, Palestinians, and all the rest of us.

If we could become people who embodied this philosophy of hospitality (which is nothing short of the Way of Jesus) then there would be no land grabbing or suicide bombing, no need for separation walls or barbed-wire, no more bullet-firing or rock-slinging.  If we could become people who, in humility, offered residency to the guest, we would have peace.

Fixated on this new-found philosophy of hospitality, I began to wonder if it was simply theory or if it landed in reality.  As the opposite of this philosophy informed the majority of our experience up to this point, I doubted very much that it was possible in practice...especially here.

I was wrong.

A Story of Courageous Hospitality: She Sang for Us a Song.
Fakhira was our Palestinian guide, but was far more than that: she was my friend.  While she was still only our guide, she had told us that a day was coming when we all would be invited into her home.  We were not few, so I was impressed by the level of hospitality that this would require.  As the days went by, though, and as Fakhira became a friend, I began to discover just how significant hosting an American delegation would be to her and to her family.

Fakhira, you see, was one of four daughters, was single, and, much to her father's chagrin, was involved in politics.  He would have preferred that she stopped wasting her time, a risk to herself and her future, with political nonsense and that she would settle down, get married, and begin building a life.

"Are you excited?" she would repeatedly ask me.

"So excited!" I would respond.  And I was excited.  In the days leading up to our visit, I saw in Fakhira how meaningful this moment was going to be for her.

When we arrived, her entire family had gathered.  Mother, Father, Sisters, Nieces, Nephews.  Everyone was there to welcome Fakhira's American friends into their home.  They invited us in to the re-arranged living room and, plate after plate, began serving homemade delicacies that, no doubt, had been days in preparation.  Dishes of sliced watermelon and plastic bottles of water and soda made round after round until none of us could eat another bite or drink another sip.

Fakhira's father stood to his feet and cleared his throat.

Silence settled in the room.

"You are home with us...this is your home...we are the guests."

It was the same quote from earlier that day.  And it was true, I felt like I was home.

As his introduction and welcome concluded, the primary facilitator of our learning delegation, sensing the importance of this moment, rose to thank Fakhira's family but did not stop there.  He went on to speak words of significance and virtue over Fakhira, to affirm the work that she was doing, and to give his support to her ongoing work and study in conflict resolution.

Both Fakhira and her father were in tears.  With a group of Americans in a Palestinian home, a Palestinian father embraced the treasure that was his Palestinian daughter.  In that moment, he recognized that she was, in fact, building a life: it was a different, meaningful kind of life that will matter for years to come.

The sound of Fakhira's niece singing to Jesus in Arabic set the soundtrack for the transformation that I saw occurring between father and daughter.  It was good...very good.

When the song ended, I asked Fakhira to take the microphone and to sing.  Sheepishly, she turned down the invitation, but I would not be swayed.  I don't know why, but I wanted Fakhira to sing.

"Fakhira!"  I began to chant.  "Fakhira!  Fakhira!  Fakhira!"  My friends joined in; so did her sisters, and mother, and father.  Before the long, the entire room shouted "Fakhira!  Fakhira!  Fakhira!"

She looked at me with eyes that said: "You started this!  You're in big trouble with me!"

I winked back and smiled, standing and chanting all the louder: "Fakhira!  Fakhira!  Fakhira!"

She took a step toward the microphone and the room went berserk!

"I don't sing." were her first amplified words, "but I'll sing.  I'll sing a song that has much meaning to me."

She sang for us in her own home and in her own language a song about a Jesus who knows her name.

It was an inspired moment.  All of us were spellbound.

Three days later, as Fakhira spoke to us about the most significant moments of our time together, she looked directly at me and said: "I want to thank you for strengthening me to sing.  I had been disconnected from my identity as a Jesus Follower."

Another Story of Courageous Hospitality: Bread and Eggs @ 3:00am.
The learning delegation had come to a close.  My American friends were getting on airplanes while my Palestinian friends awaited my arrival in the West Bank.

From behind, I heard a metallic click and a voice yell, "Stop!"

I stopped and slowly turned my head.  My heart was pounding.  The sound of blood pumping through my ears was deafening.  The defender began walking toward me, machine gun in hands.

"Passport!"

I dug in my shirt pocket for the little blue booklet that gives me permission to go virtually anywhere on the globe.  Finding it, I opened it to my picture and handed it to him.

Seeing that I was American, he softened a bit: "Where are you going?"

"To the West Bank." I said.  Wasn't this obvious?

"Why?" he asked as he paged through my passport.

"Glad I just got my passport renewed!"  I thought to myself as I could only imagine what he would have done had he seen where else in the world I'd been.

"To see some friends." I responded, trying to shield the anxiety in my voice.

He looked at me quizzically.

"Friends?" he asked.  "How do you have friends in the West Bank?"

Not waiting for me to answer, he handed my passport back: "This is a military only entrance.  Entrance for civilians is there."  He pointed over my left shoulder and walked away.

"Thank you." I said.

No response.

I returned my passport to my shirt pocket, tightened my straps (again) and began to pull my suitcase toward the civilian entrance.

The Checkpoint is a fascinating experience.  Composed of a maze of metal detectors, manned & armed security booths, and cages that route human beings like cattle back and forth before spitting them out on the Palestinian side. the Checkpoints are intentionally designed to dehumanize, humiliate, and irritate.  They seem to be efficient at doing all three.  No cameras are allowed, but (somehow) I found this picture on my camera by the time I got through.

Now, it was nearly 1:00am.  I was approximately four hours late, yet, parked in the darkened streets of the West Bank was my friend Mahmut, the orange glow of a newly lit cigarette illuminating his silhouette.

"I've been waiting for your arrival, my friend." he began without a hint of frustration.  It seemed as though my arrival was worth his wait.  We sped through the streets of Bethlehem to the home of his uncle, Nabeel.

"You are welcome!" was Nabeel's greeting to me accompanied by a warm smile, a firm hand-shake, and, quickly thereafter, a cup of Arabic coffee.  It was nearly 2:00am as we sipped our coffee together under the same stars that had, 2000 years prior, announced the arrival of One far more significant than I to this very place.

"Are you hungry?" Nabeel asked.

I was, but it was 2:00am.  "I'm fine, thank you." I lied.

With the taste of coffee in my mouth, Nabeel showed me his home and to my room.  I quickly understood that I was being given Nabeel's own room.

"Nabeel, where will you sleep?" I wondered aloud.

"The couch." he said.

"Thank you, Nabeel."

"You are welcome."

Having cleaned up for bed, I entered into the room where Nabeel would sleep for the next three nights.  "Good night, my new friend." I said, hand over my heart in a sign of deep gratitude.

"Not quite yet." was his riddled response.  "Mahmut has gone to get you food."

It dawned on me then that Mahmut had left the moment I had lied.  I hadn't seen him since.

Thirty minutes later, at 3:00am, he returned with homemade bread still warm from the oven and six hard-boiled eggs.

Met by my bewildered look, he shrugged his shoulders and said "You looked hungry...lucky for you, I know when and where they make the bread."

Later, with a full stomach and with hand over heart for the second time in an hour, I managed: "Thank you!"

"You are welcome.  When you are in my home, I am the guest."

2 Settlers: 2 Kinds of Extremism

David was born in New Jersey and, at the age of 20, migrated to Israel.  He is a settler in the Beit HaShalom (House of Peace) Settlement of Hebron and serves as their primary voice.

The Settlement Beit HaShalom was purchased for $1 million in 1991 and is nestled among 30,000 Palestinians.  The settlers zealously defend their right to be near the tombs of the Patriarchs, arguing that they paid a fair price for their land.  The slogan "Never Again!" means that, today, 2000 Israeli defenders protect a community of 400 Jewish settlers.

Over the years, the settlers of Beit HaShalom have dealt with eviction notices from their own government as well as tangible acts of violence from unhappy Palestinian neighbors.  Simultaneously, these same settlers have initiated violence toward Palestinians.  The cycles of violence have resulted in the Israeli military shutting down a large portion of the economic center of the area.  Beit HaShalom is now completely surrounded by a locked down ghost town and is defended by several military camps and overlooks.

We spent a mere five minutes with David and heard, first hand, the voice of toxic Jewish extremism.

"This is ours...we will defend this no matter what it takes...we will pass this on to our children...our children will defend this no matter what it takes....Arabs stole this land...in the name of our God, we are taking it back."

While he talked at us, I looked down and was stunned by what I saw:

 
A 9mm and the threads of the tzitzit create a complex irony.

Numbers 15 and Deuteronomy 22 teach the people of Israel to wear the tzitzit as a tangible reminder to be the people of the Torah...to walk courageously in the Way of God...to be the living and active Torah on behalf of the watching world.

Within that Torah, God says to his people: "I will bless you and I will give you a land and I will bless the whole world through you."  While the land is certainly a part of the blessing, the land is a means to the emphasized end: a people who will be a blessing to all nations.

Within the Torah, God says, "Don't multiply horses and chariots (tools of war)...you will always be the underdog and, when you trust Me and live in My Way, you will always come out on top...this is part of how the watching world will discover who I AM!"  By this time, I'd grown accustomed to multiplied war tools in the hands of Israelis.

The presence of the tzitzit were to serve as a reminder of truths such as these.
The presence of the 9mm seems to indicate a misunderstanding of who God is and what it means to live the God-Life.

Myron is an American born Jew who migrated to Kfar Etzion, one of the original Kibbutz in Israel.  Peacefully founded among Palestinian villages in 1943, Kfar Etzion, today, is a Settlement of approximately 1000 Jewish settlers.  Myron is a peacemaking settler.

Coming from my encounter with David, I wondered to myself, "How is the possible?  How can a settler also be a peacemaker?"

With much doubt and with much curiosity, I met Myron and his friend Janke.  Rather than sitting around a table at Kfar Etzion, though, Myron decided to take us to the Palestinian village of Zechariahs, located just across the road.  Here, we were met with the hospitality of Mohammed, the head of Zechariahs.

We stepped into a room together and I watched Myron answer my question.

As Mohammed's welcoming remarks flowed toward us, I noticed the difference between Janke's, Myron's and Mohammed's posture.  Mohammed appeared to be relaxed and open; Myron seemed comfortable yet slightly tense; and Janke stood rigid with his arms crossed.

Myron spoke first: "Janke and I are very different.  We think very differently about many things, but we have been very good friends for a very long time.  Likewise, Mohammed and I are very different.  We think very differently about many things, but we have been very good friends for a very long time.  I have invited Janke here today to share with you all part of his story."

Janke, with arms still crossed, opened his mouth and, very softly, began to speak:  "I've lived in Kfar Etzion for 41 years.  I have driven past Zechariahs for 41 years.  This is the first time I have ever stepped foot in Zechariahs."

With those words, I understood that we were participating in a massive moment in the lives of three individuals as well as in the lives of two villages.  For years, Myron had been working with his friend Janke, an extremist settler the likes of David.  Simultaneously, he had been working with his friend Mohammed, a leader of a village with an Israeli demolition order against it.

Janke continued: "My parents lived in Kfar Etzion when it was founded.  They lived in peace with the surrounding Arab villages.  Then, in May of 1948, Arabs from this village entered Kfar Etzion and slaughtered 129 people, including my parents."

My eyes shot over to Mohammed who stood by, far less relaxed than he had been ten minutes prior.

Back to Janke, arms still crossed: "This is Israel.  We deserve to be here.  We have a right to all of Israel...but I don't know what the answer is to the conflict between our people. "

In that moment, I understood how Myron could be a peacemaking settler.  At great risk, being deeply misunderstood by his own people, he had sacrificed years of his life to set up this moment.  A Jewish friend who believed that his parents had been massacred by a Muslim village now stood in the room with a Muslim who represented that very village.  Being in the room together was, in and of itself, an act of peacemaking by Myron, Mohammed, and Janke.  I recognized in that moment that Myron had to stay a settler because living in the Settlement meant that he could be a difference-maker from within.

I also recognized the threat that religious extremism is to the future of these two peoples:  what is happening in Israel/Palestine is hurting everyone

Finally, I recognized that in Israel/Palestine, two peoples are trying to define who they are.  In this effort, two peoples consistently return to their most deeply moving experiences: the Jews return to the Holocaust and massacres while the Palestinians return to the massacres and the occupation.  These experiences define them and are leading to fatalism, violence, blame, projection, and indifference to the pain of the other.

Both David and Myron are stepping into the mess of this.  The former is adding to the mess; the latter is building peace, one relationship at a time.

As to the Kfar Etzion massacre: Jordanian troops slaughtered the Jewish settlers, not the villagers from Zechariahs.

Two mistakes in the Ibrahimi Mosque

The Ibrahimi Mosque is the fourth holiest site of Islam and is the most accessible sacred space to Palestinians in the West Bank.  It's located in Hebron, the hottest, most toxic and violent place in all of the West Bank, Israel, and, quite possibly, all of the Middle East.  Within the walls and below the floors of the Mosque lie the tombs of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and their wives.  Naturally, this is a very important Jewish site as well.

In February of 1994, an extremist Jewish settler entered into the Ibrahimi Mosque during prayer time and massacred 29 Muslim men as they prayed.

In February of 2010, Israeli Prime Minister Netanyahu declared his intention to designate the Ibrahimi Mosque as a Jewish Heritage Site which would close it off completely to Muslims.

As of today, a Jewish takeover of the Mosque has not occurred.  However, because of the massacre, walls were erected to separate Muslim worshipers from Jewish pilgrims.  This, accompanied by an increase of Settlements and Israeli forces, has resulted in cycles of rocks and bullets that have made this area extremely dangerous.

It was a beautiful Mediterranean late morning by the time we arrived.  As the Muslim prayer time concluded we divided into two equal-sized groups.  Half of us entered into the Muslim side while the other half entered into the Jewish side.  The first thing I noticed as I made my way through the metal detector and into the Muslim side was the large, iron green door that, on this day, stood open.

Bullet holes riddled the door that gave entrance into a place of worship.

Having entered, our women were asked to shroud themselves and we were all invited to take off our shoes.  We were entering into both a holy place and the site of a holy war.  This became real to me as I noticed an intense and hushed conversation between a Muslim tour guide the Jewish rabbi who had entered into the Muslim side with us.  A son of Ishmael and a son of Isaac were quite obviously not happy with each other.  Their irritated dialogue occurred near a silver and gold grate under which Father Abraham, the Father of many nations, the Father who had two sons, the Father who was willing to sacrifice them both, lay.

This was our first mistake: the Jewish rabbi should not have entered into the Muslim side.  He knew better, yet he entered anyway.  His entrance had provoked the Muslims within.

As their conversation subsided, we made our way to the tomb of Sarah.  This is the only shared location in the Ibrahimi Mosque: through green steel cages and a sheet of bullet-proof glass, people from the Jewish side and people from the Muslim side could both look in on the covering of her tomb at the same time.

It was here that our second mistake occurred.   The Jewish rabbi that had accompanied those on the Jewish side invited both groups to come together here for prayers of hope and peace.  It was a well intentioned move, but could easily have been interpreted as an intentional act of provocation, especially when someone from the Muslim side prayed "...in Jesus name."

Uneasy about this prayer time, I took a step back to observe what was going on around us.  The room on the Muslim side that we stood in was sparsely populated with Muslim women engaged in prayers upon our entrance.  As soon as our "prayers" began, every Muslim in the room cleared out.  Their exit did not appear to be motivated by respect for the moment of "worship" that was occurring for our group, but, rather, seemed to be motivated by our overt disrespect of their moment of worship.

Had we become settlers in our own right?  Had we just claimed territory that was not ours?

I recognized in that moment that we were much more than a learning community.  We represented either a peace-making or a peace-interrupting delegation.  That is, simply by our presence there, we were communicating something: we needed to be extremely thoughtful about what we were communicating.

While our prayers were for peace, our presence communicated quite the opposite.