Though I was only with Sabeel‘s Kom Och Se! conference for Swedish Christians for two days, their energy was contagious. I kid you not, some very blonde (and some non-blonde) Swedish youth performed an unplugged version of The Black Eyed Peas’ “Where is the Love?” live in Manger Square—while those assembled carried posters of scenes from the Nakba.

After taking communion with them this evening, I felt—at least momentarily—profoundly and inexplicably uplifted. They did “come and see” the reality of the situation here on the ground, and they will now “go and tell” folks back home. It may be a drop in the bucket, but on the heels of our own learning tour that just finished earlier this week, I’m allowing myself a moment of hope. And all respect to B.E.P., I was even more inspired by one of the hymns we sang at the concluding worship service today—an old favorite by Harry Emerson Fosdick (who, BTW, had awesome hair):

God of grace and God of glory,
On Thy people pour Thy power.
Crown Thine ancient church’s story,
Bring her bud to glorious flower.
Grant us wisdom, grant us courage,
For the facing of this hour,
For the facing of this hour.

Lo! the hosts of evil ’round us,
Scorn Thy Christ, assail His ways.
From the fears that long have bound us,
Free our hearts to faith and praise.
Grant us wisdom, grant us courage,
For the living of these days,
For the living of these days.

Cure Thy children’s warring madness,
Bend our pride to Thy control.
Shame our wanton selfish gladness,
Rich in things and poor in soul.
Grant us wisdom, grant us courage,
Lest we miss Thy kingdom’s goal,
Lest we miss Thy kingdom’s goal.

Set our feet on lofty places,
Gird our lives that they may be,
Armored with all Christ-like graces,
In the fight to set men free.
Grant us wisdom, grant us courage,
That we fail not man nor Thee,
That we fail not man nor Thee.

Save us from weak resignation,
To the evils we deplore.
Let the search for Thy salvation,
Be our glory evermore.
Grant us wisdom, grant us courage,
Serving Thee Whom we adore,
Serving Thee Whom we adore.

Today I had the honor of introducing Ched Myers and moderating the Q&A for his morning Bible study session at a Sabeel conference in Bethlehem for Swedish Christians. The title of the conference is Kom och Se! or “Come and See!” and I got to photograph Sabeel youth a few weeks back as they painted this slogan on the Israeli separation wall. Unfortunately, I don’t have a good shot of the finished mural, because the Israeli soldier in the guard tower was shouting threats at me for taking photos—probably bluffing, but some Palestinian friends still thought it best to spirit me away before it was complete. I should go back and get a nice shot of it now, I suppose.

Anyway, a few key insights from brother Ched on how to avoid a “Disneyland reading” of Jesus’ parables:

• “If a parable does not surprise you, there’s a chance you’re reading it backwards.”
• “Parables are never a way of telling people what they want to hear.”

Masada has never been on my must-see list. It blew me away that my cousin and his wife, both very evangelical Christians, visited what is basically the ancient Jewish version of the Alamo on their Holy Land tour, but avoided Bethlehem—you know, the BIRTHPLACE OF OUR LORD JESUS CHRIST. But today, on their free afternoon, our tour group wanted to visit Masada along with a dip in the Dead Sea, and since it was on their dime, we obliged and went along. It’s certainly an impressive site, and the history/mythology surrounding Masada is compelling, if dubious.

On the way out, you’re forced through the gift shop, which is basically an Ahava outlet store. Ahava is an Israeli company that makes cosmetics out of resources extracted from the occupied Palestinian territories. That’s illegal under international law, specifically the Geneva Convention’s ban on the pillage of resources in occupied territories. More and more people are calling for a boycott of companies, like Ahava, that do business in Israeli settlements and profit from the Israeli occupation of Palestinian land. Yet for some reason, it remains controversial to boycott companies that violate international law.

So after seeing all of those Masada tourists toting their crisp little shopping bags full of Ahava products, it was a ray of sunshine to see that the first article in my Google Reader queue tonight was titled, “BDS victory: Norwegian retailer de-shelves Ahava”. (Thus adding one more reason to the long list of why I love Norway.) An excerpt:

The Norwegian retailer VITA announced on Friday they will no longer carry products made by Ahava, citing a decision to stop selling all settlement products produced in occupied Palestine. VITA’s decision to boycott the settlement company comes one month after a major Japanese retailer cut ties with the cosmetic company. Since 2007 Codepink’s Stolen Beauty campaign has targeted Ahava for their role in profiting from the Israeli occupation. … The principled decision by VITA not to buy products from Israeli settlements in the West Bank is based on a position of not wanting to contribute to violations of international law.

If only more businesses had such scruples when it came to things like international law. I’m looking at you, Caterpillar.

Sundus Abu Omar (age 5) on the porch of her newly built home, July 24, 2011.

Last summer, I got to help ICAHD rebuild the house of the Abu Omar family, which had been demolished by Israeli authorities. I wrote about it here. Two months ago, their house was demolished again, along with another ICAHD house nearby named Beit Arabiya that had served as a peace center for international visitors and volunteers in the Anata neighborhood of East Jerusalem.  We would usually bring our tour groups to Beit Arabiya to learn about ICAHD’s work. Today, instead, we visited the Abu Omar family. It was bittersweet seeing 5-year-old Sundus Abu Omar again. The before and after photos of her home are as much about her—and the trauma she experienced being forced from her home in the middle of the night before it was bulldozed—as they are about the house.

Sundus and her father Ahmed near the rubble of their house, demolished on January 23, 2012.

Ultra-orthodox Jewish youth at the Yad Vashem Holocaust History Museum.

I visited the Yad Vashem Holocaust History Museum again today. For me, the history of the Holocaust is sad, tragic, and generally uncontroversial. Today, I focused on listening to the stories of the many survivors told on video screens placed throughout the museum. These included a girl who escaped firing squads by playing dead atop pits full of corpses, a Jewish man forced to remove bodies from gas chambers, a resistance fighter who bombed cafés full of German soldiers, a prisoner who stole his bunk-mate’s cap knowing it would mean the other’s death at roll call, and a women who expressed apathy at the moment of her liberation, having suffered so much that returning to “normal” life was unthinkable.

I try to listen to these anguished and complex testimonies without judgement, completely incapable of imagining what I would do under such circumstances. The weight of the reality of the genocide of six million Jews generally resists commentary beyond silent shock. But with recent news invoking the Holocaust, I’m confronted by the ongoing conversation within the Jewish community. Again, I’m compelled to listen.

On the recent murders in Toulouse, France:

Almost 70 years after the Holocaust, many believe that the specter of anti-Semitism is once again threatening the lives of European Jews. But is this really the case? Should the murders in Toulouse be understood as part of a new wave of Jew-hatred in Europe, as many commentators have suggested? How much of a threat is anti-Semitism to French Jews and European Jews in general?

The truth is that anti-Semitism in France and in Europe as a whole, though it certainly exists, is not nearly as great a danger as many outside observers in Israel and the United States believe. While the threat of anti-Semitism is real and must be taken seriously, it should not be exaggerated or blown out of proportion. In fact, far from being on the verge of catastrophe, European Jewry is experiencing a renaissance that we should be celebrating.

On Netanyahu’s exploitation of Holocaust memory:

Associations with the Holocaust help ease digestion of the injustices of the occupation and increase support for Israel. Thoughts of Auschwitz blur the images of the bodies of Palestinian children killed in the Jewish air force’s bombing of Gaza. It is scientific. … a 2008 study by Wohl and Branscombe that found the Jewish subjects who were reminded of the Holocaust and of the Jewish people having been victims in the past tended to see the Palestinians as the root of the conflict more than other subjects did. In other words, the researchers concluded, in order to protect itself from extinction, the group legitimizes harming others.

Israeli soldiers look at a model of Nazi gas chambers and crematoria at Yad Vashem.

On the passing of prominent Holocaust historian Peter Novick:

To be sure, Novick’s basic insight into the context of the Nazi genocide and the political parameters of Holocaust remembrance allows him to conclude, correctly, that the notion of uniqueness is quite vacuous; that in the United States, memory of the Holocaust is “so banal, so inconsequential, not memory at all, precisely because it is so uncontroversial, so unrelated to real divisions in American society, so apolitical;” and finally that in the 1960s, increased awareness among Jews coincided with the “inward and rightward turn of American Jewry, as the Middle Eastern dispute came to be viewed with all the black-and-white moral simplicity of the Holocaust.”

I found each of these articles challenging—and hesitated to cite them, not wanting in any way to mitigate the unmitigated horror of the Holocaust. And yet, if I am to do justice to this horrific memory, I feel compelled to listen to the ongoing conversations within the Jewish community—knowing that as a Christian descendant of the European nations that perpetrated the Holocaust, I too am connected to this history, and not a mere bystander.

On that last note, I was intrigued by the inclusive, outward-looking emphasis of the scripture context surrounding Isaiah 56:5 from which the name Yad Vashem comes—literally, “a memorial and a name”:

1 This is what the LORD says: “Maintain justice and do what is right, for my salvation is close at hand and my righteousness will soon be revealed. 2 Blessed is the man who does this, the man who holds it fast, who keeps the Sabbath without desecrating it, and keeps his hand from doing any evil.” 3 Let no foreigner who has bound himself to the LORD say, “The LORD will surely exclude me from his people.” And let not any eunuch complain, “I am only a dry tree.” 4 For this is what the LORD says: “To the eunuchs who keep my Sabbaths, who choose what pleases me and hold fast to my covenant– 5 to them I will give within my temple and its walls a memorial and a name better than sons and daughters; I will give them an everlasting name that will not be cut off. 6 And foreigners who bind themselves to the LORD to serve him, to love the name of the LORD, and to worship him, all who keep the Sabbath without desecrating it and who hold fast to my covenant– 7 these I will bring to my holy mountain and give them joy in my house of prayer. Their burnt offerings and sacrifices will be accepted on my altar; for my house will be called a house of prayer for all nations.” 8 The Sovereign LORD declares– he who gathers the exiles of Israel: “I will gather still others to them besides those already gathered.”

Wow. I’m actually a bit shocked—given efforts to preserve the Holocaust as “a unique case of genocide“—that the name for this memorial would come from a text featuring a promise to foreigners who maintain justice that they will be included in the house of God. The NIV translation actually titles this section, “Salvation for Others”. Wow.

This woman in this photo is lighting prayer candles at Jerusalem’s Church of the Holy Sepulchre. The man is a priest whose job it is to keep the candle area clean and orderly. So as the woman is lighting candles and sticking them in the sand, the man is pulling others up and blowing them out. I hope the man is careful not to pull any of hers out while she’s standing right there. I wonder if this is at all distracting for the woman lighting the candles. I think I would find it discouraging. Of course, if the priest didn’t do his job, there wouldn’t be any room for all of the other people to put their candles. Still, he makes a pretty good object lesson for the problems of institutionalized religion.

Archbishop Elias Chacour signs a copy of his book, Blood Brothers.

Today I (finally) had the joy and privilege of meeting Archbishop Elias Chacour. Best known as the author of the autobiographical Blood Brothers, he is one of the most articulate spokespersons for a nonviolent Palestinian Christian response to the Nakba. I often recommend his book as the first thing you should read when wanting to learn about Palestine and Israel, as it presents a much-overlooked Palestinian perspective of 1948 through a compelling personal narrative. However, it does not simply end with the suffering resulting from the Nakba, but demonstrates Chacour’s nonviolent but very active resistance to the injustices he experienced. Required reading.

After our group met with Archbishop Chacour and heard part of his story told first-hand, he signed copies of his books—all with the inscription, “God does not kill.” I anticipate some discussion of that stark declaration during our debriefing time later this evening. Mennonites such as myself have long struggled with images of divine violence in both the Hebrew scriptures as well as Jesus’ parables about the destruction of the wicked. I have my own ideas on these themes which I will not detail here. For me, the far more important conclusion is this: I will not kill.

A boat pilot demonstrates casting a fishing net on the Sea of Galilee.

Simon Peter said to them, “I am going fishing.” They said to him, “We will go with you.” They went out and got into the boat, but that night they caught nothing. Just after daybreak, Jesus stood on the beach; but the disciples did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to them, “Children, you have no fish, have you?” They answered him, “No.” He said to them, “Cast the net to the right side of the boat, and you will find some.” So they cast it, and now they were not able to haul it in because there were so many fish. (John 21:3-6)

With the tour group we’re hosting right now, there’s often questions for the various Palestinians and Israelis we visit about what a “solution” to the conflict would be. There’s the usual debates about two-state versus one-state, etc. It’s apparent that much of what’s needed is new creative thinking. If we’ve been casting our nets over and over again through the long dark night and catching nothing, maybe it’s time to try something different. Jeff Halper of ICAHD points to this in his recent essay:

In my view, while advocacy and grassroots mobilization remain relevant, several tasks stand before us. First, we must endeavor to hasten the collapse of the present situation and subsequently, when new paradigms of genuine justice emerge from the chaos, be primed to push forward an entirely different solution that is currently impossible or inconceivable, be that a single democratic state over the entire country, a bi-national state, a regional confederation or some other alternative yet to be formulated. The Palestinians themselves must create a genuine, inclusive agency of their own that, following the collapse, can effectively seize the moment. Formulating a clear program and strategy, they will then be equipped to lead their people to liberation and a just peace, with the support of activists and others the world over.

One of the greatest hopes I have about Palestine and Israel is that so many other seemingly intractable situations of oppression and violence came to an end suddenly and unpredictably—but not without the efforts of courageous leaders, known and unknown, behind the scenes for a long time.  I know that such efforts have been taking place here for many years at various levels. I’m praying that their efforts will align with the right kairos moment—the kind that brought down the Berlin Wall and South African apartheid.

Israeli soldiers and Palestinian women walk down either side of Shuhada Street. Once a busy Hebron thoroughfare, a low concrete barrier now segregates Israeli and Palestinian traffic on this section.

I visited Hebron again today, which almost always involves a visit to Shuhada Street. “Shuhada” is the plural of shahid, or “martyr” in Arabic. Hebron has seen more than its share of “martyrs”—the term given by Palestinians to anyone killed by the Israeli military, whether they were actively resisting the occupation or non-combatant civilians. In its English origins, martyr also means “witness”, and Shuhada Street is certainly a powerful witness to some of the most extreme forms of the Israeli settlement enterprise and the resulting segregation and humiliation of Palestinian residents.

From their rooftop, Palestinian children watch an Israeli military jeep escort a settler car on a section of Shuhada Street now off limits to Palestinians.

“Shu hada?” is also a phrase meaning, “What is that?” In addition to its literal meaning, this is often be used in the sense of “WTF?” This sentiment also applies to the ridiculous policies that the Israeli occupation has applied to Shuhada Street.

An Israeli soldier checks the ID of a Palestinian man on Shuhada Street.

Today I also visited the Christian Peacemaker Teams house in Hebron. Here’s a blurb-and-link to a recent report by CPTer JoAnn Lingle that was posted on Mondoweiss:

On the way to join Friday prayers at a protest tent in Tel Rumeida, three of us stopped to stand with a Palestinian man who was being detained by a soldier on Shuhada Street near Beit Hadassah, an Israeli settlement. The soldier immediately said to us, “Go, you cannot stay here!”. We told him it was our job to stay until he released the man. At that, he threatened to arrest us. We said “OK, call the police if you like. We are not leaving.” He picked up his phone, then immediately gave the Palestinian his ID back so he could go on his way. We left.

An Israeli soldier walks on a section of Shuhada Street now off limits to Palestinians.

For those unfamiliar with the details of the insanity of the Israeli settlements and occupation in Hebron, here’s an excellent summary, including testimony from our tour guide today, Hisham Sharabati:

Walking into Hebron feels like a nightmare. Shuhada Street, one of the main roads, is traveled only by settlers on foot or in speeding cars, soldiers and police, and packs of fighting dogs. Palestinians living on this street have to climb into their houses from the rear, either cutting across neighbors’ rooftops, carving holes in their walls, or, like one little girl we watched, scaling a rope to the second story. Their front doors have been welded shut or barricaded with rusty metal, like the countless shops in Hebron, closed by military order. Streets are sealed off with concrete and bales of ribbon wire.

“Security is the magic word here,” says Hisham Sharabati, a journalist who has been living in Hebron for most of his life, gesturing towards an Israeli military checkpoint at the entrance of the Ibrahimi Mosque, in the middle of the Old City. “Israel uses that word in any way it likes, so that it can justify denying Palestinian human rights.”

In 1994, a US-born settler named Baruch Goldstein opened fire in the mosque at Abraham’s tomb, a site sacred to Muslims, Jews and Christians. We saw the torn marble and bullet holes in the arch that points towards Mecca. Twenty-nine Palestinians were killed while praying. The response? Palestinians were placed under 30 days of curfew, the fruit and vegetable market was shut down, and the “system of separation” developed. Since then, Palestinians living in Hebron have been controlled by the military and attacked by settlers — a “security” structure that many say was intended to push out Palestinians to make way for settlers.

The city was carved up into the H1 Area — controlled by the Palestinian Authority, and the H2 Area, controlled by the Israeli military. Within the H2 area, Jewish and Palestinian quarters were cordoned off by a matrix of roads, many of them off-limits to Palestinian use. Vibrant marketplaces and city centers were shut down, some of them slowly taken over by Jewish settlers, others turned into ghost towns guarded by military checkpoints. Israeli soldiers now patrol every street in the H2 area, in a tactic that serves as a constant reminder of the Israeli military presence.