Dheishe left me wondering where the church was. Here we were, in the very city where God put on flesh to make Himself tangibly known to humanity. As we made our way from Dheishe to the Church of the Nativity, I wondered if, like 2000 years ago, there was no room for Jesus here. Where was God today?
The ancient monstrosity that is the Church of the Nativity accompanied by the long train of tour buses carrying Christians to the site added significant weight to my struggle. Here was the church: we were tourists intoxicated by a desire to see where God incarnated once upon a time. The church was so fixated on the ancient narrative that we were blind to the contemporary one.
"God, incarnate again through people!" I prayed as I called my friend who lives in Bethlehem. Deciding not to enter Nativity, I chose, instead, to sip coffee with her and to meet some of her friends.
"How's your head?" was her opening question.
Silence was my response as I watched tour guides compete for the attention of tour group after tour group.
Slowly, I began to articulate the messy, complicated couple of days that I had just lived. As I began to speak of the injustices of Dheishe, my friend's phone rang. She answered, looked directly behind me and started laughing. I turned to see a young Palestinian man on his phone speaking emphatically to Christy. His name was Sa'id. He had been eavesdropping on our conversation and wanted to know if he could sit in our circle.
"Please!" I said, longing to develop friendships and to sort through both my internal mess and the mess of this place.
As Sa'id pulled his chair next to mine, I asked him to tell me his story. He began by pulling a green ID card from his pocket. It was the Israeli issued, Palestinian ID card.
"This," he began, "gives me permission to feel free to stay right where I am."
He pretended to tear it and then pretended to throw it.
"I hate this thing!" he said through gritted teeth. "I would destroy it if I could, but I cannot."
"Why not?" I asked.
"Because if ever I am found without it by Israeli defenders, they will send me to prison."
"Where was your family from?" I asked.
"Tekoa." he said. "Once it was my family's land. Now it is a Settlement."
"How did that happen?"
"What do you mean, 'How did that happen?'" he spat. "They came in with government papers and took it."
"Was there a fight?"
Two tongue clicks communicated much: there had been no fight. What could they have done against the guns, tanks, and bulldozers of the Israelis?
Changing the subject, I asked, "Did you know that one of the prophets from my Scriptures came from Tekoa?"
"Amos!" he replied with pride.
"Do you know what God said to Israel through Amos?" I asked.
"Tell me." He leaned in, obviously interested.
"Amos was a shepherd whom God invited to share God's heart with Israel's leaders." I began. "He started by speaking of all of Israel's enemies, identifying all that Israel's enemies had done to them, and explaining what God would do to the enemies of Israel...Israel celebrated the words of Amos."
Sa'id interrupted: "I do not like this man, Amos."
"There's more to the story." I said, taking a sip of my Arabic coffee. "As Israel's leaders celebrated, Amos had one more thing to say: 'Israel, you are guilty of the same kinds of injustice against your enemies...you will reap what you sow.'"
Silence.
Sa'id broke the silence: "I like this man Amos. He encourages Israel to be pro-people."
"I like Amos too." I said, "but I like his pro-people God even more."
In that moment, some of my internal mess dissipated. If the church is God's ongoing presence in the unique soil of the here and now, then our role is to be pro-people activists. Our work is to be the practitioners who make the compassion and justice of God real and who encourage others to do the same. Our work is to make the thoughts, words, and actions of Jesus real in the everyday.
In that moment, I also recognized that to be pro-Israel means that we encourage them to be pro-people. That is, we must push Israel into just practices with the Palestinian.
Friday, July 22, 2011
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Understanding Occupation: The Dheishe Refuge Camp
The bus slowed down...we were nearing the 300 checkpoint for the first time.
The wall cast an ominous shadow on the Israeli side.
We were quiet...blue Passports in hand...hiding our Palestinian tour guide in the back. Why? Because technically speaking, as a Palestinian resident of Israel, it was illegal for her to enter into the West Bank.
We breezed through.
Lunch was our first order of business, followed by a walk through the Dheishe Refugee Camp.
The camp, itself, is not what I expected. Over the years, it had gone from tents to shacks to small structures to stories-high buildings. As we wound through the narrow streets, one could see that here, unlike on the other side of the wall, people lived on top of people with little to no space of their own.
The shrieks of children running before us announced our arrival. People came to their windows to see the American delegation who dared to step off the manicured paths of tourism.
Typically, the only tourist foray into the West Bank is to enter the Church of the Nativity: a massive, ancient structure built over the cave where historians say that Jesus was born. The square outside of Nativity is pristine and populated with shops, restaurants, and a mosque. It is designed to mimic the tourist sites of downtown Jerusalem. Tourists are warned by their guides to stick to the Church of the Nativity and to the square and are usually whisked away within 30-40 minutes of arrival.
Tourists come in and out of the West Bank without ever having to see or understand what life in occupied territory is really like. Most tourists enter and exit the West Bank blind to the reality of occupation.
Second, Palestinians are arguably the most well-educated people group among the Arab/Muslim world. Over and over I heard them emphasize education as a must for their people while, simultaneously, I heard them bemoan the fact that there are no jobs in the West Bank.
"What good is education if there are no jobs?" I thought to myself...and then out loud to our Palestinian guide.
"Education validates our humanity." was her response. "Once educated, we can prove to the world that we exist as innovators who can contribute to the global community.... Once educated, we can prove that we have a voice."
Third, Palestinian refugees adamantly protect the status of refugee. They see this designation as politically important as the term "refugee" garners international sympathy and support. Palestinian refugees are doing whatever they can do to invite the global community to see them.
The wall cast an ominous shadow on the Israeli side.
We were quiet...blue Passports in hand...hiding our Palestinian tour guide in the back. Why? Because technically speaking, as a Palestinian resident of Israel, it was illegal for her to enter into the West Bank.
We breezed through.
Lunch was our first order of business, followed by a walk through the Dheishe Refugee Camp.
The camp, itself, is not what I expected. Over the years, it had gone from tents to shacks to small structures to stories-high buildings. As we wound through the narrow streets, one could see that here, unlike on the other side of the wall, people lived on top of people with little to no space of their own.
The shrieks of children running before us announced our arrival. People came to their windows to see the American delegation who dared to step off the manicured paths of tourism.
Typically, the only tourist foray into the West Bank is to enter the Church of the Nativity: a massive, ancient structure built over the cave where historians say that Jesus was born. The square outside of Nativity is pristine and populated with shops, restaurants, and a mosque. It is designed to mimic the tourist sites of downtown Jerusalem. Tourists are warned by their guides to stick to the Church of the Nativity and to the square and are usually whisked away within 30-40 minutes of arrival.
Tourists come in and out of the West Bank without ever having to see or understand what life in occupied territory is really like. Most tourists enter and exit the West Bank blind to the reality of occupation.
As we made our way through Dheishe, we learned something of being a Palestinian refugee.
First, Palestinians are extremely hospitable people, and, at the same time, outraged by the injustice of the scenario that they find themselves in. The tension of hospitality and outrage is a bizarre tension and it added complex layers to our learning. Being people who seek to offer hospitality to the stranger, they cannot understand why the same kind of hospitality is not being offered to them.
Second, Palestinians are arguably the most well-educated people group among the Arab/Muslim world. Over and over I heard them emphasize education as a must for their people while, simultaneously, I heard them bemoan the fact that there are no jobs in the West Bank.
"What good is education if there are no jobs?" I thought to myself...and then out loud to our Palestinian guide.
"Education validates our humanity." was her response. "Once educated, we can prove to the world that we exist as innovators who can contribute to the global community.... Once educated, we can prove that we have a voice."
Third, Palestinian refugees adamantly protect the status of refugee. They see this designation as politically important as the term "refugee" garners international sympathy and support. Palestinian refugees are doing whatever they can do to invite the global community to see them.
As we made our way through Dheishe, we also learned something of being a Palestinian refugee, but we also learned something of being the occupied.
The West Bank is designated in three ways: Area A, B, and C. Area A is considered to be territory under Palestinian jurisdiction, Area B is considered shared, and Area C is considered to be territory under Israeli Jewish jurisdiction. We learned of these designations as we stood on the top of a building overlooking a small portion of the West Bank. From our 360-degree vantage point, we could see all of the Dheishe Camp, a good portion of Bethlehem, and, surrounding both, were high-rise villages known as Settlements.
Settlements are territories within the West Bank where conservative/extremist Israeli Jews have moved in and taken over. Because of the slogan, "Never Again!", wherever Israeli Jews go, Israeli troopers must accompany and defend. What's more, in an effort to protect the settlers, guarded, settler-only roadways must be built. Naturally, settler roads spiderweb throughout all of the West Bank making it next to impossible for Palestinians to get from point A to point B in an easy fashion. That is, Palestinians are not able to access nor cross over the wall and gun-protected settler roads.
The result? Rather than a trip to a friend's home or, for that matter, to the hospital taking 5 minutes, now, it could take a day. Naturally, the settler roads drastically interrupt friendship, family, commerce, and life itself as countless Palestinians die on their way to the hospital.
Settlements are internationally outlawed...yet they continue to sprout up and grow all over "the Land."
Just as the orange-tiled roofs of the Settlements stick out, so too do the black and gray water reservoirs affixed to the tops of every Palestinian home.
Curiosity got the best of me again:
"Why do the Palestinian buildings have the black and gray reservoirs on their roofs while the Israeli Jewish (Settlement) homes do not?"
"The Jews control the water in the West Bank." was the response.
"In Area C, right?" I wondered aloud, remembering that the Jews controlled Area C.
"The Jews control the water, the electricity, and all of the roads in Area A, B, and C."
Later, I learned that the summer before, the water was shut off to the West Bank for a month. There is no water crisis in Israel. This was not an attempt to conserve water. This was an attempt to dehumanize, demoralize, and destroy the Palestinian people.
I also learned of the difference between my definition of curfew and the Palestinian experience of curfew. My understanding of curfew is that one is to be home by a certain time. If not, relatively mild consequences are sure to come: loss of the car keys, grounding, etc.
When curfew is imposed in the West Bank, it means that you cannot leave your home for any reason and includes the consequence of a bullet and loss of life if broken.
When curfew is imposed in the West Bank, it means that you cannot leave your home for any reason and includes the consequence of a bullet and loss of life if broken.
Question: What do you call it when one people group builds a 3'-thick, 25'-high cement wall around another people group and then controls the electricity, water, and roadways and can impose a life-threatening curfew?
Answer: Occupation.
Story Start-Points: The Root of Societal PTSD
Within five minutes of conversation with an Israeli Jew, you will discover how many family members she lost in the Holocaust. I did not hear a number lower than 70%. Unimaginable stories of horrific loss and/or miraculous escape or survival are ingrained in the national psyche of the Israeli people. Informed by the stories of their grandparents and great grandparents, they live with societal PTSD.
Within five minutes of conversation with a Palestinian, you will learn how many of her family members have been or are currently political prisoners in Israeli detention camps. Today, there are 12,000 Palestinians in such camps. Further, you will hear stories of the village that was once hers, past livelihoods that are no more, life in occupied territory, and how many times she, personally, has been held at gun point by Israeli troopers. Informed by their own stories, the Palestinian people live with societal PTSD.
For the Israeli Jew, the story of their people begins not in Genesis, but in the death camps of WWII.
For the Palestinian, the story begins not in ancient times, but in 1948.
The Israeli national slogan is "Never Again!"
The Palestinian national slogan is "Your Holocaust created our Catastrophe!"
The Palestinian cannot touch the pain of the Israeli Jew because, if she does, she fears her validation will cause the Jews to justify their acts of injustice against her people.
The Israeli Jew cannot touch the pain of the Palestinian because, if she does, she fears that the Palestinian will either hold her to just practices or take advantage of her lowered defenses.
The Jew and the Palestinian are locked in a Vicious Dance which keeps them focused on the past.
Within five minutes of conversation with a Palestinian, you will learn how many of her family members have been or are currently political prisoners in Israeli detention camps. Today, there are 12,000 Palestinians in such camps. Further, you will hear stories of the village that was once hers, past livelihoods that are no more, life in occupied territory, and how many times she, personally, has been held at gun point by Israeli troopers. Informed by their own stories, the Palestinian people live with societal PTSD.
For the Israeli Jew, the story of their people begins not in Genesis, but in the death camps of WWII.
For the Palestinian, the story begins not in ancient times, but in 1948.
The Israeli national slogan is "Never Again!"
The Palestinian national slogan is "Your Holocaust created our Catastrophe!"
The Palestinian cannot touch the pain of the Israeli Jew because, if she does, she fears her validation will cause the Jews to justify their acts of injustice against her people.
The Israeli Jew cannot touch the pain of the Palestinian because, if she does, she fears that the Palestinian will either hold her to just practices or take advantage of her lowered defenses.
The Jew and the Palestinian are locked in a Vicious Dance which keeps them focused on the past.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
And she danced in our circle
In the twilight hours and in the wake of Yad Vashem, our learning community found ourselves circled up in an upscale West Jerusalem park. Diverse narrations of people's experiences and new understandings of the Holocaust slowly emerged as words were hard to find.
A lull that had grown into a prolonged silence was interrupted at last by the family story of our Israeli tour guide. 90% of her bloodline was murdered in the Holocaust, but her four Polish grandparents survived.
This woman had become my friend so I listened with tears in my eyes to the horrors of the minuscule details that she was able to share with us. I understood unlike I had ever before why her grandfather would, at each birthday, raise a glass in vocal defiance of the enemies of Israel. Lost in the memories of a dehumanizing time, he would exclaim "Never again!"... and the rest of the family would echo, "Never again!"
Violence had been done to my perspective of human beings on this day. At Yad Vashem, I was confronted with the reality of hatred, injustice, violence, and silence. It seemed as though everything beautiful about life and humanity had been stripped away. I needed a reminder of hope, of new life, of beauty, of relationship.
Just then, I watched as a bride walked with confidence into the middle of our circle with her photographer in tow.
"May I dance in your circle?" she asked.
"Please!" I said not knowing or caring if she was Israeli or Palestinian.
As she danced in our circle, we celebrated her life.
A lull that had grown into a prolonged silence was interrupted at last by the family story of our Israeli tour guide. 90% of her bloodline was murdered in the Holocaust, but her four Polish grandparents survived.
This woman had become my friend so I listened with tears in my eyes to the horrors of the minuscule details that she was able to share with us. I understood unlike I had ever before why her grandfather would, at each birthday, raise a glass in vocal defiance of the enemies of Israel. Lost in the memories of a dehumanizing time, he would exclaim "Never again!"... and the rest of the family would echo, "Never again!"
Violence had been done to my perspective of human beings on this day. At Yad Vashem, I was confronted with the reality of hatred, injustice, violence, and silence. It seemed as though everything beautiful about life and humanity had been stripped away. I needed a reminder of hope, of new life, of beauty, of relationship.
Just then, I watched as a bride walked with confidence into the middle of our circle with her photographer in tow.
"May I dance in your circle?" she asked.
"Please!" I said not knowing or caring if she was Israeli or Palestinian.
As she danced in our circle, we celebrated her life.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Yad Vashem and the Jewish Paradigm
Every Holocaust Museum tells a specific story. For example, the Museum in Washington D.C. tells of the horrors of the death camps, but ends with the American liberation. One way of reading this story is that the Nazis did this horrific thing and we (the American Liberators) ended it. In large part this is true.
Yad Vashem, the Holocaust Museum in Jerusalem tells a different story.
To begin, the facility itself is an amazing structure. The building is shaped like a massive three-dimensional triangle that literally cuts right through a hillside. The top of the triangle is transparent, freeing ambient light to illuminate the main corridor that lies beneath. A massive panoramic window on the far side of the museum draws each guest close: illuminated by light, we walk through the land toward the light.
The curators of Yad Vashem have done an amazing job of helping its visitors understand both the global tragedy and also the personal terror of the Holocaust. For example...
I found myself standing in the middle of the first exhibit before I realized it. I stood in the main corridor gazing toward the panoramic window at the end when I looked to my right and left. As I did, I recognized that I stood between two massive pictures, each a different picture of the same gruesome massacre.
A layer of logs and a layer of Jews...A layer of logs and a layer of Jews...A layer of logs and a layer of Jews...ten to fifteen layers thick...all of them dead and partially burnt.
These pictures were taken by a liberator as smoke continued to rise from the worst bonfire I'd ever seen. You see, just before the camp was liberated, the Nazis laid down a layer of logs and then a layer of Jews, executed them with a bullet in the back of their heads, laid down another layer of logs and did it over and over and over...it was their final attempt to exterminate as many Jews as they possibly could and to destroy the evidence with fire before the liberators arrived. The fire never really caught, so what remained on that day will forever be seared into my memory and the memories of thousands of visitors a day who visit Yad Vashem.
Directly beneath the pictures lay a glass display with the things that the liberators found in the pockets of the people in the pile. Charred pocket watches, wedding rings, ID cards, drawings of "home", maps of the death camp, letters to loved ones. As I processed what it was that I as seeing, I understood that these objects were the very things that individuals had held on to in an effort to remain sane and to hold on to hope for a better day. What's more, I understood unlike I ever had before, that the Holocaust was deeply personal: real people killed real people.
As I began to weave my way through Yad Vashem I quickly understood the story of this particular museum...it was a story that is not often told on this side of the world.
The story goes like this:
In the Holocaust, the whole world tried to kill us.
One display in particular opened my eyes to the global scale of the Holocaust. On a wall in a room was a massive map of Europe and Asia. Red dots marked not tens...not hundreds...but thousands of death camps. On the opposite wall were listed the names of specific countries under which were listed the names of the death camps in each country complete with the number of people who were killed in each camp. Next to each country name was a large number that depicted the total number of people killed in that country during the Holocaust.
As Americans, we hear about the four or five major death camps. We don't necessarily hear about the thousands of them all over Europe and Asia. It wasn't just the Germans who tried to exterminate the Jews...it really was a global effort...and it was nearly successful.
...but the story continues:
In the Holocaust, the whole world tried to kill us.
In the Holocaust, Christians tried to kill us.
The following display emphasized that the majority of the Nazi regime were Lutheran...they were Christians. In their story, the Jews understand that Christians sought to exterminate Jews and that the American Christians stood by silently.
One quote (Christian to Jew) paralyzed me: "We cannot help you...you killed Christ."
From that moment forward, the story becomes incredibly personal. I read post cards scribbled in a panic from a cattle car. One such post card was written by a young mother whose baby boy had just been ripped out of her arms. Finding herself packed into a cattle car, separated from her infant child for the first time in her life, I could hear her screaming out:
"Richard...O my Richard! Has anyone seen my Richard? God save my Richard!"
Yad Vashem unofficially ends in a circular room that is forty feet tall, floor to ceiling. I entered into the space on a platform that suspended me at twenty feet; from my vantage point I could look up and I could look down. The walls of the space, floor to ceiling, are lined with bookshelves on which sit binders containing the names and personal information of the 6 million Jews who were murdered in the Holocaust. To this day, they continue to the search for every last name.
In the Holocaust, the whole world tried to kill us.
In the Holocaust, Christians tried to kill us.
We survived...
From this room, the official end of Yad Vashem drew me: the panoramic window. The view of "the land" was stunning. The story continued:
In the Holocaust, the whole world tried to kill us.
In the Holocaust, Christians tried to kill us.
We survived...and the land is rightfully ours.
As I exited, I watched as a platoon of young Jewish defenders who had just made their way through the museum. As I listened to their impassioned commander, a question grew loud in my mind:
Why is it that I have never heard a contemporary Jew refer to God as the God who delivered them from the Holocaust?
In my understanding of the Hebrew Scriptures, it seems as though Israel always identified God by what He had done. For example, God was not just named "God", He was named "God who rescued us from Egypt." My experience of Yad Vashem concluding with the sight of kids with guns left me wondering if contemporary Jews saw God as the God who had delivered them or if they saw God as the God who had abandoned them.
Kids with guns chanting the national slogan, "Never again!" seemed to answer the question.
It seems as though they believe that God had not delivered them, but that God had abandoned them. And if God had abandoned them, then they weren't rescued from the Holocaust: they survived. And because they survived, the land through which Yad Vashem cuts through was rightfully theirs. What's more, it seems as though they believe that the land is going to stay theirs not because they put their faith and trust in their God but because they put guns in the arms of indoctrinated kids.
In the Holocaust, the whole world tried to kill us.
In the Holocaust, Christians tried to kill us.
We survived...and the land is rightfully ours.
God cannot be trusted so we will trust ourselves.
Yad Vashem, the Holocaust Museum in Jerusalem tells a different story.
To begin, the facility itself is an amazing structure. The building is shaped like a massive three-dimensional triangle that literally cuts right through a hillside. The top of the triangle is transparent, freeing ambient light to illuminate the main corridor that lies beneath. A massive panoramic window on the far side of the museum draws each guest close: illuminated by light, we walk through the land toward the light.
The curators of Yad Vashem have done an amazing job of helping its visitors understand both the global tragedy and also the personal terror of the Holocaust. For example...
I found myself standing in the middle of the first exhibit before I realized it. I stood in the main corridor gazing toward the panoramic window at the end when I looked to my right and left. As I did, I recognized that I stood between two massive pictures, each a different picture of the same gruesome massacre.
A layer of logs and a layer of Jews...A layer of logs and a layer of Jews...A layer of logs and a layer of Jews...ten to fifteen layers thick...all of them dead and partially burnt.
These pictures were taken by a liberator as smoke continued to rise from the worst bonfire I'd ever seen. You see, just before the camp was liberated, the Nazis laid down a layer of logs and then a layer of Jews, executed them with a bullet in the back of their heads, laid down another layer of logs and did it over and over and over...it was their final attempt to exterminate as many Jews as they possibly could and to destroy the evidence with fire before the liberators arrived. The fire never really caught, so what remained on that day will forever be seared into my memory and the memories of thousands of visitors a day who visit Yad Vashem.
Directly beneath the pictures lay a glass display with the things that the liberators found in the pockets of the people in the pile. Charred pocket watches, wedding rings, ID cards, drawings of "home", maps of the death camp, letters to loved ones. As I processed what it was that I as seeing, I understood that these objects were the very things that individuals had held on to in an effort to remain sane and to hold on to hope for a better day. What's more, I understood unlike I ever had before, that the Holocaust was deeply personal: real people killed real people.
As I began to weave my way through Yad Vashem I quickly understood the story of this particular museum...it was a story that is not often told on this side of the world.
The story goes like this:
In the Holocaust, the whole world tried to kill us.
One display in particular opened my eyes to the global scale of the Holocaust. On a wall in a room was a massive map of Europe and Asia. Red dots marked not tens...not hundreds...but thousands of death camps. On the opposite wall were listed the names of specific countries under which were listed the names of the death camps in each country complete with the number of people who were killed in each camp. Next to each country name was a large number that depicted the total number of people killed in that country during the Holocaust.
As Americans, we hear about the four or five major death camps. We don't necessarily hear about the thousands of them all over Europe and Asia. It wasn't just the Germans who tried to exterminate the Jews...it really was a global effort...and it was nearly successful.
...but the story continues:
In the Holocaust, the whole world tried to kill us.
In the Holocaust, Christians tried to kill us.
The following display emphasized that the majority of the Nazi regime were Lutheran...they were Christians. In their story, the Jews understand that Christians sought to exterminate Jews and that the American Christians stood by silently.
One quote (Christian to Jew) paralyzed me: "We cannot help you...you killed Christ."
From that moment forward, the story becomes incredibly personal. I read post cards scribbled in a panic from a cattle car. One such post card was written by a young mother whose baby boy had just been ripped out of her arms. Finding herself packed into a cattle car, separated from her infant child for the first time in her life, I could hear her screaming out:
"Richard...O my Richard! Has anyone seen my Richard? God save my Richard!"
Yad Vashem unofficially ends in a circular room that is forty feet tall, floor to ceiling. I entered into the space on a platform that suspended me at twenty feet; from my vantage point I could look up and I could look down. The walls of the space, floor to ceiling, are lined with bookshelves on which sit binders containing the names and personal information of the 6 million Jews who were murdered in the Holocaust. To this day, they continue to the search for every last name.
In the Holocaust, the whole world tried to kill us.
In the Holocaust, Christians tried to kill us.
We survived...
From this room, the official end of Yad Vashem drew me: the panoramic window. The view of "the land" was stunning. The story continued:
In the Holocaust, the whole world tried to kill us.
In the Holocaust, Christians tried to kill us.
We survived...and the land is rightfully ours.
As I exited, I watched as a platoon of young Jewish defenders who had just made their way through the museum. As I listened to their impassioned commander, a question grew loud in my mind:
Why is it that I have never heard a contemporary Jew refer to God as the God who delivered them from the Holocaust?
In my understanding of the Hebrew Scriptures, it seems as though Israel always identified God by what He had done. For example, God was not just named "God", He was named "God who rescued us from Egypt." My experience of Yad Vashem concluding with the sight of kids with guns left me wondering if contemporary Jews saw God as the God who had delivered them or if they saw God as the God who had abandoned them.
Kids with guns chanting the national slogan, "Never again!" seemed to answer the question.
It seems as though they believe that God had not delivered them, but that God had abandoned them. And if God had abandoned them, then they weren't rescued from the Holocaust: they survived. And because they survived, the land through which Yad Vashem cuts through was rightfully theirs. What's more, it seems as though they believe that the land is going to stay theirs not because they put their faith and trust in their God but because they put guns in the arms of indoctrinated kids.
In the Holocaust, the whole world tried to kill us.
In the Holocaust, Christians tried to kill us.
We survived...and the land is rightfully ours.
God cannot be trusted so we will trust ourselves.
Saturday, July 09, 2011
Oooh...So that's what American Christian Zionism sounds like!
During our stay in Israel/Palestine, our study group spent a fair amount of time considering the implications of Christian Zionism.
In short, Christian Zionism is the ideology that still sees Israel as God's chosen people who have a biblical/covenantal right to the land. Most Zionists believe that the sooner Israel repatriates "the land" the sooner Jesus will come back.
America is a Zionist nation, politically, religiously, and ideologically. Our majority context blindly adheres to foreign policy decisions made in favor of Israel taking back and protecting "the land." Our newspapers create language that reinforce faulty perspectives of Israel Jews (peaceful, victimized, "trying to come home") and Palestinians (terrorists, thieves, dangerous, interrupting Israel's attempt at "coming home"). The created language strengthens our "pro-Israel" and "anti-Palestinian" sentiments.
We cheer Israel on! "Take the land!", we shout from across the ocean.
The sooner they do, the sooner Jesus will come back...don't you know?
And then you go there and step off the manicured paths of the Jewish & Christian monopolized tourism industry. Instantly, you find yourself beneath the surface of our Zionist ideology and into real life. You begin to see how "the land" is actually being taken. You watch the caravan of Israeli-defended American-made bulldozers go from one Palestinian village demolition to another, the dust of real peoples' homes still clinging to their exteriors.
3 Quick Asides:
1. The Israeli military has a special contract with Caterpillar who has developed bulldozers for the sole purpose of home demolitions. Do you own stock in Caterpillar?
2. Over 350 Palestinian families were made homeless in 110 degree heat while I was in Israel/Palestine. What would you do if you someone came to your home and told you you had 10 minutes to grab your belongings because your home was going to be destroyed.
3. No reason is ever given for a demolition. Often times, the demolished village sits untouched for years while the former residents live in tents among the rubble. Does this make any sense to you?
One night, I made my way beneath the posh exterior...the world that Israel and America have collaborated in creating. In order to crack the surface, I had to walk through the American funded, Israeli constructed "300 Checkpoint." This included numerous metal turnstiles and metal detectors manned by armed 17-year-old Jewish defenders who looked at me with a mixture of curiosity, apathy, and disrespect. Once through the turnstiles and detectors, I entered a back-and-forth caged maze which eventually spit me out in the West Bank. Everything about the check point, I realized, was designed to humiliate and dehumanize the Palestinian.
I was in Palestinian territory and instantly felt at ease. As I waited, alone and in the dark, for my friends to arrive I updated my Facebook status:
"A solitary midnight crossing through the Wall last night. Humiliating, anxious, eerie. So good to stand in solidarity with the occupied."
The next day, I was talking to some Palestinian friends about America, American Zionism, and the American Church.
"When will the American Church see us as human beings?"
"You come here to see where Jesus walked. Why don't you walk like He walked?"
"Why is your country so selective in whose independence they champion?"
As the questions continued to come, I began to wake up to the tragedy of American Zionism. Our blind support of "God's chosen people" is funding a humanitarian crisis.
Simultaneously, I recognized that I have no voice in Israel/Palestine...but I do have a voice here.
"But I'm sure that I don't know people who are hard core Zionists." I thought to myself! "What does Zionism even sound like in the States?"
Shortly thereafter, I went to my Facebook again and found this comment under my status update from the night before:
"So, I am confused - are you a Christian or a Muslim? Do you stand with YHWH, the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, or with allah, the god who wishes the Israelites driven into the sea?"
Confused is an understatement. What was this guy talking about? And then it dawned on me:
"Ooooh!" I said out loud. "So that is what American Christian Zionism sounds like!"
Let's unpack this comment, shall we?
1. I'm guessing here, but I would imagine that this person has little to no real friendships with Muslims (or Palestinians for that matter.)
2. I'm continuing to guess, but I would also imagine that this person has little to no real friendships with Jews (especially Israeli Jews) either.
3. If this person has been to "the Holy Land" I would imagine that he experienced the bliss of an air-conditioned tour of the places where Jesus walked and little more. If he's been there, he has been intentionally shielded from the current catastrophe.
4. Lest we forget, every Muslim in the world is a part of Abraham's family and was blessed by God. There are Islamic lines through Ishmael AND Isaac.
5. Note his intentional "lower case" lettering of "allah" and "god". This represents the very kind of arrogance and disrespect that is resulting in homes and cemeteries being bulldozed, families becoming homeless, children having chlorine dumped into their eyes, and millions of people going hungry and thirsty in a place where there is plenty of food and water.
6. Guessing again, but I would imagine that this person has never read the Qur'an. If he has, perhaps he missed all of the many times hospitality, generosity, and peace are mentioned in the way the Muslim is to interact with his/her neighbor. Further, he would have recognized that there is no place in the entire Qur'an that speaks of Israel being "driven into the sea."
7. The irony is that the person who has actually been publicly quoted as saying something similar was former Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin: "I would like Gaza (open-air prison of 1.5 million Palestinians) to sink into the sea, but that won't happen...."
Rather than including these thoughts in a comment back, I responded like this:
"I long for the dysfunctional Abrahamic family, of which I am a part, to awaken to our belovedness by God. I am pro-people and seek to stand with the oppressed, the occupied, the humiliated, and the powerless no matter their religion or nationality. On this, I take my cue from the Creator."
In short, Christian Zionism is the ideology that still sees Israel as God's chosen people who have a biblical/covenantal right to the land. Most Zionists believe that the sooner Israel repatriates "the land" the sooner Jesus will come back.
America is a Zionist nation, politically, religiously, and ideologically. Our majority context blindly adheres to foreign policy decisions made in favor of Israel taking back and protecting "the land." Our newspapers create language that reinforce faulty perspectives of Israel Jews (peaceful, victimized, "trying to come home") and Palestinians (terrorists, thieves, dangerous, interrupting Israel's attempt at "coming home"). The created language strengthens our "pro-Israel" and "anti-Palestinian" sentiments.
We cheer Israel on! "Take the land!", we shout from across the ocean.
The sooner they do, the sooner Jesus will come back...don't you know?
And then you go there and step off the manicured paths of the Jewish & Christian monopolized tourism industry. Instantly, you find yourself beneath the surface of our Zionist ideology and into real life. You begin to see how "the land" is actually being taken. You watch the caravan of Israeli-defended American-made bulldozers go from one Palestinian village demolition to another, the dust of real peoples' homes still clinging to their exteriors.
3 Quick Asides:
1. The Israeli military has a special contract with Caterpillar who has developed bulldozers for the sole purpose of home demolitions. Do you own stock in Caterpillar?
2. Over 350 Palestinian families were made homeless in 110 degree heat while I was in Israel/Palestine. What would you do if you someone came to your home and told you you had 10 minutes to grab your belongings because your home was going to be destroyed.
3. No reason is ever given for a demolition. Often times, the demolished village sits untouched for years while the former residents live in tents among the rubble. Does this make any sense to you?
One night, I made my way beneath the posh exterior...the world that Israel and America have collaborated in creating. In order to crack the surface, I had to walk through the American funded, Israeli constructed "300 Checkpoint." This included numerous metal turnstiles and metal detectors manned by armed 17-year-old Jewish defenders who looked at me with a mixture of curiosity, apathy, and disrespect. Once through the turnstiles and detectors, I entered a back-and-forth caged maze which eventually spit me out in the West Bank. Everything about the check point, I realized, was designed to humiliate and dehumanize the Palestinian.
I was in Palestinian territory and instantly felt at ease. As I waited, alone and in the dark, for my friends to arrive I updated my Facebook status:
"A solitary midnight crossing through the Wall last night. Humiliating, anxious, eerie. So good to stand in solidarity with the occupied."
The next day, I was talking to some Palestinian friends about America, American Zionism, and the American Church.
"When will the American Church see us as human beings?"
"You come here to see where Jesus walked. Why don't you walk like He walked?"
"Why is your country so selective in whose independence they champion?"
As the questions continued to come, I began to wake up to the tragedy of American Zionism. Our blind support of "God's chosen people" is funding a humanitarian crisis.
Simultaneously, I recognized that I have no voice in Israel/Palestine...but I do have a voice here.
"But I'm sure that I don't know people who are hard core Zionists." I thought to myself! "What does Zionism even sound like in the States?"
Shortly thereafter, I went to my Facebook again and found this comment under my status update from the night before:
"So, I am confused - are you a Christian or a Muslim? Do you stand with YHWH, the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, or with allah, the god who wishes the Israelites driven into the sea?"
Confused is an understatement. What was this guy talking about? And then it dawned on me:
"Ooooh!" I said out loud. "So that is what American Christian Zionism sounds like!"
Let's unpack this comment, shall we?
1. I'm guessing here, but I would imagine that this person has little to no real friendships with Muslims (or Palestinians for that matter.)
2. I'm continuing to guess, but I would also imagine that this person has little to no real friendships with Jews (especially Israeli Jews) either.
3. If this person has been to "the Holy Land" I would imagine that he experienced the bliss of an air-conditioned tour of the places where Jesus walked and little more. If he's been there, he has been intentionally shielded from the current catastrophe.
4. Lest we forget, every Muslim in the world is a part of Abraham's family and was blessed by God. There are Islamic lines through Ishmael AND Isaac.
5. Note his intentional "lower case" lettering of "allah" and "god". This represents the very kind of arrogance and disrespect that is resulting in homes and cemeteries being bulldozed, families becoming homeless, children having chlorine dumped into their eyes, and millions of people going hungry and thirsty in a place where there is plenty of food and water.
6. Guessing again, but I would imagine that this person has never read the Qur'an. If he has, perhaps he missed all of the many times hospitality, generosity, and peace are mentioned in the way the Muslim is to interact with his/her neighbor. Further, he would have recognized that there is no place in the entire Qur'an that speaks of Israel being "driven into the sea."
7. The irony is that the person who has actually been publicly quoted as saying something similar was former Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin: "I would like Gaza (open-air prison of 1.5 million Palestinians) to sink into the sea, but that won't happen...."
Rather than including these thoughts in a comment back, I responded like this:
"I long for the dysfunctional Abrahamic family, of which I am a part, to awaken to our belovedness by God. I am pro-people and seek to stand with the oppressed, the occupied, the humiliated, and the powerless no matter their religion or nationality. On this, I take my cue from the Creator."
Saturday, July 02, 2011
Pulled over at Ben Gurion
A Palestinian friend and taxi driver gave me a lift from Bethlehem to Ben Gurion Airport in Tel Aviv tonight. We spent the drive catching up on each others' stories. We shared stories of growing up, me in Wisconsin and he in Jerusalem. We talked about faith, politics, schooling, friendships, girls, his fiance and my wife, his longing for a big family and my desire for a smaller one than he. While we talked, his fiance called. Like I've learned that Israeli's and Palestinians do when something is wrong, Anas clucked his tongue twice: with a sheepish grin he said, "She's mad at me tonight!"
A five minute argument ensued and then settled.
"Everything alright?" I asked with a grin?
"It will be, Inshallah (God willing)."
About that time, we passed the first sign for Ben Gurion Airport and Anas noticeably tightened up a bit...and the stories changed.
Now, rather than boyhood memories, longings for justice, and yearnings for the married life, he told of the last time he had come to Ben Gurion.
His girlfriend had been with him and they were picking up a client who had specifically requested Anas to be his driver. As they approached the check point, an Israeli soldier took a liking to Anas' girlfriend and began making advances at her. Naturally, Anas got a bit defensive and told the soldier to simply check her identity and let them pass. His mistake was that he "told" the soldier what to do. Things intensified quickly until the soldier, at gun point, commanded Anas to get out of the vehicle. Anas pushed the door open into the chest of the soldier who retaliated with a push. Anas responded by punching the soldier in the face.
It wasn't the correct response...Anas paid for it with 3 months in prison.
We were close to the check point at this time.
"I've picked you up in Jerusalem...NOT in Bethlehem. Jer, this is very important that you understand this."
To the check point we arrived. In perfect Hebrew, Anas greeted the soldier who asked to see his I.D. Discovering that he was Palestinian, he told us to pull off to the right shoulder. For 20 minutes, I stood with Anas as he smoked cigarette after cigarette. Simultaneously, I watched as car after car was allowed to pass through the check point without a second look...these cars were not driven by Palestinians. For every four cars the flew by us, one was pulled to the right to join a growing number of Palestinian drivers and foreign passengers: the drivers all smoked and paced while the foreign passengers either remained in their cars or shuffled their feet nervously.
At last, a soldier made his way to Anas and I.
"Jerusalem. Leonardo." responded Anas to what I assumed to be a question regarding our origin.
My turn.
"Passport! What's your name?"
"Jeremy."
"Why did you come to Israel?!"
"To walk where Jesus walked."
Two tongue clicks.
"Open the van!"
After Anas opened every door, the soldier proceeded to rummage through seats and throw out everything he could find. Next, they brought a blueish wand over to check for explosives. After another 30 minutes. The soldier nodded at Anas. It had been an hour and we had been cleared to approach the terminal.
As we neared my stop and as I dug deep into my pockets to compensate him well, I said, "I'm glad that's over!"
"No." he responded. "THAT will never be over. Salaam my friend. Come again soon."
A five minute argument ensued and then settled.
"Everything alright?" I asked with a grin?
"It will be, Inshallah (God willing)."
About that time, we passed the first sign for Ben Gurion Airport and Anas noticeably tightened up a bit...and the stories changed.
Now, rather than boyhood memories, longings for justice, and yearnings for the married life, he told of the last time he had come to Ben Gurion.
His girlfriend had been with him and they were picking up a client who had specifically requested Anas to be his driver. As they approached the check point, an Israeli soldier took a liking to Anas' girlfriend and began making advances at her. Naturally, Anas got a bit defensive and told the soldier to simply check her identity and let them pass. His mistake was that he "told" the soldier what to do. Things intensified quickly until the soldier, at gun point, commanded Anas to get out of the vehicle. Anas pushed the door open into the chest of the soldier who retaliated with a push. Anas responded by punching the soldier in the face.
It wasn't the correct response...Anas paid for it with 3 months in prison.
We were close to the check point at this time.
"I've picked you up in Jerusalem...NOT in Bethlehem. Jer, this is very important that you understand this."
To the check point we arrived. In perfect Hebrew, Anas greeted the soldier who asked to see his I.D. Discovering that he was Palestinian, he told us to pull off to the right shoulder. For 20 minutes, I stood with Anas as he smoked cigarette after cigarette. Simultaneously, I watched as car after car was allowed to pass through the check point without a second look...these cars were not driven by Palestinians. For every four cars the flew by us, one was pulled to the right to join a growing number of Palestinian drivers and foreign passengers: the drivers all smoked and paced while the foreign passengers either remained in their cars or shuffled their feet nervously.
At last, a soldier made his way to Anas and I.
"Jerusalem. Leonardo." responded Anas to what I assumed to be a question regarding our origin.
My turn.
"Passport! What's your name?"
"Jeremy."
"Why did you come to Israel?!"
"To walk where Jesus walked."
Two tongue clicks.
"Open the van!"
After Anas opened every door, the soldier proceeded to rummage through seats and throw out everything he could find. Next, they brought a blueish wand over to check for explosives. After another 30 minutes. The soldier nodded at Anas. It had been an hour and we had been cleared to approach the terminal.
As we neared my stop and as I dug deep into my pockets to compensate him well, I said, "I'm glad that's over!"
"No." he responded. "THAT will never be over. Salaam my friend. Come again soon."
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