The Meaning of Fear

Upon returning to the U.S. from Israel-Palestine, I've thought a lot about fear. In a couple of weeks, the organization I work for is hosting a symposium on addressing fear in the church and broader society. Today on a planning call we talked about how fear is a tool used to exercise power over others and about how we can be instrument to address fear, too, by being aware of the narrative we tell when we choose not to be afraid in a scary situation.

I immediately thought about the opening devotion of our CPT delegation, in which we read from Luke 24:26-51. The risen Jesus appears among his disciples and they are afraid. But Jesus calms the disciples’ fears with greetings of peace, he lets them see him and touch him. He eats with them, opens their minds, and blesses them.

Rick, our delegation leader, offered that Jesus' action in this passage is a model for the incarnational ministry that CPT does and could serve as a model for us on the trip too. We went around the circle naming our fears and exchanging greetings of peace, a perfect way to begin to know each other.

The theme of the devotional struck a chord; I had already been thinking about fear while preparing for my trip. So much so, in fact, that I journaled about it on the plane ride over:

"Is it safe?" "Are you afraid?"-- two questions I've been asked frequently when sharing about my trip. With regards to safety, I don’t know how to answer. I get asked the same question about my neighborhood in DC.

And it's true, in the suburbs where I grew up, you don’t hear nightly sirens or occasional gunshots like you might in my current home. But in reality, safety and security are so often an illusion. We put up barriers, segregate neighborhoods, but at what cost?
It may indeed allow some people to live in quieter spaces with less violent crime, but it also serves to isolate us from the reality that our sisters and brothers on the other side of that gated community, or other side of the world, face. It isolates us from meaningful relationships with them, and from hearing God's voice in the unique way that God speaks at the margins and in suffering.

I think the same dynamic exists in traveling to an occupied territory. Though we can separate our lives, in some ways, from the world’s violent realities, this separation is an illusion. By virtue of being U.S. taxpayers who fund a massive military, sell weapons, and give aid to countries with atrocious human rights records, we, too, are culpable and our fates are inextricably intertwined with those who suffer from abuses of militarism and infringements upon human rights.

When we begin to view our human connectedness as brothers and sisters, responsible for each other’s welfare, we are compelled to tear down the physical and abstract walls which separate and "protect" us. This idea, for me, is tied to that next question of “Are you afraid?”

When I read about acts of violence committed, hatred, kidnappings, rocks thrown, random beatings and abuses, detention and prevalence of machine guns, fear sits at the pit of my stomach.

I don’t like it. I want to make it go away, to dull that feeling by distracting myself, thinking about something else. But I recognize the privilege in being able to do that; threats of violence are real and close for many in the world, and fear isn't dulled by merely turning on the TV.

The presence of threat really does exist for many people in Palestine, so if there can be any semblance of solidarity through experiencing this fear, I don’t want to cover it up, I don’t want to be distracted. I want to be present in it.

It is a reminder that nonviolence is not a warm fuzzy idea, achieved through holding hands in a grassy field and singing. It is a lived-out practice, risky, from which suffering may come. We know this to be true not only by bearing witness to today’s peacemakers but also in studying the life of Jesus, who preached a counter-cultural message (turn the other cheek?!) and lost his life.

So, for these reasons, safety and fear, while important questions to me, aren’t the determining factors in a decision to make a trip like this. A narrative of fear, so prevalent in the media and even in the church, seeks to limit and demonize. I want to challenge that.

"Come and See" was the theme of the homily the last Sunday service our delegation was in Jerusalem - a plea to come and witness the suffering that the occupation causes - holding both Palestinians and Israelis captive in various ways. Coincidentally, its also the title of the document Palestinian Christians have produced encouraging Christan tourists to seek to understand more of the Palestinian story on their pilgrimages.

I call upon all of my readers and loved ones to "come and see," too, - to visit Israel-Palestine, if possible, as well to visit all the places in our hearts and lives in which fear and prejudice still reigns, to examine that fear, and to courageously challenge it through following the command of "be not afraid" and crossing the boundaries in our lives which "protect" and separate. By crossing into those places, literally and metaphorically (which may occasionally involve some risk to personal safety!) we experience a richness and liberation in new relationships and understanding.

Crossing Over

Over the past week, our delegation has had the privilege of hearing from many, many courageous Palestinian and Israeli people who are resisting the occupation in a variety of forms, through rebuilding demolished homes, documenting human rights abuses, speaking about the abuses they committed serving in the Israeli military, supporting refugees, holding public vigils, and many, many other ways. I have been in awe of the work that they have done and the trials in which they had suffered. However, while I have felt a lot of pain and lamentation for those who are oppressed, I have often felt that I'm still not able to fully absorb and wrap my head around the discrimination and suffering that people have experienced.

However, while in Bethlehem, we did have the opportunity to share in an ordinary, everyday, ludicrous effect of the occupation. The main checkpoint in Bethlehem crosses just from one part of the city unto the other, still in the Occupied Palestinian Territories (because the separation wall cuts through West Bank territory, rather than on the legally recognized Green Line).

The lines to cross through the main checkpoint in Bethlehem are so long it often takes hours in the mornings when many people come through to go to work, so people must arrive at 5am in order to get to work by 9am.

There are three turnstile areas that people must cross through which reminded me of what the cattle walk through on my dad's farm. The whole experience felt dehumanizing, as I felt I was being treated as a criminal just for wanting to cross to the other side of town.

We had to go through metal detectors and show our passports, which upon viewing, the Israeli soldiers said "God Bless America" over the PA system for everyone in line to hear (much to my embarrassment). There was a question about the visas that the Australians in our group had been issued, but when the soldiers saw they were friends of The Americans, they let them go through without question. Tears welled up in my eyes at this ridiculous privilege that we carry with our passports, and the tears began to flow when the Palestinian man behind us was detained for not having the right paper with him, when he was taken aggressively away and slurs shouted at him.

What a travesty it is that through the luck of being born in a certain place, having a certain color skin, or a certain piece of paper, allows you to break the rules and receive special treatment while others are treated violently and dehumanized!

Model of Resistance and Resilience

“I'm not better than those who have been killed. We cannot remain silent.” - Muna* told us over mountains of delicious maklube that she had prepared for us.

After the massacre in 1994 in Hebron, when a Zionist extremist opened fire in the main mosque (the tomb of Abraham) on the last day of Ramadan, killing 29 and wounding hundreds. Israeli soldiers, thinking the shots were part of a Palestinian uprising, killed several other individuals packed into the mosque that day. The city went under curfew (effective house arrest) for several weeks, and a number of other Palestinians who went into the streets to buy more food were shot.

During this time, Muna challenged the curfew by going out and spoke to journalists about the situation. Though her life was threatened, she said she was not worried about being killed, because doing the right thing was more important to her life.

A few years later, Israeli soldiers dragged a young man into her house to be beaten. “This was an insult to me and my home, to beat a man in it, so I demanded that they leave,” she said. The soldiers pointed a gun at her and at man's head, but she wrapped her arms around the young man and said, “this is my son!” The soldiers began to beat her as well.

Muna filed a complaint against the soldiers at the police station, a process that took four days. She spent many hours waiting at the police station, and commented that typically people would give up after waiting four or five hours without being able to speak to anyone. In this case, the soldier was removed from his post, though very often, complaints by Palestinians are ignored or dismissed.

Muna is a beacon of strength and inspiration. She called for more women to lead in nonviolent resistance against the soldiers, because the soldiers are more reluctant to attack women. Muna is a school principal, manages a boys' soccer team (shattering stereotypes in the process!), has created playground spaces below military outposts, and is translating a film on Druze soldiers from Arabic to English, among other endeavors. She creates gardens to make the spaces which she has control over more beautiful, in contrast with the barricades and razor wire outside of her home.

Through educating, standing up against injustice, and her creativity and resilience, for me, Muna is a model of nonviolent resistance, one of many, many inspiring people we've been able to meet throughout Jerusalem and the West Bank.

*Not her real name.

Weeping for peace in Jerusalem

Today was my first full day in Jerusalem; I arrived in the Old City of Jerusalem yesterday evening at dusk and could hear prayers coming from the Mosque of Omar while standing in the plaza of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, watching the faithful light candles at Christ’s Tomb. It was very surreal. After a delicious dinner followed by mint tea and engaging conversation with friends who live on the Mount of Olives, I slept 11 hours and awoke refreshed and ready to take in Jerusalem’s sites, before the delegation begins tomorrow afternoon.

The highlight of the day was visiting Dominus Flevit ("Jesus Wept") Church, the place where it is believed that Jesus wept for Jerusalem on his triumphant ride into town on a donkey, according to Luke 19: “As he drew near, he saw the city and wept over it, saying, ‘If this day you only knew what makes for peace--but now it is hidden from your eyes. For the days are coming upon you when your enemies will raise a palisade against you.’”

The church is surrounded by 2000-year old olive trees and near the traditional location of the Garden of Gethsemane. The place was especially meaningful for me, not only because it there were less tourists there than at many other sites, but also because I too, weep for Jerusalem and want to know what will make for peace among all peoples here.

Tomorrow I start the delegation... hopefully I will find some answers, or the start to some answers, about what makes for peace...

Solidarity with the Church in the Holy Land

As a Christian who believes it is each of our calling to work to build the peaceful and just world that God intended, I have felt called for some time to visit the Holy Land and better understand the conflict there. I know that while violence rages and peace talks stall, ordinary people of many faiths are demonstrating radical courage and love in working to promote peace and I want to learn from them in order to better understand my own calling as a peacemaker.

I want to express my solidarity with people, Palestinian and Israeli, who are suffering from needless violence. My faith identity allows me to express a special solidarity with Christians struggling there. A friend recently sent me an article published in America Magazine's blog, A Vanishing Church which highlights the recent Middle East Synod meeting around the vanishing Christian population in the Holy Land. It's brief and very much worth a read. “The future of the Church in the Holy Land is now in doubt unless fellow Christians around the world step up efforts to help them," a church leader shared. Why is the Church vanishing? The article provides several examples:

Most Christian owned lands have been and continue to be confiscated for the building of illegal settlements. Home of Our Lady of Sorrows outside Jerusalem, is one of many examples. The Sisters there care for the elderly. Yet a giant wall has been built on their property effectively cutting off their patients from their families and limiting hospital access.

There have also been more than 500 visas denied for religious and clergy who live and work in the West Bank and Gaza denying them entry into Palestine. Making them unable to minister to its’ people. Some priests are even afraid to leave, for fear they may not be allowed to return.

There are a number of reasons I will visit the Holy Land, but I wanted to highlight one dear to my heart. On this day when we celebrate the Epiphany, may we pray for peace for all people in the place where, 2000 years ago wise people pilgrimaged to visit the Prince of Peace, humbly lying in a manger.