Lessons on empathy

First of all, I want to say this study abroad experience has been nothing less than a blessing directly from the hand of God.  When applying for this program I had hoped being thrown into the middle of the Arab-Israeli conflict would be an intensive case study in conflict resolution, the politics of peacemaking, and how to heal generations of ingrained fear and hatred.  May I just say that God, as he does so often, has blown my expectations with his big plans and personal companionship through each experience.  As Psalms says, “May he give you the desire of your heart and make your plans succeed.”  I love serving a faithful God.

We have recently had the opportunity to meet and talk with many people on either side of the Israel-Palestine conflict.  Mentally processing these interactions has been difficult; a speaker in the morning might present data on the high number of bus bombings and rocket strikes from Palestine and then in the afternoon I find myself being invited to tea with yet another lovely and loving Palestinian.  This blog post is a reflection on those dissonant interactions, plus one observation that has risen out of those interactions.  The observation: humans are severely limited in our ability to empathize with those who stand opposite us in conflict.  This truth is on most dazzling display in the Israel-Palestine conflict.

This week we had the option to learn the Palestinian dance called dabka.  These lessons were held in the refugee camp called Dheisheh on the edge of Bethlehem.  Our Palestinian instructors, Khalid and Bisan, taught us three dabka moves over the course of two hours.  The patience and joy they showed while working with us was beautiful and would undoubtedly begin melting away the hatred and fear of Arabs that many Americans hide behind.  The highlight came at the end when they asked if we would sit in a circle and share in conversation.  They asked us to tell them about ourselves and also what our first impressions of Palestine were.  After my peers and I had spoken, Khalid and Bisan began telling us that dabka was originally created as a medium through which the Palestinian story might be shared.  The story, they told us, was one of displacement, foreign occupation, tent camps and refugee living, soldier brutality, and even massacre.  They told us quite sincerely that it was now our responsibility to carry their story with us and share it with others when possible.  Go ahead and add “theatrical dancing” to the list of effective expressions of non-violent resistance.

Dabka lessons with (from left) Colin, Mikah, Khalid, me, Enoch, Katelyn, and Bisan 

One of the most difficult yet enlightening opportunities we’ve had so far came on our trip into the Israeli settlements in Palestine.  These village-like groups of homes are located in what is considered “Palestine” (actual borders are hard to come by here; everything seems to be disputed), but Palestinians do not occupy the homes.  Rather these settlements were built by and inhabited by Israeli-Jews who have pushed into Palestinian territory.  Settlements are highly controversial because they make drawing borders while negotiating a peace process nearly impossible.  To create a real border between Palestine and Israel either the Jews will have to abandon the settlements or the Israeli border will have to zigzag and cut deep into Palestinian territory to include the settlements.  The continued development of these settlements has been repeatedly declared illegal by the United Nations due to the setbacks they present to peace negotiations. 

Jewish settlement on a Palestinian hillside

We had a rare opportunity to travel to three of these settlements and hear from the mayors of two of them and a woman who worked in a Jewish synagogue in the other.  Listening to the experiences of the Jewish woman was invaluable: she had a friend die from Palestinian violence while traveling from Jerusalem to the settlement.  She also spoke about the theological reasons for why she thought settlement building was “mandated by God”.  One of the key themes she kept coming back to was the desire of the Jewish people to live simply in peace in the land of their forefathers, the land that provided for generations of her people. 

The Arabs don't appreciate the settlements. Security is
necessary.

Now the Middle East Studies Program isn’t one to let any speaker get away without answering the tough questions.  So I chimed in.  I said that her desire to live in the historic land of the Jews seemed entirely understandable and fair.  I said that we have read books and spoken with many Palestinians who express the same sentiment, they have a desire to live and work in peace on the land that provided for so many generations of their ancestors.  My question was, does your strong yearning for and connection to the land allow you to empathize with the same yearning and connection that exists in the hearts of the Palestinians?  The answer that came from this modest and kind young mother took me by surprise.  She replied (near exact quote), “It’s hard for me to recognize them when there is so much evil coming out of them.  I’ve been affected too much that I don’t want to understand their side.”

Throughout the rest of our day visiting these settlements, after hearing each new Jewish settler who spoke to us, I felt a tightening of despair begin to build inside me.  I’ve heard the Jews and Arabs in the region have a special disdain for one another, but hearing it from them personally has a much stronger effect.  We spoke to the mayor of one of these settlements.  He told us he has good relations with the average Palestinian.  The common Palestinian only desires a decent income, housing, education, and security.  For him, the problem arises when the “intellectuals” demand more than those basic needs.  Another community leader from a settlement gave us his perspective on the Palestinians desires to live in their own state on the land of Palestine.  He told us that “there is no such thing as a ‘Palestinian’ per se…. They have no history or special connection to the land… And they received their name from the biblical ‘Philistines’ because they are a historically evil people.”  

One of the signs marking areas
off-limits to Israelis (in 3 languages)

My tipping point came on the ride back to Jerusalem.  Bruce is an American Jew who immigrated to Israel to live in one of these settlements and was the one who arranged our visit.  He narrated our travels through the rolling hills of Palestine and pointed out certain roads that Jews are not allowed to travel down according to Israeli law.  Bruce expressed passionate frustration that Jews aren’t allowed to enter these parts of the Holy Land.  This seemed reasonable.  Then I began to wonder how Bruce’s frustration compared to the struggle of the Palestinians.  The Palestinian people live behind an enormous wall, aren’t allowed citizenship in ANY country, have to wait hours in line at checkpoints, and can’t travel in Israel without a rare permit.  Those who don’t have a permit are not allowed to travel through Israel for any reason: not to visit the Mediterranean Sea or to visit their ancestral homes or the homes of family members.  They are confined to the West Bank, an area smaller than Delaware.  And here Bruce is upset that he doesn’t have complete access to a few desolate roads in the middle of the Palestinian wilderness.  One would think his deep desire to have access to the entire Holy Land would allow him to better empathize with the Palestinians living under severely harsher restrictions.  Unfortunately, Bruce represents a large number of Jews (and American evangelical Christians) who believe the Palestinian problem can only be solved by removing them from the land.

Palestinian man being checked at the checkpoint

That night my brother Tyler was helping me work through my jumble of thoughts.  Actually he was just being a good listener and letting me rant.  I described the Jewish woman’s response to my question and told him about Bruce’s comment.  My frustration with their lack of empathy for the Palestinian people was visible.  Then Tyler asked me a simple yet perceptive question about the Jewish woman: “Can you empathize with her experience?” 

“Well, uhhhhh yeah, hahah, I mean, of course Tyler, duh... Okay. Honestly, not at all.  Hadn’t crossed my mind.”  In my demand that others be empathetic, I myself was void of empathy.  I fell into the exact same trap that keeps the Israeli-Palestinian relations from healing.  Had my ears been closed when the Jewish woman said she had lost a good friend to violent Palestinian terrorists?  Could I expect myself to be any more understanding than she?

Until each of us personally begins cultivating a sense of empathy, until we stop demanding that others understand us and hold ourselves to the same standard, there will be no peace among us.  Does empathy remove the enduring pain and scars caused from years of violence? Of course not.  But this empathy takes us one step closer to understanding, and understanding is one step closer to forgiveness, and forgiveness is the seedbed from which reconciliation might begin to grow.

As always, I think of many of you quite often.  Blessings to you

What I mean when I say "Palestinian wilderness"

Witnessing what was previously subject-matter...

Racial segregation and racial prejudice have always been subjects to me, you know, something I’ve read or heard about but never really seen or experienced.  This week that lack of experience has been brutally replaced by a few up-close-and-personal encounters with the nasty beast that is racial segregation and prejudice. 

The first encounter came as I was returning from my first service project in the Jerusalem Old City.  The large bus I was on began to pull to the side of the road at an unusual place where there was no bus stop.  As the bus came to a stop I saw a few Israeli soldiers in their green uniforms motioning to the driver of the bus while two other soldiers began boarding our bus.  I had been warned that this might happen.  The bus system in Jerusalem is separated into two systems, one for Israelis and one for Arabs, in an attempt to decrease terrorist attacks.  The Arab buses get stopped occasionally to make sure that any Palestinians aboard have proper documentation to be outside the West Bank.  We travel on the Arab buses.  I got out my USA passport as the Israeli soldiers maneuvered through the bus with the automatic rifles around their shoulders bouncing around in people’s faces.  A few passengers had Israeli passports, but the majority of the passengers showed their “green card” as proof they have legal permission to come from Palestine to Jerusalem for work (the bus I take stops at the checkpoint into Bethlehem [Paelstine] right after my stop).  For the Arab passengers with Israeli passports, the soldiers glanced at their passports and moved on.  For the Palestinians with green cards, the soldiers took the card, inspected closer, asked a few questions and then moved on.  The soldier barely needed to see the dark blue cover of my USA passport (combined with my western European features, I assume) before moving on.  Besides being a tense experience for me, I sensed a darker, more sinister current flowing beneath the surface.  When the passengers began to realize what was happening, they went instantly from energetic and animated to silent.  I was silent because I was spooked, but these passengers had no reason to be afraid; they knew what was happening.  They were silent, I suppose, because there is simply nothing to say at that point for them.  Here I am, an outsider, witnessing them in their moment of most embarrassment, deepest shame.  The casual, businesslike exchanges that I just witnessed were likely the roughest and most angering reminder of their situation as Palestinians.  The green card in their hand is the mark they received as a foreigner, an alien, and a guest in the land their family had cultivated for centuries previously. The unholstered and loaded weapon on each soldier is a reminder that they cannot be trusted, they are suspected to be violent, and that at any moment they might need to be controlled by force.

Checkpoint with the wall in the background

The second encounter occurred with a few friends after a pleasant evening in Bethlehem, Palestine.  We indulged and ate some American food, felt guilty that we ate burgers while in the Middle East, viewed some impressive graffiti on the wall separating Israel and Palestine, and then walked back to the checkpoint to reenter Israel.  The checkpoint keeps Palestinians without one of the few coveted ‘green cards’ out of Israel.  We had gone through the security at the checkpoint several times before so we were surprised this time when it was congested and we had to wait.  An Arab family ahead of us had set off the metal detectors, so we waited while they were searched.  I thought this somewhat strange because I had set off the alarm with my watch or my belt or some coins nearly every other time and each time the guard had simply waved me through.  It must be a new guard or a different policy on weekends, I thought to myself.  After a few minutes of waiting, my friends and I began to wonder aloud as to what was going on.  A few young Arab men behind us must have heard or sensed our dismay, because one of them said to us, “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.  You’re not Arab.” He said this very matter-of-factly and with a smile, not meaning to ridicule us.  His hidden frustration was not lost on us.  This prophet’s words couldn’t have been truer.  We finally moved through security and, of course, I set off the metal detector.  I had my passport in hand and so I unthinkingly raised it to show the guard.  I was motioned through without further inspection.  Let me rephrase.  After setting off the metal detector, just like the Arab family had done moments before, I used my caucasian traits and USA passport to buy my way past security.  In a moment of blatant racist superiority, instead of preparing to be searched like the others I lifted my passport to the guard.  And it worked.  I communicated correctly:  “I’m American and I can be trusted.  I’m no Arab. I’m no Muslim.  I clearly have no intentions of harm. I’m not like the Palestinian family in front of me with their measly ‘green card’….”    It took much later reflection to realize how disgusting this act was. 

There is so much more reflection that follows this, but it’s super late here and I NEED to sleep. I hope to continue some of these thoughts somewhere else.  I also hope everything is well with you in the States.  Message me somehow.  Shalom

The wall is unnecessarily large

Graffiti by Banksy is common. This piece is self-explanatory

Week One

I am nearly overwhelmed with the desire to share every experience I have had in the past week since arriving here in Israel.  I cannot imagine a more dense seven days!  I’ll share the most notable happenings.

I have gotten to know the 28 other students in this program more quickly and deeply than I could have previously imagined.  We shared testimonies in small groups on Sunday night.  I have never been in such awe of the power of God in people’s lives.  No story was the same, and each had a distinct fingerprint of God.  Monday night we worshipped the Lord and shared struggles and encouragements.  God moved.  It was beautiful.

My stereotype of foreign shopkeepers has been shattered by a Palestinian Muslim.  Vendors in Costa Rica, Kenya, and Mexico have given me the impression that all foreign salespeople simply want to trick me out of as much money as possible.  We explored Bethlehem (in Palestine) in small groups on Sunday afternoon.  Once entering his shop, Adel and his 20-year-old son Muhammad began asking my three friends and I about our life, our education, our homes.  Before long four more of our friends joined us, and so he guided the party to the street corner just outside his shop.  He scrambled to neighboring shops to collect chairs so we could all sit comfortably in the entrance to his shop.  Once seated and engaged in conversation, he sent his youngest son running around the corner to their home to make tea for us.  The 20 year old son, Muhammad, had studied “tour guiding” and used impressive yet developing English with us.  We talked easily about his life, education, upbringing, and even got an extensive description of marriage customs in Muslim tradition.  Sensing that it was appropriate and even welcomed, our group moved conversation towards deeper topics such as their view of the USA, the Israeli occupation of Palestine, and the potential Palestinian call for statehood in the UN on September 20^th.  They were understandably shy with their opinions at first, but we encouraged them to be honest with us... They were proud of America for electing Obama but had wished for more action on their behalf from him.  The only answer to the Israeli/Palestine question for them is the establishment of two separate states.  Muhammad said something along the lines of “It is the only way.  All we want is peace.  All we want is to be able to move freely about the land again, like my father, his father, and the many previous generations of my family.”  That’s what we expect them to say, I mean, of course that’s what he’s going to say.  That’s what they all say.  But for some reason, hearing it come from a real human who lives behind a real wall and has real thoughts and emotions made it a little easier to empathize.  I was probably a little sympathetic to him as well, considering he had essentially shut down his shop to have the conversation and just given me a cup of the best sage-tea imaginable.  You better believe I felt the love.

Tea with Adel and Muhammad outside their shop

An Arab gentleman and I must have created a new language because we had a 15 minute conversation on the bus and he didn’t speak a word of English and I certainly don’t speak Arabic yet.  Don’t ask how that happened, but I do know that Bashar is married with four children, lives in Hebron, sells watches, and has a kind spirit.

Today (Tuesday) I got assigned to the organization I will be working with for the next 9 weeks.  Tuesday’s are reserved for students to practice service in the community by serving a local organization.  I will be with 3 other female students at Al Quds University Community Action Center.  This center focuses on bettering the lives of Arab women in Jerusalem, probably the most oppressed group in the region.  Being a woman in an Arab culture combined with being an Arab in an Israeli society is a 1-2 punch for this group of people.  Al Quds offers Hebrew and Arabic classes to promote literacy in the women with the hope that this will decrease the likelihood that they are taken advantage of in the tax and justice system.  Al Quds also offers free legal consultations to help these women navigate any legal issues that may come up and help them understand their options.  They will use our English skills to write grants and proposals and edit documents.  Our advisor at Al Quds mentioned the possibility of allowing me to use my training in conflict resolution and interpersonal communication to lead a seminar on conflict resolution. And I was so sure that I would never use that stuff. HA!!!!  The female students I am working with are excited to start a journaling program in which these women process their experiences through journaling and discussion.  It should be a simply fabulous experience.

Our group walked through Hezekiah’s tunnel.  This experience has been HUGE for me and my understanding of the authenticity of scripture.  2 Chronicles 32:30 talks about Jewish king Hezekiah digging this tunnel out of anticipation for a coming siege from Assyrian king Sennacherib.  If Jerusalem was surrounded by an invading army they would have no access to a water source (Jerusalem is built atop a hill) and would have to surrender due to lack of water.  This tunnel is an absolute ancient marvel.  The Bible dates this tunnel as being dug around 700 BCE, and Carbon-14 dating, stalagmite dating, and analysis of ancient writing in the tunnel confirm that date.  The fact that this piece of ancient construction is nearly 3000 years old and is still standing is mind-blowing by itself.  The fact that scientific dating confirms biblical dating enhances the whole experience.  To further validate scripture, 2 Chronicles 32:30 correctly places Hezekiah’s Tunnel west of Jerusalem near the City of David and correctly tells of it stopping the upper watercourse of the Gihon Spring.  It is undeniable that the Bible correctly claims and locates this ancient tunnel.  This is important for the legitimacy of scripture because Hezekiah’s Tunnel was only rediscovered in 1838 AD!  It is completely illogical to claim, then, that this scripture was written or edited any time after around 400 BCE when this tunnel was likely lost and forgotten. Biblical authors would have zero knowledge to describe Hezekiah’s Tunnel unless they were in fact there 2700 years ago when the tunnel was constructed or were close enough to that time period to have knowledge of the tunnel passed down orally. Tight.

Israeli Defense Force

Western Wall with MESP friends

There is so much more.  Please contact me somehow and ask me what’s going on.  I’d love to hear updates from you all as well.  Blessings and healing to you.  

My roommate Garrett. You made the blog!

Thoughts before leaving...

Hello friends

I created this blog to record my thoughts and experiences while traveling in the Middle East.  I am studying with a group called the Middle East Studies Program.  I will be studying alongside a group of 28 students from Christian universities in the USA and Canada.  We will be staying in Jerusalem, Israel for the first and longest portion of study.  During this portion we will take trips to Jordan, Tel Aviv, and various Palestinian territories. The second portion is located in Istanbul, Turkey.  We will finish our semester in Cairo, Egypt.  The focus of the trip is on understanding the modern Arab world and it's cultures, religions, governments, etc. with an emphasis on seeking mutual respect and even reconciliation.

This blog was created for a few reasons: 1) to force myself to critically reflect on what I am seeing, hearing, learning, and experiencing  2) to help friends and family back home stay connected to those experiences  3) to share any insights, revelations, knowledge I might receive on the trip  4) and finally, to offer my experiences as a fresh and real perspective on what might be one of the most captivating, most talked about, and most misrepresented and misunderstood regions on earth, the Arab world.

I suppose I need a reasonable answer to the question, “Why are you going?”  Why would I leave the love of a community (Bethel University) of my closest brothers and sisters?  Why would I willfully travel to a country where in today’s headlines (Aug 20) deadly terrorist attacks have been committed in three of the four nations we will be living?  My first reply to the question of “why” is simple: adventure… Here are some other answers my parents and professors might appreciate more.

I want to understand God and his work with a global perspective.  How does God show up in regions void of faith in Jesus Christ?  Does the Holy Spirit only work in people who profess the name of Jesus Christ? If so, how are we to understand the fruit of the Spirit (love, joy, peace, patience, etc.) visible in many of these “unbelievers” lives?  Are unbelievers not able to connect with God?  I am tired of the assumption that non-Christians and people of other faiths understand nothing about God.  I am not of the opinion that the worship of western Christians is the only form of meaningful worship.   Let me be clear, I am traveling to the Middle East with the assumption that God is present here and at work.  It is my desire to see Him and witness His work already occurring here.  I affirm wholeheartedly that Jesus Christ is the only one worthy of worship, but I think the question of how and from whom he receives worship is worth discussing.  We are saved by a diverse, wondrous, indescribable God, and I do not have so much hubris as to believe I have Him all figured out.  I have no fear in asking tough or taboo questions of God; it is for this reason He has equipped me with His Word, His Spirit, and a mind capable of reasoning.

I want to be placed in a culture where my ethnicity, religion, and language are in the minority.  In my life I have seldom felt the pressure of feeling like an alien, like I’m in an environment that was intended for a different group of people.  This is similar to the experience of a recent immigrant struggling to function in an unfamiliar culture, or of a handicapped person trying to navigate an unfriendly shopping mall, or of an African-American who is forced to buy band-aids that don’t match his or her skin color.  I assume my white skin, clear English, and Christian faith won’t buy me preferential treatment or unfair advantages in the Middle East like they do in Kansas and Minnesota.  If I wish to be an ally of the under-privileged and aliens in American society—which I do—then I must be able to empathize with their experience.  In order to begin understanding their experience I must intentionally place myself in situations where I am in the minority, where my groups and practices don’t dominate and set the norm, where I feel the weight of society pressing down from above instead of giving me an unfair boost.

This is a unique experience for me to break out of the reality in which I have lived my entire life, a reality that I have begun to view as normal, proper, or “the way things should be.”  I have only known one way of living, one way of worshipping, one way of viewing the world and it’s people.  This is a beautiful opportunity for me to venture outside the bubble I have lived in my entire life, a similar situation to Jim Carrey’s character in the final scenes of “The Truman Show.”  I am utterly excited for my Arab brothers and sisters to introduce me to their life and their land.