Face to Face with a Monster

The monster towered in front of me - cold, arrogant, and utterly evil. There was no need to make eye contact; I could feel its merciless presence penetrating my already unsettled spirit. Like taking a headfirst plunge into an icy mountain stream, the dark reality of this beast enveloped me, instantly freezing my fragil hopes and hurling them into a whirlpool of further doubt and confusion. It seemed as though I was standing in front of the simplest, yet most accurate representation of all that is wrong with our world. Greed, hatred, arrogance, injustice... they all stood before me, physically incarnate in this massive structure of concrete and steel. The weight of that realization was difficult to bear.

Although every bit as terrifying, this is not an ordinary monster, lurking in the shadows and thriving off the creativity of one's imagination. This thing is real. It is being built by human hands, a machine designed to divide, humiliate, and conquer. Like a snake, the wall winds its way through olive fields and homes, vineyards and villages, destroying all that stands along its intended route. In some areas, the wall completely surrounds entire Palestinian villages, completely isolating them from the rest of the West Bank and effectively forcing the residents to leave. It stands 25 feet tall in places and stretches for 400 miles across the land, so no one can dispute its ominous presence. Yet it continues to be built, right under the nose of the rest of the world.

Our western media refers to this barrier using the most idealistic and impersonal of terms. Security fence... seperation wall... In areas of the West Bank directly impacted by its presence, a strikingly different set of vocabulary is used. To many, it is simply The Wall. No need for meaningless adjectives or inaccurate justifications. Just call it what it is. Others are a bit more creative, calling it The Snake or The Monster. Everyone we talked to, however, is unanimous on one point. This is a Wall of Apartheid.

Israel began building the wall in 2002, in response to a slew of suicide bombings and a "peace process" that had once again grinded to a halt. In selling their idea to the world, the wall was championed as a tool against terror, and a way to bring a deeper sense of security to a country plagued by violence and fear. Their justification, of course, was valid, as every country has a right to defend themselves against a perceived threat. But as we have seen throughout history, and most recently in the Iraq War, countries using this arguement almost always seem to overstep their bounds. Greed and pride take over, the enemy is demonized, and before long any action becomes justified.

As the buldozers began pushing dirt and the concrete forms went up, a different set of intentions began to emerge. Instead of building the wall on the recognized border between Israel and the West Bank (the 1967 "Green Line"), as they had every right to do, Israel was constructing this barrier deep within Palestinian territory. Land was confiscated, homes destroyed, and many Palestinians now found themselves holding legal ownership rights to land that they could no longer access, because it was now on the Israeli side of the wall. What was initially portrayed as a preventative measure against terror, was now being revealed as a proactive "land-grab" that the Palestinian people were helpless to prevent. Currently, the intended route of the wall annexes nearly 50% of Palestinian land in the West Bank.

In returning to Palestine three years after my first visit, I am struck by the many changes that have taken place here. While Alethia, Laura, Dave and I visited the Bethlehem area last week, we stopped in to visit our good friends at the Alternative Tourism Group (ATG) in Beit Sahour. On our previous cross-cultural here, ATG served an important role in educating us on the conflict, sharing stories of what happens here, and connecting us with local host families. While stopping in for a visit, Samer offered to show us around the area and explain a few of the changes that have taken place. I was completely unprepared for all that I saw in the following hours. A whole network of new Israeli settlements dotted the hills around Bethlehem. This of course created the necessity for a larger network of settler access roads, all of which cut through Palestinian fields and villages. And we finished our tour with a visit to The Wall, an entirely new facet to the situation here that was particularly difficult to swallow. The situation on the ground was indeed much worse than during our last visit.

I must admit that this all came as a bit of a surprise. In the last months, the media has been putting a very positive spin on the situation here in Israel and Palestine. Suicide bombings and violent Israeli military incursions have been on the decline. The Palestinians have a newly elected Democratic leader in Mohammad Abbas, replacing the corrupt and two-sided Yassir Arafat. Sharon seems committed to implementing a withdrawal plan from the Gaza Strip. And the peace process has been recently renewed at the summit in Sharm-el-Shek. All of these are indeed positive developments, but they do nothing to change the reality of the land. The Palestinians are being economically cut off, physically isolated, and culturally neglected. I'm hearing the word genocide a lot more during this visit. And the positive spin being portrayed is merely a genius of the Israeli propoganda machine, designed to lead the world into forgetting the plight of the Palestinian people. It is a very sad, desperate situation.

I used to think of what happens here in terms of conflict. One side against the other, both fighting for the land, a situation fueled by fear and ignorance. This is indeed part of it. But after this visit, I'm not so sure a conflict is the most accurate ways of describing it. This is a situation in which one side is absolutely and completely crushing the other. More than ever before, my experiences in these past few days illuminated the strategic and brilliant plan on the part of the Israeli government to rid themselves of the "Palestinian problem." The settlements, walls, bypass roads... all are devised with a broader objective in mind. And any Palestinian would tell you that it's not peace, or even two independent states. It is a strategy of confiscation and isolation. If you are interested in historical parallels, don't look too far from home. Sadly, many Palestinians find their situation remarkably comparable to that of the Native Americans only several hundred years ago.

These are difficult times in Palestine. The tone of this journal no doubt reflects that truth. As it was for our EMU cross-cultural group three years ago, it is not easy to find hope or joy in the midst of such a depressing situation. And we have only experienced a tiny fraction of what many Palestinians have spent a lifetime dealing with. Returning to Bethlehem, I find myself inspired anew by the resiliancy of the Palestinian spirit. These are a people that have experienced hardships unknown to most of us, and yet continue to dream, hope, live. Most simply want to live in peace. Is that too much to ask?

It is fundamental to the human spirit to desire something to hope in. Often it is found in family, relationships, spirituality, or a whole host of other possibilities. Along with these, I found it interesting to discover the hope that some Palestinians take in history. Ironically, the very history that could just as quickly condemn and seal their fate, also becomes a source of hope. Last week as we sat with Dr. Zoughbi Zoughbi from the Wi'am Conflict Resolution Center, he illustrated this in a way that I'm sure the four of us will never forget. Feeling the weight of the situation and the despair hanging in the air, one of us brought up the topic of hope. "Where do you find your hope, Dr. Zoughbi?" Without a word, he rose from his chair and walked across the room, to a small leather pouch sitting on top of a filing cabinet. Solemnly opening it, he carefully pulled out a small stone and placed it in the palm of his hand. It was a gift from a volunteer group from Germany - a piece of the Berlin wall. I could recognize the distinct glimmer of hope in his eyes as he smiled and said, "All walls come down someday..."

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As internationals, our support and solidarity can also be an incredible source of hope for the Palestinian people. Decades of failed peace talks have left many with a very sarcastic attitude towards political interventions, chosing instead to invest their energy into global education and the work of private NGO's. Some of the awareness campaigns attracting the most attention recently are those having to do with divestment, or using economic pressure to help encourage policy changes.

If you are interested in learning more about the situation here in Palestine, several sites we would recommend include:

?You will forget us, so many do?

Return to the West Bank... the rolling, sensual hills, terraced with rock and green, pain and joy. Packed in a small Fiat on our way to meet the family who we would be staying with for our week here, I could only feast on the scene unfolding beyond the window and fight to control the overwhelming sense that I am home.

We settled into a rooftop apartment in Bethlehem with incredible views across the hills of the contained West Bank and those beyond, symbolizing often unrecognized possibilities for those who live here. For this week we were hoping to spend much of our time trying to feel the changes that have taken place since Eric, Dave and I last lived here almost three years ago. These changes have not only taken place in the atmosphere inside Bethlehem, Beit Sahour and Beit Jala, but there are marked differences deep within us as well. I promised to return upon our last departure, but this time I come as a more whole human being, one who has been unable to forget past experiences here and those who impacted my life with their offer of friendship, family and honest reflection of what it means to be human in the midst of peace and horror.

There are the familiar signs of scarred oppression in the expression ?we want to live? repeated in those who live out their entire lives in the radius of a few miles while Jerusalem?s lights twinkle tantalizingly just out of reach, along with the stories of imposed curfew and the perils of traveling through check points. However, there are less accounts of terrorizing violence and more stories of hopelessness in this new government and in the situation ever inviting freedom. The portrait of the ever encompassing Wall, which is razoring into the land?the same land that exudes tranquility and the contrast between soft green, rolling and terraced hills and the olive trees under which sheep graze coupled with deadly barbed wire depicts the resigned aura here from which the feeling of imprisonment is not to be easily dismissed.

As I listened to different people who we met either with organizations working for change or those we passed in the narrow streets, I felt again the deep satisfaction of being at home in this place and desired only to meet with the family who I had stayed with a few years ago. Salim and Gihad Khoury along with their son A?la and his wife Luma became as my own family and before leaving after my stay with them, I distinctly remember a conversation with Gihad in which she denied my promise to come back. ?You will forget us, so many do.? I tried then to counter her prediction, but knew this could only be done in action not in the few words that feebly bridge the gap between English and Arabic.

After chancing to meet A?la while the four of us visited Bethlehem Bible College, I was only aware of the immediate soaring of my heart, lifting out of the heaviness of oppressive stories from earlier meetings in the morning. Here was someone who I considered as a brother, whose family has been as my own even during lapses in communication over the past few years. I could only grasp his hand in mine and mirror his smile with my own, a mixture of relief and joy.

Later in the afternoon, A?la and I drove to his mother?s shop in Beit Sahour, a place where I spent many evenings wandering among the colorful cloth creations that she is so talented in producing despite the weakened market, discouraged by the conflict in the past years. Still Gihad sits faithfully in her shop, proud of her efforts and always offering a smile and tea to any who stop by on their way to their own shattered occupations. I eagerly emerged from the car and approached the open door??Gihad?? There she was, beautiful, motherly, sitting behind her desk as evening whispered through the windows. The smile that lit her eyes welcomed me home. Wrapped in her embrace as she whispered, ?You promised, you promised.? And it was enough to simply sit with her, each offering what we could of English and Arabic, but we understand each other well despite the lack of words.

Of those who I maintained a relationship with since our last meeting, I was consistently greeted this time with the observation that something had changed. While there is something changed about each of us, Dave, Eric, Laura and I at this point in our lives, it allows us to interact perhaps more completely with those we love here and those we will continue to meet along the way. This change can be summed up in two ways, as my musician friend Wassim offered, ?The light has gone from your eyes,? or as A?la and his mother observed, ?You were just a child then, I think now is better.? The four of us have experienced much in the past few years that have contributed to our time here and how we choose to explore the avenues springing up before us. Still, I feel the unmistakable relief of returning home here as a child, of feeling insatiable when it comes to relationships with people and desiring to listen to their stories, to honor the questions with an open heart, and accept over and over again how na?ve I am, there is always more to listen to, to absorb...

?Out of my deeper heart a bird rose and flew skywards. Higher and higher did it rise, yet larger and larger did it grow. At first it was but like a swallow, then a lark, then an eagle, then as vast as a spring cloud, and then it filled the starry heavens. Out of my heart a bird flew skywards. And it waxed larger as it flew. Yet it left not my heart.? ~ Kahlil Gibran

Oh Jerusalem, Jerusalem

On Thursday evening, Eric, Linford and I made our way north to the Tel Aviv airport to meet Laura Helmuth and Alethia Bailey, two friends from EMU that are joining us for about three weeks to travel through Israel and the West Bank. Alethia had been on our Middle East cross-cultural in 2002 and Laura was now entering this part of the world for the first time. After a wonderful reunion at the airport, Linford headed back to Ashkelon with my bike that the girls had so graciously brought over and the four of us boarded a bus for Damascas Gate in the Old City of Jerusalem.

Even though Eric and I had stopped in Jerusalem when we entered Israel from Jordan, we had only breezed past the old city walls, busy making preparations to begin hiking the Israel National Trail and eager to get on our way. As the four of us passed through the gate into Jerusalem and stepped into another world, many memories from past experiences came back in vivid detail.

We walked through the streets with our luggage, past the closing shops and stands towards our lodging at Ecce Homo on the Via Dolorosa. We had stayed at this convent during our previous visit in the city, located in the center of the Muslim quarter, with a rooftop that has an incredible panorama view of the Dome of the Rock and the surrounding buildings. After checking into our room and running up to the roof for a quick look, we hit the old stone streets, hoping to find a good dinner before everything shut down for the night.

The Old City of Jerusalem includes four quarters (Christian, Muslim, Jewish, and Armenian) which are enclosed by an outer stone wall and packed full with one of the most interesting combination of culture, religion and history in all of the world. Possessing foundational physical locations for each of the world's major monotheisms, everybody wants their share of the space. From the Western Wall to the Dome of the Rock to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, pilgrims flock from the ends of the earth to be in this one specific city. For many people from various religious and cultural backgrounds, Jerusalem is the center of the world, the place where it all began and will end, and the place where all conflict must come together and break through. These are the thoughts that run through your mind as you also become a sort of a pilgrim in Jerusalem. It feels good to be back, in the very midst of it all.

We eased into our experiences, feeling the combined fatitgue of jet lag and a month-long backpacking trip. After a lazy morning, we met Linford and Janet Stutzman to celebrate Janet's birthday by going to a restaurant in the old city, sharing our time together with wonderful Shwarma and fellowship. We were also joined by Josef, a pastor from the Lancaster area is curruently taking an independent study course with Linford and spending the week in Jerusalem. We had a great time sharing stories of past experiences and simply being together. It is a truly amazing thing to see deep and long lasting friendships together in a place that is very far from where we all started, but yet still very central.

We spent the rest of the day exploring the old city, taking in the atmosphere with all of it sights, smells, and truly unique culture. Walking through the meandering stone streets and passageways, it all comes back. It feels like you have never really left in the first place, but have been there all along, and that the time in between was only intended for waiting for your return. There is almost a sense of strange magic in the air, and by only being here you can understand how and why the wonderfully complex conflict exists...it tempts you also to want to stake your claim, or at least share in the experience; it pulls you in.

Friday night we made our way to the Western Wall, the closest spot Jews are able to get to the raised platform where the temple would have been located at the time of Christ. As Shabbat approaches, many religious Jews make their way to the wall to pray, reading the Torah and singing, incorporating their entire body into their prayers into both physical and spiritual rhythm. This traditions begins the Sabbath, which commences as the sun sets and the busyness of the week grinds to a halt. There is a sort of a mystical atmosphere at the wall during this time, one that feels quite foreign yet very intriguing.

After leaving the wall and heading back towards the Muslim quarter for dinner (everything in the Jewish quarter closes for Shabbat), we heard some singing emanating from an arched passageway to our right. Its resonance tempted our curiousity, and we decided to seek its source. As we approached, we discovered a group of religious Jews singing and dancing, creating a beautiful sound to fill our ears. Suddenly I realized our location. We had found ourselves at the entrance to the Temple Mount, to the Dome of the Rock, to the very line that in many way divides the religious conflict. As I looked a little further past the singing crowds, I saw through the shadows the dull glimmer of the machine guns of the soldiers constantly present to maintain order in this spot. I almost felt a sense of evil pass over me as my mind put it all together, realizing the strange combination of religion, aggression, and protest. It brought on the mental atmosphere that you might feel if you suddenly found yourself at the conflicting front lines of two opposing armies meeting for the first time. We decided very soon after to head back and continue looking for dinner.

It is nearly impossible to eat at a restaurant in the Arab quarter without a conversation on politics with one of the owners. We are usually asked where we are from, and I usually say first, "Pennsylvania," and they say, "Oh, America..." And then there might be some sort of mumbling about Bush this or Bush that or something, or they will make a comment about how wonderful the American people are, but how awful the American government has treated the entire Arab world. We have had this conversation a number of times already.

Saturday we explored the Mount of Olives, walking through massive Jewish cemetaries to visit the churches and get a great view of the old city. Most of the day we explored at our own pace, taking our time to catch up on the last few months of our lives and to enjoy just being together. Experieinces like this one have incredible effects on your life, and it is good to be able to talk that out with people who know you well.

When we were here in 2002, we were not able to visit the Dome of the Rock because the situation was tense, allowing only Muslims to pass. Fortunatly now, things are more calm and we were able to step up on the platform and get our first glimpses of this incredible structure. The weather was perfect and I spent a while shooting photos with my new camera, wondering when the next time will be that I might be back at this very spot, thankful that I was able to pass a little more freely through a land that can easily become closed off.

In this part of Israel/Palestine, the conflict is life. People try to live through the conflict, crammed next to neighbors of differing religions and heritage, some more successful than others. All want the same chunk of land, posessing beliefs that require the necessity of a physical location. Looking back on my previous few weeks hiking back through northern Israel, I was reminded of a different model.

Eric and I had began hiking independently around Tel Aviv and I continued alone throughout northern Israel and the Galilee region, tramping over many of the same paths that Christ would have walked and slept. This historic man from Nazareth lived a life as a humble and homeless person, moving as he felt called by God, working to break down the walls that separated people from diverse cultural backgrounds. It is comforting for me to know that Jesus did not connect the spiritual life with a specific physical location. After seeing the violence that results when religion claims territory, I am encouraged by a model that was intended to break physical barriers, able to move across cultures and bring people together in love and community.

Throughout the Middle East region, there are many sites where it is believed a Biblical event to have occured. Often at these sites, there are many sections controlled by various religious denominations (Catholic, Greek Orthodox, Coptic, etc...). At the church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem, the site where Christ is believed to have been crucified, each of these groups competes for their own chapel space within one larger church. We have heard that the city of Jerusalem holds the key to the church because there would not be positive effects of any specific denomination having its posession. Does it seem absurd that Christians should have to compete for land or should that make sense because each religion here seems to behave in the same way? What would have Jesus have thought if in his traveling he would have stumbled upon a location commemorating his death, one that is being fought over by various religious institutions representing his message?

We have now been traveling for over five months, through many different countries, encountering many instances of religious expression, and it has become clear that the beauty of Christ's message lies not in the fact that it is directly connected with one culture or country, but that it is in essence a lifestyle that can be applied to any culture. As we strive to travel and live this message, our hope for a violently greedy world is not in the physical, but in selfless love, medium which allows this message to travel anywhere, to and through anyone.

We are now staying in Bethlehem for the week, living in an apartment only a few minutes walk from the Church of the Nativity and all of its interior chapels. Being so close to a place where it all began, in a similar time of occupation and conflict, helps us understand where hope is and where it is not. And on Friday we will begin to make our way to Galilee, as we are merely passing through.

Beginnings and Endings in Galilee

Above my head, a large blue sign proudly welcomes me to Capernaum, the "Town of Jesus." Two thousand years ago, this small fishing village along the north shores of the Sea of Galilee was a happening place. Situated along one of the main north/south trade routes of the time, it seemed to attract a strange assortment of stragglers and vagabonders, many only stopping briefly in route to destinations further along the road. Capernaum was also home to a crusty gang of fisherman, who pulled together a living mending nets and guessing where the next big catch would be. And of course add to this mix the tax collectors, Roman centurians, Pharisees, and... Jesus? Not exactly the kind of place where you would expect one of history's most influential people to begin their public life, right?! Or perhaps it was the perfect place.

Today, there's not a whole lot that remains from the bustling village of Capernaum. There are a few scattered ruins, the foundations of the ancient synagogue, a Franciscan monastery, and a church perched precariously over what is believed to be the home of the apostle Peter. Aside from the occasional tour bus rolling in, there's not a whole lot happening here. It is simply a quiet, peaceful spot along the tranquil waters of the lake. The perfect place for a wandering pilgrim such as myself to end a long journey. Sitting down under the shade of a fig tree, I allowed my thoughts to wander... back over the last couple days, years, centuries.

Since leaving Tel Aviv, Dave and I have spent the last two weeks hiking independently along the trail. After spending practically every waking moment of the last four months together, we decided that this might be the ideal opportunity to experience traveling alone. Not only would this provide us with a bit of personal time, but it also could give us the freedom to shape our time a bit more precisely to fit our own needs and goals.

One thing I have been learning about myself over the past several years is the fulfillment and rejuvenation that I experience during times of solitude. Often I have achieved this through spending a day out hiking, journaling, or finding a place to read quietly. Two weeks of solitude, however, was something that I had never even come close to attempting. I must admit that the first thought of it was a bit daunting! But excited to see where this journey would take me, I set off, hiking north along the Mediterranean coast towards Ceaserea.

Several hours into my hike north, my initial apprehensions about traveling alone were quickly justified. Sitting down for lunch on a somewhat secluded part of the beach, I whipped out my knife and started to open a delicious can of tuna fish. Perhaps a bit too eagerly, because after a careless slip of the knife, I was left with a large incision on my right thumb that appeared to require stitches. Wrapping my thumb in a make-shift bandage, I headed up the beach to the nearest restaurant, explained what had happened, and found someone willing to take me to a doctor. Within minutes, I was stitched up (for free!), out the door, and ready to continue on down the beach.

Traveling alone often puts you at the mercy of those you encounter along the way. It also seems to provide unique opportunities to be blessed, and hopefully be a blessing in return. That night, feeling grateful for the way I had been cared for already that day, I was in for another pleasant surprise. Approaching Ceaserea, I met a woman and her two daughters who were out enjoying the beautiful evening along the water. As the conversation progressed, she invited me to return home with her family and spend the night. Unable to pass on an opportunity to get cleaned up and engage in meaningful conversation, I happily accepted. An artist and self-proclaimed social activist, Osnat and her husband moved to Israel several years ago from the United States. As we sat around the dinner table and shared from our life experiences, I found myself truly amazed by the hospitality and generosity that I was being shown through these incredible people. And I committed myself to someday extending the same hospitality to the stranger in my land.

When Dave and I first started planning this portion of the trip, the idea of hiking the Israel Trail was something that instantly caught my attention. Not so much for the physical or mental challenge that it would provide, but for the opportunity to really "know" the land. There is no form of transportation more personal or intimate than walking. By choosing to travel by foot, the focus is naturally taken off of the common priorities of time and destination... and placed entirely on the step-by-step experience of discovering the land. And given the historical and biblical significance of this particular part of the world, the idea of experiencing it in such a primitive and contemplative manner was very appealing.

So as I hiked along, my agenda was simple. One foot in front of the other, a step at a time. If I felt a desire to stop somewhere for a period of time, I would be flexible and always remain open to that possibility. As it turned out, this approach to the trail actually took me further than I might have expected, while still providing plenty of opportunities for exploration and reflection at points along the way. As could be expected, many of the locations where I felt the most desire to linger where places that connected in some way with my faith.

Among these were the beautiful seaport of Ceaserea, where the apostle Paul was placed on trial, and made his famous "appeal to Caesar" before being sent off to Rome. I also spent a day on the slopes of Mt. Caramel, reflecting on Elijah's dramatic showdown between the prophets of Baal and the prophets of God. After passing around the hills north of Nazareth, a quiet night was spent sleeping amidst the ruins of an old church high on the summit of Mt. Tabor, the site traditionally attributed to Christ's transfiguration. From here it was another day's hike down to the Jordan valley, and the supposed location of Jesus' baptism in the river.

As I reached the town of Tiberias, along the western shore of the Galilee, I was faced with a decision. I could either continue north along the trail towards the Lebanese border, or spend my last remaining days wandering around the lake. Feeling inclined to chose the latter option, I made my way to a place I vividly remembered from my EMU cross-cultural here two years ago, the Mt. of Beatitudes. On a grassy plateau overlooking the lake, I sat down, opened my bible, and immediately felt like one of the crowd. The profound simplicity of Jesus' teachings came alive, and I felt myself drawn into his message with a hope like never before. Despite my own failings and the sometimes all-too-evident shortcomings of the church, the gospel of Christ was, and continues to be, the answer for our broken world. Inspired by my reading and the beauty of the setting, I said a quick prayer of thanks before setting out to find my campsite for the night.

The following morning, I descended to the water and spent the day visiting the many churches that dot the shoreline along the lake. Each one, of course, marking a particular event in the life of Christ while he was in the Galilee. There is even a church marking the "solitary place" that Jesus retreated to at various times during his ministry. Passing from one to the next, I spent the day wandering along the rocky shores of the beach, enjoying the beautiful weather and the opportunity to spend my day in prayer and reflection.

Which brings me again to Capernaum, the small village where it all began. And for me, the place where my journey on foot came to an end. Physically exhausted, yet spiritually refreshed, I spend several hours exploring the village and eating my lunch of bread and (tuna) fish. Two thousand years ago, it was here that Jesus kicked of his ministry by boldly proclaimed, "I am the bread of life." Returning to that very spot, those words ring true once again. Physically, emotionally, spiritually... it is through him that we find life.

This afternoon Alethia Bailey and Laura Helmuth join us for three weeks of travel throughout the country. Good friends of ours from EMU, it is exciting to anticipate their arrival and look forward to many opportunities to learn and share with each other. After a two weeks on our own, it will be great to see some familiar faces again.