"I hope we will hear the concerns of women in the region and stand in solidarity with our sisters and brothers who are caught in the middle of the conflict." Dr. Thelma Chambers-Young, delegation chair

Why Do I Care?

By the Rev. Andrea Clark 

As the armed Israeli soldiers opened the gate of the wall that surrounds the small city of Bethlehem, I slowly exhaled and began to prepare myself for the journey ahead. It was 4:00 am and we were on our way to the Tel Aviv airport to return to the U.S. after a two week pilgrimage to the Middle East. Only moments earlier, we sat anxiously at the gate awaiting the final decision of the armed guard who ultimately determined whether we were permitted to pass or if we would be detained for further questioning. So while we waited, we paused to have our usual morning devotion that began with a song and concluded with prayer. Our song choice for the morning was When I Think of the Goodness of Jesus. Praising God for the many blessings and revelations along the journey, we joined together to sing:                                      

When I think of the goodness of Jesus
and all that He’s done for me                                     
My soul cries out—Hallelujah!
I thank God for saving me. 

After finishing the final verse, we prayed for safe travel, peace in the region and the world, and for further directions once we returned home. As our chorus of voices concluded with final “amens,” someone noticed that the gates were finally opening. My hidden fears began to subside as I thanked God once again for mercy in opening the gate. We’d had a crash course for the past nine days in Israeli-Palestinian relations but this latest incident made it all too real. But as we received clearance to leave, with only a few emotional scars but virtually unscathed, I looked back at the 25’ ft Wall and remembered the many souls that we left behind. I couldn’t seem to shake the words of the song’s final stanza: “I thank God for saving me….” They replayed over and over and over in my mind as I wondered: Had God not heard the prayers of countless others that prayed for the gates to be opened? Why were our prayers any different than those who had been praying for the past 40 years? Why hadn’t God physically “saved” those from the horrible conditions that they now faced on a constant basis? Before today, the words easily rolled off my tongue without hesitation or doubt, without much vacillation or wavering. But the contradictions of this song suddenly closed in on me like never before and I asked, “Can the Christians in this land sing this song as well?” Could they still testify to the goodness of the Lord and all that He had done for them? For sure, there were Christians behind this Wall, this barrier, this prison, or as one child referred to it, this “cage.”  

Bethlehem, best known as the blessed town of our Lord’s birth, is now in the heart of a war zone between the two peoples of this land. This city, located just miles outside of Jerusalem, is almost completely surrounded by “the Wall” with only one way in and one way out. Each day over 20,000 inhabitants that live within this confined space are given a short amount of time in the morning and in the early evening to go about their daily tasks -- working, going to school – that involve going to the other side of the Wall. After this small window of time, which often changes from day to day, the gate is closed until the next day, unless there are special circumstances that necessitate opening the gate. But sadly, sometimes persons with extreme circumstances, like the need of immediate medical attention or visiting an ailing relative, are not granted permission to leave the city. Each day their lives are plagued by the constant uncertainty of life due to the Israeli occupation.  These people are denied the basic freedom of movement from one place to another all in the name of “security.” In addition to “the Wall” that encloses the perimeter of the city, there are also various checkpoints placed strategically within Palestinian territory that severely restricts the movement of Palestinian people within their own lands. Mothers that used to visit their daughters daily now may only get to visit once every couple of months. Farmers who once worked daily in their nearby fields now must cross checkpoints to tend their own crops. Children who played with friends in nearby towns no longer play together because of the large, electrical fences that separate one village from another. A trip to a nearby village that should take ten minutes now takes 1 hr 30 minutes because Palestinians are routed to remote roads or tunnels (designated only for Palestinians, separate from the Israeli-only highways) to reach their destination. Their fate for the day rests solely in the hands of the guard on duty at that moment. Some days they are permitted to pass; some days they aren’t so lucky.  

Unfortunately, Bethlehem is not the only city in the region that endures this reality from day to day; it is all too common for people who live in Jerusalem and all across the West Bank. How could this be in the place we call the holy land? How could a place that has been venerated for generations by Christians, Jews, and Muslims alike be filled with holiness and horror, sacredness and subjugation, simultaneously? The intensity of the polarized realities spun me across an emotional continuum.   

But the instances of holy places and sacred spaces served to buffer some of the weightiness of the experience. We stood on the Mt. of Olives that overlooked all of Jerusalem; we walked on Mt. Nebo where Moses was buried; we entered the Upper Room where Jesus and his disciples shared their last meal together before the crucifixion and where his followers received the promised Holy Spirit; we visited the place of Jesus’ birth and the space where the tomb that momentarily housed his earthly body once stood. We floated in the Dead Sea and stepped in the cool water of the Jordan. We walked through the streets of Jerusalem and viewed Western Wall of the Second Temple. I couldn’t ask for more. But for as many holy moments as we experienced, we also encountered moments of heartbreaking reality. 

I’ve seen the tears of Iraqi mothers who have lost children in a war that seems to benefit no one. I’ve heard the stories of refugees who said, “they are like caged animals” that aren’t allowed to visit family or friends and denied basic human rights. I’ve observed the differences made between Israeli children and Palestinian children in the streets of Jerusalem. I’ve heard the stories of educators who are taunted daily by Israeli soldiers who ultimately decide if they make a living today or if they don’t. I’ve walked through a checkpoint in the middle of a city that had nothing to do with “security.” I’ve watched a Palestinian citizen’s car checked by armed guards with canines that was detained for unknown reasons as we passed through safely on the other side. I’ve heard concerned Israeli mothers discuss some of the daily horrors that happen at various checkpoints throughout the West Bank—women have babies, people have heart attacks, children suffer from asthma attacks, the elderly are mistreated. I’ve listened to a principal lament because her school children had to leave early every Saturday morning before the settlers came home from the synagogue for fear that they would be hurt by them. I’ve walked on the streets that are forbidden for Palestinian use—an act punishable by gunfire. I’ve witnessed a Jewish father walking through the streets of Jerusalem with his wife as he pushed a stroller with a machine gun nestled snugly under his arm. I’ve seen kids beg for basic human needs. I’ve seen the graffiti on the walls that said: “we need bridges not walls.” This is the painful reality of life in the holy land.  

But I’ve also seen the seeds of hope in an elementary school that’s filled with Iraqi children who model for us that we can coexist together. I’ve seen religious spaces that can be shared by Christians, Muslims, and Jewish persons alike. I’ve heard buoyant teachers utter their refusal to give up no matter the fierceness of the opposition. I’ve seen centers of hope show women a different way by providing basic computer training and accounting classes, language arts beautification skills, and health and fitness education. I’ve witnessed the incredible stories of women who had the resilience and courage to stand up and let their voices be heard in a society where their voices are often silenced or undervalued. I’ve witnessed the transformation of people when they choose not to participate in things that inflict pain or oppression on others.  

Some may ask: why do you care? As a pastor who will one day be forced to address the issues of entitlement and the “right” to take possessions in the name of God, I have to be ready to speak the truth no matter what some of my Christian counterparts may say. Did God divinely intend for a people to suffer horrible conditions in God’s holy land? Is one group favored more than another in the sight of God? Did God will this conflict and other holy wars throughout history? These are questions that we must struggle with, grapple with, wrestle with, and engage with. We must allow these questions to question and engage us, probe and query us, grill and interrogate us, cross-examine and subject us, with the intensity of the questions that these people must ask God on a daily basis. For only then can we, as Christians, shout a resounding “no,” trusting that our God does not operate like this. Our God cannot endorse or condone these types of actions against any of God’s children.  

Yes, there may be extremists behind this Wall; there may even be terrorists behind this Wall. But there are also educators behind this Wall. There are doctors, lawyers, and carpenters behind this Wall. There are engineers, construction workers, and computer technicians behind this Wall. There are political leaders and clergypersons behind this Wall. There are mothers and fathers behind this Wall. Grandparents are behind this Wall. Innocent children are also behind this Wall. There are Muslims, Jews, and Christians living behind this Wall.  

As I heard the screeching sound of the gate lock back into place, I couldn’t help but feel some sadness and shame that I wasn’t behind this Wall. We, as Americans, are not behind the Wall, but because we’re not, we have an obligation and a responsibility to speak the truth about what we have seen and heard. We have a duty to report the gross injustice that is being done to God’s children. We must share the stories we’ve heard, relate the testimonies we’ve seen, on behalf of those who may never have a chance to tell their narrative for themselves. It’s not about being pro-Israeli or pro-Palestinian—it’s a matter of being pro-justice, pro-equality, pro-life for all people.  

Why should I care? Because as the Wall continues to be extended farther and farther into territory that belongs to Palestinian people, it may one day extend to our neighborhoods as well. Before this experience, this was a distant conflict that I heard about every once in awhile on the nightly news. Before this pilgrimage, this was an unfortunate thing that happened to “them” on the other side of the waters. Before this encounter, these were people without faces, without feelings, without faith. But now I understand that these are my brothers and sisters regardless of religion, race, creed, or ethnicity.  

Now that I’ve seen and heard the cries of the oppressed, now I must act. That’s what God requires from those who have witnessed a terrible misinterpretation of God’s word. We must raise our voices together and speak out when our God’s name is poorly represented. Luke 12:48 warns us that, “…From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded; and from the one who has been entrusted with much, much more will be asked.” I believe God has entrusted me with this message of truth that all have not been given license to carry. How dare I not care?