Jerusalem Journal: Finding Hope 9781935790730, 9781888570892

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Jerusalem Journal Finding Hope

Robert Traer

The Davies Group, Publishers

Aurora CO

USA

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Jerusalem Journal

The Davies Group, Publishers PO Box 440140 P Aurora CO 80044-0140 M USA Copyright © 2006 Robert Traer All rights reserved. No part of this publication, including but not exclusive to, the text, the illustrations, and the design art may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, digital, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the express written permission of the publisher. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Traer, Robert Jerusalem journal : finding hope / Robert Traer. p. cm. ISBN-13: 978-1-888570-89-2 ISBN-10: 1-888570-89-X (alk. paper) 1. Traer, Robert--Diaries. 2. Arab-Israeli conflict--1993- --Personal naratives, American. 3. Arab-Israeli conflict--1993- --Peace. 4. Peace-building--Palestine. 5. Peace-Religious aspects. 6. Jerusalem--Description and travel. 7. West Bank--Description and travel. I. Title. DS119.76.T724 2005 956.9405’4--dc22 2006009851 The map of The Old City of Jerusalem is used with permission from the Palestinian Academic Society for the Study of International Affairs (PASSIA), PO Box 19545, Jerusalem. The map is available at the PASSIA web site (www.passia.org).   The maps of Metropolitan and Greater Jerusalem - 1997 and of Israeli Disengagement Options - February 2005 are used with permission from the foundation for Middle East Peace (FMEP), 1761 N Street NW, Washington DC 20036. These maps are available at the FMEP web site (www.fmep.org). All three maps are the work of Jan de Jong, Geographer and Land Planning Expert. The author has relied on many books and materials and is especially grateful for Jerome Murphy-O’Connor’s The Holy Land: An Oxford Archaeological Guide from Earliest Times to 1700, 4th edition, revised and expanded (Oxford University Press, 1998). Editor: Elizabeth B. Davies Design: The Davies Group Printed on acid-free paper

Dedication I would like to dedicate this book to all those who are working for a just peace for both Palestinians and Israelis; to all those named in the book, who gave generously of their time to talk with me, and who spoke candidly of their struggle for human rights and reconciliation; and to all those involved, but not specifically named in the book, especially the many Palestinians who shared with me not only their suffering and their sense of injustice, but also their hospitality, their humanity, and their enduring hope.

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Acknowledgements Only a few of the exemplary individuals I met are named in this book, so I want to acknowledge my respect and gratitude here to other friends and colleagues. The Jerusalem staff members for the Ecumenical Accompaniment Program in Palestine and Israel (EAPPI) were: Hermina Damons, Susan Ferguson, Larry Fata, and Pauline Nunu. I value the time I spent with them and the work they do. I especially want to thank Larry for reading and editing everything that I wrote. I am also grateful to Anna Rhee, the coordinator for the North American EAPPI effort, and to Rifat Odeh Kassis, EAPPI International Coordinator and Project Manager for the World Council of Churches, for permission to publish material that I wrote during my service with EAPPI. Hans Ucko of the WCC staff supported my participation in EAPPI and also the publication of my writings; Chris Ferguson, the Jerusalem Representative of the Commission of the Churches on International Affairs of the WCC, stimulated my thinking. Thanks to both. I learned much from the EAPPI participants I served with and am grateful to each: Anna Burén, Eva Dublin-Honegger, Arne Essén, Lydia Gall, Mechtild Kappetein, Renate Leiprecht, David Lindberg, Stine Madsen-Oesterbye, Thomas Mandal, Helle Preisler, Eva Rasmussen, Rei Seifert, Gregors Skibsted, Max Surjadinata, and Kristine Ulrich. A former EA, Julie Rowe, also encouraged me. Members of Rabbis for Human Rights were generous with their time and inspiring in their commitment. In addition to those mentioned in the book, I wish to thank Rabbi Rich Kirschen, and Yaacov Rosenberg. A special word of thanks to Maia Carter-Hallward for sharing with me her written record of the interviews she conducted with a number of the leaders of Rabbis for Human Rights, for inviting me to attend interviews she had scheduled, and for her friendship. I am also grateful to Rabbi David Rosen for his suggested changes in two of the chapters and to Rabbi Ehud Bandel for so generously sharing his time and his passion with me and with other EAPPI participants. I have done my best to share the experience and insights of these friends and colleagues, but I regret that mere words cannot more adequately reflect their courage and their convictions.

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Table of Contents Introduction .................................................................................. viii Alternative Tourism The Old City ………………...............................................................…. 3 Greater Jerusalem ……….............................................................…….... 9 Holy Places ……………........................................................................... 16 Restoring the Old City ……………..............................................…… 22 Visit to Acre ………………................................................................… 27 Water in the Desert ………………….................................................... 30 Visit to Galilee ……………...............................................................…. 35 Yad Vashem ……………...................................................................…. 43 Religious Celebrations Palm Sunday in Jerusalem ………...............................................…...... 51 Easter and Purim ……………............................................................... 56 Sunday Mosaic …………………................................................…....... 66 Orthodox Easter …………..........................................................…....... 70 EAPPI Visits Planting Trees Near Bethlehem …………............................................ 77 At Rachel’s Tomb ……………............................................................... 82 “Freedom School” in Abu Dis ………................................................... 88 Back to Abu Dis …………..................................................................... 94 Journey to Jayyous …………................................................................. 99 Fearing Evil in the Valley ………….................................................... 107 Stones of Hebron …………….............................................................. 114 West Bank Interventions Rabbis for Human Rights ....………..............................................…. 127 Men With Guns ......……………….................................................… 135 Right and Wrong .....…………............................................................ 140 In the Olive Groves Again .....……….................................................. 147

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Religious Views Transforming Difficult Texts …………............................................... 155 Kiddush HaShem: Sanctifying God’s Name ..…….........................… 161 Finding Hope ..……………................................................................. 173 Christians and Muslims in Jerusalem …………................................. 176 Telling the Truth .……………............................................................. 180 Secular Views Visiting Mishmar Ha’emek Kibbutz ………...................................… 189 The Golan for Development …………...........................................… 192 New Historian Ilan Pappe …………..............................................…. 196 Israeli Women for Peace …………..................................................… 199 Working for Reconciliation …………................................................. 202 Machsom Watch ..…………............................................................… 210 Redefining Security …………........................................................…. 219 Conclusions Talking Points: Israel/Palestine ……….........................................…. 223 Talking Points: Religion ……….......................................................... 225 Land (f )or Peace ………................................................................…. 227 Resisting Terrorism and Occupation ...………...............................… 231

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Introduction February 13, 2005 I had flown overnight from the United States and was tired when I arrived at Ben Gurion airport in Tel Aviv. I was also wary and on edge, as I had been warned that I might have difficulty passing through Israeli immigration control at the airport. I am an American; I teach at a university; I am over sixty years old. This is hardly the profile of someone who would likely be perceived as posing a threat to Israel. I had come to spend three months in Israel and Palestine as part of the Ecumenical Accompaniment Program of the World Council of Churches, which supports an end to Israeli occupation and a just peace for both Palestinians and Israelis. In briefings before my departure, I had been advised to request a three-month tourist visa, but I knew I was not really entering the country to be a tourist. During the night of the flight I had tried to think of acceptable ways to answer the questions of the immigration officials. In my teaching of ethics I emphasize the importance of telling the truth, and I wanted to tell the truth when interviewed in the airport. I would be living in East Jerusalem in a neighborhood that is largely Palestinian. Moreover, I intended to go into the West Bank, into territory occupied by the Israeli army. And, I knew that such visits are not considered a tourist activity by Israeli authorities. The volunteers with the Ecumenical Accompaniment Program had been advised to say that we were visiting churches and to mention Jerusalem and Bethlehem, but not Ramallah (where the Palestinian Authority has its headquarters). I knew, however, that I didn’t expect to spend most of my time visiting churches. I decided to say I was doing a volunteer project with churches, as this was true and would explain why I was staying three months. Churches in Israel and the occupied territories had invited the World Council of Churches to send internationals in order to accompany Palestinians and Israelis working nonviolently for peace. I had been invited to volunteer in ways that church leaders saw as helpful. When I stood before the immigration official in the airport and said I was a volunteer in a church project, she quickly called a supervisor, who came to

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explain to me that as a volunteer I would only be given a thirty-day visa. So, I entered Israel to participate in a three month program with a visa for thirty days. Even before I began my work, I had run into trouble. February 14-18, 2005 I spent my first week in a Palestinian hotel in the Christian Quarter of the Old City of Jerusalem, where the fifteen ecumenical accompaniers (or EAs as we called ourselves) for the 2005 February-May session participated in an orientation. Most of the participants were from northern European countries, but there were three of us from the United States. Members of the staff included a South African and a Canadian, an American and a Palestinian. We listened to Israeli and Palestinian speakers describe the intractable conflict between Israelis and Palestinians, and we received training in nonviolence and information about Palestinian cultural expectations. Then, we divided into small groups and prepared for our different assignments. Some EAs would live in Palestinian villages and spend their time monitoring human rights violations. Additionally, they would protest against the Separation Barrier being built on Palestinian land, they would teach English, and they would be present as a reminder to both Israelis and Palestinians that the international community continues to be committed to ending the Israeli occupation of Palestinian land. Other EAs would live in Palestinian cities, such as Bethlehem, Ramallah, and Hebron. The tasks in these cities were similar to those in the villages, but in these cities there were Palestinian organizations to assist. In Bethlehem and Ramallah there were also churches to attend and Christian activities to join. I was one of the three EAs who would remain in Jerusalem, living on the Eastern side of the city, but working largely with Israeli organizations that had offices in West Jerusalem. February 19-May 8, 2005 Much of my time in Jerusalem was spent volunteering with Rabbis for Human Rights, an Israeli organization that sends volunteers into the West Bank to assist Palestinians in gaining access to their farm land and olive groves. While in Jerusalem I spoke with many Israelis including half a dozen rabbis. I attended church services on Sunday in the Old City and was delighted to experience the diversity of religious expression within the walls of this ancient community. In Jerusalem I also visited museums and other tourist sites in and around the Old City.



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Early in March I went to the visa office in West Jerusalem to try to extend my 30-day visa. I was told that the next available appointment was in midApril and that my appointment slip would suffice for a visa until the date of my interview. Rather than risk being denied a visa extension, which would mean I would have to leave the country, in early April I decided to cancel my mid-April interview and make a new appointment for mid-May. My success in changing the date of my interview meant that I obtained another appointment slip that covered my stay in Israel until my departure on May 8th. During my stay in Jerusalem I traveled into the West Bank to the villages of Jayyous and Yanoun, which are west and east of the large Palestinian city of Nablus, and also to the village of Einabus, which is south of Nablus. I helped prune olive trees with Palestinian landowners near the major Jewish settlement of Ariel. I went twice to Hebron, the large Palestinian city south of Jerusalem, and once into the South Hebron Hills where Palestinians were being denied access to their farm land. I crossed the Separation Barrier and visited human rights activists in the Palestinian community of Abu Dis, which is just to the east of the Old City of Jerusalem. The EA group traveled to Haifa, Acre, to a kibbutz in northern Israel, and to the Golan Heights in order to listen to Israeli and Syrian speakers describe their experience and share their analysis of the occupation. Before I left Israel, I took a three-day trip by myself to visit Caesarea, cities and archeological sites in the Galilee, and archeological sites in the Jordan River valley. Throughout my stay I wrote about my experience, sending Letters from Jerusalem by email to those who were interested. These letters not only described what I was doing and seeing, but also conveyed a sense of the hope that I discovered in the lives of many of the Palestinians and Israelis I met. However, most of the analysts I talked with argued that the facts on the ground offer no hope. The violence continues, hatred abounds, and the brutal occupation of Palestinian land by the Israeli army and Jewish settlements seems to make a two-state solution impossible. Yet, again and again, I met people with hope. They reminded me that hope is a virtue, not an assessment of likely outcomes. The facts on the ground may seem to require a pessimistic view, but the people who choose to address these facts have hope regardless of the violence, the hatred and the occupation, regardless of how dismal and brutal the situation seems to be. I found people who rise above pessimism and oppression with their courage, humor, perseverance, and capacity to forget and even to forgive. Certainly

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some Palestinians seek vengeance for the suffering inflicted on their people by Jewish Israelis, but it is my experience that most Palestinians hope for a negotiated settlement that reflects a just compromise between Palestinians and Jewish Israelis. Some Jewish Israelis believe the Palestinians now living on the West Bank have no right to remain there. These Israelis find texts in their scripture which support their claim that God gave all the land in dispute to their ancient Israelite ancestors. But it is my experience that most Jewish Israelis hope for a just peace that will include removing many Jewish settlements from the West Bank in return for a commitment by the Palestinian people to stop supporting terrorist attacks against Jewish Israeli civilians. Almost everyone who knows I spent three months in Jerusalem asks me if there is any hope for peace there. They expect me to answer, “No.” But my answer is, “Yes.” As complicated as the political, historical, and economic realities are, there are people there with hope. The answer is as simple as that. Wherever there are people with hope, there is hope. I did not find, nor do I have, a hope that ignores the harsh realities of the Middle East. Terrorists continue to plan attacks and Israeli soldiers continue to enforce a brutal occupation. There are politicians on both sides who are corrupt and self-serving. Many people are filled with hate, fear, and the desire for revenge. But, in the midst of the injustice and bitterness, there are these extraordinary people of hope. I met some of them and want to share their witness with you.

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The Old City

Palestinian Academic Society for the Study of International Affairs (PASSIA) http://passia.org/index_jerusalem.htm

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Greater Jerusalem

http://fmep.org/maps/map_data/jerusalem/metro_greater_jerusalem.html

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The West Bank

http://fmep.org/maps/map_data/redeployment/ disengagement_options_feb2005.html

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Wall of Akko (Acre) facing the Mediterranean Sea

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Al-Aqsa Mosque, seen from the Mount of Olives

Monastery of St. George of Koziba

Ruins at Caesarea Ruins at Kohav Hayarden (Belvoir)

The Dome of the Rock



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Ruins at Bet She’an Covered Market, Muslim Quarter, Old City of Jerusalem

Jaffa Gate

Dung Gate Basilica of the Annunciation, Nazareth

Ruins at Korazim

Ruins at Kursi Hurva Synagogue Memorial, Jewish Quarter, Old City of Jerusalem

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The Old City The Revelation to John, which concludes the New Testament, ends with a vision in chapter 21 of the new Jerusalem descending from heaven, surrounded by a great wall with twelve gates, one for each of the twelve tribes of Israel. A stone wall surrounds the Old City of Jerusalem today. There are, however, only eight gates into the city. The Quarters of the City I spent the first week of my stay in Jerusalem residing in the Annex of the Gloria Hotel, which is near the Jaffa Gate on the western side of the Old City. As the name of the hotel suggests, it is located in the Christian Quarter, in the northwest section, where most of the Christian residents of Jerusalem live, except for the Armenians. The Armenian Quarter, which contains a large monastery and other properties owned by the Armenian Church, begins just below the Jaffa Gate and occupies the southwest corner of the Old City. Although Armenians are a very small percentage of the Christians in the world, their presence in the Old City is surprisingly prominent. Armenian Christians were among the earliest pilgrims to come to Jerusalem, because Armenia became a Christian nation at the beginning of the fourth century, before Constantine was converted and before the Council of Nicaea decided what books should be in the New Testament. The Muslims, who in 1187 defeated the Franks (what the Crusaders were called in the twelfth century), allowed the Armenians to return to the section of the city that had been theirs before they were driven out. (The Franks had slaughtered all the Armenian and Orthodox Christians they found in Jerusalem in 1099, believing that no real Christian could be living amicably among the infidel Muslims.)  The Jewish Quarter of the Old City is located in the southeast corner, east of the Armenian Quarter and next to the Western Wall of the Temple Mount, which both Jews and Muslims understand to be the biblical Mount Moriah. Since the seventh century, when Muslims first took control of Jerusalem, they have called the Temple Mount area Haram al-Sharif, and this is where they built the magnificent Dome of the Rock and the Al-Aqsa Mosque.



Jerusalem Journal

The Jewish Quarter is smaller than the Armenian section, but Jewish Israelis own many properties now in both the Christian and Muslim sectors of the city. Excavations in this quarter after the Israelis seized control of it during the 1967 war revealed the main shopping street from the Byzantine era (fourth through sixth centuries), and also the remains of a house destroyed in 70 ce by Roman armies putting down the Jewish revolt that began four years earlier. The Muslim Quarter in the northeast part of the Old City surrounds most of the Haram al-Sharif on the west and north sides. Muslim and Christian Quarters meet on the north side of Jerusalem at the Damascus Gate, which is named for the old road that led from this gate to Damascus. There are many Christian churches within the Muslim Quarter, and this is where the Via Dolorosa (the Stations of the Cross) leads to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, which is just inside the Christian Quarter, close to the western edge of the Muslim Quarter. These four quarters of the walled city appear on modern maps, but within the city there are few signs designating these areas, and life within the city flows between the quarters. There are six churches of various kinds located in the Muslim Quarter, and non-Armenian churches in the Armenian Quarter. Christian and Muslim lay people dress much the same, and most Christians and Muslims living in the Old City speak Arabic. Visiting American Christians, upon entering the city through the Lions Gate on the east side and walking west along the Via Dolorosa, would not be aware that they were in the Muslim Quarter of Jerusalem, unless they looked at their tourist map. The Jewish Quarter, however, is more distinct. It is newer, because much of it was built after Muslim housing in this area was destroyed during and after the 1967 war. The ancient main Byzantine road from south to north, which bisects the city, clearly divides the Jewish Quarter from the Armenian Quarter. In addition, the area around the Western Wall of the Temple Mount is filled with Jews wearing distinctive clothing and speaking Hebrew rather than Arabic, the predominate language in the rest of the Old City. Ancient History Those entering the city from the east through the Lions Gate pass the pools that John 5:1-13 in the New Testament mentions in relating a healing miracle, which church tradition attributes to Jesus. The road leading from

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the Lions Gate goes down into the Kidron Valley, and then up the other side to the Mount of Olives and the Garden of Gethsemane. On the eastern side of the Mount of Olives there is a spectacular view looking west over the Old City. (From here it is obvious that the Temple Mount dominates the Old City, and that the Dome of the Rock and Al-Aqsa Mosque, which were originally constructed around 700 ce, dominate the Temple Mount.) The present city is much larger than the city that David conquered in the tenth century bce and made the capital of Israel, and the land where that ancient city was located is now outside the city walls to the southeast. Solomon, the son of David who succeeded him as King of Israel, extended the city north and built the first temple on the site where the Dome of the Rock and Al-Aqsa Mosque are now located. Assyrian invaders in the eighth century bce enlarged the city to the west, but the Babylonian invasion two centuries later left most of the city in ruins. Two versions of this story are related in the Bible in the books of 1 and 2 Samuel and 1 and 2 Kings, and again in the books of 1 and 2 Chronicles. Fifty years later, in 539 bce, the Persians defeated the Babylonians and allowed the Judean leaders exiled in Babylon to return to Jerusalem. The books of Ezra and Nehemiah in the Bible describe this restoration of Jerusalem. But, the city wasn’t enlarged until near the end of the second century bce when the Maccabees led a revolt against Hellenistic Greek rule, which began when Alexander the Great conquered the area in the latter part of the fourth century. The Romans took control of Jerusalem in the middle of the first century bce. After Roman legions crushed a Jewish revolt that lasted from 66-70 ce, most of the walls of the city were razed. When Romans put down a second Jewish revolt (132-135 ce), they completed the destruction of the city, leaving only the southwest corner as a garrison. Two centuries later, when Roman legions were transferred out of the city, a wall roughly where the present wall is located was constructed to protect the inhabitants of Jerusalem. Gates Muslims ruled Jerusalem from 637 until the crusading Franks drove them out in 1099. Less than ninety years later Muslim armies regained control of the city, and in the middle of the sixteenth century the Muslim ruler Suliman the Magnificent tore down the old walls of Jerusalem and built the walls that exist today.



Jerusalem Journal

In Suliman’s Jerusalem there were six gates into the city. The gate to the west, now known as Jaffa Gate, was called Bab al-Khalil (the Gate of the Friend) because the road from the gate leading south goes to the city of Hebron (a name derived from Abraham). Contemporary Muslims continue to use this name for the gate. This road now takes a traveler to the Israeli checkpoint outside Bethlehem where few vehicles are allowed through. Taxis and buses carrying Palestinians traveling from Jerusalem unload their passengers on the Israeli side of the checkpoint. Those who then traverse the checkpoint on foot take Palestinian taxis and buses available on the other side to travel into Bethlehem. Today, a Palestinian who has identification allowing him to be in Israel, and who is traveling from Jerusalem to Hebron, will bypass Bethlehem by taking a vehicle directly from East Jerusalem to the Palestinian entrance to Hebron. The Damascus Gate on the northern side of the Old City dates back to the rule of Herod Agrippa (41-44 ce) under the Romans, and was rebuilt by the Roman Emperor Hadrian in 135 as the main entrance to the city, a city he purged of Jews and renamed Aelia Capitolina. Today the Damascus Gate opens into a bustling Palestinian market, where there are Palestinian buses traveling to most places in East Jerusalem. The old road to Damascus now leads to Ramallah, the capital city of the Palestinian Authority. Traveling to Ramallah, however, is frequently difficult and time consuming. The Israeli checkpoint between the cities is congested and often closed without warning. The Zion Gate, which is on the south side of the Armenian Quarter, leads to Mount Zion and is known in Arabic as Bab Nabi Daud (the Gate of the Prophet David), because legend locates David’s tomb on Mount Zion. The Zion Gate now leads to an area outside the Old City that has several major Christian churches, but is increasingly a Jewish residential community. The Dung Gate exits south from the plaza in front of the Western Wall, in what is now the Jewish Quarter. Its name indicates the historical use of the area outside the gate. Herod’s Gate, which exits the city on the northwest side from the Muslim Quarter, was originally named Bab ez-Zahr (the Flowered Gate) by the ruling Muslims. Around the end of the sixteenth century a house just inside the gate was rumored to have been the ancient palace of Herod Antipas, who ruled Galilee during the time of Jesus. (Luke 23:7-12 in the New Testament refers to this dwelling.) So, Herod’s Gate became the more popular name. Like the Damascus Gate, today this exit from the walled city opens into the heart of Palestinian East Jerusalem.

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Suliman called the east Gate of the city Bab el-Ghor (the Jordan Gate), because the road from this gate led to Jericho and the Jordan River. An earlier gate at the same place was called St. Stephen’s Gate, and Christians have continued to use this name for the present gate. The current Jewish name, the Lions Gate, is derived from the carved lions on each side of the entrance, which represent the emblems of the Mamluk (Muslim) sultan Baybars (12601277). Today the steep road descending from the Lions Gate continues south through the Kidron Valley and then up through the hills to Abu Dis, which used to be a thriving small town on the eastern road to Bethlehem. Now, however, this road runs directly into a section of the Separation Barrier that the Israeli government is building. Here this barrier is a high wall made of concrete slabs, which completely block and close the road that once led down the main street of Abu Dis. In addition to these six gates built by Suliman, a contemporary map of the Old City identifies two other gates. The Golden Gate located in the east wall of the Temple Mount was probably built by the Umayyad (Muslim) caliph Abd al-Malik (685-705 ce) as part of his reconstruction of the Haram al-Sarif. When the Franks controlled the city, the Golden Gate was used only twice a year, on Palm Sunday and on the Catholic feast of the Exaltation of the Cross. After Saladin defeated the Franks and regained control of Jerusalem, this gate leading directly from the Haram al-Sharif was closed. The eighth gate on a contemporary map of the Old City is New Gate, which is located north of Jaffa Gate on the northwest side of the Christian Quarter. It was opened in 1887 by the Ottoman (Muslim) sultan Abdul Hamid II to allow easier access from the northwest suburbs of Jerusalem, which were growing in population. Just inside the New Gate the Latin Patriarchate has a guesthouse, called the Knight’s Palace. This is where I spent my first week in Jerusalem, in meetings concerning my participation in the Ecumenical Accompaniment Program sponsored by the World Council of Churches. Paintings and a suit of armor in the Knight’s Palace (as well as the name of the guesthouse itself!) remind the visitor of the heroic faith of the crusading Franks, which is remembered and celebrated here by many Christians. The winding alley between New Gate and Jaffa Gate, named Bab al-Jadid at New Gate, becomes St. Peter and then Latin Patriarchate, as it leads from the Latin Patriarchate headquarters to Omar Ibn Al Khatab Square, in front of the Jaffa Gate.



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Palestinian Pride This brief review of the Old City reveals the long and often tragic history of the city of peace, which is the meaning of the Hebrew word for “Jerusalem.” The Arabic names for the gates and the Temple Mount remind us that Muslims have long ruled Al-Quds, the Arabic name for Jerusalem, which means the holy. Except for about ninety years in the twelfth century, Muslims ruled the Old City from the seventh century to the beginning of the twentieth century, when the British took control during World War I. It should not be surprising, therefore, that the largely Islamic peoples of this land, who are now called Palestinians, think of it as their home. The walls of the city, the names of its gates and streets, the prominence of the Dome of the Rock and Al-Aqsa Mosque, and legends of caliphs and sultans, all remind Palestinians of the glorious Islamic reign in Jerusalem over eleven of the past thirteen centuries.

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Greater Jerusalem The “holy city Jerusalem” that comes “down out of heaven from God” in the vision related by the author of the Revelation to John “has the glory of God and a radiance like a very rare jewel...” (Rev. 21:10-11) The seer also writes: “The nations will walk by its light, and the kings of the earth will bring their glory into it.” (Rev. 21:24) There is very little of the glory of God in the present struggle to define and control the contemporary city of Jerusalem, which now extends far beyond the walls of the Old City. Nations are not able to walk by the light of this rare jewel, for its light is shrouded by a dark shadow that the present struggle for power casts over Jerusalem. The recent decision by the Israeli Prime Minister’s Cabinet to complete the Separation Barrier on the eastside of Jerusalem will greatly expand the size of the city, but will also divide Palestinians from Palestinians. The maps of Greater Jerusalem and the West Bank (see pages xiii and xiv) may help the reader understand what Greater Jerusalem now means. Those inside the Separation Barrier will have access to Israel and East Jerusalem, if the borders created by the barrier become the borders of Israel. At Abu Dis, south of Jerusalem on a road that led to Bethlehem before the barrier blocked all travel, these new borders mean that neighbors are now divided. Those living on one side of the high wall are effectively annexed into the city of Jerusalem, whether they want to be or not. Those living on the other side of the wall are outside the city and, unless they have Jerusalem identification papers, cannot travel to the Old City. “Zion shall be redeemed by justice…” (Isaiah 1:27) There is a long history of inclusion and expulsion from Jerusalem. The Bible says that David took the city around 1000 bce by defeating its Jebusite inhabitants. In 587 bce the rulers of Judah were exiled from Jerusalem by the conquering Babylonians. Fifty years later they were allowed to return after Persians defeated the Babylonians and took control of the region. Some descendants of the original exiles remained in Babylon, while others moved back to Judah. The beginning of Persian rule marked the dispersion of the

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people thereafter called “Jews” (from the Persian word for the people of Judah). Even though millions of Jews have immigrated to the state of Israel, the Jewish Diaspora continues to this day. The Jews who returned to Judah in the latter part of the sixth century bce rebuilt the temple within a generation, but Jews in Judah did not enjoy independence under Persian rule, nor under Greek rule that began about two centuries later. For the most part, Greek rulers did not interfere in the religious life of the Jews and simply imposed taxes on them. In 169 bce, however, Antiochus IV sacked the temple and put Greek statues in it. This act of desecration led to the Maccabean revolt and almost a century of independent Jewish government over Jerusalem. In 63 bce the Romans took control of Jerusalem, ending the short reign of Jewish kings and priests. When the Romans crushed the first Jewish revolt in 70 ce and destroyed the temple, all Jewish priests were banished from the city. The consequences of losing the second revolt against Roman rule in 135 ce were even more devastating, as thereafter Jews were not permitted to live in the city and were only allowed to enter one day of the year to anoint a rock on the Temple Mount. (The rock now at the center of the Dome of the Rock is probably this same rock, for it is the most prominent natural feature of the Temple Mount.) Under Constantine, who converted to Christianity early in the fourth century, churches were built in Jerusalem and the city became largely Christian. In 361, however, an emperor later known as Julian the Apostate came to power. As part of his strategy to undermine Christians, he opened Jerusalem to Jews and encouraged them to rebuild the temple. He also renamed the city Aelia Capitolina. In three years Julian was dead and his idea of a pagan city in Palestine died with him. After Julian, emperors accommodated themselves to the growing strength of the church throughout the Byzantine Empire. (The name change, from the Roman Empire to the Byzantine Empire, reflects the movement of the capital of the empire from Rome to Byzantium, which after Constantine was known as Constantinople). In 638 Muslims defeated the Byzantine defenders of Jerusalem and took control of the city. After the Dome of the Rock and Al-Aqsa Mosque were completed (in 691 and 715 respectively), both Jews and Christians were excluded from the area on top of the Haram al-Sharif. More than one-and-a-half centuries later, in 1099, Franks (Crusaders) fought their way into the city and slaughtered all its inhabitants — the Armenian and Orthodox Christians, the Jews and the Muslims: men, women,

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and children. Under Crusader rule Al-Aqsa Mosque was first used as the residence of the King of Jerusalem, and then in 1131 was handed over to an order of soldier-monks known as Templars. The Crusaders used the Dome of the Rock as a church, until Saladin ousted them in 1187 and took control of the city. After immediately removing the Christian altar from the Dome of the Rock, only Muslims were allowed to worship there. The Dome of the Rock takes its name from legends about the rock within it, which Muslims remember as the place where Muhammad made his night flight to heaven and where, over a millennium earlier, God tested Abraham by commanding him to sacrifice his son, Ishmael, whose mother was Hagar. The story of the testing of Abraham may be read in Genesis 22, which is scripture for both Jews and Christians, but in this earlier account the son nearly sacrificed is Isaac, whose mother was Sarah. Muslims ruled Jerusalem from 1187 until the beginning of the twentieth century. During these centuries Jews and Christians lived in Jerusalem, and were generally able to worship in peace. But Christians were not allowed to seek converts among Muslims, and both Jews and Christians were not permitted on the Haram al-Sharif. The British occupation changed all of that and under British rule more Jews began to immigrate to Jerusalem, continuing a pattern of migration that had begun in the nineteenth century when the city was under Ottoman Turkish control. Some of these immigrants hoped that Jerusalem might become a Jewish city at the heart of a reconstructed nation of Israel. After World War II, with the help of Britain, France, and the United States, these Zionist hopes began to be realized. The end of the war in 1948 between Jewish settlers and the Palestinians, who were supported by the surrounding Arab nations, left Jerusalem divided until it was united under Israeli rule after the war of 1967. Israel also gained control of most of the West Bank including the areas north, east, and south of the Old City. In the more than four decades after the end of the 1967 war, large Israeli settlements have been built all around the Old City, despite the prohibition against construction on occupied land under international law and under agreements signed by the Israeli government, including the Oslo Peace Process and the more recent Road Map. “...do not oppress the alien, the orphan, and the widow....” (Jeremiah. 7:6) The Jewish settlements around East Jerusalem are on land that under international law belongs to Palestinians, and the roads constructed to ensure

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safe passage between these settlements and Jerusalem have effectively converted more land from residential and agricultural uses to broad, asphalt barriers, which divide Palestinian communities and further impoverish the people. The evidence of this is startling when viewed from the top of Mount Scopus, just north of the Mount of Olives, where I stayed in a guesthouse run by the Lutheran World Federation. To the north is the large complex of buildings housing Hebrew University. As I walked around the campus, which is behind a high security fence, I could look down into the valley at the scattered homes of the Palestinians. Security is tight around Hebrew University, and Israeli guards patrolling the perimeter stopped me twice when I walked around the campus taking photographs of the University and the valleys below. To the south of Mount Scopus, on the western slope of the ridge, are the Mount of Olives and the Garden of Gethsemane. Palestinian homes and shops cover the top and eastern sides of the Mount of Olives. In the distance, toward Jericho, is the massive settlement of Ma’ale Adumim where about 30,000 Jewish Israelis now live. Further to the south, on the ridges, are other large Israeli settlements, with Palestinian buildings clinging to the lower slopes and Bedouins camped out in some of the more remote valleys. In violation of the legal prohibitions against constructing settlements on Palestinian land, the Israeli government has confiscated land and strategically encircled the Old City of Jerusalem with settlements and roads, in order to create “facts on the ground” that are politically irreversible. It is now estimated that over 200,000 Israeli settlers live in the Jewish settlements built in the West Bank around Jerusalem, in areas contiguous to the Old City on the north, east, and south sides. In the present time of cooperation and relative peace between the Israeli government and the Palestinian authority, construction is nonetheless taking place in most of these Israeli settlements, and the number of Jewish settlers continues to grow. Many of the settlers that the Israeli government has moved out of settlements in Gaza will likely end up in settlements on the West Bank, and most of these settlements will be those which are located in a circle around Jerusalem. The area now comprising Greater Jerusalem (see page xiii), which in 1967 was largely Palestinian, is now primarily Jewish. Greater East Jerusalem includes many Arab Israelis as well as Jewish Israelis, but only Jewish Israelis are permitted to live in the settlements in the West Bank (see page xiv). The revised route for the Separation Barrier extends east of Jerusalem to encircle a large section of the West Bank, and incorporates, into Greater

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Jerusalem, several existing Jewish settlements, and areas designated for future settlement construction. A map of the Separation Barrier reveals that in some places it is far beyond the Green Line, the dividing line between the West Bank that was conquered and taken from Jordan in 1967, and the internationally recognized border of Israel. The extension of the Separation Barrier to the east of the Old City reaches over the Mount of Olives and down the eastern slope of the ridge almost half way across the West Bank. There are few roads going north and south on the eastern side of the Mount of Olives, and Palestinians are often denied use of the roads going north and south on the western side of the ridge, closer to Jerusalem. The Israeli government argues that the Separation Barrier is a necessary security measure, and it may be that the barrier in some places has made it more difficult for terrorists to reach the cities of Israel. But the Separation Barrier is not really a security measure, or the Israeli government would call it a Security Barrier. Instead, it is a strategy to further separate Palestinians from Israelis, by making life for Palestinians so miserable that more of them will chose to move away to other parts of the West Bank or even to other countries. In fact, the Separation Barrier divides Palestinian families and communities who live on both sides, and makes travel to work and to schools extremely difficult and time consuming. It is not a barrier that keeps all Palestinians out, for it includes thousands of Palestinians inside Greater Jerusalem. Furthermore, the Israeli government does not know (and cannot know) that all the potential suicide bombers are outside the barrier. Despite Israeli government statements to the contrary, the barrier seems to be designed to pressure Palestinians to leave the area included within Greater Jerusalem on the north, east, and south sides of the Old City in order to facilitate the settlement and dominance of Jewish Israelis in this area. “...and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness…” (Micah 6:8) The demolition of Palestinian homes in East Jerusalem is further evidence of the plans of the Israeli government. An Israeli Army report released early in 2005 concludes that demolishing the homes of terrorists has not deterred violence by Palestinians, and may likely have had the opposite effect. Yet, the government almost daily demolishes Palestinian homes around Jerusalem. The reason given is that the Palestinian landowners lack building permits.

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But the landowners lack such permits, because the Israeli government refuses to allow Palestinian landowners to build on, or improve, their land in East Jerusalem. Similarly, the confiscation of Palestinian land for settlement construction and the building of access roads only for use by Israelis cannot be justified as reasonable security measures necessary to protect the nation of Israel within its internationally recognized borders. These aggressive settlement activities understandably anger Palestinians, and also give credence to their claims that the Israeli government is undermining the possibility of a viable Palestinian state. At a recent forum in West Jerusalem Michael Warschavski, Chair of the Alternative Information Center, argued that the present Israeli government has no intention of disengaging from most of the West Bank where now more than 300,000 Jews are living in settlements constructed on Palestinian land. On the contrary, he said, the Jewish settlements have been carefully planned to encircle Jerusalem and also to dominate the road systems and control the hilltops throughout the West Bank. The areas of the West Bank left to Palestinians will be weak and fragmented. The forum moderator and Coordinator of the Israeli Committee Against House Demolitions, Jeff Halper, supported Warschavski’s assertion. He agrees that the Separation Barrier is a strategy being used by the Israeli government to secure a Greater Jerusalem and a Greater Israel, which will include within Israel much of the land taken from Palestinians since the 1967 war. For more than three millennia Jerusalem has been a place claimed by one people at the expense of others, and in this long history invaders have often dominated those living on the land. The Bible says that David captured the city of Jerusalem from its Jebusite inhabitants (2 Samuel 5:6). The Hebrew Scriptures also record the conquest of Jerusalem by Babylonians and Persians, and the struggle by the Maccabees against Greek rulers (see Kings, Chronicles, and the Prophets). The New Testament was written during the time of oppressive Roman rule, and in the following centuries Jerusalem was conquered by Muslims from Arabia, crusading Franks from Europe, again by Muslims, by British forces during World War I, and most recently after World War II by European Jewish survivors. Might the Jerusalem of today yet become a beacon of light and hope for the nations, as the Jewish scriptures foretold long ago? (Isaiah 49:6) Certainly,

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for this vision to be realized, Christians and Muslims, as well as Jews, will have to find a new way to live together. As unlikely as it seems, this is the goal of some Jewish Israelis, who oppose the occupation and the continuing confiscation of Palestinian land by the Israeli government. Rabbis for Human Rights protests house demolitions, monitors checkpoints along the Separation Barrier, helps Palestinians reach and farm their land on the Israeli side of the barrier, and teaches yeshiva students and soldiers that living ethically as Jews means supporting human rights for Palestinians as well as Jews. A former chairperson of Rabbis for Human Rights, Rabbi Tzvi Weinberg, reminds his fellow Jews of the Torah admonition: “Justice, justice shall you pursue so that you may live and inherit the land that the Lord your God gives you.” (Deut. 16:20) If Israel is now to live up to its promise and become “a light to the nations,” Jewish Israelis must seek not only peace, but also pursue justice. Whether Jew or Muslim, Christian or secular, we should all support the nonviolent struggle for a just peace, for both Palestinians and Israelis, who live in and around Greater Jerusalem.

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Holy Places One Sunday morning I visited the two holy places in Jerusalem that Muslims and Christians hold in highest esteem: the Haram al-Sharif (Temple Mount, where the Dome of the Rock and Al-Alqsa Mosque are) and the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. The contrast between the two places could not be greater. The Haram al-Sharif is an open plaza, with trees and a vast courtyard. The sunlight is intense as it reflects off the stone pavement and the bright colors in the mosaics adorning the upper half of the Dome of the Rock. The Church of the Holy Sepulchre is dark, its many chapels lit primarily by candles or dim electric lights. It is filled with shadowy caverns and smokedarkened paintings. There are no images on the Haram al-Sharif, no human or animal forms in the mosaics or cut into the stone, only patterns and calligraphy. In the Church of the Holy Sepulchre there are many images, mostly of Christ, and generally of the dying or dead Jesus, hanging on the cross or being held by Mary at the foot of the cross. There are stone arches decorating both holy sites. On the Haram al-Sharif these serve as entrances to the main plaza, when visitors come from the gates up into the area, and as an entrance from the lower plaza around Al-Aqsa Mosque to the higher plaza around the Dome of the Rock. In the Church of the Holy Sepulchre the stone arches hold up the roof, or roofs to be more accurate, in the areas where some of the arches support a newer church constructed around an older church. I’m glad to say that children were playing at both holy places. On the Haram al-Sharif young boys were engaged in a game of soccer, and in the smaller plaza in front of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre small children were racing between the walls that surround the courtyard. The Haram al-Sharif For Muslims, Al-Quds (their name for Jerusalem, literally meaning “the holy”) is “the furthest place,” which is mentioned in the seventeenth sura (chapter) of the Qur’an, where Muhammad is said to have taken his night flight to heaven. After falling asleep in Mecca while praying to Allah, Muhammad hears the angel Gabriel calling him. Then Muhammad mounts a

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winged beast called Al-Buraq and travels to the “furthest place,” where he ascends into heaven to pray with Abraham, Moses, Jesus, and other prophets of Allah. Four years after Muhammad’s death in 632 the second Muslim Caliph, Omar Ibn Al-Khattab, conquered Jerusalem. On the site that Jews call the Temple Mount he soon built a wooden mosque that would hold 3,000 worshippers. In 685, on the same site, the Ommayad Caliph, Abdul Malik Ibn Marwan, began work on the Dome of the Rock. This magnificent building was completed in 691. It is hard to appreciate the size of the Haram al-Sharif, until you are there. It covers 35 acres and takes up almost a fifth of the Old City. There are ten gates leading into the Haram al-Sharif, but non-Muslims now can enter only through the Bab al-Maghribah. This is the Moors’ Gate, located near the entrance to the Western Wall in the Jewish Quarter. The Moors’ Gate is reached by walking up a rather shoddy and narrow path from the Israeli security area by the Western Wall. At the beginning of this path there is a sign in both Hebrew and English that tells Jews they are not to set foot on the Temple Mount. The location of the Holy of Holies in the Jewish Temple that stood on this site until 70 ce is unknown, and only the High Priest is allowed by scripture to stand on that place. The gate at the end of the path is small and nondescript, so the first time visitor is unprepared for the sight of the Haram al-Sharif, where mature deciduous trees and tall pines grace the plaza. Walking east into the plaza, Al-Aqsa Mosque is immediately ahead on the right, and as I moved forward I could see the golden dome of the Dome of the Rock, above and to my left. Standing close to the entrance of the mosque and facing north, I was looking up a long courtyard to the stone steps that lead through a set of stone arches to the plaza where the Dome of the Rock is featured. I walked all the way to the eastern wall of the lower plaza, where I turned, looked west and discovered that the mosque appears much larger from this perspective. The space to the east of the mosque is open courtyard, but the area between the mosque and the Dome of the Rock is filled with large trees and low stone walls, where people were sitting and chatting. Stone steps lead from the southern plaza up to the larger plaza on the northern side of the Haram al-Sharif. The wooden mosque that was first built here was replaced with a stone structure in 715, and rebuilt in 787 on a grander scale, with 15 doorways and 20 aisles. Earthquakes in 1016 and 1033 convinced the architects under Caliph

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Al-Dharir that the mosque needed to be reduced in size, in order to be more quake-resistant, so its width was scaled back to the current 7 aisles. Al-Aqsa mosque was converted into a church during the Crusader era, but restored by Saladin. I wasn’t able to enter on this visit, but had done so more than ten years ago when I was first here. The mosque is modestly decorated with a painted ceiling, and woven Persian carpets on the floor. Mosaics introduced by Saladin line the interior of the dome overhead. The large cave under the mosque, known as Solomon’s Stables, may have held sacrificial animals during the second temple period. The Crusaders used the space as a stable for their horses. As you walk away from the mosque, up the steps, and under the stone arches, all this is quickly forgotten when you see the Dome of the Rock. With its golden dome and brilliant mosaics, it dominates the entire landscape. The dome is now covered with oxidized aluminum (rather than gold), the blue tile work is only four centuries old, but some version of the Dome of the Rock has stood on this spot, commanding the view, for the past 1300 years. Legend says the rock under the dome is where Muhammad rose to heaven. The rock also marks the peak of Mount Moriah for Jews, as well as Muslims. Mount Moriah is remembered as the place where Abraham brought his son to be sacrificed, as God had commanded. (For Jews, the son was Isaac; for Muslims, the son was Ishmael.) The wooden screen surrounding the rock in the center of the building dates to the Ayyubid Sultan, Al-Aziz, in 1198. The rock itself is plain and dull in contrast to the green and gold eighth century mosaics on the walls. These were made by Syrian Christians because they were the best artisans available. The message of the Dome of the Rock intended for Jews is that Islam has superseded Judaism because this place, where the Jewish temple and Holy of Holies stood for hundreds of years, is now a Muslim shrine. The message intended for Christians is similar. The diadems and breastplates represented in the mosaic patterns on the interior walls of the Dome of the Rock come from Byzantine religious art. In this fabulous Muslim shrine the symbols of Christian power and greatness are mere decorations. The point of the founding inscription (a single line of Kufic script running along the top of both sides of the inner octagon) may be too subtle for some. “O you People of the Book, overstep not bounds in your religion, and of God speak only the truth. The messiah, Jesus, son of Mary, is only an apostle of God, and his word, which he conveyed unto Mary, and a spirit proceeding from him. Believe

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therefore in God and his apostles, and say not three. It will be better for you. God is only one God. Far be it from his glory that he should have a son.” On the southern side of the rock under the dome, steps lead down to a small grotto, and there niches beside the steps mark shrines to Abraham and to Al-Khadir (literally the Green One). In Muslim folklore Al-Khadir is a benevolent spirit, who brings justice and wisdom to those he favors. Muslims see St. George, who is much revered by Christians in the Middle East, as a manifestation of Al-Khadir, so Muslims venerate churches that are dedicated to St. George. The Church of the Holy Sepulchre Exiting west from the Haram al-Sharif into the markets of the Old City leads a visitor into a maze of narrow alleyways. Finding an entrance to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre involves either locating the Via Dolorosa, which leads to the Church, or passing through the Muristan (a Persian word meaning “hospital” or “hospice”). Built in the ninth century to house pilgrims from Europe, the Muristan was used by Crusaders as a hospital. Today it is a marketplace surrounded by new and old churches. On Sunday I entered the Muristan at the southeast corner, and then walked past the large Lutheran Church to the northwest corner of the market. There, almost hidden among the items displayed for sale, is a doorway leading to the courtyard in front of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. Stepping through the doorway and standing just inside the courtyard, looking north at the front of the Church, can be disappointing. The Church building, square in shape, lacks architectural appeal. To the left of the main entrance is a newer building, attached at a right angle, which is also not striking. Helena, the mother of Emperor Constantine, came to the Holy Land in 326, and built churches to commemorate events in the life (and death) of Jesus. The Church of the Holy Sepulchre was constructed over the place where Helena believed Jesus was crucified and buried. Legend has it that she found here pieces of the cross on which Jesus was crucified. At the time of Helena’s visit, a temple to Aphrodite stood on the spot. Helena took this to mean that it was a sacred site for Christians. After crushing the second Jewish revolt in 135, Emperor Hadrian had “remade” Jerusalem into the pagan city of Aelia Capitolina. It was standard imperial practice, as exemplified later by the Muslims, to construct religious buildings on the holy sites of those who were conquered.

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In 614 invading Persians destroyed the first Church of the Holy Sepulchre, and its replacement was torn down four centuries later by the Fatimid Caliph, Al-Hakim. During the reign of Constantine Monomachus (10421048) funds were appropriated to rebuild the Church, but, even so, the present Church of the Holy Sepulchre largely dates to the Crusader era. Nor surprisingly, it contains the remains of some famous knights, including Godfrey and Baldwin, the first ruler and first king respectively of the Kingdom of Jerusalem. It is sad but true that Christians have fought over the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem, the “city of peace.” Six different Christian communions lay claim to a portion of the holy site: Latin Catholics, Greek Orthodox, Armenians, Syrians, Copts, and Ethiopians. In the eighteenth century the Ottoman rulers enforced a division of the Church among these six contesting groups, as well as a system of administration, and to this day a Muslim family keeps the key to the building. Continuing disputes, however, have interfered with necessary maintenance, so the Church now is much more run down than a visitor would expect. As you enter from the bright plaza in front of the Church, you suddenly are shrouded in the dark and damp of the interior of the building. At the entrance to the Church candles hang over a slab of stone on the floor, called the Stone of Unction, which commemorates the anointing of Jesus before burial. This stone first appeared in the Church in the twelfth century, but the present stone dates back only to 1810. Some pious Christians, believing that Jesus actually walked on this stone, kneel before the slab, touching or kissing it, before proceeding into the Church. On the wall behind the slab is a large, more recent mosaic that depicts the crucifixion and burial of Jesus. Today, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre is on several levels. At the entrance there is a steep staircase on the right leading up to the Roman Catholic (known here as Latin Catholic) Calvary Chapel. A second staircase brings you back down to the main floor. Walking from there to the right and around the center of the Church brings you to a descending staircase, which leads to the Armenian Chapel of St. Helena on a lower floor. The walls of the staircase are covered with crosses carved by medieval pilgrims, and the mosaic floor of the Chapel depicts various churches in Armenia. On the right of the Armenian Chapel is another staircase, descending to what was a disused quarry in the first century. This old quarry is now the Chapel of the Finding of the Cross, because it commemorates the place where

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Helena is said to have found pieces of the cross, complete with nails. An ancient Jewish catacomb is cut into the western quarry wall. Coming back up two flights of stairs, and continuing to walk to the right, takes you past several small chapels. Columns dating from the Byzantine and Crusader eras stand side-by-side, reminding the visitor that reconstructing this Church involved building around the remains of earlier structures. The tomb monument in the middle of the rotunda dates only to the nineteenth century. Fire destroyed the last of a series of replicas that replaced the tomb destroyed by Al-Hakim in 1009. The center of the rotunda and the tomb monument are under Greek Orthodox control, but Coptic Christians have an altar behind the tomb. Across from the Coptic altar is a Syrian Chapel. Ethiopian Christians haven’t had a space within the Church since they were driven out by the Copts. Nonetheless, a few Ethiopian monks now live in huts on the roof of the Church. (I didn’t visit the roof on this trip, but saw the humble dwellings of these monks when I was here years ago.) Holy Places? I didn’t see anyone praying Sunday on the Haram al-Sharif, but it is easy to imagine the large mosque packed with rows of kneeling Muslims, chanting their prayers. As I took photos, I did notice one old woman, sitting beside a pillar of the Dome of the Rock, as if its endurance on the Haram al-Sharif might give her the strength to carry on. In the Church of the Holy Sepulchre pilgrims were lighting candles, crossing themselves, and saying their prayers, at the many altars that invite such piety. This mood was interrupted, however, by a Greek Orthodox priest, who stormed into the Church and castigated another Greek Orthodox priest, apparently for not putting a large candle away as he should have. The older priest was in a better mood, however, when he later came out of the Church into the courtyard and greeted several men waiting there, with their children, for the women of their families to exit the Church. As the families gathered, there was a delightful moment when one of the large, rough looking men swept a young boy up into his thick arms and threw him high into the air, before catching him and kissing him with great fondness.

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Restoring the Old City Both Jewish Israelis and Palestinians would like to restore the Old City of Jerusalem; each, however, has a different understanding of what this would mean. A Palestinian perspective on this conflict in English is available in a booklet entitled Israeli Settlement Policy in Jerusalem: Facts on the Ground, which was published in 1998 by the Palestinian Academic Society for the Study of International Affairs (PASSIA). The first chapter (“The Old City”) is a summary of the long history of Jerusalem, as well as the division of the present Old City into four quarters, within a wall that now has eight gates. This chapter describes the changes in the Old City leading up to and following 1967, when the Israelis gained control and began to change the facts on the ground. Before 1949 Prior to the 1920s Arabs and Jews lived together largely in peace within the Old City. An increase in the migration of Jews and support for a Jewish state by Great Britain, which ruled the area under a League of Nations mandate, led to Arab riots in 1929 and a revolt against British occupation in 1936. The result was a separation of Arabs and Jews within the Old City, and also, to some extent, in the area immediately around it. In 1947, Muslim and Christian Arabs owned 99% of the land within the walls of the Old City, and Jews owned 1%. In the Jewish Quarter, however, there were many Jewish families holding long-term leases from their Arab landlords that gave them a “protected tenancy” status. The population of the Old City in 1947 was 33,600 Arab residents and 2,400 Jewish residents. The war that began after the United Nations Partition Plan was approved on November 29, 1947 and continued through 1948 was savage within the Old City. Neighbors fought and fled from their homes into areas that became either Jewish or Arab, until the Arab Legion, in May 1948, expelled all remaining Jews from the Old City. As Arabs looted or destroyed Jewish homes in the Old City, to the west Jewish forces (the Haganah and the Lechi) were destroying Arab villages. The Arabs who survived these attacks sought refuge in the Old City. In short, Jews fleeing violence left the Old City, and Arabs fleeing violence entered the Old City.

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Between 1949 and 1967, the Old City was under the jurisdiction of the government of Jordan, which guarded the border with Israel but provided few services and little assistance to the city’s residents. In this period the main business of the Old City was tourism, which was primarily Christian, but also included Muslims and secular Westerners. The Restored Jerusalem Quarter Between 1948 and early 1967, Jews could not enter the Old City, but only look into it from Mount Zion, which is directly to the south and higher on the hill. Victory in the 1967 war led Jews to see their new control over the Old City as God’s will. It was taken as a sign that Israel, as a Jewish nation, would have its rightful place among the nations. Jews flocked from all over the world to pray at the Western Wall beneath the Temple Mount for the restoration of ancient Israel. Between the 1948 and 1967 wars the area now identified as the Jewish Quarter was home to 6,000 Palestinians, many of whom came into the Old City as refugees from villages in West Jerusalem that had been destroyed by Israeli forces during the first war. After the second war these residents were expelled from the Old City and 700 buildings were destroyed in the area previously known as the Sharaf neighborhood. The Israeli government expropriated the land, conducted an archeological dig, and then rebuilt the Jewish Quarter, increasing its size fourfold, as part of its effort to reclaim the Jewish heritage of the Old City. Now, when entering the Jewish Quarter from the west, walking down through the Armenian Quarter along St. James Street, you will see a sign that welcomes visitors to the Jewish Quarter and reads, “Restored 1974.” Almost immediately you will also notice the remains of the Hurvrah Synagogue as well as the adjacent Sidna Omar Mosque. The Jordanian Arab Legion destroyed the Hurvrah Synagogue in 1948, and it is in ruins except for a reconstructed arch that memorializes the expulsion of Jews from the Old City during Israel’s first war of independence. The mosque is sealed, but preserved to show that Israel’s government is protecting the Muslim and Christian religious sites under its control. Occupying the Muslim Quarter In 1998 the Muslim Quarter housed about 22,000 Arabs, 62 Jewish settler families, and 400 Yeshiva students of the Ateret Cohanim movement. Now the number of Jewish occupants has increased to more than 1800, because

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of coercive government policies and aggressive settler tactics. (The principal properties taken over by Israeli settlers are identified on the map of The Old City, see page xii.) The government’s primary weapon for confiscating property is the 1950 Israeli Absentee Property Law, which gives the Israeli government legal authority to expropriate the property of owners who are declared “absentee.” This includes all those who were forced out, or who fled for their lives, and have not been allowed to return to Israel. After the Custodian of Absentee Property seizes properties, the Custodian has the power under the Development Authority (Transfer of Property) Law to sell these properties to the Israeli Land Administration. Then the Israeli Land Administration may lease the properties for development to the Jewish National Fund, the World Zionist Organization, or the Zionist Agency for Development. These laws render the deeds and titles of landowners null and void, and effectively allow the shifting of property from Arab to Jewish control. Adjacent to Herod’s Gate, at the top of the Muslim Quarter, is a large property that was transferred in this way to the Custodian of Absentee Property, who then transferred ownership to a group of Jewish settlers. As Housing Minister, Ariel Sharon promoted a plan for redeveloping next to this property the entire section of the Muslim Quarter between from Herod’s Gate and the northeast corner of the Old City. In 1998 settlers supported by Ateret Cohanim erected seven tin shacks on part of the property. After violent protests and international complaints, the mayor said the shacks had to be demolished because they lacked valid permits, although he stated publicly he was not opposed in principle to settler construction on the property. After negotiations with city authorities, the settlers were allowed to take down their shacks, and then begin an archeological dig on the land under the supervision of the Israeli Antiquities Authority. Today, as you walk out of the Old City from the Muslim Quarter through Herod’s Gate, you will see an Israeli flag on your right as you pass by the Ateret Cohanim compound located above the Palestinian shops which fill the street below. If you took a tour of properties occupied by Jews associated with Ateret Cohanim in the formerly Arab section of the Old City, you would discover that, as of 1998, this group had “returned” (to use their term) more than 70 properties to Jewish ownership, 30 of which are located in the Muslim Quarter.

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Founded in the 1980s with the explicit mandate to “Judaize” the Old City, Ateret Cohanim claims that Jews were a majority of the Old City’s population (and 70% of the Muslim Quarter) before Arab riots in 1929 and 1936 drove them out. The organization also maintains that in a democracy citizens should have the right to live anywhere they choose and can afford to purchase property, rather than being confined to ethnic quarters. Moves in the Christian Quarter From 1950 to 1990 an Armenian lived with a protected tenancy lease in St. John’s Hospice, which was established by a Greek Orthodox monk more than a hundred years before. In April 1990, during the Orthodox Easter, 150 settlers associated with Ateret Cohanim moved into this prominent property, which is located opposite Muristan Square in the Christian Quarter. The settlers claimed that the property had belonged to Jewish merchants, who were forced to leave by rioting Arabs in 1929. In subsequent publications they described their occupation of the property as the beginning of the rightful restoration of Jews to the Christian Quarter of the Old City. The group of settlers, called the Lights of David, claimed to have purchased the property from the Armenian tenant, but the funds that were used were traced to the Israeli Ministry of Housing, then under Ariel Sharon. The timing during Holy Week, and the nearness to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, angered the Christian Palestinian community and led to local and well as international protests. The Armenian, who supposedly sold the property, only had a permanent tenancy, and ownership was claimed by the Greek Orthodox Patriarchate. The sale of the property was challenged in the courts, but settlers have been allowed to remain in the building. In 2005 Israelis attempted to purchase property owned by the Greek Orthodox Church in the Christian Quarter near Jaffa Gate. The financial officer of the Church disappeared, and the Patriarch denied agreeing to the sale. Nonetheless, he has been removed. The new Patriarch has vowed to prevent any sale of church property to Jews, but his appointment to take affect must be approved by the Israeli government, which initially declined to do so. Seeking Justice We might agree with the assertion of Jewish settlers that Israelis should have the right to live anywhere they can afford, if those who make this assertion would also affirm the right of Arab Israelis to purchase property in the

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Jewish Quarter. Moreover, we would argue that this right should be extended to the settlements as well, which are now entirely Jewish. In addition, we might well agree that the return of Jews, who were made refugees by violence, or compensation for their losses, is entirely reasonable. We would also agree, however, that Palestinians, who were made refugees by violence, should be allowed to return, or be provided adequate compensation for their losses. Unfortunately, the Jews who are committed to restoring the Old City by creating Jewish Israeli settlements in the Muslim and Christian Quarters are silent when it comes to supporting equal rights for Arab Israelis and for Palestinians. Moreover, it appears that these settlers and their supporters seek to restore the Old City by using coercion, exploitation, and corruption. Therefore, it seems fair to conclude that justice will only be served by exposing and resisting these illegal and unethical practices.

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Visit to Acre The influence of the Crusaders accounts for only 5% of the long history of the walled port of Akko, now known as Acre, and yet that influence in many ways remains dominant. Walking in this old city is like stepping back into the Middle Ages, when the knights who came to save the holy places from infidels were celebrating their victories. We know the city dates to about 1800 bce, the time when it is mentioned in an ancient Egyptian text. It is located at the junction of a river and a major trade route leading across the Galilee and on into Syria and Mesopotamia. It was always a principal port city, but in the fourth century bce it rivaled Tyre and Sidon to the north in importance. After Alexander the Great took control of the region and the city in 332 bce, it took on a Hellenistic ambience and was renamed Ake. After Alexander’s death, the city fell into the hands of the Egyptians, and was then known as Ptolemais, until its conquest by the Arabs in 636 ce. When King Herod built Caesarea in 10 bce, the old city just to the north declined. Leading Christians in Caesarea kept the port, central for the trade both east and west, until its artificial harbor was so filled with silt that it fell into disuse. Under Arab rule for four centuries, Akko was preeminent on the western coast of the Mediterranean Sea. After the European Crusaders came in 1104, the character of the city was radically altered. The maritime powers in the Mediterranean were the city-states of Genoa, Pisa, Venice, and Amalfi, and each of these small “nations” renovated and maintained its own quarter in the port city. In addition, the military orders of the Hospitallers and the Templars each had its own territory and provided facilities for pilgrims traveling to and from Jerusalem. Akko survived as the major stronghold of the Latin Kingdom in the Holy Land until Saladin defeated the Crusaders in 1187. The city surrendered without a fight, but was taken back by the Crusaders in 1191 when Richard the Lion-Heart of England and Philip of France arrived. For a hundred years after Jerusalem was in Muslim hands, Akko remained as the Latin Kingdom and a Crusader outpost.

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The Crusader fortress in Akko was the strongest fortification in the city, with walls 28 feet thick, and two towers protecting its entrance. The Crusaders discovered an ancient tunnel under the city, hewn out of the natural stone, and improved it, allowing them a protected passage between their fortress in the western part of the city and the port to the east. The tunnel is now cleared of debris for a short distance, but in the twelfth century continued for a length of 350 meters (longer than three football fields). The Crusaders also built seven halls for knights, one for each nation with members in their order (Auvergne, England, France, Germany, Italy, Provence, and Spain). These vast halls are now largely under the Muslim city built on top of them, but several of the halls have been cleared of rubble and are being restored. Disputes among the European trading factions in the city led to open warfare between the fortified quarters. Venice and Genoa fought a sea battle off the coast of Akko in 1259, even though the city was threatened by the Mongols, and a second sea battle in 1265, when Mamluks from Egypt were outside the city walls. In 1285 Henry II of Cyprus claimed the crown of Akko, but in 1291 the Mamluk Muslims took the port. The city was devastated and lay in ruins for four and a half centuries, until a local Arab sheikh, Daher Al-Omar, took advantage of the weakness of the centralized Ottoman Empire and asserted his control over Galilee, with Akko as its port for goods from Syria. He ruled from 1749 to 1775, when the Albanian soldier of fortune, Ahmed Pasha, took over. Known as Al-Jazzar, which means “the Butcher,” because of his renowned cruelty, Ahmed Pasha continued the restoration of the city and its fortifications. In 1799 the British fleet assisted him in defending the city against a siege by Napoleon, which lasted sixty days. Napoleon had conquered Egypt, and in 1799 sought to take Akko in order to open a trade route to India. In 1832 Ibrahim Pasha, the son of Ahmed Pasha, with the support of an Egyptian army, took back Akko from the Turks, and he ruled Palestine and Syria from Akko until 1840, when British troops forced him to withdraw to Egypt. The walls of the city were then repaired, and Akko resumed its place as the main port for exporting grain from Galilee and the southern Golan. Mosques and a fine Turkish bath remind visitors of the long period when Akko was largely Muslim. Crusader elements of the city were never removed, however, and today a mixture of the two motifs can be found throughout the city. Several churches survive in Acre today as well.

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During the time of the British Mandate, when Jews were fighting for control of the area, hundreds of members of the Haganah, Etzel, and Lehi (Jewish underground movements) were imprisoned in Acre, along with both Arab and Jewish political prisoners. The fortifications in the city were also used for detainees, who had immigrated without proper permission. On May 4, 1947 Lehi fighters raided Acre prison and released 41 of their comrades, who were being held there. In the battle that followed between the British police and armed forces and the raiders, nine members of the invading party were killed and eleven recaptured and again imprisoned. Today, in the Acre fortress, there is a memorial for these early Israeli martyrs, as well as for all the Jews executed by the British in the prison. The military history of Acre is now a dim memory. Walking through the city, the marketplace reminded me of Jerusalem, with its narrow stone alleys and densely packed shops. The open vistas along the Mediterranean, however, offer a calmer and more meditative experience, and as I sat facing the Sea and watching the sun set into its waters, I wondered about the generations of peoples who had come to this city from so many places throughout the past four millennia.

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Water in the Desert Driving east from Jerusalem into the desert on the eastern side of Mount Scopus and the Mount of Olives is easy, unless you are a Palestinian with a West Bank ID. On this trip I was part of a group that included a West Bank family and two van drivers with West Bank IDs. They could not come into Jerusalem, so I began this vehicular trek to Jericho by taking a bus from Jerusalem to the Israeli army checkpoint on the north side of Bethlehem. I walked through the checkpoint and met my Palestinian friends on the other side. Then we began our circuitous journey and drove from inside the Separation Barrier to the main road that goes east to the Jordan Valley. This route requires winding around on the backside of Mount Scopus along old highway 398. We passed all kinds of open shops and the walled Theodosius Monastery. We drove through the congested Jerusalem suburbs of Abu Dis and Al-Azariya, before passing Ma’aleh Adumim, which is visible from the top of Mount Scopus. Settlement in the Desert This massive settlement of 30,000 Jews has been in the news lately, because the Israeli government is committed not only to expanding it, but also to building a large settlement on the land between the communities of Abu Dis and Al-Azariya and Ma’aleh Adumim. Constructing a Jewish settlement in this area (known as E1) would connect Ma’aleh Adumim to metropolitan Jerusalem, and the borders of greater Jerusalem would be expanded by the Israeli government to bring its jurisdiction eastward to the Judean desert that overlooks the Jordan River. The American government has demanded that the Israeli government not build in the E1 area west of Ma’aleh Adumim, because doing so would undermine the viability of a state of Palestine extending north and south of Jerusalem. In addition, settlement construction violates the commitments made to the Road Map, which the U. S. has promoted and both the Israeli government and the Palestinian Authority have accepted. The taking of more Palestinian land by Israel poses the most serious threat to a negotiated peace settlement between the Palestinian and Israeli peoples.

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If you think only of the short commute into Jerusalem through a tunnel under Mount Scopus, it would seem that Ma’aleh Adumim is simply a walled suburb of Jerusalem. But if you are thinking of Palestine as a contiguous state, then Ma’aleh Adumim represents a major barrier to the realization of that goal. As we passed the entrance to Ma’aleh Adumim, we saw that an old olive tree had been transplanted into a small garden and we could also see the green trees and shrubs of the settlement, all of which are in stark contrast to the desert that surrounds Ma’aleh Adumim on every side. Water is scarce here, and it is significant that Israelis use much more water than Palestinians do. In part, this is because Israelis have taken control of all the main sources of water and allocate more for Israeli settlements and cities than for Palestinian communities. Ma’aleh Adumim is full of swimming pools and watered gardens, but anyone who has visited a Palestinian community knows that water is conserved for drinking, bathing, washing, cooking, and growing food to eat. In the Palestinian world, there are few green lawns. It is wonderful to see the desert come alive, when water is applied to the dry land, but rarely do visitors realize that the water is not merely taken from a flowing stream or underground aquifer. It is being diverted from others who need it. Clearly, there will not be a just peace in this land without a more equitable division of its water, and a more efficient use of this limited resource. Driving east beyond Ma’aleh Adumim took us deep into the desert, where stream beds were dry and what little vegetation there is survives under considerable duress. Yet, there were Bedouins camping here in the clefts, living in shacks made with plastic, tin, and tarpaper. A water tank on wheels and an occasional tractor offered clues to the survival of these families in such difficult circumstances, and we saw small herds of goats and a few donkey carts nearby. In at least one Bedouin community I also noticed a TV satellite dish on top of a ramshackle dwelling. The Monastery of St. George of Koziba Turning north off highway 1, and following a winding, narrow road for several miles led us to a place where we could look down into a deep gorge. It seemed to be dry at the bottom, but there was a strip of green foliage running down one side. Just beyond this incredible thread of life was a monastery built into the far side of the gorge. After I walked up a hill to find a better view, I could see that in the bottom of the gorge there were the ancient ruins of an aqueduct that dates back

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to the time of King Herod in the first century bce. The aqueduct once carried water from the stream flowing down the side of the gorge across to the other side and down into the valley to the east. Now a more recent channel diverts the stream and carries it across the gorge past the monastery. Returning to our vans and driving a little further east, we came to the road that sharply twists down the side of the gorge to a bridge leading to the other side and the path up to the Monastery of St. George of Koziba. This monastery dates back to the early fourth century. Looking up above the monastery we could see caves where, over the centuries, monks had retired to live an even more austere life than the monastic order imposed on the members of its community. The monastery takes its name from the monk who came here from Cyprus and led the order in the sixth century. Legend says that the prophet Elijah stayed in the cave that now is within the monastery, when he was traveling to the Sinai desert, and we were able to step into the small cave in which pilgrims remember Elijah’s visit. According to tradition, ravens fed Elijah for the more than three years that he stayed here. (1 Kings 17:3) The monastery declined after conquering Persians swept through the land in 614, but after a century it had been revived and was receiving pilgrims. The monastery was restored in 1179 by the emperor Manuel I Commenus, but three centuries later a visitor to the gorge would see only ruins. Modern efforts to reconstruct the monastery began in 1878 and were completed in 1901. A few Greek Orthodox priests live in the Monastery of St. George of Koziba, and two of them, who were no more than thirty years old, greeted us and offered refreshments of tea, juice, cookies, and fresh water. The reception area was filled with icons and also framed paintings, and several of these paintings contained representations of death. We were able to enter the old chapel, which was dark and even more decorated with Orthodox images and artwork than the reception area. It was as if we had stepped back centuries in time. On the terrace of the monastery were a few tools for gardening and also flowering bushes set in large urns. A small grove of olive trees was located just outside the monastery near a burial ground with a couple of recent gravesites. The view down the gorge was magnificent, and the sound of water running through the desert all around us was almost as refreshing as the drinks given to us in the monastery.

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Jericho It was a short trip from the area above the monastery to the floor of the valley and the town of Jericho, which some guidebooks claim is the oldest town on earth. The powerful perennial spring in the area offers 4,500 liters of water per minute, which for centuries has been distributed by a complex gravity-flow irrigation system. The earliest massive wall erected for defense around the settlement and its spring was constructed about 10,000 years ago. In the Bible story of Joshua, the town of Jericho was captured by the Israelites after they crossed the River Jordan. Jericho was occupied by Israelites (perhaps around 1200 bce) until the Babylonian invasion and exile in 587 bce. Under Persian rule in the late sixth century bce, Jericho was surrounded by rich plantations and, during the time of Alexander the Great (336-323 bce), the oasis was the private estate of the local ruler. In the second century bce, a Syrian general at war with the Maccabees built three forts on the hillside to the west of the town. One of these was strengthened and used by Herod the Great (37-4 bce). Herod first leased the oasis from Cleopatra, who had been given it by her lover Mark Anthony. After their joint suicide in 30 bce, the new Roman emperor, Octavian, gave it to Herod who built new aqueducts, a winter palace, and a Roman theater. Jericho was pillaged by the Roman army that conquered Jerusalem in 70 ce, but it was rebuilt and heavily populated throughout the Byzantine period. In the eighth century the Umayyad Mulim leaders, who controlled the entire region, constructed a magnificent hunting palace near Jericho, and when the Crusaders took over they grew sugar cane in the irrigated fields. After Saladin defeated the Crusaders in 1187, Bedouins looted the town. For the next six centuries its canals fell into disrepair, and its water drained away into the desert. World War I led to the renewal of Jericho, and today it is the hub of an industrious agricultural area. As we drove toward the town we saw the large intercontinental hotel and the Oasis casino outside the city, which were constructed during the time of the Oslo Peace Accord, when there were high expectations of economic growth and development. The buildings remain in good shape, but are not operating today. The Israeli government, however, has given back control over Jericho to the Palestinian Authority. If nothing else, this means that entering Jericho now requires going through an Israeli army checkpoint, and then a Palestinian army checkpoint.

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Back to Jerusalem Driving back to Jerusalem meant going through five checkpoints. We encountered two Israeli checkpoints as well as the Palestinian checkpoint on the way back into Jericho, and one Palestinian and one Israeli checkpoint leaving the town. Those of us returning to Jerusalem decided to get out of the van at Abu Dis, near the Abawabe checkpoint along the Separation Barrier. The driver kindly drove us up a steep hill in Abu Dis, and then we walked past three Israeli soldiers who were checking all those leaving Abu Dis for Jerusalem. There isn’t a real checkpoint here, as in Bethlehem or outside Ramallah, because, after passing the soldiers, we walked through the property of a monastery and out its front gate to reach a street on the other side of the Separation Barrier. Once on the other side, several in our party choose to walk down the hill to where they would be able to take a servees (a vehicle that is longer than a taxi and able to carry more passengers) back to the Old City. I walked up the hill on the backside of the Mount of Olives, past the Church at Bethphage, and then up the hill to the top of the Mount and along the street for two more blocks to Mount Scopus and the Augusta Victoria guesthouse, about a twenty minute walk. Looking back before I went over the crest of the hill, I could see that the Separation Wall standing over 8 meters high (about 25 feet), as it runs through Abu Dis, had been extended further into the metropolitan area on this eastern side of Jerusalem. It presently separates neighbor from neighbor, patients from hospitals, children from schools, and wives and husbands (if one has a Jerusalem ID, but the other has only a West Bank ID). It also separates Palestinians from the water that is so precious in this land. Water, that for centuries has run in streams from the gorges and bubbled up from underground springs in the desert. Water, that can be used to grow olives, grapes and bananas, as well as grass or flowers. Water, that can be taken from others, or shared. Water, that means poverty or wealth, death or life, despair or hope.

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Visit to Galilee I wanted to see sites in the Galilee before I returned to the United States, so I took a few days off, rented a car, and drove north from Jerusalem. I followed highway 1 up toward Tel Aviv. Around Tel Aviv the traffic was heavy, and the scenery a mix of planted fields, light industrial development, and suburban sprawl. It was quite a change from the hills that surround Jerusalem, which are rough and covered with pine. On the plain along the Mediterranean Sea it is warmer, palm trees and bananas are as frequent as olive trees are in the hills, and the fields are full of other fruits and vegetables as well. Caesarea North of Hadera, I turned off and drove under highway 2 in order to reach the Mediterranean Sea and the ruins of Caesarea. Herod the Great constructed this city as a port in the Roman style to curry favor with Caesar Augustus, after Herod’s patron, Mark Anthony, was defeated in the struggle to rule the Roman Empire. In the center of Caesarea Herod built a temple to the goddess Rome, where both the goddess and Caesar Augustus were worshipped. Augustus did allow Herod to continue his reign as king of the Jews in Palestine, so perhaps the goddess (or Caesar Augustus, the emperor-god) was impressed by what was, surely, a very wonderful city. I was delighted by a video presentation in the national park that was both effective and informative concerning the construction of the harbor and the city. The multi-media presentation at Caesarea also had a room where you could touch a computer screen in order to see a timeline, and then touch on the screen the image of a person depicted along the time line. This activated a projector, which produced the image of that person on another screen hanging over the computer. The touch pad also presented questions the viewer could ask the image by touching the screen. I spoke with the images of King Herod, Pontius Pilate, Paul the Apostle, and Rabbi Akiva (d. 135 ce). The questions offered were interesting, and the answers given even more so. King Herod explained how he had come to power by making influential friends in Rome and marrying Mariam, who

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was of royal Jewish descent. Herod also admitted getting rid of her, as soon as he could without putting himself in danger. Pilate explained why, in his time, the Roman governor was headquartered in Caesarea. He said the Jews were unhappy about the presence of Romans in Jerusalem, and that he preferred the lifestyle of Caesarea with its theater, games in the coliseum, and more liberal atmosphere. Paul said he had been accused of stirring up trouble among the Jews. As a Roman citizen he had appealed to Caesar, after he was arrested in Jerusalem and was in Caesarea under guard on his way to Rome for his trial. He also explained that he was a follower of the Lord Jesus Christ, and that he had to preach the good news because the Lord had called him to this ministry. Rabbi Akiva described how Emperor Hadrian desecrated the city of Jerusalem with idols, which is why Simon Bar Kochba led the second Jewish revolt in 132, with the rabbi’s full support. The rabbi said Simon Bar Kochba was such a charismatic leader that he was thought to be the Messiah. The Roman victory over the Jewish rebels quickly proved otherwise. When I walked the ruins I was amazed at the size of the ancient city. I found a theater, half of the coliseum Herod built (which is as long as one and a half football fields), and the remains of other buildings from the first century bce. Nazareth From Caesarea I drove northeast to Nazareth along highway 65. This road leads through the broad and fertile Jezreel Valley. The approach to Nazareth is striking for the highway winds its way through a valley that is lush with grain and other crops, and Nazareth sits on a high hill to the north overlooking this valley. The road to Nazareth is steep and winding, and I couldn’t help but think that, until recently, a town so far up the hill, away from the crops in the valley far below, must have been very poor. Landowners of the fields in the valley would have lived closer. It is not surprising, therefore, that Jesus was a carpenter. Certainly, his father, Joseph, was not among the landowners who made a good living from the fertile fields of the Jezreel Valley. Today, Nazareth is anything but picturesque. Its cluttered skyline has no charm, except for the Church of the Annunciation, which towers above the commercial structures that surround it. This is not an old church, but it is a very intriguing church. There is a lower sanctuary on the ground level, where

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a mass was being held when I entered. The upper sanctuary, however, is what people write home about. Contemporary in style, it nonetheless has grandeur despite its preformed concrete construction. Mosaics from different countries brighten the walls of the sanctuary, and more of these beautiful mosaics are displayed in the courtyard outside. Sepphoris From Nazareth I drove over the crest of the hill and followed highway 79 down the north side into the next valley. Only a few miles away lie the ruins of the city of Sepphoris, which was destroyed by the Romans in 70 ce. Sepphoris was a Jewish and Roman city at the time Jesus was living in Nazareth. The remains reveal beautiful mosaics on the floors of residential buildings, as well as in an old synagogue. Sepphoris had been loyal to King Herod, but joined the Jewish revolt in 66 ce and so was destroyed when the Romans crushed this revolt. The city of Sepphoris is not mentioned in the New Testament, which is surprising when you realize how close it is to Nazareth. Sepphoris would have been visible from the north side of the city where the New Testament gospels say Jesus lived as a boy. Sepphoris also would have been on the way to Tiberias, which was built in 20 ce not far away on the shore of the Sea of Galilee. Most likely Sepphoris is not included in the New Testament gospels for two reasons. First, it was a Roman city and, according to the New Testament, Jesus didn’t enter any Roman cities during his ministry. Second, Jews in Sepphoris joined the revolt against Roman rule in 66, which made any association with the city dangerous. The gospels were likely written no earlier than 70 ce, after the Romans had put down the Jewish revolt. It is easy to understand why the authors of the gospels wanted to portray the followers of Jesus as good citizens of the Roman Empire. Mentioning any contact with Sepphoris, in telling the story of Jesus during his ministry in the Galilee, would have cast doubt on that presentation and perhaps endangered early Jewish Christians in Galilee. Tiberias Leaving Sepphoris I followed highway 79 east to highway 754 and then took highway 77 to Tiberias, where I found a busy and cluttered city. Entering from the west means coming into the city from high on the hill above it. The Sea of Galilee (also known as the Sea of Tiberias) is in a basin with hills on all sides except the south, where the River Jordan flows out of the Sea.

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I left Tiberias at almost 6 in the evening and drove north along highway 90 to the Mount of Beatitudes, which is high on the hill above the north side of the Sea of Galilee. This is where I spent the night. Korazim The next morning I awoke to the sound of loons crying out across the Sea of Galilee. It was quite a different experience from hearing the Muslim “call to prayer” most mornings in Jerusalem. The area just north of the Sea of Galilee was largely Jewish in the first few centuries of the Christian era. In the twentieth century Christians from Europe built memorial places beside the Sea of Galilee, and after 1948 Jewish Israelis began to resettle the area in large numbers. Although for centuries Muslims dominated this area, now there are few Muslims living close to the Sea. I began my visit to sites around the Sea of Galilee by driving a little north to Korazim National Park. Spelled Chorozain in most English translations of the New Testament, this town is mentioned in Matthew 11:21 and Luke 10:13. Korazim is also mentioned in the Babylonian Talmud (Menahot 85/A). Archeological evidence suggests that Korazim was founded in the first century ce, and the gospels of Matthew and Luke present it as a town that rejected the teachings of Jesus. The town later expanded in size because of the influx of Jews, who were expelled from Judea by Hadrian in 135 after the failure of the second Jewish revolt. As in Capernaum, there was a synagogue at the center of Korazim, and the town flourished during the third and fourth centuries. Kursi From Korazim I drove east around the Sea of Galilee on the other shore, following highway 87 to highway 92, and then turning south. About half way down the eastern side of the Sea of Galilee is Kursi National Park. According to Christian tradition, Kursi is the site where Jesus sent the numerous evil spirits that were afflicting a man into a herd of swine. (Matthew 8:23-34, Luke 8:26-39). Kursi is also mentioned in the Talmud as a center of idol worship. The remains of the ancient city were uncovered during road construction in 1970. A Byzantine monastery and church were discovered containing walls measuring 145 by 123 meters. On a nearby hill the ruins of a chapel were also unearthed, with three separate layers of mosaics.

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The church was damaged in 614 during the Persian invasion, but later it was reconstructed. At the beginning of the ninth century it was razed by fire. Arab settlers in the area then used the stones from the church for constructing homes and storage rooms. The front arch of the church has been reconstructed, and several mosaics from the original floor of the church are now visible. Kohav Hayarden (Belvoir) I continued south on Highway 92 along the eastern side of the Sea of Galilee and joined highway 90 heading further south into the Jordan Valley. About ten miles below the Sea of Galilee is the Kohav Hayarden (Belvoir) National Park, where the ruins of an impressive Crusader fortress sit on the top of the western ridge overlooking the Jordan Valley. The Hospitaller Knights purchased the land from a French noble family named Velos, and in 1168 built a stone fortress that covered 3 acres. There is a deep moat around the sides facing west, north and south, and the slope from the east is steep. It was quite easily defended and when Muslim soldiers under Saladin first came here in 1181, they were unable to penetrate the fortress. But Saladin’s forces returned with greater strength in 1187, and after almost two years the defenders surrendered. Saladin graciously let them retreat to Tyre. The fortress was destroyed by Muslims early in the next century, when it seemed that the Crusaders might return and try to take it back. Bet She’an Ten miles further south on highway 90 is Bet She’an, a contemporary Israeli city. By following directional signs beside an apartment complex in a residential neighborhood, I found my way to the National Park that has preserved the ruins of the ancient city. Bet She’an has been continuously occupied for almost 6,000 years. It is located where the valleys allowing travel both north-south, and east-west, meet above the fertile land of the Jordan River. When the Israelite tribes moved into the area, they were afraid to attack the city, because its defenders had iron chariots (Judges 1:27). In the eleventh century bce, the Philistines, who also had iron weapons, conquered the city. When the Philistines defeated the Israelites on nearby Mt. Gilboa, they hung the bodies of Saul and his sons on the walls of this city (1 Sam. 31:10). The site was destroyed in 732 bce when Assyrian armies conquered the northern tribes of Israel. In the fourth century under the rule of Alexander

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the Great, the city was rebuilt as Nysa, because legend said that Dionysis, the god of wine, had buried his nurse, Nysa, here. The Jewish ruler of the Hasmonean kingdom of Israel, John Hyrcanus, destroyed the city in 107 bce. It was soon rebuilt and forcibly converted to the Jewish kingdom during the reign of his successor, Alexander Jannaeus. In 63 bce the Roman general, Pompey, made the city part of the Decapolis, a league of ten cities designed as a source of Graeco-Roman influence in the area to the east and south of the Sea of Galilee. (The Decapolis is mentioned in the New Testament gospels attributed to Matthew and Mark.) During the revolt against the Romans in 66 ce the Jewish inhabitants of the city fought against their neighbors, but were killed. Nonetheless, after the end of the revolt the city thrived under Roman rule with a population of pagans, Jews and Samaritans. By the end of the fourth century, during the period of Byzantine power, the city was the capital of the province of Palestina Secunda, and was known by the name of Scythopolis. After another century the city was largely Christian with a population of 30-40,000 people. The Arab conquest led to a decline in the city, and an earthquake in 749 devastated it. A rural settlement with the name Beisan was built on the site during the rule of the Abbassid Muslims, and in the Crusader era a fortress was constructed to the east of the destroyed amphitheater. In 1322 the Jewish community that survived Crusader rule produced the first Hebrew book on the geography of the Holy Land. Under Ottoman rule, Beisan was a nondescript town, but after the Israelis took control of the area a new city was built next to the old ruins. Hammat Teverya From Bet She’an I drove back up north to the Sea of Galilee, this time continuing on highway 90 on the western side of the lake. Just below Tiberias is Hammat Teverya National Park, which is by hot springs that have long drawn visitors to the area. The site was inhabited during the Roman, Byzantine, and Umayyad periods. When Herod Antipas built Tiberias in 20 ce the Roman spas of Hammat Teverya were already well known throughout the area. Excavations have uncovered a fourth century synagogue with a magnificent mosaic that contains inscriptions in Greek, Aramaic, and Hebrew. At the center of the mosaic is a zodiac with an image of the sun god, Helios, riding a chariot. This is evidence of the influence of Hellenistic thought on the Jews worshipping in this part of the Roman Empire.

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Hazor In the late afternoon I drove up highway 90 beyond the northern edge of the Sea of Galilee to the Tel Hazor National Park. Excavations reveal twenty-one layers of civilization on this site beginning with the nineteenth century bce. The city of Hazor, which is located on a strategic hill in the Upper Galilee along the ancient route leading from the Land of Israel to Babylon, is mentioned several times in the Hebrew scriptures (which Christians call the Old Testament). Joshua 11:1-2 reports that Joshua took the city and slaughtered its inhabitants when he led the Israelites into Canaan. 1 Kings 9:15 says that Solomon later rebuilt Hazor, and 2 Kings 15:29 records that the invading Assyrians destroyed the city in 732 bce. Tabgha and Capernaum Steeped in this history, I drove back down to the northern shore of the Sea of Galilee and stopped at Tabgha, about 2 miles southwest of Capernaum. The traditional name for this place was Heptapegon, which refers to seven springs. Tabgha is an Arabic rendering of this Greek name. Christian tradition identifies this as the place that Jesus commissioned Peter to head the church and so the church located here is dedicated to the Primacy of Peter. The first church built here in the late fourth century was used until it was destroyed in 1263. The present church, which was dedicated in 1982, is a reproduction of a fifth century building. In Capernaum there are ruins of both a synagogue and a church, which are practically next to each other in the ancient town. Capernaum was the headquarters for the ministry of Jesus in Galilee, and it was the home of his closest followers including Simon Peter. The dig there suggests that the churches were built on top of the remains of a house, which was also used for worship. The evidence for this conclusion is found in the pottery fragments at the level prior to the middle of the first century, for these reflect normal household use. But later levels have only fragments of storage jars and lamps. Also, graffiti on the walls with references to Jesus as Lord suggest that Christians used the structure for worship as early as the first century. The Jordan Valley The following day I drove highway 90 all the way back to Jerusalem, a trip from the top of the Sea of Galilee of about 100 miles. I came past Midgal, the contemporary town on the location of what was Magdala, where Mary

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Magdalene (Mary of Magdala) lived. Then I drove back through Tiberias, crossed the Jordan River at the base of the Sea of Galilee, and continued past the National Parks of Kohav Hayarden (Belvoir) and Bet She’an. The Jordan Valley becomes broader as you go further south, and the land to the west of the highway is drier. There is irrigated farming all the way down through the valley, but near Jericho the broad plain includes desert as well as cultivated land. Highway 90 circles around Jericho and then connects to highway 1. After turning onto highway 1, I began to head up the steep hillside toward Jerusalem. Just off the floor of the valley I turned south to stop at Nabi Musa, which is a Muslim mosque dedicated to Moses. The Mamluk sultan Baybars built a small shrine here in 1269, and soon pilgrims on their way to Mecca began to stop. The hospice was expanded to its present dimensions late in the fifteenth century. Around 1820 the Ottoman Turks restored the building and encouraged a pilgrimage from Jerusalem to Nabi Musa on the Friday of Holy Week. In the mid-nineteenth century thousands of Muslims made this journey, staying for five days of prayer, games and feasting, before returning home again. Today, the building is in disrepair, but a caretaker led me into the mosque and showed me where Moses was remembered (and is said to be buried). I bought a prayer rug from the caretaker to help me remember Nabi Musa. As I drove back up the steep road to Jerusalem I saw several Bedouin settlements in the dry gulches beside highway 1. Sheep, goats, and donkeys were visible from the road, and laundry was hung up to dry in the gusty winds blowing from the south. An occasional tractor and a few water tanks revealed how the Bedouins are able to survive in this hostile climate, which lies just below the green Jewish settlements at the top of the hill. Human life continues here, as it has for thousands of years, despite the wars and the vicissitudes of nature. Communities of people construct dwelling places, and sites for celebrating their religious rituals. For more than a millennium Jews, Muslims and Christians have occupied this area, sometimes battling one another, but often simply living together. Is it too much to hope that their life here will continue, and that they might find a way to share this land?

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Yad Vashem May 5, 2005 was the “Day of Remembrance” in the Jewish calendar. At 10 that morning a loud siren sounded in Jerusalem for one minute. Most people in the city stood still during the sounding of the siren, and most cars and buses stopped where they were. Those murdered during the Holocaust were honored and remembered, for this brief and solemn moment. I was at a bus stop in West Jerusalem when the horn blew, and I also stood silently and motionless for a minute. About five minutes later the number 20 bus stopped, and I boarded to travel to Yad Vashem, the Holocaust Memorial, which is located on the outskirts of West Jerusalem. The bus ride through the city took about twenty minutes, and then it was a ten-minute walk through a grove of pine trees to the memorial itself. I had been here twice before, but I wanted to see the new underground museum that opened in April, 2005. When I paid the admission fee, I was given a brochure on Yad Vashem. The introduction to the memorial in this brochure begins with the following three paragraphs: “The Holocaust is a pivotal chapter in Jewish history and an event of singular significance for all peoples. “The annihilation of the Jews was an absolute and fundamental tenet of Nazi racial anti-Semitism. On the basis of this ideology and using the framework and apparatus of the modern state, the Germans and their accomplices murdered six million Jews — men, women and children. “The nations of the world and their governments stood indifferent to this unparalleled crime. The annihilation of the Jewish people put an end to the flourishing cultural Jewish centers in Europe. The Holocaust challenges the fundamental beliefs and values of human civilization – it is a warning sign for us and for future generations.” I will reflect on this statement at the end of this account, but first I want to describe what I saw and my experience seeing it.

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The History Museum The place was packed with people, as might be expected on Remembrance Day. There were tours of groups of soldiers and groups of school children, as well as many families visiting together. I saw two film crews following older persons, who I assumed to be Holocaust survivors, through the new history museum. At first I thought it would have been better to be there with fewer people pressing through the passageways. Yet, I soon realized that it was important for me to experience the Jewish visitors to Yad Vashem on Remembrance Day, as well as the memorial to their ancestors who were murdered during World War II. Everyone who enters the new museum immediately sees a large triangular screen filling a massive A-frame shaped wall. The video being projected on the screen ran from right to left, which is the direction in which Hebrew is written and read. The video portrayed in fascinating detail the life in Europe before the Holocaust. It was striking, and I stood with others and watched for perhaps ten minutes. Old photographs had been used in a computerized format that allowed movement, as if from an original video, as well as the merging and overlapping of images that was not possible before digital imaging became so sophisticated. The presentation, all in black and white, was absorbing, and I could see that I wasn’t the only one who was captivated by the images passing slowly in front of all those entering the new museum. As I moved away from the screen and turned a corner, I could see all the way to the end of the building. On either side of the high walls that form the sides of a giant A, there are doorways into galleries. The path through the museum leads through each of these. The presentation of information in these galleries begins with the rise of Hitler in Germany. Anti-Semitic characterizations are displayed, along with a reminder of the laws passed by the German Parliament once the Nazi party gained control by winning the popular vote. For instance, a law passed in 1933 mandated that civil servants not of Aryan descent were to be retired. A law passed in 1935 prohibited marriage between Jews and those with German blood. Another law, passed that same year, took German citizenship away from Jews. Each gallery followed a different theme, or was set in another place. The arrest of Jews, the transport of Jews, the ghettos that were created for Jews, the transport of Jews from ghettos to concentration camps and work camps,

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the extermination of Jews, the failure of Western countries to allow Jewish immigration both before and after the war, the resistance movements of Jews (not only the Warsaw ghetto, but also fighting with partisan forces), the liberation of Jews, and their flight and struggle to establish a new homeland in Palestine. I had seen this before in my visits to the previous Holocaust museum. Yet, once again, I found experiencing the sad and terrifying story was overwhelming. It seems to me that there is more material in the new museum, a greater number of photos and personal reflections, and also more information about what happened in the countries of Eastern Europe. The end of the Soviet Union has led to many documents being released by the new governments in Russia, the Ukraine, and elsewhere. Perhaps this explains my perception that there is now a greater emphasis in the presentation on the Jews of Eastern Europe, as well as on their resistance to the Nazis and to collaborating governments. I didn’t take any photographs in the museum, because no photographs would do justice to what I saw, and there was much I didn’t see. After finishing my walk through the galleries, I followed a path down to the Garden of the Righteous among the Nations, which remembers the Gentiles in Europe who helped Jews and therefore risked their lives to do what they thought was right. Other Aspects of Yad Vashem The Hall of Names contains the names and personal details of the millions of victims. These are presented in a circular room with a round stone-sided pit in the middle, with water at the bottom. The names are inscribed on the circular walls that rise in rows to the ceiling. The Holocaust Art Museum contains the world’s largest collection of art created in the ghettos, camps, and hideouts where Jews were before and during the Holocaust. In addition, the museum has a computerized archive with information on the art displayed here as well as other artists and their Holocaust art in other locations around the world. The Exhibitions Pavilion offers various displays, and the Visual Center provides computer access to information. The Learning Center allows visitors to explore historical, thematic and moral issues related to the Holocaust. There is also a new synagogue where visitors can say Kaddish for loved ones and hold memorial services for lost communities. Ritual artifacts rescued

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from destroyed synagogues in Europe are displayed around the walls of the synagogue. A Children’s Memorial, hollowed out from an underground cavern, remembers the one and a half million Jewish children who perished during the Holocaust. While walking through the memorial, a visitor hears the names of the murdered children being read, along with their ages, and their countries of origin. The use of lights and mirrors in the darkened environment of the memorial gives the effect of walking through an infinite space filled with twinkling sparks of light. Outside near the museum an original German cattle-car, which was given to the museum by Polish authorities, rests on a train track, reminding the visitor of all the Jews who were transported across Europe to concentration camps. And below on the hillside in the Valley of the Communities the names of over 5,000 communities that were destroyed (or barely survived the Holocaust) are engraved on the beautiful, Jerusalem stone that is bedrock here. At the center of this memorial, there is a gallery with exhibitions and a short film depicting the world that was. Tragic Irony The Holocaust is incomparable, and cannot be abstracted or explained. The memorial’s brochure, however, is correct to say that it is not only “a pivotal chapter in Jewish history,” but also “an event of singular significance for all peoples.” The Holocaust reveals that human beings can be murderers on a vast scale, deliberately and methodically, with no mercy or sense of shame. In this sense, as the brochure reminds us: “The Holocaust challenges the fundamental beliefs and values of human civilization — it is a warning sign for us and for future generations.” The “us” in this last statement is probably read by most visitors to refer to our generation, as it is followed by the words, “and for future generations.” It might also be read, however, as referring to the Jews who come to this memorial. Or, if not explicitly read this way, at least the Jews who come are part of the “us” of this present generation. And, in this reading, there is a tragic irony, for not far from this hill are the remains of Arab villages that were wiped out by Jewish fighters as part of what Palestinians remember as the Nakba, the disaster that befell their people in 1947-48. Please do not misunderstand me. I am not comparing the Nakba to the Holocaust. I stand with Jews to assert that the Holocaust is incomparable. I see, however, the tragic irony that this memorial exists very near to the place

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where another group of people were terrorized and forced to leave their land, by some of those who are remembered in this Jewish memorial as freedom fighters and liberators. To say that this happened simply because there was a war, or because the Arabs refused to accept the partition of the land that the United Nations tried to impose on them, is not an adequate response to the horror of the Nakba for Palestinians. For the Nakba remembers not merely a terrible war, with atrocities on both sides, and the UN decision to give 6% of the population 75% of the land. The Nakba also remembers what we call “ethnic cleansing,” because the Israeli freedom fighters sought not only to win battles, but to so completely terrorize civilians that they would flee. Documents now available and studied by Israeli historians make it clear that this “Arab cleansing” was a policy implemented by the leaders of the Jewish independence movement. Moreover, this policy was carried out without mercy for the Palestinian men, women and children, who were threatened with death, if they did not leave their homes. Israeli historians have also documented how the Israeli government has leveled the Palestinian villages that were abandoned in the Nakba in order to build Jewish communities on top of them, or simply to hide the facts of prior Palestinian communities from the new Jewish settlers on the confiscated land. I hope that someday this dark portion of Israeli history will be acknowledged by the Israeli government, will be adequately reflected in Israeli history textbooks, and will be remembered with remorse and perhaps even repentance by Jewish Israelis. I believe that doing so would not detract from the singular importance of Yad Vashem. Nor would it serve as any sort of comparison between the suffering of Jews in Europe, and the suffering of both Jews and Palestinians in the land that remains a source of contention between the two peoples. This contention, unfortunately, is not in the past, but defines the present and the foreseeable future. The suffering of Jewish Israelis and Palestinians is both very real and inescapable. Moreover, Arab Israelis, who are citizens of Israel but Palestinian by culture and religion, also suffer. And this suffering of Jews and Palestinians in the land they have to share must now be addressed, if there is to be a just and a peaceful resolution and the possibility of reconciliation. The Palestinians must give up terrorist acts against civilians, although they have a right to continue to resist their occupation through other means. Yet, they will embrace nonviolence and a political solution only if Jewish

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Israelis give up at least most of Palestinian land that Israel occupied in 1967. Ending the Israeli occupation will mean closing Jewish settlements, as well as dismantling checkpoints and tearing down the Separation Barrier within Palestinian areas. Then, the only checkpoints and barriers will be at borders accepted by both Palestinians and Israelis and confirmed by the international community. We may hope, as well, for more, at least for future generations. We may hope not only for two distinct political states in this land, with fair and recognized borders, but for a sharing between Israelis and Palestinians that will make life more prosperous for both. Also, we may hope for a renewal of the shared culture that, at times in the past fifteen centuries, has marked the life of the Jews, Christians and Muslims living together in Jerusalem, in Galilee, and throughout this land.

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Catholic Easter service, Church of the Holy Sepulchre

Religious Celebrations

Ethiopian monk Catholic Easter procession, Church of the Holy Sepulchre

Coptic chanting

Jews at Easter Service Easter Sunday, Church of the Holy Sepulchre

Stone of Anointing, entrance to Church of the Holy Sepulchre

Guard, Church of the Holy Sepulchre

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Catholic altar Church of the Holy Sepulchre

Armenian Chapel, Church of the Holy Sepulchre

Greek Orthodox altar Church of the Holy Sepulchre

St. Saviour’s Church, Jerusalem

Melkite Church, Jerusalem

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Palm Sunday in Jerusalem The call to prayer rang out over the Kidron valley at 4:10 AM, Sunday, March 20, 2005. I dozed, until after the call to prayer was repeated by two more nearby mosques, once at 4:30 and again at 4:50. After three calls to prayer, how could a Christian not arise? Besides, it was Palm Sunday, and I wanted to be at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in the Old City by 6:30. An hour later, as I walked down the Mount of Olives and past the Garden of Gethsemane, the sun began to light up the western portion of Jerusalem. As I reached the Kidron Valley, and then walked up to the Lions Gate, which faces the Mount of Olives, I had the road to myself. Walking into the Old City from the east brought me into the Muslim Quarter. As I proceeded toward the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, the Haram al-Sharif was on my left, and the Church of St. Anne and other Christian buildings were on my right. First I went down to Al-Wad, the main street coming from the Damascus Gate, and then followed it briefly to the left, before turning right along the narrow path of steps leading west and up, which Christians know as the Via Dolorosa and Muslims call Al-Khanqa. At 6:20 on this Palm Sunday I saw only a few people, where on the upcoming Good Friday thousands would walk the path that Christians remember today as the route taken by Jesus, as he struggled to carry his cross to Golgotha. There are two ways to enter the courtyard in front of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. The last time I was here, I went through the Muristan. But this time I followed the signs that took me above and behind the Church, before bringing me into the main entrance. Then I came down a flight of steps, and turned left into the courtyard. Christians were gathering, and I joined some of them and entered the Church, as bells began to ring, calling us to worship. One or two women were kneeling before the stone slab just inside the entrance of the Church — where tradition holds that Jesus’ body was anointed before burial — but most of those entering the building continued into the main section of the Church. Three Services in One Church Between 6:30 and 9:30 at least three different Christian services were held, in adjacent sections of the Church, and at times the voices of the three

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worshipping communities could be heard simultaneously. Though not always harmonious, the mixture of Greek, Coptic, and Latin chants was fascinating, for each is beautiful and distinctive. The Latin (Catholic) service was the dominant service for the morning, because the Greek Orthodox and Coptic Churches were not celebrating Palm Sunday. These communions follow different calendars (the Orthodox Palm Sunday in 2005 was on April 24th). I knew I would soon have another chance to rise early on a Sunday morning and make my way into this catacomb of a Church in the heart of the Old City. All three services I saw on March 20th took about three hours. Throughout, people were present in varying numbers and only a few stayed for the entire Greek Orthodox and Coptic services. The Greek Orthodox service took place in the large central room directly to the east of the tomb of Christ. The priests wore golden robes and a few lay people, dressed in black, stood along the sides of the room. In a corner a small group of cantors chanted the service. The Coptic service began with just a few people facing the small Coptic altar, which is located at the back of the tomb in the center of the rotunda. Priests came, were blessed, put on their robes, and then joined the service. They were forced to step out of the way, however, when the Catholics participating in the Latin service walked around the tomb three times. But the Coptic Christians seemed happy to wait for the procession, and I saw Coptic priests greeting Latin priests warmly as they passed by. The Latin service began on the eastern side of the tomb, in front of the room where the Greek Orthodox service was held and facing the door into the tomb of Christ. Priests, novices, nuns, and lay people gathered around, as the priests and novices sang Gregorian chants, and the Latin Patriarch blessed palm branches, which were then distributed to the crowd. During the procession around the tomb the organ in the Chapel of St. Mary Magdalene, which is on the north side of the rotunda, filled the entire Church with glorious sounds, making it hard to hear the chanting of the Greek Orthodox priests. But once the Latin procession had led everyone into the Chapel of St. Mary Magdalene, the organ ceased, and the Coptic priests reassembled at the back of the tomb, in front of their altar. Then, for an hour or so, for anyone standing in front of the tomb, as I was, the Coptic and Greek chants were dominant. As the various services took place, half a dozen men in brilliant blue uniforms and wearing red hats directed the swirling human traffic in the

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rotunda. These guards are Muslims, members of the Nuseibeh family, who have served as custodian of the key to the Church since given that responsibility by Saladin in 1192. How ironic that Muslims keep not only the key to the the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, but the peace among its fractious and sometimes contentious Christian occupants on major Christian feast days, like Palm Sunday. Israeli security personnel were also in the Church, but they were carrying only pistols rather than the automatic rifles the police and soldiers have slung over their shoulders at the Western Wall and at the entrances to the Haram alSharif. In addition, I saw one Jewish family, a woman and two teenage boys. One of the boys was wearing a kippa on his head, and the other a T-shirt with the slogan, “100% kosher,” on the front. The woman was taking photographs. It may be that the Syrian Orthodox Church was also having a service elsewhere in the building at the same time as the other three communions, because occasionally I heard chanting but could not see where the sound was coming from. Several Armenian monks arrived in their distinctive back robes, as the other services were ending. Greek Orthodox priests wear black hats with a round top, whereas Armenian monks have a pointed hat underneath a black scarf that covers their heads. Coptic priests cover their heads with what looks like the hood of a sweatshirt, although sewn to fit the shape of the head and woven with various colors of thread. The Latin priests and novices were without head covering, although bishops and cardinals often wear what looks very much like a red kippa, which American Jews often call a yarmulke (the Yiddish word). The priests were dressed in red robes and the novices in white robes. Nuns attending the service were wearing habits of various colors, depending on their order. All the pomp and splendor of these services was a bit overwhelming for an American Protestant, especially after three hours of standing. The church was dark and cold, and I was happy to make my way out into the courtyard, where the sun was shining brightly, and families were gathered around, laughing and talking. Procession from Bethphage Although feeling a bit weary after at least empathizing with the three worship services of the morning, because I hardly understood a word that was said, I didn’t want to miss the Palm Sunday procession in the afternoon from Bethphage to Jerusalem. So, from the Augusta Victoria guesthouse on

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Mount Scopus, I walked south and then down the road on the eastside of the Mount of Olives to the Church in Bethphage. I had expected perhaps a few hundred pilgrims to gather for this afternoon journey, but instead I found a crowd of thousands. I squeezed into the church for a quick look, and then waited beside the road outside as hundreds of Scouts of all ages, both boys and girls, came out from behind the church, as if in an unending stream. Each troop had a distinctive uniform and flag, and soon they lined up in the road and led our procession back up the hill toward Jerusalem. People were standing along the sides of the road, and children selling palm branches, olive branches, and bottles of water were approaching many of the adults in the procession. Groups sang songs, and at several places along the road there were a few young people with guitars, singing to us as we made our way up the hill. Israeli army trucks were stationed at intervals along our way, with soldiers carrying automatic weapons, but there was no trouble that I saw. In fact, I saw Palestinian children standing beside the soldiers and talking with them. A more troubling scene, however, was the view from the road further up the eastern side of the Mount of Olives, as I looked back at the procession. Looking towards the south, the massive Separation Wall that cuts off Abu Dis and other communities from East Jerusalem was clearly visible. The procession moved slowly up and over the Mount of Olives, following the road to the south. Then we turned west in order to descend using the stairs next to the Jewish cemetery facing the Old City on the eastern slope of the Kidron Valley. About half way down the hill, we followed the road as it turned north above the Garden of Gethsemane, and then west again to reach the road in the Kidron Valley. The crowd then made its way up the hill and on through the Lions Gate, also known as St. Stephen’s Gate, where everyone was invited into the grounds of the Church of St. Anne. This lovely Romanesque church dates to the Crusader era in the twelfth century. The Bethesda pools beside it were created two millennia earlier, when a river was blocked to capture water. At the time of Jesus, these pools were used as a healing sanctuary. When Hadrian transformed Jerusalem into the pagan city of Aelia Capitolina, a temple dedicated to Serapis (Asclepius) was built on the site. By the fifth century, a Byzantine church stood in its place, and today, the archeological ruins revealing this history may be seen from the much higher level of ground on which the Church of St. Anne stands.

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Through open gates, which were closed when I had previously visited the Church of St. Anne, the crowd of celebrants poured into a broad garden behind a three story church property to the south. A group of young musicians, with amplifiers no less, began to fill the air with music quite unlike my morning experience in the cavernous Church of the Holy Sepulchre. The crowd stood and clapped, as the young musicians belted out one song after another, while the garden filled with many of the thousands who had made the procession from Bethphage. Remembering I learned from friends in the garden that later the Latin Patriarch would come to speak to the crowd. But when I went to the north side of the church building and along the driveway that led back to the street, I could see that there were masses of people who had yet to enter. So, I decided it was time to end my Palm Sunday pilgrimage. I turned right, and then walked north and up a long set of stairs to Herod’s Gate, near the northeast corner of the Old City. From there, I turned east and walked back down through the Kidron Valley (for the fourth time that day) and up the slope of Mount Scopus to the Augusta Victoria guesthouse on the crest of the hill. After a full day of walking, I must admit that I was grateful for a shower and a chance to put my feet up. I was saddened, however, to learn from colleagues at the guesthouse that Israeli soldiers had not allowed the Palm Sunday procession, which began around noon from the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem, to pass through the Bethlehem checkpoint on the road to Jerusalem. So, unlike our procession from the Church in Bethphage, the pilgrims from Bethlehem were unable to reach the Old City and the garden beside the Church of St. Anne. When stopped by Israeli soldiers at the checkpoint, some Christians in this procession sat down in protest, and prayed and sang hymns, before ending their pilgrimage. They returned to their homes less weary than I, but perhaps more vividly reminded of the difficulties and dangers that confronted Jesus as, the gospels relate, he walked with his friends to Jerusalem, on the day almost two millennia ago that today Christians remember as Palm Sunday.

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Easter and Purim Easter began in Jerusalem with bells ringing at 5:30 AM. I had slept through three Muslim calls to prayer, which come between 4 and 5, but not through the tolling of the great bell in the tower of the German Lutheran Church on Mount Scopus. It rang steadily for ten minutes, as a higher pitched bell provided a rousing counterpoint. Loud it was, on this glorious Easter morn. I learned later in the day that the bells were part of a sunrise service I would have attended, had I been more attentive in my reading of the lengthy list of services for the day. So, instead of a beautiful sunrise service, my day began with a run around the campus of Hebrew University, which normally on a Sunday morning would have guards in place at its several gates, and buses and cars bringing students for classes. But Jews have been celebrating Purim this weekend, and not a soul was to be seen on the campus. After a light breakfast, I walked down the hill into the Kidron Valley, and then up to the Old City. I entered through the Damascus Gate and followed the Suq Khan ez-Zeit south. Men were opening their market stalls and women were laying out the vegetables they had harvested earlier and then carried on their heads into the Old City. I turned west on Al-Khanqa, and as I entered the Christian Quarter I found that all the shops were closed for the day and there were no women sitting against the walls with their produce. After walking south again above the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, I finally entered the Church courtyard from St. Helena Street. Maundy Thursday and Good Friday The word “Maundy” is a Middle English word derived from the Latin mandatum meaning commandment. The reference is to when Jesus says to his disciples, after washing their feet and eating with them: “I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another.” (John 13:34) Before I describe my Easter day in the Old City, I want to recount the services I attended, on Maundy Thursday and Good Friday. On Thursday evening I went to a service at the Armenian-Catholic Patriarchal Exarchate.

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(In Byzantine churches an exarch is ranked between a patriarch and a bishop, and an exarchate is analogous to a diocese.) The service was in Armenian, but contained Catholic elements that were both pre-Vatican II and contemporary. For instance, the priest went up to an altar facing away from the congregation, and a curtain was pulled briefly to conceal him (a common practice in Orthodox services). Then he came down from the altar and faced the congregation from behind a table, as in contemporary Catholic worship. The Armenian-Catholic Church was a bit run-down, and the walls were painted a pale yellow color that added to its dingy appearance. Yet, brilliant light from the late afternoon sun found its way into the church and illumined the priest as well as the men and boys attending him. This light also allowed me to take photos during the service without disturbing anyone with a flash. Attendance was sparse, but those who were there seemed to be engaged by the rituals. I particularly enjoyed the chanting of the elderly man, who also played the organ. After I left the Armenian Church, I went to St. Anne’s Basilica for a foot-washing service conducted in French. St. Anne’s is a stark and striking Romanesque church, which dates back to the twelfth century. The stone interior is white and light gray, and bare, with no paintings on its walls. It is also very dark in the church, unless the sanctuary is artificially illuminated, because it lacks the larger windows that the invention of flying buttresses made possible in later Gothic sanctuaries. On Thursday evening, the congregation was in almost total darkness, because only the front of the church was lit. In this area the priests sat in a semi-circle behind the communion table. The St. Anne’s service was accompanied by the chanting of perhaps twenty priests, half of whom were dark-skinned and appeared to be of African descent. If there was an organ in the church, it wasn’t used for this service. The celebrant, who was likely the abbot of the community, washed the feet of the other priests, as another member of their order photographed the event with a video camera. Throughout the atmosphere was subdued, which was in keeping with the largely older and mostly European congregation of men and women. It was just as well that no children were present, for in addition to the hushed atmosphere the church was extremely cold. So, despite finding it a lovely conclusion to my Maundy Thursday, I needed to walk briskly all the way up Mount Scopus in order to overcome the chill that had settled into my bones.

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The next morning, on the day Christians know as Good Friday, I joined an ecumenical walk of the Stations of the Cross along the Via Dolorosa at 6:30 AM in the Old City. Anglicans, Lutherans, and Presbyterians were involved in the service, which was largely in English but also included a few affirmations in Arabic. Walking the Stations of the Cross, as a way of remembering the suffering of Jesus on the day of his crucifixion, is a familiar Catholic ritual. Furthermore, Catholic churches generally have the Stations of the Cross marked on the inner walls of the sanctuary, so the Good Friday walk can take place inside any church. For Protestants, however, it is an uncommon experience, except perhaps in Jerusalem, as here it is possible to walk where church tradition claims Jesus made this arduous journey. The tradition dates back to the Byzantine era, and there are records of pilgrims walking on Good Friday from the Mount of Olives through the Lions Gate to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. Originally, there were no stops on this walk, but by the eighth century stops had become part of the journey. In the Middle Ages, Latin Christians were divided over the correct route for the pilgrimage. The churches on the western hill followed a route that took them by their sanctuaries, and the churches on the eastern hill did the same on their hillside. In the fourteenth century the Franciscan walk, which began at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, was generally adopted by other Christians, and this pilgrimage, which is completely unlike the contemporary journey, dominated Good Friday celebrations for two centuries. Meanwhile, the Stations of the Cross being walked in Europe grew to include fourteen stops, rather than the eight in the Jerusalem tradition. As more Europeans came to Jerusalem in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, the Via Dolorosa was adapted to fit the European pattern. Our somewhat doleful pilgrimage on Good Friday concluded with a brief service in the Lutheran Church of the Redeemer, which is located on the Muristan. Not surprisingly, this large, stone sanctuary was very cold, so I was glad when the service ended and hot tea was provided in a nearby room. Not much later, I went to the Notre Dame of Jerusalem Center to meet over coffee with a delegation of visitors from Iowa, who were on an alternative tour of the Holy Land. (The word “alternative” implies they were meeting Palestinian Christians, who are members of the living church here, and were not only seeing the “holy places.”) Americans working with the churches in

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Jerusalem were invited to this session, and we went around the room and shared reflections on what Good Friday in Jerusalem meant to us. Most spoke of the suffering of the Palestinians, because of the harsh occupation of their land: of the checkpoints, the attacks by Israeli settlers on Palestinian farmers, and the Separation Wall that is making travel so difficult for Palestinians living on the West Bank and in East Jerusalem. Some drew an analogy between the present occupation and the oppressive Roman occupation of Israel at the time of Jesus. The stories that were shared were sad and moving, and several of the people in the circle had tears in their eyes. Many in the circle also shared signs of hope, in their experience of the endurance and continuing hospitality of Palestinians. But for most of those present, this sense of hope was fragile and hard to sustain. I thought of the Jewish settlers, who had prevented Palestinians from plowing their fields in the South Hebron Hills, and the report I had read in the English version of Ha’aretz an Israeli newspaper, about settlers scattering poisoned barley on hills near Hebron where Palestinians graze their sheep. If the reality can be so depressing for us, I thought to myself, how could we expect Palestinians not to be enraged and depressed? Yet, when it was my time to share, I chose not to add another story of Palestinian suffering. I thought it important for our Christian group to remember that for almost two millennia Christians had marked Good Friday by blaming Jews for killing Jesus and, at times, had even killed some Jews as though commanded by Christ to seek revenge on his behalf. Surely, if we are to judge the sins of some Jews, which here in Israel are many and well-documented, we must also confess that their seemingly irrational concern for security is partly due to centuries of Christian persecution. The story of hope I shared was the witness of bereaved members of the Parents Circle-Families Forum, both Israelis and Palestinians, who have lost loved ones in the conflict, and yet have transformed their suffering into a compelling movement for reconciliation. Hearing their stories had brought tears to my eyes, and I wanted to share with the other members of our group their impossible, and therefore absolutely compelling, faith in the power of the human spirit. Easter Services On Easter morning, there was a rich fare of services to choose from in Jerusalem. After the sunrise service in English on Mount Scopus, there

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were three services scheduled during the day at the Anglican Cathedral of St. George, the Martyr. There were also Lutheran services held in different locations in Finnish, Swedish, Danish, English, and Arabic. In addition, services in English were on offer at Christ Church in the Old City, and at St. Andrew’s Church of Scotland just outside the Old City. Similarly, there were many Catholic celebrations. There was a service in Armenian at the Armenian-Catholic Patriarchal Exarchate. There was a German service in the Austrian Hospice, a French service at St. Anne’s Basilica, an Italian service at St. John’s Church in Ein Karem, just outside of Jerusalem, an Arabic service at the Syrian-Catholic Patriarchal Exarchate, and a Syrian service at the Maronite Patriarchal Exarchate. I chose to begin my Easter in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, where the Latin Patriarchate was holding a Catholic mass in front of the tomb monument. I arrived just after the service had begun, and found a larger crowd than had gathered for the Good Friday service. Men and women in habits were abundant, and also lay people of all ages, speaking a variety of languages. A small choir sang in front of the organ, which is next to the Chapel of St. Mary Magdalene and raised about ten feet above the main floor of the rotunda. Priests, who processed in with the Latin Patriarch, also led the chanting. I was very much an observer, not a participant in this elaborate, Catholic mass. Yet, on this Easter morning I found the Church of the Holy Sepulchre to be a warm, welcoming place, despite its catacomb environment. I was primarily affected by the music, which was beautiful in a light, lingering way, but I was also moved by observing the people gathered there. A father was sitting proudly in front of the side chapel with his small daughter on his lap. A slender, blonde in a bright pink baseball cap whispered to her two children, who were wearing bright red caps. Two elderly Ethiopian monks in florescent yellow robes and wearing only socks on their feet, rather than shoes, sat a bit away from the crowd, communicating gently in sign language. A Muslim guard leaned over and kissed a small baby, held up to him by a smiling teen-age boy, who looked like the man’s son. Nuns knelt on the hard stones, as a man thin enough to be Jack Sprat stood beside his wife, who also fit the description in the old nursery rhyme, and both in unison made the sign of the cross. An attractive, young nun sang with gusto in the choir, while a tall, Franciscan priest, standing below, read a text message on his cell phone. It was a wondrous mix, full of life and longing, and I felt both.

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After an hour, when I thought the service was about half over, I left to go to the Greek Catholic Patriarchate service, a service in the Melkite tradition held deep in the Christian Quarter of the Old City. I expected the service to begin at 10 AM, but when I entered the church it had clearly been going on for some time. I wasn’t the last to arrive, however, for the church was only half full when I came, but soon filled. Melkites are Christians in the Middle East who support the doctrine of the divine and human nature of Jesus Christ, which was decreed by the Council of Chalcedon in 451. When a split occurred between Rome and Constantinople in 1054, the Melkites remained loyal to the church in Constantinople. In 1724, however, the Melkites gave their allegiance to the Pope in Rome. The contrast between the dark, bare stone walls of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre and the Greek Catholic Church was dramatic. The Greek Catholic Church was brightly painted on every surface, except for the four stone pillars in the sanctuary holding up the ceiling. The walls were filled with paintings of saints, and large murals depicting scenes from the Bible covered the ceiling. Even the narrow sides of the stone arches above the unpainted supporting columns were filled with color, as intricate designs ran like borders beside the larger paintings. All over, blues and greens dominated the space behind the saints, and each of their heads was surrounded with the golden circle that in Orthodox iconography symbolizes their holiness. The service itself was in Arabic, and the names of the saints etched on the walls were in both Greek and Arabic. I saw paintings of St. Mark and St. Matthew, and on the wall nearest me several of the saints were holding scrolls with words written in Arabic. Unlike the chanting in the Latin mass at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, the chant of the Greek Catholics was not based on Gregorian tones. A choir of lay people sang in response to a cantor, and they chanted almost the entire service and not simply the refrains. The feeling here was Middle Eastern, the voices loud and assertive rather than restrained and blended. The priest faced away from the congregation and stood behind the iconostasis, the wall covered with icons that separates the holy area where priests take communion from the area where people sit in the congregation. This was not, however, a service largely for priests and nuns. There were only two nuns and a handful of priests, but also many families with children of all ages. Five small boys were selected from the congregation to put on golden robes and process in front of the priests, carrying candles and the

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cross. Candles were also distributed to members of the congregation, and people went forward to light them, and to share the light throughout the sanctuary. The candle lighting was an entirely symbolic act, however, as sunlight streamed through the upper windows of the church, illuminating the entire sanctuary. Later, the people went forward again, this time to kiss the icon on the cover of the elaborately decorated Bible. From this Greek Catholic mass in Arabic, which felt to me more like a Greek Orthodox service, I went to St. Savior’s Latin Parish Church at the top of St. Francis Street, not far from the New Gate on the north side of the Christian Quarter. I was amazed to find myself in an immense, Gothic sanctuary, which somehow was built above the narrow street below it. Again, I discovered almost a complete contrast. Unlike the elderly Melkite priest, who led the Greek Catholic service, here a young, Arab Franciscan celebrated mass, assisted by an elderly Anglo priest (who stood no more than five feet tall). The Catholic liturgy was modern and familiar to me, except it was all in Arabic. The pillars of the church and the walls were lovely slabs of stone, and the surfaces were placed to highlight the contrasting colors. There were paintings hanging on the walls to mark the Stations of the Cross, and the designations below them were in Latin. A young group of musicians led the singing, with a keyboard and two guitars, and an organ was also used during the mass for some of the chants. An electric candelabra (I could see the plug into a wall outlet) had one lit candle when I first sat down near it. Soon a small girl came up and, after she put a coin in the slot below the candles, she jumped with delight as another candle lit up and flickered. Purim Friday, Saturday, and Sunday of Easter week in 2005 were days on which Jews were celebrating Purim. This Jewish holiday is based on the book of Esther, which is in the Old Testament of the Christian Bible as well as in Jewish scripture. The story is set during the period between the destruction of the first temple in Jerusalem and the building of the second temple. In the narrative, which Bible scholars read as a work of fiction written later during the time that Greek rulers occupied Israel, the Jews are threatened with annihilation, because of the evil scheming of the king’s advisor, Haman. Esther, who because of her beauty is chosen by the king to be his

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new wife, succeeds in turning the king against Haman, by feeding both men wonderful dinners, and then persuading the king that Haman means to harm her. She saves her people and, for threatening her, the king puts Haman and his family to death. Thus, on Purim, Jews celebrate their salvation as a people, and also what they see as God’s just vengeance on their enemies. Some Jews observe the Fast of Esther the day before Purim, to commemorate that Esther fasted before she asked the king to spare her and her people. In the Jewish calendar, which is a lunar rather than a solar calendar, Purim is celebrated on the fourteenth of the month of Adar, except in walled cities where it is celebrated the next day. Purim is a time for feasts, for giving gifts of food to friends and the needy, for dressing up in outlandish costumes, for drinking a great deal (sometimes too much), and for reading or enacting the Megilla, the story of Purim. This year Purim was on March 25th (Good Friday for Western Christians), so in the walled city of Jerusalem it would have been celebrated on Saturday, March 26th. But as this was the Sabbath, Purim in the Old City was on Sunday (Easter for Western Christians). The Fast of Esther, however, was celebrated on March 24th (Maundy Thursday for Western Christians). Therefore, Christians visiting the Old City on this Good Friday discovered intense crowding in some places, as Palestinian Scouts held their parades, tourists and foreign pilgrims moved through the streets (especially along the Via Dolorosa), and costumed Jews made their way to the Western Wall below the Temple Mount. Of course, Friday is also the Muslim day of prayer, so Palestinians living in Israel and Palestinians with Jerusalem IDs were making their way to the Haram al-Sharif. But the number of Muslims able to reach Al-Aqsa Mosque to pray was unusually low, because the Israeli closure of the West Bank made it impossible for many Palestinians to travel to the Old City. This weekend it was easier for Jews and Christians from the United States to enter the Old City for religious events than for many Palestinians who have lived all their lives in Bethlehem or Ramallah, only a few miles away from Jerusalem. Celebrating Life For Christians, the story of Esther is a minor part of the Old Testament, whereas the Easter narrative is the climax of the Bible. It is hard for Christians to appreciate that Purim might be as important for Jews as Easter is for Christians. It is also hard to admit that for much of Christian history in

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Europe, many Jews dreaded Easter, as then it was more likely that Christian mobs would come into the Jewish ghettos to beat and even murder Jews for being “Christ killers.” Also, for Christians reading about this Purim in the Jerusalem newspapers, there was good reason to be concerned that the story of Esther was being reenacted by some Jews to identify Palestinians with the people of Haman. The English version of Ha’aretz noted that one young religious settler was dressed up as Haman, but with clothes that were distinctively Palestinian. The paper reported this fact critically, and also castigated a few other young Israelis, who had dressed up for Purim as Nazis. Certainly, there is a danger in Jerusalem in remembering the story of Esther at Purim because the immediate enemies of the Jews of Israel are Palestinian terrorists. Moreover, because there is little normal contact between most Jews and Palestinians here, it is also easy for Jews to be convinced by cynical politicians and religious leaders that the Palestinian people, as a whole, support the brutal terrorist attacks of the second Intifada, which have only recently been suspended. Yet, Christians who point to the danger that some Jews may use Purim to try to justify the brutal Israeli repression of the Palestinians, must acknowledge that the Easter story is also extremely dangerous. The Easter story has long been read and understood in churches (and in some, even today) as blaming Jews for the killing of Jesus. This blaming of the Jews has fueled anti-Semitism in Christian cultures for centuries, and also contributed to the Nazi effort to exterminate the Jews of Europe during World War II. The Holocaust prompted nations with largely Christian populations to support the creation of the state of Israel, and also to aid the Israelis in their struggle with Arab governments and with the Palestinians over the past half century. In short, the present occupation by Israel of Palestinian land comes out of a history in which Western Christians are deeply implicated. Recalling this may help us see that the Easter and Purim stories are entangled in ways that continue to cause suffering for Jewish Israelis, as well as for Muslim and Christian Palestinians. If the Purim story continues to have power for Jews, it is partly because they continue to find the Easter story threatening. Both stories require careful retelling and remembering. Each holiday is wondrous and uplifting, but each bright festival casts a dark shadow that must now be acknowledged and illuminated.

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Of course, this is not the whole story. Muslim extremism is a new source of fear for Jewish Israelis. Moreover, the government of Israel has increased the anger and resentment that Palestinians have by treating them so harshly and unjustly. It is a tragic irony that fearful Jews are now acting in ways that make their reasons for being fearful more justified. If Jewish Israelis are to be safe, they must end the occupation of the West Bank and negotiate a fair settlement with the Palestinians. Christians will continue to observe Easter, and Jews will continue to celebrate Purim. But Easter for Christians, and Purim for Jews, will only be a source of hope and new life if Christians and Jews purge these holidays of the blame cast on those too easily characterized as enemies. As Christians, let us strive to ensure that celebrating Easter will not cause Jews to feel more threatened. In addition, as Christians, let us pray that Jews will try to keep Purim from being used to identify Palestinians with the threat that Haman posed in the story of Esther and her people.

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Sunday Mosaic On March 20th I was present at six worship services, but only completed one. I began Sunday morning by walking down from the Mount of Olives past the Garden of Gethsemane into the Kidron Valley. At the Tomb of the Virgin I saw Greek Orthodox and Armenian priests leaving the Tomb. Apparently, they had held earlier services there. Then I climbed up the hill, passed through the Lions Gate and followed the Via Dolorosa to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. Greek, Coptic and Syrian Services In the Orthodox calendar this was Palm Sunday, and there were both Greek Orthodox and Syrian Orthodox services being held, with lay people holding and waving palms. Also, Coptic priests and lay people were crowded around their small chapel at the back of the tomb monument. They, too, appeared to be celebrating Palm Sunday, so it seems likely that all the Orthodox churches of the East (except the Melkites) are on the same calendar. The Greek Orthodox service was being held in the large room across from the entrance to the tomb, and lay people were spilling out of the door to the room and also out a door that was open on one side. Women sat on stools in the hallway where the door was open, and on benches along the wall near the tomb. There were also men standing nearby. It was impossible to go into the room where the Greek Orthodox priests were chanting and carrying out the rituals of their liturgy, and there was no room to walk behind the crowd of Copts chanting at the back of the tomb. So, I crossed in front of the entrance to the tomb, in order to go around the tomb to the other side. Orthodox priests were lining up the people who wanted to go into the tomb, and their orders to move to one side were spoken forcefully and with sharp motions of their arms. Lots of people were already waiting, and more were coming behind me. As I came around the tomb to the back, I could see that the small chapel in the outer section of the main rotunda was open, and people were pressing in there. I believe this was a Syrian Orthodox service, for it seemed distinct from the Coptic service and was not Greek, Armenian, Latin, or Ethiopian,

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to name the other Christian hierarchies that lay claim to a portion of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. I looked around for the Ethiopians in their bright robes, and saw that there were none present. Before I left the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, I also noticed that the Armenians were gathering in their own section of the first level of the Church, near the main door. Lutheran Service At just before 9 AM I left and walked from the courtyard in front of the Church into the Muristan and across the market to the Lutheran Church of the Redeemer. Two services are normally held here on Sunday morning — one in Arabic for the local congregation and one in English for others. I looked for the Arabic service, but discovered it was meeting today for a special service being held in the Church of the Ascension. So, instead of entering the large sanctuary, I went into the small chapel where the English service was about to begin. The contrast with the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, and the worship there that I had just witnessed, could not be greater. Both churches are made of stone, but the Church of the Holy Sepulchre is like a dark cave, whereas the chapel in the Lutheran Church receives considerable light from outside through its high windows. The Church of the Holy Sepulchre is filled with icons, holy relics, and believers who worship by lighting candles, kissing icons, or pouring water on the Stone of Anointing on the floor in the main entrance and putting their hands or foreheads to the stone. In the chapel of the Lutheran Church the walls are bare; two candles were already lit on the communion table that, in addition to the communion elements, held only a Bible. Everyone in the room was seated in chairs, quietly waiting for the service to begin. In the Lutheran service the music was provided by two young men, one playing the piano and the other a guitar, and the hymns were both traditional and what, today, is called praise music. There was also one brief chant in Arabic, after the passing of the peace among the members of the congregation. The service was clearly congregational in style, the sermon was twenty minutes long and, in contrast to the services being held in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, there was little ritual. The common elements in all the services were the symbol of the cross, although the shapes of the crosses differed, and the elements of communion, the bread and the wine. In the Orthodox and Coptic services only the priests

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participated in the communion, whereas lay people were invited to come forward for communion in the Lutheran service. These Christian traditions of worship all reflect the dignity given to human beings, and the struggle of humanity against the natural forces of disease, disaster and death. The other commonality among all the services, and this was true as well for the Catholic service I next attended, was that the environment for worship was entirely made by human hands, rather than being natural. Everything was cut stone, wax, metal, fashioned wood, glass, and fabric, with the exception of the palm branches for Palm Sunday. There were no growing plants in the churches, and even the windows in the Lutheran chapel did not allow the people gathered for worship to see the wonderful garden in the courtyard just outside the chapel. In the courtyard of the church, surrounded by four walls as in a monastery, there were clinging vines and red, yellow and purple blossoms and flowers. But this outburst of life, which is so irrepressible in natural settings, was not the focus of our Christian worship. Latin Catholic Service Before my Sunday morning was complete, I experienced two additional worship services. After I left the Lutheran Church I stopped briefly in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, and was not surprised to find that the three services I had attended earlier were continuing. I stayed a few moments, noticed that more tourists were arriving, and then walked out and up along St. Francis Street to the St. Saviour’s Latin Parish Church. I arrived in the middle of a Latin mass, which according to my printed schedule was to begin at 10:30, but must have begun earlier. The priest celebrating the mass was elderly, and there were only six women present. Two looked to be from South Asia, one was a European nun, and the other three were elderly and local. There were no hymns and no organ music, just the Latin liturgy recited by the priest. The women came forward to receive the elements, and then it was over. At 11 the parish service in Arabic began. Two guitarists and a young man on keyboard provided the music. The priest was a young Arab with a goatee, and the congregation, of more than a hundred people, was mostly younger and included a number of teen-agers. Two small girls distributed printed supplements of music, to help the congregation join in the singing. Even though I speak no Arabic, I was completely familiar with the service, because it followed the Catholic liturgy used in western churches. The

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style of this service, on a liturgical spectrum of low to high churches, was in the middle. The priest faced the congregation, whereas in the Orthodox and Coptic services the priests face an altar, with their backs to the people. There were also lay readers in this Catholic service. The scriptures chanted in the Greek and Coptic services are part of the liturgy that is done entirely by the priests. There is no sermon in the Orthodox services. The Catholic service has a sermon, which is shorter than the sermon in most Protestant services, and rarely does the Catholic priest read a written sermon, as many Protestant ministers do. A Catholic “homily,” to use the word Catholics use for their sermon, is more like a personal reflection on a passage from scripture, and less like a written interpretation of what the text might be taken to mean. In the St. Saviour’s sanctuary there were electric candles, which parishioners lit by putting a Shekel coin into the slot below the candelabra. There were also, as in the Lutheran Church, two candles on the communion table that held the elements for the Eucharist, as well as the prayer book from which the priest read. In the Catholic service those present sat on pews, or stood, whereas in the Orthodox and Coptic services everyone stood throughout the service, except for some of the elderly who sat on stools they had brought or on the few benches available along the wall. Pesach Knowing that Pesach (Passover) had begun the night before, when I left the St. Saviour’s mass I walked through the Old City to the Jaffa Gate, and from there through the Armenian Quarter to the Western Wall. I have never seen so few people at the Western Wall, and there were no buses or vans parked on the plaza beside it. There were Jewish families enjoying an added day of rest in the park within the Jewish Quarter, and I saw Jews dressed in the clothes worn by settlers and in the garments worn by different Orthodox and Ultra-Orthodox communities. In the Old City of Jerusalem, Christians, Jews and Muslims all mingle in the streets and markets, but they pray separately, they have different holy days and places, and they eat separately. We need not see this as a problem. Instead we can celebrate the mosaic of life within the Old City of Jerusalem with its various hues of religion, history and culture.

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Orthodox Easter Easter comes twice each year in Jerusalem, as the Orthodox Churches have a different calendar than the Catholic and Protestant Churches. So, once again I had an opportunity to experience the Easter season, but this time in liturgies celebrated by the Greek Orthodox Church, the Armenian Church, and the Coptic Church. At the same time, Jews were completing their celebration of Pesach. Visits to the Old City this week offered a great variety of activities, and a chance to see men, women and children in all sorts of dress. Good Friday On Friday afternoon, when I went into the Old City, there were pilgrims walking the Via Dolorosa. Someone in the lead would be carrying a cross, and they would proceed from the first station near the Ecce Homo arch (about two blocks into the Old City from the Lions Gate, heading west), up through the middle of the Old City, and then north to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. Once inside the Church of the Holy Sepulchre there were people everywhere, lighting candles, saying prayers at side altars, and kneeling before the stone just inside the entrance. Although this stone is no older than the eighteenth century, legend has it that Jesus walked on it. So, pilgrims were touching it, laying their foreheads on it, pouring water over it and, using some item of clothing such as a scarf, wiping up the water. The damp scarf would then be pressed to faces, or held tightly in clasped hands. Good Friday is the day for processionals, for confessing sins, and for experiencing the gravity of God’s judgment on the world and on the church. Although it was hard to know what people were thinking, as they slowly made their way through the city to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, the mood was somber. At the Western Wall, hundreds of Jews in all sorts of dress were praying. There were Haredim men with sidecurls hanging from their temples, some with round black hats and others with round fur hats. There were settlers, the men with vests or wearing bright shirts with kippas on their heads, and women in long skirts, with scarves covering their hair. I also saw Lubivitcher Jewish men wearing black suits, white shirts, ties (usually loose and askew)

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and black hats with wide-brims that remind me of the kind of hat my father had in the 1950s. As I walked through the Jewish Quarter to the Western Wall, none of the restaurants or shops was open, but families were having picnics, and children were everywhere. In contrast to the mournful pilgrimages along the Via Dolorosa to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, winding their way through the Muslim and Christian Quarters, there was a quiet but festive atmosphere throughout the Jewish Quarter. Easter and Pesach Celebrations Both the Greek Orthodox Church and the Armenian Church have a major celebration on the Saturday before Easter, which involves receiving the gift of fire in the crypt of the tomb inside the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. The miraculous giving of fire was scheduled for 2 PM, but when I entered the Old City at 1:30 it was too late to get anywhere near the Church.   There are only two entrances to the courtyard in front of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. One comes from the northwest side, and the other from the southeast. Each of these entrances is connected to alleys that lead in two directions, so there are four ways of getting to the two gates that lead into the courtyard in front of the Church. I tried three of these, but the crowd was backed up so far in each alley that I knew it would be impossible to make it inside the Church for the ceremony. So, this part of the Orthodox Easter, I left to the Orthodox. I learned Sunday morning by reading the online edition of Ha’aretz that a shoving match had again ensued between the Greek Orthodox Patriarch and the Armenian Patriarch. Until a new Greek Orthodox Patriarch was appointed in 2002, the two patriarchs entered the tomb together to receive the holy fire. This year, once again, the Greek Orthodox Patriarch insisted on going in first. He did manage to do that, but he dropped his candle coming out while the Armenian Patriarch handed his candle out through the small window on the side of the tomb to an Armenian priest. Therefore, the Armenians were able to begin passing the fire among their believers before the Greek Orthodox. This failed attempt at ecumenical cooperation led to cheers or dismay, depending on the ethnic background of the participants. Instead of attending the fire ceremony in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, I walked to the Western Wall to see if it was again crowded. There was hardly anyone there, or in the plaza that I crossed in order to make my way to a

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staircase above the Western Wall where I had a good view. The absence of Jews on the last day of Pesach reminded me that it was the Sabbath as well, so travel was limited for Orthodox and Ultra-Orthodox Jews to walking. Almost all the Jews in the Old City on this Saturday were those living in it, or near by. At 5 in the afternoon I went to the St. James Cathedral, the main sanctuary of the Armenian Church. It is an old building located inside the monastery, which is in the middle of the Armenian Quarter. St. James Cathedral is Romanesque in style, as is St. Anne’s Basilica, but it has none of the lightness of St. Anne’s. The walls of St. James Cathedral are blackened with soot from candles and the oil lamps that hang from the ceiling all over the main sanctuary. There are four main square pillars holding up the vaulted ceiling, and each of these has large paintings on all sides. But the colors of these paintings are so darkened from the soot of smoking oil lamps and candles, that the images are unclear. With almost no artificial light in the sanctuary, the atmosphere is old, dark and uninspiring. Once the curtain was opened for the service, candles in front of the golden icons on the iconostasis added a warm glow to the front of the sanctuary. But the people standing in the sanctuary were shrouded in darkness. Nonetheless, it was a delight to discover the wonderful Armenian liturgical music at St. James! A large choir made up of lay men and women sang the service, with priests also singing solo parts. The music was powerful, poignant and compelling. Both women and men sang solos, and an organ of much less quality than the voices accompanied the choir.   I had a second opportunity on Sunday morning to hear this fifty-member Armenian choir, for the Armenians had an early morning service in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. There was no organ in this setting, and the larger space made the sound less vibrant. But I could see the choir, as it sung, and so I was aware that many members of the choir, both men and women, were at times crying as they sang. And at one point I, too, was so moved by the music that I could feel tears welling up in my eyes.  The lay people attending the service were quietly repeating the words, as the choir sang, so I realized that this was an annual liturgy. They knew it as many of us know the words and music to Handel’s “Messiah.” By looking over the shoulder of one member of the choir I could see that the score varied from three part to four part harmony, with solos interspersed like arias among choral parts. Much of what I saw was in 8/4 time. The mel-

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ody often moved in quarter note progressions, as one or more voices held long notes, sometimes staying on one note, and at other times moving much more slowly than the melody line. Also the base voices often sang more than an octave below the tenors, which gave the music an unusual range and depth. As I listened, I could feel the suffering of Armenians, who like Jews and Palestinians are a Diaspora people. Posters of the Armenian genocide at the hands of the Turks are pasted up along the main entrance to the Armenian Quarter, and remembering this tragedy seems to have helped the Armenian people maintain their identity. So, I could understand that celebrating new life in the resurrection of Christ was, for many Armenians, also a way of celebrating their own continuing life after their holocaust. New Life On Sunday morning there were again very few Jews in the Old City. The working week for them began that morning. Also, on Sunday morning the markets in the Muslim Quarter were open for business, and on Monday the Christians from all the various churches will also be back at work. Life was quickly returning to normal. Is there any hope that religious devotion will contribute to a new life together among the diverse people who make up the Old City of Jerusalem? Generally, the different religious beliefs are considered part of the conflict, not as offering hope for peaceful coexistence. Yet, the Old City is a place where people from all the religious backgrounds mix. And that, I believe, is a sign that living together in peace is possible. If you had been in the Old City with me, you would have seen Muslims, Jews and Christians, walking the streets, selling and buying in the shops, as well as worshipping in their own places at their own times. Jerusalem, the city of peace, offers not only a history of conflict, but also parables of peaceful life together. One of these parables has to do with St. Anne’s Church. I visited there on Good Friday and was reminded by the Arabic inscription over the main door that Saladin, when he defeated the Crusaders and took control of Jerusalem, converted this Romanesque, Crusader church into a madrassa, a Muslim school. Not all churches fared so well under Muslim rule over Jerusalem, and even St. Anne’s fell on hard times under the Ottoman Turks. But St. Anne’s was preserved and used as a madrassa, because Anne was the mother of Mary, the mother of Jesus. And Muslims revere Mary, for she plays

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a prominent role in the Qur’an, as the mother of Jesus. Because St. Anne’s Church stands next to the Lions Gate, Muslims have traditionally called this Mary’s Gate.   Muslims also revere Jesus, who is frequently identified in the Qur’an as “the son of Mary.” And, Muslims, as well as many Jews, recognize that Jesus was a wise and prophetic teacher. Of course, Jews, Christians and Muslims have different beliefs about Jesus. Yet, we may hope that members of all three of these religious traditions will also become more aware of the faith that they share. 

EAPPI Visits

Qurtuba School students, old city of Hebron

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Older students walking to Qurtuba School

Qurtuba School principal Qurtuba School playground

Qurtuba School, end of the school day

Qurtuba School student

Palestinian child injured by settler children

Qurtuba School student safely home

Israeli government-closed shops, old city of Hebron

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Cave of Machpelah, Hebron Jerusalem Center for Democracy and Human Rights, Abu Dis

Ducklings on bus, going to Separation Wall, Abu Dis

Tony Nassar and child

Har Homa, Israeli settlement built on Palestinian land near Bethlehem

Christina Anustas protesting Separation Wall

Yanoun store

Yanoun valley olive groves, Israeli settlement on hilltop

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Planting Trees Near Bethlehem I spent a few hours with five other members of the Ecumenical Accompaniment Program in Palestine and Israel (EAPPI) on March 18th planting olive and almond trees on a hilltop near Bethlehem. Two of the Ecumenical Accompaniers (EAs), David Lindberg, a retired seminary professor from the United States, and Mechtild Kappetein, a peace activist from Germany, arranged for the day of planting. David and Mechtild live and work in Bethlehem, where they met the Nassar family who own the hilltop. Tony Nassar, a teacher in the Lutheran school in Bethlehem, told us that his grandfather had purchased the land in 1924, and the family has all the legal documents required to prove their continuous ownership. Nonetheless, the Israelis are building settlements on all the hilltops around their land and have been trying for over a decade to force the Nassars from their property. Planting To be honest, the EAs, and I include myself, who volunteered for this planting project were not very helpful. We did dig about 40 holes, and in doing so discovered how difficult a job that was. The ground in the hills near Bethlehem is very rocky, and the Palestinians have two different tools they use to dig a hole. First, a pick ax is used to break up the ground and to dislodge the rocks in the soil. The pick ax has two edges, one pointed and one flattened and slightly wider. The pointed edge is used first, and then the flattened edge to begin to make a hole. But the rocks and most of the dirt remain in place, although loosened. A second tool is used to pull out the remaining dirt and rocks in order to create a hole large and deep enough to plant a sapling. The end of this second tool is shaped like a large hoe, but the handle is very short (at least from the perspective of a part-time American gardener). Pulling dirt and rocks out of the ground with this tool requires bending over at a sharp angle. I could see that George Nassar, one of Tony’s older brothers, really put his back into using the pick ax and what I will call the short-handled hoe. By himself, George probably dug a third of the holes for our day’s planting. While a couple of us wielded another pick ax and a second short-handled

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hoe to make holes (at a much slower pace than George), other EAs put the olive and almond saplings in the holes, packed dirt around them, and also loosened the soil nearby. I discovered that I couldn’t use the short-handled hoe without feeling pain in my lower back, so I worked with the pick ax. Just like chopping wood with an ax, there is a way to allow the momentum of the ax head (and its weight) to do most of the work. Unlike George, I didn’t put my back into the effort, but just swung the ax rapidly with my arms. It was a beautiful spring day, and there was a wonderful view in all directions from the Nassar property, which is located on a high, broad hill. Had we not known of the difficulties of the family, we might not have been so concerned by the construction of large Israeli settlements on every side. We might only have felt that the natural beauty of the area was being lost. Down in the valley to the west we heard the noon call to prayer from the three mosques in a Palestinian town. Later, George and Tony invited us to share a meal that their mother had prepared for all of us. So, after our hard work, we rested and enjoyed the wonderful hospitality of the Nassar family. As we ate, Tony told us that his grandfather had purchased their land from the town in the valley below, which is entirely Muslim, and that his family had always had good relations with their Muslim neighbors. Although near to Bethlehem, the Nassars are the only Christians in this area, and there were no Jews nearby until the Israeli government began confiscating land on the nearby hilltops and building Jewish settlements. Facts on the Ground The Israeli government policy around Bethlehem, and in many other places on the West Bank, is to reduce the land available to Palestinians and also to surround Palestinian cities and property with settlements populated by Jews. This puts pressure on Palestinians to move out, and it also makes housing for Jewish Israelis available in what settlers refer to as Judea and Samaria. Within Israel there are over a million Arab Israelis (many of whom consider themselves Palestinians) who pay taxes to the government and are citizens of Israel, but none of them are eligible to live in government subsidized Israeli settlements on the West Bank. The Separation Barrier is also being built to transfer Palestinian land to Jewish Israelis. Under international law, the Israelis could legally build

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a barrier on the Green Line, which is the border recognized after 1967 as separating Israel and the West Bank, so long as they built the barrier on the Israeli side of the border. A barrier on the border would be legal, even if many might argue it would be undesirable. The Separation Barrier, however, is being built primarily on the Palestinian side of the Green Line, and in many places takes hundreds of acres of Palestinian land. In the Bethlehem area the Separation Barrier, which here is a wall about 25 feet high, not only confiscates Palestinian land, but also divides Palestinians from Palestinians. The Separation Wall creates enormous difficulties for Palestinians in getting to work, being able to cultivate their agricultural land, taking their children to schools and hospitals, and being able to market what goods they might grow or manufacture. Good people may debate whether or not terrorist threats from some Palestinian organizations justify a security barrier on the Israel side of the Green Line. But, building Israeli settlements for Jews on land stolen from Palestinians, and then taking more land from Palestinians to build security fences to secure roads only for Israelis, and a Separation Barrier that makes life miserable for Palestinians, cannot be justified. Such a practice is not only illegal, but also immoral. Rabbi David Forman agrees. While serving as Director of the Jerusalem office of the Union of American Hebrew Congregations, in 2003 he wrote: Jewish national identity was forged on the anvil of our people’s collective suffering in ancient Egypt. During our wanderings in the desert, we learned that eventual Jewish sovereignty would be predicated on rejection of the cult of power symbolized by the hard-hearted house of Pharaoh. Our charge was to become a ‘holy nation.’ Yet today, having achieved nationhood after almost 2,000 years of statelessness, we Jews find ourselves ruling with an iron fist over another people. The demolition of Palestinian homes, land confiscations, extended curfews, and school closings are but a few of the collective forms of punishment meted out by a government that has lost its moral compass. (http://reformjudaismmag.net/03spring/opinion.shtml) For those of us planting trees last Friday on the Nassar hilltop property, the Separation Barrier was only a minor inconvenience. Traveling by car between the Nassar property and Bethlehem required going through a checkpoint, and when I went from Bethlehem back to Jerusalem I had to pass through the Wall. But for the Nassars, the checkpoints mean regular delays,

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as cars and trucks are backed up, and perhaps also harassment, on days when the Israeli soldiers at a checkpoint are fearful or in a bad mood. Additonally, the Separation Barrier means that they will not be able to go to Jerusalem, even if they have permission, when the checkpoint is closed. The Israeli authorities close checkpoints all the time, whenever they feel there is a security threat that warrants such a closure. In fact, over the Easter weekend the West Bank and Gaza Strip was under a general closure, as Jews in Israel were celebrating Purim and so Israelis were more concerned about a terrorist attack. Many Christians wanting to come to Jerusalem from Bethlehem for Easter were unable to do so, even if they had the proper permits. Tent of Nations Tony and his family cannot change the policies of the Israeli government. They cannot tear down the Separation Wall around Bethlehem or make the checkpoints go away. They cannot end the collective punishments that Rabbi Forman condemns as contrary to Jewish moral teaching. The Nassar family can only hope to endure. When the settlers come again with bulldozers to try to destroy their hilltop home, and their olive and almond trees, the Nassars hope the checkpoint will be open, allowing them access so they can try to prevent the confiscation of their land. Moreover, they must rely on the courts and the army of the Israelis, to protect their land and to seek justice for the damages they have suffered. Despite having proper legal documentation of their ownership of the land, the Nassar family has been involved for 13 years in a legal battle with the Jewish settlements surrounding them, which are trying to take their land. Moreover, to defend themselves in an Israeli court, the Nassars must raise $70,000 to pay the costs of an Israeli lawyer. To help continue their struggle, the Nassars have created an educational program on their property for young people, which they call the “Tent of Nations.” They have constructed a campground, and have dedicated part of their property to programs that bring together youth from different cultural backgrounds. Swiss and German peace groups are collaborating with them in the Tent of Nations project, and raising funds to help pay the legal costs needed to maintain the land for the Nassars, and also as a center for multicultural youth activities. Two women, one Swiss and one German, were staying with the Nassars when the EAs helped plant a few trees, and they explained to us that they

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would be bringing European young people to visit for a summer program. These young Europeans will camp out with Palestinian youth, do some work on the land, help care for the animals, and get to know each other. It would be wonderful if Israeli young people would join this Tent of Nations. The Nassar brothers would welcome their participation, and have already begun to plan for it. In a cave on the property, where their grandfather lived most of his life, the brothers have created a place for prayer, which includes symbols from the various religious traditions. Not long ago, George Nassar told us, two young Jewish boys carrying guns walked up the hill from one of the settlements along with two young Jewish girls. When they saw him, George says, they turned away and went back down the hill. They didn’t trust George Nassar, because they didn’t know him. They hadn’t planted olive and almond trees with him. They hadn’t swung a pick ax with him, as he used a short handled hoe, they hadn’t worked together to scoop dirt and rocks out of the ground to make a hole. They hadn’t seen the cave where his grandfather had lived, which is now a place for prayer for people from all faith traditions. They hadn’t fed the chickens and rabbits with Tony and his child. They hadn’t met the mother of George and Tony and enjoyed a meal cooked by her in their cinderblock house on the hilltop. And, the young Jewish settlers didn’t know that the Nassars have read in their scriptures, as Jews do, that: “When a stranger resides with you in your land, you shall not wrong him. The stranger who resides with you shall be to you as one of your citizens; you shall love him as yourself, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt: I am the Lord your God.” (Leviticus 19:33-34)

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At Rachel’s Tomb Rachel was the love of Jacob, and the mother of two of his sons, Joseph and Benjamin. The other ten sons of Jacob were born to his first wife, Leah, and to the servants of each of his wives. These sons became the fathers of the twelve tribes of Israel, in the legends that were compiled and included in the book of Genesis. In Genesis 35:16-19 Jacob and his family are fleeing from Laban, Rachel’s father, after an argument about the property that rightfully belonged to Jacob and his two wives. In this account Rachel dies giving birth to Benjamin on the road leading into Ephrath (Bethlehem). To mark the spot Jacob erects “a pillar on her grave.” Centuries later synagogues (and at one point a Crusader chapel) were also constructed along the road into Bethlehem. The current structure on this site dates to the Ottoman period, and its dome was rebuilt in 1860 by the Jewish philanthropist, Sir Moses Montefiore. But the dome is not visible today, for the Tomb is encased within concrete walls and a machine gun nest manned by Israeli soldiers sits on a platform above the Tomb. I came to Rachel’s Tomb with Hermina Damons and Max Surjadinata. Hermina, a South African, is the Local Coordinator of the Ecumenical Accompaniment Program in Palestine and Israel. Max, another EA volunteer, is a retired United Church of Christ pastor who now lives in New York City. We rode in a taxi from Mt. Scopus, which took the road around the Old City on the east and south sides, and then traveled south down the main road to Bethlehem. Rachel’s Tomb is only three blocks from the checkpoint on the northern side of Bethlehem, but taxis are not allowed to drive through the checkpoint. The taxi driver dropped us off where the walking path through the checkpoint begins, and then returned to Jerusalem. The Bethlehem Checkpoint The Bethlehem checkpoint is ugly and intimidating. We walked down a path for almost a block, and then around a cinderblock fortification, which brought us to a covered walkway of sheet metal and cinderblock. People on foot trying to go to Bethlehem wait in line, about thirty feet from the small

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booth where one or two soldiers are seated. We stood and waited, as one of the soldiers indicated with a wave of his hand, that the next person in line was to go forward. When I went forward, I showed the soldier my passport, which I had opened so he could see my photograph. After a glance at my face, he simply nodded and I went through. That meant turning to the right and going up a couple of steps, walking through a metal detector, then stepping down and coming back to the covered pathway on the other side of the booth containing the soldiers, before walking another thirty feet to pass out of the checkpoint enclosure. As people are trying to cross the checkpoint from both sides, those in line facing north are watching as people walking south come through. If the soldiers interrogate someone, everyone waiting in both lines can see what is happening, although it is impossible to hear the voices. While we were waiting in line we saw the soldiers turn away a family, a mother and her child, and an older woman who was probably the child’s grandmother. For whatever reason, they were not allowed to go from Bethlehem to Jerusalem. Once through the checkpoint, we walked the three blocks to Rachel’s Tomb. The eastern side of the street in the first block of what used to be the main street to Bethlehem is filled with fences, barbed wire, large slabs of concrete, and earthmoving equipment, which is being used to construct the 25 foot high Separation Wall that will soon be completed. On the western side of the street we could see a grove of olive trees, that appeared to be unattended, and the Separation Wall coming from the west across the hills all the way up to the street we were on. A block south of the present checkpoint the monstrous, concrete walls being built from the east and the west almost meet, for only one lane of the street remains open. Passing between these high walls brought us into an area that continues to have shops along the street, but almost all of these were shuttered and closed. To the left, the top of a four story building was covered with the dark netting the Israeli army uses wherever it has security posts and machine gun nests. Palestinian taxis were parked along the western side of the road, and several drivers offered to take us around Bethlehem. Men selling jewelry appeared and crowded close to us, asking in English where we were from, and showing us their wares. Two small boys, who spoke only Arabic and should have been in school, tried to sell us packs of gum.

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We soon came to where the street was blocked, which is the site of Rachel’s Tomb. It is a completely fortified environment with massive concrete barriers not only across the road, but also around the small enclosure that covers the tomb. Soldiers with automatic rifles stood guard, and there were additional security points above Rachel’s Tomb and to the left on the hill above the street leading to the tomb. Protesting the Wall I have been in Rachel’s Tomb, which is a very unassuming, cramped room where Jews come to pray. But today we were not going there. We had come to stand in solidarity with a few residents of Bethlehem, who had gathered in front of a home across the street from Rachel’s Tomb. These Palestinians were protesting the Separation Wall that is about to be built alongside and around a three-story building, which houses shops on the ground floor and families in the upper two floors. The building, which is owned by the Anustas family, faces the street that used to go into Bethlehem. The Anustas’ building is perhaps 35 to 40 feet high. The Wall to be constructed around the building on two sides will be about 6 feet away on the south side, and no more than 10 feet away on the west side (along the edge of the street). It will be nearly as high as the building. The Wall will cut off the building from the street, which will be on the western side of the Wall, and from the buildings and the rest of Bethlehem to the south. The building and its families will be caught between the main Separation Wall two blocks to the north and the section of the Wall dipping south in order to surround and protect Jewish visitors to Rachel’s Tomb. The protest didn’t last very long. A few men held the Palestinian flag, photographs were taken, and several leaders from Bethlehem made brief statements. A young woman from the Anustas family explained where the Wall would be located, and several men gave examples of how constructing the Separation Wall throughout the neighborhood had devastated their community and destroyed their livelihoods. A statement denouncing the Wall was read, and we sang a few songs to mark the end of what had been a thriving neighborhood. A reporter from Reuters was present to record the event, but Israeli soldiers removed two Palestinian reporters, who had come to cover the story. Many of the Palestinian residents participating in the protest were women members of one of the

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sponsoring organizations, but there were also men and a few young boys. In addition to five participants from the Ecumenical Accompaniment program, a couple of other internationals were present. A Request for Solidarity A statement in English was distributed to those present. “The Women’s Group of the Arab Educational Institute, affiliated to Pax Christi International, in cooperation with the Holy Land Trust, WIAM (an Arabic word meaning ‘cordial relationships,’ and which is also known as the Palestinian Conflict Resolution Center), and the Bethlehem representatives of the Ecumenical Accompaniment Program in Palestine/Israel are requesting on behalf of the extended family of Ms. Christina Anustas and her neighbors in the Rachel’s Tomb/Bilal Mosque quarter your attention to what will happen, if the Bethlehem Separation Wall is built and will surround the homes near the quarter. “In the case of the Anustas house, the current plan for the wall is that it will be built within 2 meters of the building on the front and on the back. On one side it will reach a height of 9 meters effectively blocking the light and air circulation. The 14 people living there now including 9 children will be in a virtual prison. With the soldiers already in front of the Tomb and in the military barracks behind the Anustas house, the family members are all suffering from anxiety, not to mention the emotional, economic and social effects on the children. “In addition to the suffering of this particular family, the entire block has already experienced the end of what had been their business activities and the value of their real estate. What had been the lively main street into the center of Bethlehem now resembles a ghost town with the only activity being the occasional tour bus that drives directly to the entrance of the Tomb. “The bleak future of this neighborhood is symbolic of the entire future of the people of Bethlehem. Unless there is community, national and international solidarity with people undergoing this kind of oppression, the situation will become steadily worse. It will have a negative effect on the present and future peace process talks between Israeli and Palestinian people.” During the 45 minutes that we stood in front of the Anustas home, three large tourist buses sped from the checkpoint past us to Rachel’s Tomb, where passengers got off the bus and immediately entered the small fortress enclosing the Tomb. Each of these buses then turned around, and once again raised

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a cloud of dust as it was driven back to the checkpoint to park (presumably in greater safety), until those visiting the Tomb were ready to be transported back to Israel. When I approached the Tomb to take pictures, I was waved away by an Israeli soldier who shouted in English, “No photographs.” What to Do? There may have been a Reuters report of the small protest, and some of the internationals present may write something, as I am doing. In the midst of the controversy within Israel over the government’s decision to relocate more than 8,000 Jewish settlers from Gaza, the problems of this Palestinian neighborhood in Bethlehem will sadly go unnoticed. In fact, the Israeli government was working furiously to complete the Separation Wall and also to expand many of its settlements on the West Bank, because it knows the Bush administration will look the other way until the Israeli disengagement from Gaza is successfully completed. There will be a major battle within Israel over the removal of settlers from Gaza, and those who oppose this action are threatening civil disobedience, and even violence, throughout the country. Under these circumstances the United States will not push the Israeli government to live up to its agreement to halt expansion of the settlements on the West Bank. Advocates for an end to the occupation of Palestine by Israel are demonstrating against the Separation Wall where it takes land from Palestinians, and against the unjust closure of checkpoints, which make travel around Jerusalem and many other cities extremely difficult and sometimes impossible. In the next few months, at least, their voices will not be heard by the international community, and certainly not in the United States. Some of the residents of Bethlehem who came to the protest by Rachel’s Tomb were resigned to the Separation Wall being built through their neighborhood. One man, who said he was an engineer living near by, argued: “We should fight now in the courts for compensation for our loss of business. It is too late to oppose the Wall. It is going to be built.” Other residents of Bethlehem argued that Palestinians should continue to protest the construction of the Wall. Based on her experience in the South African struggle to end apartheid, Hermina said that accepting compensation would mean giving up their struggle against the Separation Wall. “If you accept money for your troubles, then the Israelis will say you have no right to object to the Wall.” Those who were

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arguing for compensation claimed they couldn’t continue to live in Bethlehem, unless they received some money to offset their loss of income due to the Israeli occupation and especially the construction of the Separation Wall. As we left to have lunch and began to walk to a Chinese restaurant, which was only a block up the hill, a soldier with an automatic rifle came out of the security installation above the Anustas home and told us we weren’t allowed to go that way. We could see that there was a barricade ahead of us at the top of the hill, but there was also a space to the side that was large enough for pedestrians to walk through. To the right of the street was the Israeli security installation. When we said we were only walking up to the restaurant to have lunch, the soldier said his commander had told him to stop us, because no one was allowed to pass through the barricade. In broken English he explained he would be happy to let us through, but his commander had ordered him to stop us. A young, slight man of 19 or 20, he was almost pleading with us not to push the issue. So, we said we didn’t want to cause trouble for him, and we walked back down the hill, and then the half mile it took to go around by other streets in order to reach the restaurant. The unnecessarily long walk was only a minor inconvenience, but it reminded us again of the constant interventions by Israeli soldiers into the lives of the Palestinian residents of Bethlehem. How sad it is that walking the street here, to visit a friend’s house or to go to a restaurant for lunch, is seen by Israeli officials as a threatening act, which requires a military response. In the gospel of Matthew, after Herod tries to kill the newborn Jesus by sending soldiers to Bethlehem to slaughter all the young boys, there is a passage about Rachel: “A voice was heard in Ramah, wailing and loud lamentation, Rachel weeping for her children; she refused to be consoled, because they are no more.” (Mt. 2:18) The gospel account is quoting Jeremiah 31:15, where the prophet is remembering the slaughter of Judeans by Babylonian armies, after they conquered Jerusalem and deported its leading families to exile in Babylon. Rachel’s Tomb is a place of mourning, for all the Jews and their ancestors who have been killed in and around Jerusalem. But it is also, today, a place of mourning for many Palestinians, who are oppressed by the barriers, checkpoints and soldiers enforcing the Israeli occupation.

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“Freedom School” in Abu Dis Forty years ago I was teaching Freedom School in rural black churches in Mississippi. The public schools were about to be desegregated, and a court order had struck down unreasonable requirements for those trying to register to vote (such as explaining selected paragraphs from the U.S. Constitution). In Freedom School we talked about how to overcome segregation and white racism in Mississippi, and we helped local black people understand and prepare to advocate for their civil rights. On Thursday of last week I accompanied Helle Preisler, a young Danish woman in the Ecumenical Accompaniment Program in Palestine and Israel, as she went to Abu Dis (a 40-minute walk from the Mount of Olives on the eastern outskirts of Jerusalem) to teach English to professors at Al-Quds University and then volunteers at the Jerusalem Center for Democracy and Human Rights (JCDHR). As I listened to her lead a discussion with each group in English about the Israeli occupation and what it was doing to their personal lives and their communities, I was reminded of being in Mississippi. Helle doesn’t call her classes “Freedom School,” but I felt that she was doing here very much what I had done in Mississippi 40 years ago. There were differences, of course. Those involved in asserting their civil rights in rural Mississippi were black Christian Americans, who already spoke English, whereas participants in Helle’s classes in Abu Dis are Muslim Palestinians, who are fluent in Arabic and are trying to learn and improve their English skills. Yet, as in rural Mississippi, those taking part in the classes in Abu Dis were trying to learn how best to assert their fundamental human rights in the face of discrimination and brutality at the hands of the power brokers and their armed enforcers. Al-Quds University Helle had come to Israel to use her skills in teaching English to help Palestinians. When she went to Al-Quds University to inquire about teaching students, professors in the law school told her they wanted her help in improving their skills. These men were well-informed about the Israeli occupation, and had no trouble advocating the Palestinian position in Arabic.

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They were even able to read difficult material in English, but they lacked skill in conversation. They saw what Helle was offering as a way of learning how to argue their case more effectively with the English speaking audience they want to reach. Helle’s method is very straightforward, and quite effective. She asks questions about the Israeli occupation. In the class I attended she asked about the confiscation of water resources, about the settlements that have been constructed on Palestinian land contrary to international law, and about the Separation Wall that Israel is building despite the judgment by the International Court of Justice that it, too, violates international law. In response to her questions, the Al-Quds professors explained to her, in English, their understanding of the various strategies used by the Israeli government to deprive Palestinians of their property and their civil rights. As they spoke, I could see them concentrating on saying clearly in English what they were thinking in Arabic. Helle would write on a whiteboard with a marker any word or phrase that they had difficulty articulating, or that some of them didn’t understand. She also wrote the various points they made in simple sentences and phrases. In the class I visited she began by asking, “How are the settlements related to the water resources?” She chose this question, because in the previous class the topic for discussion had been the limited amount of water available to Israelis and Palestinians, and the strategy that the Israeli government had used to control more than its fair share of this precious resource. The AlQuds professors described how the settlements had been built to gain control over the water, and how pipelines had been laid deep in the ground to prevent Palestinians from damaging these lines or tapping into them to obtain water for West Bank villages. The professors also explained that settlements had first been built near the Green Line — recognized internationally after 1967 as the boundary between Israel and the Occupied Territories. Then, additional settlements were built closer to Palestinian cities and around Jerusalem. All of the professors agreed that the settlements built illegally by the Israeli government effectively deprive the Palestinians of the water resources, the best agricultural land, and the contiguity of territory required for a viable Palestinian state. As they talked more about land confiscation, the professors distinguished between the taking of land for security reasons and for a public purpose. In the latter case, Israeli courts have upheld land confiscation by the government, ostensibly for

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purposes such as parks and roads, even when the government then built settlements and roads on this land that only Jewish settlers could use. After the class was over, Helle wrote down on a sheet of paper the words and phrases she had written on the whiteboard during the discussion. She will type this up and bring it to the next class, so the men will have in written English some of the comments they made in the class. Jerusalem Center for Democracy and Human Rights The afternoon English class in Abu Dis was held in a very different environment. At the university the professors met in a library, where the walls were filled with legal volumes in Arabic. At the JCDHR office, we met in a small room with a few posters tacked up on one wall protesting the Separation Barrier. The office environment reflected the lack of funding for the Center. The students who came for the class were wearing jeans and open shirts, rather than suits. These men were between 25 and 45, and their English was less polished than the speech of the professors. A young Jewish photojournalist joined us for this class, because he was interested in hearing how the men would describe their lives in Abu Dis. The topic for discussion in this class was the experience the men had with the checkpoints that create obstacles for Palestinian movement within the West Bank. Helle asked what had led up to the present system of checkpoints. In halting phrases, the men began to describe how bulldozers had first pushed dirt into mounds that blocked certain roads, which made travel more difficult. Then, the Israelis began to use mobile checkpoints, with movable barriers. These would appear on some roads, and later be moved to other roads. Soon, identification cards were issued that allowed the bearer of the ID card to be in one section of the West Bank, but not in another. The next step was to construct permanent checkpoints and block all the other roads, so there was no moving between, say, East Jerusalem and Ramallah, without going through a checkpoint. The final step has been to build the Separation Barrier, which is a high fence in many places, and in others an 8 or 9 meter Wall. This barrier will separate Jerusalem from Abu Dis, and surround Bethlehem. When this Wall is completed around Abu Dis, it will make it much harder for those living in Abu Dis to go to Jerusalem. The Separation Wall will also make it more difficult to go from Abu Dis to Bethlehem, or Ramallah, or Jericho. Leaving Abu Dis will require passing through one of the few

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checkpoints in the Wall, and only those with the proper IDs will be allowed through a checkpoint. “What does this mean for you?” Helle asked. One of the men described how he used to work in Jerusalem, but now couldn’t enter the city because he didn’t have proper identification. He said many more people were unemployed now in Abu Dis, because Jerusalem had been the source of work for most of those living so close to the Old City. Another man, who was studying for a degree in Ramallah, was not permitted to go from Abu Dis through Jerusalem to Ramallah, because he only had a West Bank ID. He had to take a longer route around Jerusalem to get to Ramallah. “Describe an experience you have had at a checkpoint,” Helle said. The former student in Ramallah told how he’d been going back to school after a break, and had a large bag with him full of clothes, books, and other personal items. At the checkpoint, the Israeli soldiers took everything out of his bag, and then dumped all his stuff including his bag in the road. Then they made him stand there for two hours, while cars and trucks drove over his stuff and dirtied and destroyed everything. The man who can no longer work in Jerusalem described taking his pregnant wife to the hospital, because “she wanted to have a baby.” “No,” Helle corrected him, “she had to give birth.” “Yes,” he repeated, “she had to give birth.” He continued to describe how they were held up for over an hour at a checkpoint, but were finally allowed through. He stayed in the hospital with his wife for two days and then, despite having one leg that is shorter than the other, set out to walk the three miles back home. When he arrived at the checkpoint, the soldiers refused to let him pass. In frustration, he yelled at them, telling them he had to return home to take care of his other children, and he showed them that he was not carrying anything. After waiting over an hour, he was finally allowed to walk home. This man also said he had been arrested once, and that meant he now had a “black file.” He had been arrested with several other men who were protesting the closure of a checkpoint. The men were taken into a room, and with their hands tied behind them were forced to lie on the floor for two days. They were not given any food or water, and soldiers often came in and walked over their backs. Finally, they were released and not charged with anything, yet now he has a “black file” and will never be able to work again in Jerusalem. A fourth man in the group just shook his head when Helle invited him to describe an experience he’d had at a checkpoint. It seemed to be so upsetting that he didn’t want to talk about it. Another man said there was criminal

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activity at the Abu Dis checkpoint. People were moving drugs through the checkpoint at night, but the local Palestinians were too afraid to go there to try to stop this trafficking. They thought the drug smugglers were paying off the Israeli soldiers. At the end of the class Helle gave the men an assignment to write up their experiences in English. She told them not to worry about the spelling or grammar, and to use Arabic words if they didn’t know the English word to say what they wanted to say. The occasional use of Arabic words would enable them to keep writing, rather than stopping to check a dictionary. The Israeli journalist who had sat in for the class explained to the men that in English their experiences could be shared on the Internet with a wide audience. He told them they could use a group’s web site, or use blogs they created for themselves. They could describe life in Abu Dis so others would know how it is affecting them and their families. Enduring It was dark when we left the Center. Swirling winds were blowing dust everywhere, and so we drove slowly to where the Separation Wall meets a lower wall running perpendicular to it. The man giving us a ride in his old car took us first to where the main street of Abu Dis ends at the 8 meter Wall. On the other side of the Wall the road continues on to Jerusalem, but there is now no way to access this road directly. “This is the end of the world,” the man said. We took a new, but narrow asphalt road that followed the Separation Wall to the north up to another street. But then we had to turn back into Abu Dis and take a winding route up a steep hill, in order to approach the place in the Wall where people can still get across. As he drove, our friend said, “The Israelis don’t want to live with us. They don’t want the Palestinians to have their own state. The Israelis want us to leave.” It was hard to argue with his pessimism. “But this is our home,” he said in clear English, “and we will live here.” He smiled warmly, as we shook hands, and he told Helle that he would study hard before the next class. He had dropped us at the intersection of another lower wall, which runs perpendicular to the Separation Wall. Here people have piled rocks below the intersection of these two barriers, so they can step up on the rocks and then onto the lower wall, which is about six inches wide. Walking carefully along the lower wall around the higher wall, they then step down onto another pile

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of rocks on the other side. One by one, we made the crossing from the Abu Dis side of the Separation Wall to the Jerusalem side. When Helle and I had walked into Abu Dis in the morning, we had walked past seven or eight Israeli soldiers standing in front of this illegal entrance and exit from Abu Dis. They had seen us and others climb around the Separation Wall, but hadn’t paid any attention. Yet, there are many documented accounts of people being stopped at this crossing by soldiers and sometimes hassled, prevented from crossing, or even beaten. Twice a day Israeli women from Machsom Watch, an organization that monitors checkpoints, come to Abu Dis to try to provide some protection for Palestinians by observing the soldiers as they monitor the human traffic in and out of Abu Dis. These women, who were probably there earlier in the afternoon, had now gone home. We walked back retracing the path we had taken in the morning. We passed the Church at Bethphage, where the Palm Sunday procession had begun. Then we walked up the eastern side of the Mount of Olives, along the crest of the Mount of Olives to Mount Scopus and on to the guesthouse, where we were staying. Helle wanted to know what I thought of the English classes she is teaching, and I told her I was deeply moved by the stories of these men and by their dedication to learning English so they could more effectively be advocates for the human rights of their people. I was reminded of the committed black men and women I had known in Mississippi and of their courage and endurance, despite the terrible suffering and injustice inflicted upon them.

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Back to Abu Dis I went back to Abu Dis with three other members of the Ecumenical Accompaniment program to hear presentations in English by students, who were studying English with EA Helle Preisler. In order to travel to Abu Dis from Jerusalem we took a Palestinian bus (number 36) to the Abu Dis checkpoint, where the Separation Barrier cuts off Abu Dis from Jerusalem. The road to Abu Dis from Jerusalem goes through the Kidron Valley and curves around the Mount of Olives. On the ride out I was amused by watching four ducklings in a box on the dashboard of the bus, as they scrambled out of the box and were put back in by a boy, who was apparently bringing them home from school. When we got off the bus at Abu Dis we were behind, and on the south side of, the Mount of Olives, at the bottom of the hill. The street going up the hill has private fences on the Abu Dis side, and these connect the Separation Wall on the bottom of the hill with the Wall on the top. The Separation Wall When I was an EA in Jerusalem there were three ways to get to Abu Dis through the barriers created by the Wall and the private fences. The first was a new opening created in a private fence, where someone had cut out one of the vertical bars and bent the two bars on either side of the hole outward, to create a somewhat oval shaped hole that reasonably sized people could step through. We saw people from our bus doing that. But we walked further up the hill to use the second way to enter Abu Dis. This way involved stepping up onto a wall that is about three and a half feet high, and which is perpendicular to the Separation Wall, walking carefully along the six inch width of this wall past the Separation Barrier, and then jumping or stepping down on the other side. People were coming and going through this passage when we arrived. As we lined up to cross, three Israeli soldiers suddenly appeared standing on the wall, having climbed up on the Abu Dis side and crossed to the Jerusalem side. One of them was older and clearly in charge. He looked at the four of us, two Swedes, a Dane, and an American, and said, “Shalom.” Although we were taken completely by surprise, we replied, with equal civility, “Shalom.”

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I thought the Israeli soldiers might prevent us from crossing, but the officer had a bemused look on his face and paid no attention to us or any of the others who were crossing the wall. So, we climbed up, stood next to the soldiers, stepped around the Separation Barrier, and jumped down, as others did the same, all with the Israeli soldiers watching. There was a third option for crossing to Abu Dis from the Jerusalem side of the Separation Barrier slightly further up the road. It involved going through the gate onto the grounds of a monastery, and then stepping through the broken stone fence of the monastery into the street that leads away from the Separation Barrier. Crossing the Separation Barrier was only an inconvenience for us, but I should note that there were no soldiers there checking papers or detaining or beating people, as has happened many times in the past. In addition, we had our international passports, so we had little to fear. We were not trying to cross the Separation Barrier with West Bank IDs. The Israeli plan to complete the Separation Barrier around Abu Dis in 2005 will mean plugging the crossing points that now exist. The trip from Jerusalem to Abu Dis that took us half an hour will take an hour and a half. It will also cost each traveler considerably more for the two or three vehicles that will be required to make the trip when traveling between checkpoints. Once on the other side, we walked down into the center of Abu Dis and up to the other side of the Wall, across from where the bus had left us off at the bottom of the hill. My photographs, taken in the early afternoon, reveal the deep shadows cast by the 8 meter high Separation Barrier and the closed shops near the Wall. A mosque is next to the Wall on the Abu Dis side, whereas a church, across the street from the mosque, is now next to the Wall on the Jerusalem side. The only church serving the Abu Dis community is now inaccessible for Christian Palestinians with West Bank IDs who live on the Abu Dis side of the Wall. The road we followed beside the Wall led us to the new Palestinian Parliament, which is also close to the Separation Barrier. It is a sad irony to find this symbol of greater democracy in Palestine being constructed at the same time as the massive Separation Barrier that divides the Palestinians, who are within the municipality of Jerusalem. It is important to understand that the Separation Barrier is not on a border between Israel and Palestine. It divides Palestinians from other Palestinians, leaving some members of a family on one side and other family members on another. It also separates Palestinians from their schools, hospitals and religious sites.

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The Separation Wall through Abu Dis is directly behind the Mount of Olives and is only a fifteen-minute drive from the Old City. It is clearly visible from the top of the Mount of Olives. Statements by the Israeli government that the Separation Barrier is for security purposes are simply not credible, when you see the reality in a place like Abu Dis. At those points where the Separation Barrier is along (or near) the Green Line, then it functions like a security fence along a border. In Abu Dis, however, the Separation Barrier, which is a monstrous wall that divides a community, is a form of collective punishment. It is intended to crush the spirit of the Palestinians by making their lives more difficult, so they will give up and move elsewhere. English Presentations When we arrived at the Jerusalem Center for Democracy and Human Rights, which is on the Abu Dis side of the Wall and soon will be cut off from Jerusalem, we greeted the students and then sat and listened as they spoke in English about various aspects of the occupation. Students in the class included two unemployed men, who have university degrees but are unable to find jobs in the fields for which they have trained — teaching and the law. A teacher described the affect of checkpoint closures on the high schools and colleges in the area. In 2003 a curfew was imposed almost every day after a student attending one of the schools in Abu Dis was allegedly involved in a terrorist incident inside Israel. The school teacher explained, however, that for the exam week in May the administrators of the schools, the students, and the fathers of students cooperated in resisting the closure, so the young people could take their exams and finish their studies. Another Palestinian told how the checkpoints and Separation Barrier contributed to the high rate of unemployment in the Abu Dis area. He was a university graduate, but only has a West Bank ID card and, therefore, cannot travel to Jerusalem to look for work. Also, because it is so difficult to travel in and out of the area, businesses are leaving Abu Dis as the checkpoints and closures interfere with the movement of both materials and employees. As a result, he explained, the unemployment rate in Abu Dis was 65%. A third man talked about how having to buy water from an Israeli company has led to higher prices, less water for Abu Dis residents, and a metering system that is on the other side of the Wall. He also asserted that the quality of the water they are now receiving has deteriorated.

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A fourth Palestinian man commented on the legal problems that confront Palestinians who are arrested by Israelis and subjected to Israeli military law. International law requires an occupying power to provide notice to the families of those who are arrested, and to allow visits by family members and a lawyer. But, usually the Israeli army does not follow these rules. In addition, the sentences imposed by military courts are longer than civilian courts would impose, and those seeking to defend themselves often are not shown the evidence against them before it is presented. The army claims that doing so would compromise Israeli security. The English spoken by the young Palestinian men was far from perfect, but it was intelligible and the case they made against the occupation was a strong one. I had heard many of the arguments before, but it was compelling to hear these men describe how the Israeli occupation was personally affecting them. All of them had been humiliated at checkpoints. Some of them had been arrested and been imprisoned. Some had suffered beatings from Israeli soldiers. In addition, they were all suffering from the general poverty of the area, which has been exacerbated by the Separation Barrier that is surrounding their community. Hope The professional men in the class were very grateful to Helle for helping them improve their English. They realize that Palestinians have to tell their story to the world to help others understand the injustice they are experiencing. These men have taken one step forward in facing that arduous challenge. To celebrate their achievement, we went out to eat pizza in an Abu Dis restaurant. There were only two other persons in the restaurant, as few residents of Abu Dis have the money now to dine out. The owner was especially delighted to have our party of ten, and, consequently, he charged us a very reasonable rate. Leaving Abu Dis was hard. Some of us were going back to our homes in the West, where the difficulties of life in Abu Dis can easily be ignored, if not forgotten. But the Palestinians who must live in Abu Dis have to face these difficulties. They also have to accept that the completion of the Separation Wall around Abu Dis will make their living conditions even worse. If I had not known these men, but had simply encountered them on the street, I might have suspected them of being dangerous, as their appearance was a bit rough. But I have talked with them, I have listened to them, and I

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know that they are courteous, engaging men who are simply trying to make life better for themselves and their families. When I asked what they would like me to communicate to those I know back home, one of them replied: “Tell them we must resist the occupation, because we are people like you who love freedom. We must assert our fundamental human rights, because the Israelis will only negotiate with us if we are putting pressure on them. Please help us enjoy the freedom that you enjoy.” The facts on the ground here seem hopeless, to most of the people in our program. Yet, this Palestinian living behind the Separation Wall in Abu Dis had hope. His parting words to me were: “We trust that God is just, and we know people can change. We hope someday to live with Israelis in a democratic society that allows us all to be citizens, and to travel and live where we are able and wish to go. We know it will happen some day, inshallah (God willing).”

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Journey to Jayyous Jayyous is a village of approximately 3,000 Palestinians in the northwestwen section of the West Bank. It is well known among international peace activists in Israel because the Separation Barrier constructed by the Israeli government alongside the village is six kilometers east of the Green Line. This barrier, which here is an electrified fence, takes most of the fertile land owned by the Palestinian farmers of Jayyous, whose homes are now on the other side of the fence. In the past, the gate permitting access through the fence has often been closed, preventing farmers from caring for their crops. There are posted hours when the gate is to be open, however this schedule is not maintained consistently. The gate is supposed to be opened in the morning, at midday, and again in the evening. When the Israeli soldiers come in a jeep and open the gate they check the farmers as they pass through to reach their fields. Ecumenical Accompaniers have been living and working in the village to monitor the farmers’ access to their fields and to help the villagers improve their English. I went to Jayyous to visit the EAs. Traveling in the West Bank It is less than a 60-mile drive from Jerusalem to Jayyous, but it took me three hours to make the trip, and it took even longer to return. The journey requires driving north on highway 60, the major road controlled by Israel running north and south through the West Bank, then going west on highway 505, north on highway 506, west on highway 55, and north on highway 574. Jayyous is about 15 miles northeast of Tel Aviv. The Israeli city of Herzliya, just north of Tel Aviv, is clearly visible from the bluff that marks the western edge of Jayyous. My trip began by boarding a Palestinian bus a block north of the Old City, in the heart of East Jerusalem. We drove north toward Ramallah, but had to struggle with blocked traffic as we left the metropolitan area. The bus turned around, at one point, and went up a smaller road, seeking a way through the traffic. When this brought no relief, the bus climbed a hill, following two ruts made by other vehicles, to another street. But again, the bus was unable to avoid the snarl of cars, trucks, and other buses trying to leave the city.

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Palestinian traffic leaving Jerusalem on the north side has to exit by a single road, so all connecting roads join together. It isn’t surprising that the congestion can be as horrific as it was that morning. After an hour the bus had covered the five miles to Qalandia, on the outskirts of Ramallah. This is the checkpoint through which Palestinians going to Ramallah must pass. Palestinians travel around the West Bank by taking a taxi, bus, or servees, a van or longer taxi that carries seven to fourteen people. These vehicles travel to a checkpoint, where some passengers find another vehicle to take them to their destination. Otherwise individuals walk through the checkpoint (if they have proper ID), and then take a vehicle on the other side. Qalandia is the major transit area between Jerusalem and the northern West Bank, so it is a place where travelers change vehicles as well as enter Ramallah. It would be hard to imagine the scene at Qalandia without having been there. It is like a vast parking lot where vehicles park around the edges, while traffic moves through the middle, dropping passengers in the midst of the traffic flow. Much of the surface of the area is dirt and gravel, so when it rains (as it did during my return) it is muddy. Otherwise, as on my way to Jayyous, it is dusty. Vehicles come into Qalandia from the checkpoint, and also enter the central transition area from two other directions. Passengers going to Ramallah walk through the swirling mix of buses, taxis, servees, and trucks to the entrance of the checkpoint. Other people, coming out of Ramallah on foot, join those brought to Qalandia by vehicles from Jerusalem and elsewhere, in looking for a vehicle to take them where they want to go. Taxi drivers stand in this swirl of vehicles and people, smoking and trying to lure passengers to their taxis before these passengers find a servees or bus that will take them to their destination for a lower fare. In the middle and muddle of it all, vendors have set up stalls selling fruit, drinks, and cigarettes. Passing through is either a thrilling experience or an ordeal, depending on your state of mind. I doubt that anyone is unaffected. Qalandia is a place of noise, congestion, and chaos, yet places like Qalandia are necessary for Palestinians to travel throughout the West Bank. Not everyone, however, can go where he or she wants. Palestinians with West Bank IDs cannot go to Jerusalem, but they can leave Ramallah to go to other parts of the West Bank. Palestinians with Jerusalem IDs can go to Ramallah (although this may change in the future), but the number of Palestinians with Jerusalem IDs is a small percentage of the Palestinian popula-

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tion. Those with West Bank IDs living north or south of Jerusalem must go around the metropolitan area, rather than through it, to reach cities to the south. For someone with a West Bank ID a trip from Ramallah to Bethlehem, a distance of only 20 miles, takes a full half day or more, depending on the congestion at the checkpoints. At Qalandia I got off the bus that brought me from Jerusalem, and found a servees going to Funduq, which is about 40 miles north of Jerusalem and halfway between Nablus to the east and Jayyous to the west. I was the last passenger to squeeze into the servees, which was a long taxi with three rows of seats. The two men sitting next to me in the back seat were large, wellbuilt men, as were the three men in front of me. So, we were all sitting with our shoulders a bit pressed against each other as we drove north up highway 60 through the West Bank. Israeli Jews who travel this highway would say they are in Judea and Samaria, for these are the biblical names of the hill country between Jerusalem, to the south, and the valleys of Galilee, to the north. The road signs along the highway are in Hebrew and English, and only identify Israeli settlements, giving the impression that the traveler is in Israel. There are many of these settlements on both sides of the highway, and Palestinians share the road with Israeli army vehicles and Israeli buses, trucks, and taxis. Only those Palestinians driving mass transportation vehicles, however, are permitted to use the Israeli-only roads. It is easy to distinguish Jewish settlements from Palestinian towns and villages. Settlements have security fences around them with guardhouses at the gates. The houses in the Jewish settlements are built in rows, like in a suburb. In contrast with the Jewish settlements, there are no fences around Palestinian towns and villages, and the houses are older and located more randomly along the meandering roads that define a village or town. When the servees stopped in front of a store and I heard men in the car say, “Funduq,” I knew we had arrived. They didn’t speak any English and I didn’t understand Arabic. I could not understand anything else they had said in Arabic. Because I had not been there before, and there was no sign naming the village, I wouldn’t have known where I was without their help. So, saying, “Shukran,” which in Arabic means, “Thank you,” I worked my way out of the back seat of the servees and closed its door. Walking over to a man standing in front of the store, I simply said, “Azzoun,” which is the name of the next village I needed to reach in order to make

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my way to Jayyous. He pointed across the street, so I crossed and stood in front of another store. Soon a servees pulled up carrying a few people, but with two empty seats. When I said “Azzoun” to the driver, he nodded and I got in. The bus ride to Qalandia had cost three Shekels, and the first servees had cost me 20 Shekels, which I paid before the trip began. Generally, in a servees, you get in and then hand money forward. If, for example, you are in the back seat, you hand your money forward to a passenger in front of you, and the passenger hands it to the driver. Not knowing the cost to travel by servees from Funduq to Azzoun, but assuming it would be less than 10 Shekels, I handed forward a 10-Shekel coin. The driver passed seven Shekels back to the passenger in front of me, and she handed the change over her shoulder to me. When I arrived at Azzoun, I wasn’t sure where to catch the final servees to Jayyous, but after a few minutes three women and two children walked by and stopped in front of what looked like a rundown bus shelter. I went over and said to one of the women, “Jayyous?” She nodded, and about 10 minutes later a servees stopped and we all climbed in. This time I handed forward a five-Shekel coin, and received back two and a half Shekels. I knew I was almost at Jayyous. Using only five Arabic words (Qalandia, Funduq, Azzoun, Jayyous, and Shukran) I made my way to Jayyous without mishap, after four rides in three hours. All along the way, the Palestinians I met and had to rely on were very helpful. Jayyous Once in Jayyous I used my cell phone to call Eva Dueblin-Honegger, a Swiss Ecumenical Accompanier (EA) working in the village. She came out of the house on the main street (where the EAs stay), so I could find her. After a bite of lunch, Eva took me for a walk through the village to the bluff that looks towards the Mediterranean Sea, and then down the hill to the Separation Barrier on the western side of the village. The gate was open in the late afternoon, so the farmers could return from their fields. Most of the Palestinian farmers were driving donkey carts as they came to the checkpoint. Each had to stop his vehicle 10 meters from the Army jeep, and then walk to the jeep to show his identification papers. There was no difficulty today, as one by one the farmers came out of the field, stopped, waited, and then walked to the jeep. After receiving permission to pass, each

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returned to his donkey cart, or tractor, and drove through the gate and up the hill to the village. After watching the farmers move slowly through the gate, Eva and I walked back up the hill to the village. Eva is teaching English here, which she explained mostly involves talking about the Israeli occupation. The participants talk about what the occupation is doing to the life of the village, and discuss ways of resisting it. Eva described her classes with women, who when they are indoors without men around take off their head scarves and become very animated. The next day I went with her to the home of her landlord, where his wife received us. She was obviously delighted to see Eva, but possibly less happy to see me. If Eva had come alone, the woman would have invited her into the kitchen for tea and perhaps even to help cut vegetables for supper. After offering us tea, as Palestinian hospitality requires, and urging me to eat an orange from their orchard, the woman explained in halting English that the price of oranges was so low it would not cover the cost of the water and labor needed to grow and harvest them. The village of Jayyous is entirely Muslim and villagers have had only minimal contact with Christians, although this has increased through the presence of the EAPPI. Eva explained that I was a Christian minister and this was like being an imam. The woman responded by saying she had studied religion in a madrassa (Arabic for school) in Jordan, where she was from. “I love all religions,” she said, smiling at me, while the granddaughter she was caring for pulled at her skirt to regain her attention. After concluding our visit, Eva and I walked to the newly constructed municipal building, were Eva paid the phone bill for the house where the EAs live and had a few copies made on the copy machine. The municipal building was constructed with funds from the Japanese and French governments, as well as the United Nations Development Program (UNDP). We also walked to the top of a bluff on the western side of the village where a quarry on the other side of the Separation Barrier is clearly visible. In addition to the loss of land, due to the fence in the area, a nearby Jewish settlement has taken a large piece of land belonging to a Palestinian landowner and is using the land as a quarry. This confiscation is being challenged in court by the landowner, who has proper ownership papers, but while a decision is pending the Jewish settlers are cutting rocks from the quarry. This is most likely a prelude to the building of yet another illegal settlement

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in the area. From the top of the bluff, although we could see the quarry, the settlement was hidden from view on the other side of the hill. The following morning I walked with Eva out of the village to another Palestinian village nearby, and then through that village down into a valley where all we could see were the groves of olive trees on the hillsides. It was a beautiful morning, and there were wildflowers of many colors beneath the olive trees. We met a shepherd herding his sheep down the road and on our return two Palestinian women working in their gardens gave us some of the sweet peas they had just picked. In this nearby village, as in Jayyous, there was a single mosque, and Eva said that the imam of this mosque had once invited her into his home for tea. His family was present (it would be improper for him to entertain her by himself), and one of his daughters spoke some English. In Jayyous the imam has not invited her into his home, but she is friendly with the man, known as the muezzin, who chants the call to prayer. He is a shopkeeper, and when I met him he quickly told me in broken English that he was trained in Saudi Arabia, yet is not paid much for his skills. “But I do for Allah,” he said. “It is enough.” Eva told me she was reluctant to walk by herself beyond Jayyous, where she is known, so she was glad to have my company as we enjoyed our hike through the olive groves. A couple of the men we passed on that walk did not greet us, reminding me that it is more difficult for a western woman to be alone in Palestinian society than for a western man. It was difficult for both of us, however, as we returned to Jayyous, to walk past the garbage dump on the outskirts of the village, for the stench was overpowering. Dead sheep lay beside the road, as well as other garbage, and we speculated that only odd internationals, like us, walked this direction from the village. Farmers walk or drive their donkey carts, or tractors, out the other side of Jayyous to reach their fields, but those leaving this side of the village ride in a truck or a servees. That is probably why the garbage is dumped here, where it is convenient to come, but far enough out of the village so the smell does not reach the residents. Before I left the village to return to Jerusalem, Eva told me that the Separation Barrier threatens the entire life of the village. When there is a security alert, the soldiers refuse to open the gate. These closures, in addition to the land that has been taken for the fence, its attendant roads, the quarry, and the future Jewish settlement, have cut deeply into the income that the Palestinian farmers are able to glean from their remaining fields.

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In addition to this economic blow, the Separation Barrier exacts an emotional and spiritual price as well. It is humiliating for the Palestinian farmers to have to get permission from the Israeli government to go onto their own land. The farmers have to renew their permits every six months, and permission is often given only to the father in a family, meaning that other members of the family cannot help work the land. This also means that it is difficult for the members of a family to maintain their relationship with the land that has nourished them, perhaps for generations. When Eva first came to Jayyous, the family that owns the house where the EAs stay took her to their land for a picnic. But to do that, they had to travel via a longer route through another gate in the fence, because one of her landlord’s daughters did not have permission to go through the gate just below the village. The extra time and gasoline required for that trip was spent, as an act of hospitality, but the family cannot afford to make such a trip to their land very often. As a consequence, the children are not growing up with the same attachment to the land of the family, as their parents have. Returning On my trip back to Jerusalem I was able to board a bus at Funduq going to Ramallah, and the bus fare was half of what the servees had cost coming north. But going into Ramallah meant that I had to take a servees out from Ramallah to the Qalandia checkpoint, which cost five Shekels. Overall, on the return I only saved five Shekels (a little over one U.S. dollar). It began to rain in Ramallah, and that made waiting in line to go through the checkpoint an even more miserable experience than it would be in any event. Imagine 50 men (the women were in a separate line) crowded together, under a leaking tin roof, pushing to get through an opening no wider than a 3-foot door, as the cold wind blew the rain over all of us. I dislike pushing in a crowd, but it was necessary to make any progress forward. And, I was cold and wet, so I pushed. When I passed into the narrow opening, I had to wait until those in front of me were told to come forward by the Israeli soldiers standing 10 meters ahead. When it was my turn to go forward, I quickly did, and then the soldier slipped his free hand (the other hand was on his automatic rifle) under my coat to feel my back, which is where Israeli settlers often carry a pistol. Finding nothing, he motioned for me to open my bag, quickly pushed his hand down into it, felt around, and then nodded to indicate that I could go forward.

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After walking another 10 meters, I showed my passport to a second soldier, who compared my face with the passport photo, and then waved me on. I walked to a metal turnstile, with iron bars allowing travel only in one direction, pushed my way through, and then quickly, as I was now exposed to the steady rainfall, walked out into the Qalandia transit area. This time I knew I was looking for a bus, which was easier to find than a servees. As I moved through the crowd, I felt a man’s hand on my arm trying to guide me toward his taxi. Pressing on to the bus, I discovered the first one in line was full, but had not left the area because of the congestion. I walked to the next Jerusalem bus, entered, paid the driver the fare of three Shekels, and then sat down, happy to be in a somewhat warmer and much drier environment. Back in Jerusalem it was another short walk through the drizzling rain to the local bus station, where I boarded a bus to go up the hill to the top of Mount Scopus. Usually, I walked back to the guesthouse where I stayed, but when the rain began to pour I was glad I’d taken the bus. It took longer, however, for the bus to fill, than it did for the drive from the Damascus Gate east and up the hill to Mount Scopus. Finally, after four hours of traveling from Jayyous, I was able to take a hot shower in my room. At the time I wondered what my journey to Jayyous would mean for me after I had returned home to the United States. What I will remember about my trip and the time I spent in Jayyous seems more vivid now than I thought it would be at the time. When I tell family members and friends about this journey, they feel I was courageous to travel as I did among Palestinians on the West Bank. I suggest to them, however, that it took very little courage, given the hospitality and nonviolence of most Palestinians, despite the unrelenting injustice and humiliation they experience due to the Israeli occupation of the West Bank.

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Fearing Evil in the Valley The Psalmist writes, “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.” (Psalm 23:4) This most famous psalm describes a shepherd leading sheep to clear running water through a valley that is dark and fearsome. In the last week of April I walked through a valley that has shepherds and sheep, as well as lush grass for the sheep to eat. It also has a well rich with clear water. It is, however, a valley of fear for the Palestinian people living there in the village of Yanoun. And I had to admit that I, too, was afraid. Traveling I began my journey from Jerusalem to Yanoun by taking a bus from an outdoor area, where the buses park just north of the Damascus Gate, to the Qalandia checkpoint, just outside Ramallah. The cost of the half hour ride was 3 and a half Shekels, or about 75 cents. At Qalandia I had to wait for twenty minutes for the van bringing another EA back from Yanoun to drop him off and pick me up. There is no waiting room at Qalandia, because there is no shelter at this major transit center. Roads converge at the intersection, where there is a roundabout. All the vehicles bringing passengers to Qalandia, and picking up other passengers, park along one road or another. Or, they park in a couple of dirt areas just off the road, and wait until enough riders board to justify the cost of driving to wherever the vehicle is going. Traveling to Yanoun could have involved at least three transit changes, at places where there would be fewer travelers and longer delays before proceeding. However, an arrangement had been made because one of our EAs was alone in Yanoun. Each day another EA went out to be with him, in order to avoid any EA being left there alone overnight. Once in the van, the trip to Yanoun took an hour. When I looked east from highway 458 I could see all the way to the Jordan River Valley. There were very few olive trees on the hillsides of this semi-arid environment, but

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things changed when we turned west briefly on highway 505, and then followed a very rough dirt and gravel road for about a mile in order to get to the paved road that leads to Aqraba. In Aqraba there were olive trees and even some fields of wheat. Aqraba is a town with a mosque, a secondary school, and some houses that were new and quite substantial. The road we took through Aqraba was being prepared, I believe, for a new surface, but still needed to be adequately graded. As we bounced and lurched in the van for several blocks, I watched two boys chatting, one sitting on a bicycle and the other astride a donkey. Beyond Aqraba we had a short drive to Lower Yanoun. Then, we entered a valley where green wheat waved in the wind all the way from Lower Yanoun to the steep road at the end of the valley that leads up the hillside. The driver shifted into lower gear to climb halfway up this hill, and we arrived in Upper Yanoun. Yanoun While I visited with Arne Essén, the Norwegian EA staying in Yanoun, I learned that there about 16 families in both Lower and Upper Yanoun with perhaps 100 people, more than half of them children. These families descend from two families, and as many of the marriages in the village have taken place between these original families, everyone in the valley is related in one way or another. There are no new houses here, and the largest house in Upper Yanoun is empty, because the family has fled. Those who remain in Upper and Lower Yanoun live in fear of the Jews, who control a settlement on the hilltop above Yanoun. Itamar, as the Jewish settlement is called, has a population of about one thousand. There is one main area of buildings, some of which are clearly visible from the village below. The settlement has also established outposts along the hilltops on both sides of the valley, so on the top of the hill it has the shape of a U. The Palestinian village is effectively surrounded, and the only way out for the villagers is the road I traveled coming in. The sad story of Yanoun is that as the Jewish settlement developed above it, the settlers took more and more land from the Palestinians. They confiscated land first for the settlement, then more land for the security perimeter and the access roads they built to reach and defend their land. As the settlers created outposts, they took more land for the same reason. The Palestinian villagers estimate they have lost 90% of their land to the Jewish settlers.

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The remaining 10%, however, is the very fertile land in the valley and on the lower slopes where olive trees grow, some with trunks so thick that they must be hundreds of years old. The Palestinians call these “Roman trees,” and they believe they date back to the times of the Romans. Also there is an excellent well in the valley. With good soil and water, the valley immediately below Upper Yanoun, and between Lower and Upper Yanoun, is the source both of food for the people and their sheep. It also provides a cash crop. Although the villagers resent being robbed of their land by the settlers, they can make a living on the land that they continue to own. They are willing to accept their loss, if this is what it takes to live in the valley in peace. In 2002, however, the Jewish settlers tried to drive the villagers out. The settlers wanted to take control of the well, the fertile land of the valley, as well as most of the hillsides where olive trees are planted. After harassing the farmers and the families for several weeks, one Sabbath evening the settlers came into both Upper and Lower Yanoun. They broke into the houses, carrying their M-16 rifles, and they dragged men out into the street and beat them. Then they threatened to kill everyone in the village, if the people did not leave within the week before the settlement celebrated its next Sabbath. Children in the village were terrified, and began to wet their beds at night. They would cry hysterically at the sight of settlers walking on the hillsides, or coming down from the hills and moving through the valley. The West Bank is divided into three areas of control, Areas A, B, and C. Yanoun is in Area C of the West Bank, and the Israeli army administers all of Area C. The Israeli army was notified of the threats made by the settlers, but did not make any commitment to assist the people of Yanoun. Since the villagers had no assurance of protection, they decided it was too risky to remain. The day before the Sabbath, they all fled, mostly to Aqraba. Their story became known, however, and two Israeli activists were so outraged by the conduct of the Jews of Itamar that, with great courage, they came to Yanoun to live there in order to make it safe for the villagers to return. After a week or so, internationals also came, and one of the houses in Upper Yanoun became the international house. Together, Israeli activists and internationals have pledged to maintain a presence in Yanoun, and because of that pledge many of the villagers have returned. During my stay, the Ecumenical Accompaniment program carried the burden of fulfilling the pledge, and it sent two or three EAs to live in Yanoun for three months at a time. During the three months that I was in Jerusalem,

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two members of our group were living in Yanoun. As one of these EAs needed to leave for awhile, other EAs in our group, as well as internationals from other groups, were coming to Yanoun to fill in. Of course EAs have no weapons, and no group of internationals can stop the settlers from doing whatever they choose to do. But the EAs can call the Israeli army, human rights groups, and the press, if anything happens. This international presence has kept enough pressure on the settlement that there has been no attack on Upper and Lower Yanoun since the villagers returned three years ago. There have, however, been incidents. The day before I came, three horses grazing in a field near Upper Yanoun were stolen by Jewish settlers. The Israeli army was informed, but it didn’t do anything. One of the EA living in Upper Yanoun discussed the problem with the mayor, and they decided they would not try to go up to the settlement. Only the week before my visit, a Palestinian farmer had been beaten and chased from his olive groves, and the settlers then had tried to set his tractor on fire. In the fall of 2005 Palestinians were attacked as they harvested olives from their trees, and one of them was badly beaten. The settlement of Itamar is frequently written up in the Israeli press, which characterizes its occupants as among the most extreme and violent in the West Bank. Israeli activist groups and international human rights groups have protested against what the settlers of Itamar have done to the people of Yanoun. Perhaps as a result one of the settlers is presently under house arrest. But, life in Yanoun remains tense. At night, the village is well lit by its own lights from an electric generator, below the Upper village, built by a European NGO with a grant from the United Nations Development Program. This new source of power is heavily fortified, so it is at least harder for the settlers to destroy it, as they destroyed the previous generator that powered the lights of the village. In fact, the Upper village is too well lit on many nights, because the Itamar settlers have spotlights they turn on in order to bathe the village in light all through the night. For whatever reason, this did not happen the night I was there. The records kept by internationals living in Yanoun, however, verify that it is more common than not. Perhaps the celebration of Pesach (Passover) all week distracted the settlers, and they simply forgot to turn on the spotlights at night.

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The Good Life Arne was by himself when I arrived. He was sitting in front of the international house, reading and enjoying the view over the valley which is spectacular. The road ends just after the international house, so there is no traffic and it’s quiet. The smell of sheep, and manure, is present, because in these villages the sheep are kept in the lower part of the buildings at night. That was also true for the house where Arne was staying. The smell was not overpowering, however, and there was a breeze at night that brought fresh air from the valley. The sheep also wake early, as I found out when their cries woke me the next morning a little after dawn. Arne speaks only a little Arabic, and only a few of the villagers speak a little English. So, his life in Yanoun involved a lot of visiting, drinking tea or strong coffee, and smiling and nodding. The elementary school in Upper Yanoun, which opened two years ago with support of European NGOs, is a sign of the commitment international organizations have made to support the villagers. The English teacher speaks exceptionally good English, but he lives outside the village in Aqraba. Consequently, he is only available for conversation when school is in session. The morning after my arrival, and while the students were on break, Arne and I had tea with the teacher. We talked not only about the problems in the village, but also about Islam, teaching and America. The school had an American map on the wall of one of the two classrooms that had been given to the school by an American visitor. While I was in Yanoun Arne and I also visited two sisters, who live immediately next door to the house where internationals stay. Arne said these women take care of him, and I can verify that they surely do. Before I arrived Arne had sprayed the floor to get rid of ants, but the odor of the spray continued to pervade the room. So, we carried the floor mat outside and, to air it out, laid it over the thistles growing beside the door. While we were inside the two sisters came and laid the mat on the black asphalt street, with a milk jug on top to prevent it from blowing off the hill. The women also brought Arne some cooked wild peas for dinner, and when we ate that evening Arne shared rice wrapped in bay leaves, goat cheese, and olives with me. This was all given to him by his lady friends. They also gave Arne fresh bread each evening. The bread in the villages is not like the city, for it is baked on heated stones. Sometimes, when the bread is picked up, a stone remains attached. And we had a stone about the size of my thumb in the large, circular, thin loaf of bread that the women gave us for dinner.

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These sisters also run the only store in the village, which has six shelves each about five feet long. These shelves hold soft drinks, soap, olives in bottles, olive oil, cookies, and a few other items. Arne swore by the olive soap, so I bought two cakes for 5 Shekels. Arne told me that the women were selling the items for the same price they bought them in Aqraba, but that he had persuaded them to add one Shekel to the cost of each item. For better or for worse, the entrepreneurial spirit of capitalism has reached the village of Yanoun. The store was about twelve feet square, and the walls and ceiling were unpainted slabs of cement. There was no window, so the only light in the store came through the open door. Since there was no screen door, flies swirled in the moving air in the middle of the room. There was a bench along one wall, where we sat as we drank the strong coffee they served us. The women both had their hair covered, and their clothing was faded and a bit tattered. But although poor, they possessed a quiet dignity. Their smiles were warm and welcoming, and they were very patient with our attempts to communicate with them in English. They had a treadle sewing machine in the room, and Arne said they repaired clothing for people in the village. They also had a black and white television, and it was on while we were having coffee. The program involved a woman commentator, who was dressed in western clothing and did not have her hair covered. The woman on the television was visiting a hairdresser, as we sat in silence, drinking our coffee. Arne said we were watching a channel from a Jordanian television station. During the afternoon Arne and I took the walk he takes every day in the afternoon. We went down the hill and out the road toward Lower Yanoun. We then turned along an intersecting road for half a mile or so, before climbing a hillside to the stone remains of what the villagers say was once a mosque. The hilltop is known as “Nabanun.” Arne learned the derivation of this name one day, when he encountered a settler family, a man and his wife, and their ten children, on this hilltop, even though the settlers are not supposed to come down onto the lower slopes. The settler spoke English and told Arne that they had come to honor the burial site of Nun, the father of Joshua. He explained that Muslims also see Nun as a prophet, which is why they join the word in Arabic for prophet, naba, with Nun and call the hilltop Nabanun. The settler was cordial and invited Arne to visit him in Itamar. He said that if Arne came up and gave his name to the guards, he would come out and escort Arne into the settlement. But Arne has not done so. He is not sure

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it would be safe to approach the settlement, and he thinks the villagers would not want him to be too friendly with any of the settlers. The day we walked up Nabanun to see the stone remains there, we found three shepherds and all their sheep enjoying the shade of the trees and the thick grass nearby. Arne knew the shepherds, and greeted them in Arabic. Once before, when he encountered them here, the shepherds were preparing lunch and invited him to join them. They had slaughtered one of the sheep, and they roasted pieces of meat over an open fire. It must have been like stepping back into the world of the Bible in the hills of Samaria, for here we were not far from the ancient city of Shechem. As we walked back to the main road, Arne explained that he isn’t able to walk east along the intersecting road, because the settlers have blocked the road where it passes below their outpost. This road was the main way to travel from the village of Yanoun to Nablus. Now the villagers have to go around through Aqraba, which is much longer, and so requires both more time and gasoline to make the trip. Upper Yanoun sits just below the main part of the settlement and when we walked back up the valley the horseshoe shape of the hilltops, with the settlement and the outposts on them, was clearly visible. In the valley a man in the wheat field was bent over, cutting feed for his sheep with a sickle held in his hand like a knife. A donkey was tethered beneath an olive tree, and birds were singing, as the afternoon grew cooler. It was almost an idyllic scene, except for the fear, fear of the settlers, their M-16s, and their determination to drive the Palestinians from the land. Had I not visited Yanoun, met the people, and talked with Arne, I might have found the facts I have related so contrary to the pastoral setting portrayed in the photos I took, that these harsh facts would hardly be believable. But I know, sadly, that the facts are true. Without internationals in the village, drinking tea and coffee with elderly ladies, visiting the school, and spending the night as the spotlights of the settlement remind the villagers of what might happen to them, the settlers would likely return to the valley with their guns and their threats. And the Palestinians in Yanoun would be driven from their homes and their land.

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Stones of Hebron There are two ways to travel from Jerusalem to Hebron when using public transportation. The first involves taking the number 160 Israeli bus, which brings you to Kiryat Arba, the large settlement of Jewish Israelis to the east of Hebron, and then down to the Cave of the Machpelah near the Old City. The other way is to take a servees from Damascus Gate in East Jerusalem into Hebron itself. As I didn’t know where to catch the Israeli bus, and couldn’t understand the Hebrew explanation given when I called the phone number listed for the bus schedule, I went by servees, the way I’d gone once before. Since you catch a servees by simply walking into the area where they are parked, in East Jerusalem this means entering the area just north of the Damascus Gate leading out of the Old City. A Palestinian man will soon come toward you and ask in English, “Where do you want to go?” In my case, when I said I wanted to go to Hebron, there seemed to be an argument about who was going to take me. The man I thought had won the dispute pointed me toward the sixth van parked along the side of the street, but when I arrived there the driver was elsewhere. Quickly, the man who seemed to have lost the argument appeared and directed me to a van a little further up the street, which was almost full of people. I got in, and a few others boarded as well. Once the van was full (15 passengers) we headed south, through the tunnels that carry traffic past the Old City and then out the road to Bethlehem. We skirted Bethlehem to the west and followed highway 60 south. At the main intersection with the highway there was a checkpoint for traffic headed north into Jerusalem, but the vehicles going south were not being stopped. We proceeded through the tunnel to the west of Bethlehem and down the highway toward Hebron, which is about twenty miles to the south of Jerusalem. I tapped the passenger in front of me on the shoulder, and then passed my 12 Shekels forward, as did the other passengers. The driver made change, as needed, while he accelerated around trucks and blew his horn to alert oncoming cars. Frequently, he drove down the middle of the two-lane highway to pass slower vehicles, which would then move partly onto the shoulder.

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Outside of Hebron the Palestinian traffic all turned off the highway onto an access road that was very rough at the beginning and continuously offered the experience of driving over jarring speed bumps. Having my knees jammed into the seat in front of me was now an advantage, for it kept me in place as the van lurched over the potholes, braking before each speed bump, and then accelerated after bouncing over the rise in the asphalt. When we came into the main part of Hebron, passengers called out to the driver and the van stopped to let them out. I watched as we passed the Happy Bunny restaurant, which has this name in English above its door as well as a neon lit picture of Bugs Bunny. This was where I had gotten out of the servees the first time I came to Hebron, because other members of the EA program live nearby. But today they were busy until later in the afternoon, so I had decided to go to downtown Hebron instead. To do that I simply stayed in the van until the last stop. I knew we had come into the city at the place the Jewish map I had identified as Yerushalaim Road, and the map showed streets connecting from the end of that road to the Cave of the Machpelah, where both Jews and Muslims believe that Abraham and Sarah are buried. But, I didn’t know exactly where I was, after I got out of the servees, and all the street signs were in Arabic. I walked in the general direction I thought was correct, and after a few blocks I saw an Israeli army checkpoint blocking a narrow city street. On the other side of the checkpoint the street looked completely abandoned, but Israeli flags were flying over it, so I knew this was the transition point between the Palestinian section of the Old City and the restricted access area in which 500 Jewish settlers live with about 1,500 Palestinians. I hesitated before trying to go in, as I also knew that the Israeli settlers living in the area just ahead of me were among the most violent on the West Bank. I watched, as several Arab women went through the checkpoint, and then decided to try it. Because I was wearing my EA vest, which has a cross on the outside, I reversed it, and then walked up to the soldiers at the checkpoint. They were clearly surprised to find an American walking leisurely out of the chaos of downtown Hebron, but I explained I merely wanted to see the tomb of Abraham (Avraham in Hebrew). They looked at my passport, and at me, and then waved me on. Walking a little more than a block brought me to another soldier, who was standing guard in a small shelter that was fortified with sandbags. I said, “Avraham’s Tomb?” He pointed down the street, and I continued ahead.

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The Cave of Machpelah I didn’t see another soul on the street for the next three blocks, until I came to where men were sweeping up dirt. As I approached, I could see some of the men were using shovels to pick up the gravel, and then dumping it into baskets held by other men, who carried the full baskets to the side of the road before emptying them on the piles of rubble lining the street. As I came closer to the road cleaning crew, I looked up and saw the stone walls that King Herod built around the Cave of Machpelah in the first century bce. These stone walls are magnificent and extremely well preserved. Some of the stones near the corner of the building are more than 20 feet in length, and about 4 feet high. It is hard to imagine that these massive stones were lifted into place more than two millennia ago. Each row of stones is set back about half an inch, which gives the building a less ponderous appearance as the walls rise. The stones vary in length, so the vertical lines are irregular, and above the first several tiers of stone the higher tiers have alternating depths. Rich in colors of gold and tan, these stone walls in Hebron are a wonder to behold. The inside of the building is less striking, partly because it is cut up into a makeshift synagogue and a mosque. To enter the synagogue I went through two security checkpoints and then found myself in a hall lined with Jewish prayer books. The synagogue is in a courtyard, has a roof made out of stretched canvas, and is open on two sides. It is divided into a rear section for women and a front section for men, and was obviously set up for utility with little attention to aesthetics. A few men were praying, and several soldiers were standing guard at the end of the hallway. In addition to having access to the synagogue, Jews have access into the room known as Abraham’s hall. It is about twelve feet by ten feet, and in one corner 6 or 7 elderly women were seated in a circle, conversing in Hebrew. They didn’t seem to mind when I entered and took pictures of the painted walls and ceiling. The larger interior halls of the building and four smaller halls containing monuments for the patriarchs and matriarchs are under Muslim control, but Jews are allowed to enter the Muslim section of the building 10 days during each year. Jews believe that this memorial site in Hebron marks the actual graves of Abraham and Sarah, Isaac and Rebecca, and Jacob and Leah, Jacob’s first wife. (The tomb of Rachel, the second wife of Jacob, is located in Bethlehem.) After the Israelis defeated the Jordanian army and took control of

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Hebron in 1967, explorations under the structure revealed a hidden stairway to an underground level, and two caves at one end of this lower level. Pottery discovered in these caves dates back almost 3,000 years, which would be to the time of King David. Genesis 23 says that Abraham bought a cave in this area, and 2 Samuel reports that David reined for 7 years from Hebron, before moving the capital of a united Israel to Jerusalem, which he conquered from the Jebusites. A thousand years later, there was a structure here to remember these events. Under Roman and Byzantine rulers, during the first few centuries of the Christian era, the space within the walls was divided between Jews and Christians. After Muslims regained control in the seventh century a mosque was built in the southern half of the enclosure. The existing building within the walls built by Herod was probably constructed in the Crusader era by Baldwin II (1118-31). Christians and Muslims visited the underground area until the middle of the thirteenth century, when the Mamluk sultan Baybars excluded Christians and, after 1490, not even Muslims were allowed in the lower area. Saladin added four minarets to the walls, two of which remain, and Islamic inscriptions are evident today even in the Jewish area. Before leaving the site, I stopped for a soft drink in the Gutnick Center, a square nondescript building alongside the ancient memorial to the patriarchs and matriarchs. In its small café, I sat and watched three settlers enjoy their pizza, each with a revolver strapped to his hip. No one bothered me, and the manager of the café was happy to direct me to the toilets, when it was obvious that I was looking for the public facilities. While I was in the Gutnick Center three Israeli soldiers came in to buy snacks from the café manager. After leaving the Gutnick Center, I walked out of what I later learned is called the H2 area, which is restricted to Israelis and Palestinians living in the area, and the few Palestinian children who have permission to enter in order to attend school. The Jewish settlements in the Old City are all in the H2 area, which was created to provide protection for these settlements. The H1 area of Hebron is the larger part of the city where most of its people live, and under the Oslo agreement the H1 area is under the Palestinian Authority. I was not surprised, therefore, to see Palestinian police, as I walked through the streets of the H1 section of downtown Hebron. Later in the afternoon I walked back up Yerushalaim Road to the Happy Bunny, and then two blocks up a connecting street to the flat where the three

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EAs staying in Hebron lived. The two of them who were there, Anna Burén from Sweden and Thomas Mandal from Norway, prepared a lovely meal for me, and also gave me hospitality for the night. The other member of the EA team, Eva Rasmussen from Denmark, a medical student who was working with a mobile health clinic, was away during my visit. Qurtuba School The next day I walked through the same checkpoint in downtown Hebron with Anna and Thomas. They had the responsibility of escorting the students of Qurtuba School in the morning from the checkpoint at the beginning of H2 down the street to their school, and then home again in the early afternoon. The necessity for this requires a few more facts about Hebron. A small Jewish community lived peacefully in Hebron among the Muslim Arabs early in the twentieth century. As more Zionists arrived in Palestine, which was then under British control, tensions arose between these new immigrants and the Arab population. Rumors in 1929 that Jews were killing Arabs in Jerusalem led to Arab attacks on Jews in Hebron. Sixty-seven Jews were killed, and those who survived fled the city. In 1931, Jews from 35 families, who had lived in Hebron, returned to the city but, for their own safety, the British moved them out in 1936. From 1936 to 1967 no Jews lived in Hebron, but after the 1967 war a small group of religious Jews settled illegally in the city and refused to leave. Instead of removing them, the Israeli government gave them legal status. In his memoirs, Moshe Dayan says the biggest mistake of his career was allowing the first illegal Jewish settlement in Hebron to remain. Since that time Jewish settlers have taken more land illegally in Hebron. Then, after Muslims have protested, and at times attacked them, these settlers have demanded protection by the Israeli army. The Israeli government has reacted to these circumstances by, first, criticizing the settlers and, finally, by making these illegal settlements legal under Israeli law. Under international law, however, this confiscation of property by the occupying power, and the legislation passed by the Knesset in an attempt to validate these actions, are in violation of the Geneva Convention and, therefore, illegal. The Israeli government has ignored international criticism, and today there are about 7,000 Jews living in Kiryat Arba, the Jewish settlement just outside Hebron on the east, and 500 settlers living in the Old City area of Hebron.

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Protecting the illegal settlements has required land for Israeli army barracks and checkpoints manned by Israeli soldiers. Palestinian buildings have been demolished, or closed, to create a security perimeter around the four locations near the Cave of Machpelah, where the settlers claim to be renewing the Jewish quarter of the city that was lost in the riots of 1929 and 1936. It should be noted that none of the Jewish families living in Hebron in the 1920s has given support to these new Jewish settlements. The Jewish families living in Hebron before the wars were very much at home in Arab culture, whereas the Jewish settlers today not only lack appreciation for Arab culture, but seek to drive all non-Jews out of Hebron in order to reclaim the city for its original Jewish inhabitants. One of the settlements in the Old City area of Hebron had been a Hadassah clinic, whose inhabitants were killed in 1929. In 1979 a group of Jewish families occupied the building and renamed it Beit Hadassah. After Palestinian militants killed six of them in 1980, the Israeli government used the outcry among Jews as an excuse to punish the Palestinians in Hebron by permitting more Jewish settlements in the area. One adjoining building to Beit Hadassah was renovated, and housing on the other side of Beit Hadassah was torn down so a new complex for Jews could be built. This background information will, perhaps, make it easier to understand why internationals are now required to guard Palestinians girls attending Qurtuba School. The school, which used to have an enrollment of over 200 students, but today has only about 90 girls between the ages of 7 and 16, is directly across from Beit Hadassah and the Jewish settlements built next to the old clinic. Sadly, the Jewish settlers regularly threaten and attack Palestinian students in the street between the two buildings. It was 7:30 in the morning, when Anna, Thomas and I arrived at Qurtuba School. Almost as soon as we passed through the checkpoint girls appeared wearing jeans and a school uniform blouse with an attached skirt that came to about 6 inches above their knees. Most of the older girls also wore headscarves, and all of the students were carrying book bags of one sort or another. Anna and I stood in the street near the checkpoint, where the girls walk on their way to school. They were coming either from the street leading up the hill next to the checkpoint, or through the checkpoint, if they lived elsewhere in the Old City. Thomas went ahead to stand directly across from Beit Hadassah, next to the steps that lead up to the school on the hillside above the street.

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The students seemed happy, and that morning there were no incidents. But also present with the EAs were two other international monitors from the Temporary International Presence in Hebron (TIPH) set up by the 1987 Hebron Protocol to the Oslo Peace Process. These two men had their cameras ready to record any problems that might occur, as they have no power to intervene but they are responsible for making reports to the Israeli government, the Palestinian Authority, and also the governments of Denmark, Italy, Norway, Sweden, Switzerland and Turkey that sponsor TIPH. Two Israeli soldiers were stationed at the checkpoint, and two more at the security post in front of Beit Hadassah. As someone there for the first time, I thought the presence of EA volunteers should have been entirely unnecessary. But the previous week the children of settlers had thrown stones at the Palestinian girls as they left school and the Israeli soldiers had stood by without stopping them. Both Anna and Thomas were there that day, trying to protect the Palestinian children. Thomas told me that Anna stood directly in front of one soldier, as stones flew past her, and yelled at him: “Do your job! Do your job! Protect these school girls!” The Israeli soldier did tell the settler children to stop throwing stones, but when the children continued the soldier didn’t do anything to stop the stone throwing. Like their parents, the settler children have learned they won’t get into trouble for attacking Palestinians and internationals, the name both Israelis and Palestinians call monitors like us. On the morning I was there, after the children were safely in their classrooms, Anna left to visit a village school where she might teach an English course, as Thomas and I went up the stairs to the school. Before entering the building I noticed that the main staircase up to the school was blocked off with barbed wire. Thomas explained that the Israeli army had done that to keep the school children from walking 50 feet further down the street in order to use the school’s main staircase, as this would take them past Beit Hadassah. I noticed walking up the staircase the students now must use that it was constructed with stones that were irregular in shape and would be slippery and treacherous when wet. Inside the school I met the principal, and Thomas and I were served hot tea that was heavily sweetened. After chatting with the principal briefly, for her English was a bit limited and my Arabic is profoundly limited, I spent the first part of the morning talking with Thomas. We sat in the school courtyard until recess, when the girls came out to play. They bought snacks from

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a little school shop beside the playground, used the outdoor toilets, and then ran around and hit and caught a ball. I took photographs, while Thomas displayed both his skills in hitting the ball and his rapport with the students. After recess, Thomas and I walked into the Old City and down to another Israeli checkpoint, where we had a cup of tea and a few sticks of sweetbread with the father of two of the school girls. His shop is just past the checkpoint and literally the last open shop before entering a narrow street, where everything is closed because of the presence of Israeli soldiers. Empty and partially destroyed buildings were all around us, and as we drank tea we watched as the two soldiers at the checkpoint stopped Palestinian men and checked their identification papers. Our Palestinian host explained that two men he knew had to wait an hour that morning, before they were allowed to pass. Thomas and I saw five young men searched, as they stood with their legs spread apart and leaned forward, with their hands against the wall. As we were leaving, one of the Israeli soldiers asked what I was doing there. I told him I taught religion, and I had visited the Cave at Machpelah to learn more about it. Motioning with my hand toward the destroyed buildings around us, I said, “This is very sad.” He replied, “I don’t like holding these men, but sometimes when I check their names with headquarters I’m told to.” The soldier seemed decent enough, but as I watched him stopping men I saw that it was humiliating for the men to be challenged, made to wait, and searched. We returned to Qurtuba School to escort the girls home, and found that the two monitors from TIPH were already in place, standing at the bottom of the stairs. As the girls began to come down the stairs, a van full of settler children drove up to Beit Hadrassah, and I heard one of the TIPH monitors say, “This could be trouble.” Thomas and I moved between the van and the children, and the TIPH monitors began taking pictures. But only the driver and one child got out of the van, and fortunately for us there was no problem after all. Thomas and I followed the girls, as they went down the street. Suddenly, on the ground level of a narrow and otherwise deserted street, doors opened and girls slipped inside. Before we left the street that I had walked the day before without seeing a soul, I saw girls standing on the balconies of some of the houses, which I now knew were actually homes rather than abandoned buildings.

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Some of the girls went through the checkpoint into the Palestinian part of the Old City, where they were safe from the Jews who would not go there. The girls, who had to walk up the hill to their homes, were likely to encounter settlers, as there is a settlement at the top of the hill. We walked with them until the last two children, who live across from the settlement on the hill, reached their home safely. On the hilltop, one of the TIPH monitors spoke with the soldiers stationed across from this settlement, and soon three of them crossed the street and pulled away debris from beside the settlement in order to clear the path that leads to two Palestinian properties set back from the street. Apparently, the settlers regularly block this path, and the international monitors have to ask the soldiers to clear it. Beatings Before I left Hebron, Thomas and I visited the Palestinian extended family living in the first house on the street next to Qurtuba School. Thomas knew that one of the men in this house had been attacked and beaten in the street the day before by four Jewish settlers, and we went to meet with him and, if he agreed, to put him in touch with the Israeli human rights group, B’Tselem. Two of the schoolgirls were on the balcony of the home, so Thomas called to them in Arabic, inquiring if the man we were looking for was at home. When they said he was, we opened the metal door on the street level, and entered the home. A metal shopping cart was blocking one of the two doors, leaving only a narrow passageway into the home, which made it impossible for more than one person to enter at a time. There were no rooms on the ground floor, but only a steep staircase up to the next level. We climbed up two stories, passing one apartment, and then reached the top floor of the building, where we met the man who had been attacked. Thomas interviewed him briefly, and took photos of the bruises on his face. Then, Thomas called B’Tselem on his cell phone and the man spoke briefly with one of the field officers of the organization. The man was told that the field officer with whom he’d spoken would come to prepare an incident report. As we were speaking with the man, his brother brought his two-year old son into the apartment. The child had been attacked by settler children two days earlier. The boy’s right eye was swollen, and he had a bandage over the right side of his face covering a large abrasion. Thomas listened to his father’s

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explanation of the incident, took photos of the boy, and later wrote up his report for EAPPI. Four small children had gathered from inside the house, and I went with them onto the flat roof next to the upper floor apartment, where they happily posed for photos. I found I was looking down at Beit Hadrassah and directly across at the four-story Jewish settlement built beside it. I could also see Qurtuba School immediately to the south, and rolls of barbed wire strewn behind the school to cut it off from the buildings above. Army barracks and outposts surrounded the entire neighborhood. Thomas left the house to go to the checkpoint and meet the B’Tselem field officer, and I stayed behind with the family. The Israeli soldiers at the checkpoint, however, would not let the B’Tselem field officer through. The soldiers claimed that because the field officer was a Palestinian and did not reside there, he had no right to enter H2. I learned this, when Thomas called me to ask if the injured man would walk out to the checkpoint to be interviewed. Thomas spoke briefly with him on my cell phone, but it quickly became clear that he did not want to do that. So, I left and joined Thomas and the B’Tselem field officer on the Palestinian side of the checkpoint. I learned then that when the soldier was asked if an Israeli staff member of B’Tselem would be allowed through, he said that would be fine, and when the soldier was told that preventing the Palestinian staff member from passing through was discrimination, the soldier simply shrugged his shoulders. The B’Tselem field officer had called an army command office to try to obtain authorization to pass through the checkpoint, and he told us that he had been in the H2 area only last week. “It’s just this soldier,” he said, “who wants to give me a hard time.” Before giving up, he planned to wait thirty minutes for the army command center to phone and give him permission to enter H2. Leaving Hebron Rather than wait with him, Thomas and I walked through the maze of narrow streets that distinguish the Old City from the rest of the downtown. We passed dozens of parked taxis and vans, which will transport Palestinians throughout the metropolitan area and beyond. I was looking for a ride all the way back to Jerusalem. The first time I was in Hebron, with two other visiting EAs, we had left in the evening when there were no taxis available to go all the way to Jerusalem, a journey that requires a driver have a Jerusalem ID. That evening we took a taxi to

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Khadar, a transition point in the informal Palestinian transportation grid located just before Bethlehem. There we were able to locate a taxi that could take us through the checkpoint and on into Jerusalem. To avoid having to transfer at Khadar, Thomas and I walked further through the downtown area until we came to place where taxis and vans would make the complete trip. A man quickly said he was happy to transport me to Jerusalem directly, either in a van carrying 15 persons or in a taxi. A ride in the van would cost 15 Shekels and require waiting for the van to fill, whereas the taxi ride would cost 20 Shekels and would leave immediately. There were already three persons in the back seat and he was only looking for a fourth passenger. It wasn’t worth waiting to save 5 Shekels, so I came back to Jerusalem by taxi. As we drove to the outskirts of Hebron, I was glad to see that the exiting traffic was not backed up. When I entered the city the day before, an Israeli checkpoint had been holding all vehicles leaving Hebron. We passed the makeshift “tea shop” beside the road just before the intersection with highway 60, which is busy when traffic is held up by the Israelis. Then we began the hour long drive to Jerusalem. The stones in the fields of grape vines and olive trees caught my eye, as we sped north. Massive boulders were piled up alongside the highway, and rows of stones dug out of the earth marked the fields every 50 feet or so, creating rectangular patterns within the orchards. Stone walls lined the terraces in the vineyards and groves where the fields were on hillsides. Nonetheless, despite all the efforts to clear the fields of stones, the soil around the plants and trees in the fields was filled with the stones that are so characteristic of this land. In Hebron, some of these stones have been used to build a beautiful memorial to the ancestors of both the Israelis and the Palestinians, to the patriarchs and matriarchs who are remembered with reverence by Jews and Muslims. But other, smaller stones are used as weapons by Jewish children against Palestinian children, who must walk a gauntlet of hatred and fear in order to attend their neighborhood school.

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Palestinian olive trees damaged by settlers, above Einabus

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Pruning olive trees, near Ariel

RHR volunteers and Palestinians after lunch in olive grove

Gathering herbs, Einabus

Palestinian children

RHR volunteer clearing branches cut by settlers

RHR volunteer, Netanya, Palestinian woman in Einabus

Ascherman, Palestinian landowner

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Armed settlers stop Palestinians from plowing, South Hebon Hills

RHR volunteer, Hillel Bardin, South Hebron Hills

Palestinian Rabbi Ascherman, RHR volunteers having tea with Palestinian family child

RHR volunteers, Israeli soldier, Jewish settlers, South Hebron Hills RHR volunteers pruning olive trees, West Bank

Armed settlers and Israeli soldier

Rabbi Ascherman reads Israeli government fax

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Rabbis for Human Rights The rabbis, who are members of Rabbis for Human Rights, begin where scripture begins, with the affirmation that every human being “is created in the image of God.” (Genesis 1:27) The indisputable implication of this teaching, which is found at the beginning of the Torah and also at the beginning of the Christian Bible, is that every human person is precious in the sight of God. Because every person bears the divine image, the Torah admonishes the people of the covenant to pursue justice. Therefore, the second crucial text from scripture for Rabbis for Human Rights is Deuteronomy 16:20: “Justice, justice shall you pursue so that you may live and inherit the land that the Lord your God gives you.”1 Rabbis for Human Rights urges Jews to support international human rights law, not because it is international law, but because international human rights law reflects the ethical teachings of Judaism, when properly understood in our contemporary context. These rabbis believe all Jews, who would be faithful Jews, should be advocates for human rights. Jewish Voice for Justice Rabbi Tzvi Weinberg, the Chairperson of Rabbis for Human Rights during 2004, explains that RHR was organized in 1988 during the first Palestinian Intifada by rabbis who felt “some of the Palestinians were not being treated properly” by the Israeli government.2 These rabbis saw that mistreatment of Palestinians, by soldiers and police acting on behalf of the Jewish State of Israel, poses for Jews a religious as well an ethical dilemma. For Jews are commanded by God to act with justice, especially in the way they treat the strangers among them. “Judaism is more than holidays and ritual observances,” Rabbi Weinberg writes, for there are two categories of commandments in the Jewish tradition. “First, there are mitzvoth bein adam laMakom, commandments regulating our relationship with God (the rituals and observances). No less important are the mitzvoth bein adam l’ havero, commandments regulating our relations with other human beings, such as morality and ethics, a concern for justice, mercy, truth, and compassion.”3

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A Jewish nation, Rabbi Weinberg says, has a special obligation to “embody these ethical principles,” but despite the clarity of Jewish scripture “the religious establishment is concerned almost exclusively with matters of ritual, Sabbath observance and kashrut.” Rabbis for Human Rights was founded to urge Jews to do justice and to “ensure the Jewish character of Israel.”4 Education Not surprisingly, given the tradition of reflection and debate among Jews, the first activity mentioned in the January 2003-June 2004 report published by Rabbis for Human Rights concerns education. Three specific projects are described. First, RHR has printed a draft edition of Masekhet Atzmaut, which is translated into English as A Jewish and Democratic State?, or as Tractate Independence. Using language familiar to those studying the Talmud, Madekhet Atzmaut presents two of the 19 principles in Israel’s Declaration of Independence surrounded by traditional and contemporary quotes, which are to be read as commentaries on the principles. That is to say, the Madekhet Atzmaut is designed to facilitate debate about the principles of the Declaration of Independence in the manner of a Talmudic discussion. As the State of Israel does not have a constitution, Israeli society and the Israeli legal system have adopted the Declaration of Independence as the source of the fundamental ethical principles for the country. Through its Tractate Independence program RHR seeks to encourage ethical reflection among Jews in Israel that is akin to, and as important as, studying and discussing the teachings of the Talmud. Lilach Tchlenov, a young and engaging member of the RHR staff, has overseen the publication of this draft study text. She explains that the purpose of the program is to help young Jews consider how Israel can be both Jewish and also a democratic state. Tchlenov says the Tractate presents this issue as a moral discourse or debate, which is the format of the Talmud, rather than as a theological argument supporting only one conclusion.5 To date RHR has experimented with this program in its Human Rights Yeshiva (more than three years old), and also in educational programs for young people inducted into the army. In the Yeshiva, in addition to participating in ethical study and reflection, each student volunteers three hours a week in some justice or human rights project. The June 2004 report on RHR activity contains the following summary of fieldwork by Yeshiva participants. “A film student is making a

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documentary on home demolitions for RHR’s coalition partner, the Israel Committee Against Home Demolitions (ICAHD), while another student works in ICAHD’s human rights information center. Three students work with three different organizations to help secure the legal rights of foreign workers; several students work with RHR and its coalition partners on issues of economic justice challenged by Israel’s budget policies; and two more students work with an organization called Mahapach to empower marginalized communities to organize for change at the grassroots level. One student visits lonely Righteous Gentiles living in Israel, another visits neglected hospice residents, and a third speaks with children victimized by terrorism in Jerusalem. Other students work on issues of trafficking in women, agunot rights [to a religious divorce], the environment, and with the Hebrew University Beit Hillel to involve large numbers of students in social justice projects and human rights work.” After graduating from high school, a number of Israelis have opted to do a year of study before serving in the army and a variety of educational opportunities have been created in Israel to respond to this demand for more education. RHR has been invited by several private providers of educational programs to lead human rights discussions, and has also been approached by the Israeli Defense Forces to do human rights training with army inductees. RHR’s educational programs for young people going into the army have included visits to see the Separation Barrier and then discussion about what Jews call tohar haneshek (“purity of arms”). As Rabbi Weinberg explains, “even in war, not every means is legitimate.”6 Economic Justice The June 2004 report on the work of Rabbis for Human Rights highlights RHR’s struggle for economic justice in Israel. Deep cuts in social services in 2003 led RHR and its partner organizations to demonstrate and advocate for funding to be restored in the 2004 budget, in order to guarantee assistance for impoverished families and the homeless. When single parents set up an encampment in front of the Ministry of the Treasury, Rabbis for Human Rights joined their protest. “At the peak of activity, RHR Education Director Navah Hefetz was spending 14 hours a day at the encampment, organizing congregations to bring Shabbat meals, holding a Tisha B’Av reading of Lamentations, helping to coordinate support logistics, dealing with special needs, and bringing people to her home to shower.”7

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RHR held a Chanukah candlelight vigil in front of the Prime Minister’s residence, and participated with other Israeli groups in a social justice seder, in order to pressure the government. The rabbis of RHR remind their fellow Jews that Mishna Sanhedrin 4 says: “One who saves a single life, it is as though they have saved an entire world.” Despite the lack of political support for government assistance programs to aid the poor in Israeli society, RHR continues to assert that “economic justice is a religious Jewish issue of the highest importance.”8 Rights of Palestinians Rabbis for Human Rights works to protect the human rights of Palestinians primarily through two initiatives. First, it protests the Israeli government’s house demolition program in Greater Jerusalem. The house demolition program continues to involve the destruction of Palestinian homes simply because they have been built without a permit that is almost impossible to obtain. In the words of Rabbi David J. Forman: “As a political policy, Israel has determined to limit any growth of Palestinian neighborhoods in and around Jerusalem, even if it means that an additional room has been built on to a Palestinian home….”9 Of course, Rabbi Forman notes, the Israeli government acts as if “building a Jewish community in Har Homa, which borders Bethlehem or taking over more land around Ma’aleh Adumim to the east of Jerusalem is perfectly legitimate, as is opting to set up a Jewish enclave in Arab Silwan, expropriating Arab land to do so.”10 (Har Homa and Ma’aleh Adumim are large Jewish settlements built illegally by the Israeli government on Palestinian land in the West Bank, and Silwan is the Palestinian community south of the Old City of Jerusalem in the Kidron Valley.) Being present to protest home demolitions is difficult because the Israeli government doesn’t announce its intentions. Early in the morning, when Palestinians observe bulldozers being moved into a neighborhood in East Jerusalem, they telephone Israeli activists for help. Rabbis for Human Rights is one of several Israeli organizations that respond through an emergency network of text messages urging volunteers to come and protest the demolitions. Rarely is there time to employ a legal strategy in trying to block a particular house demolition, but RHR is involved in a legal battle against the Israeli government’s house demolition program. Its Executive Director, Rabbi Arik Ascherman, and two other defendants have been convicted for refusing

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an order to move from standing in front of bulldozers sent to demolish a Palestinian home in East Jerusalem. In this act of nonviolent civil disobedience, these defendants have been supported by more than 400 North American, European and Australian rabbis, in an open letter to the Prime Minister that was published in the Hebrew and English editions of Ha’aretz. RHR has appealed the convictions. The second RHR initiative in support of the human rights of Palestinians involves sending Jewish Israelis and international volunteers to help protect Palestinian farmers, who are often prevented from working their land, either by the Israeli army or by aggressive Jewish settlers. In some places, the Separation Barrier divides farmers from their land and the army often makes it difficult, at the nearest checkpoint, for Palestinians to pass through in order to work their fields and tend their olive groves. In other areas of the West Bank, the army has failed to protect Palestinian olive groves from wanton destruction by groups of armed Jewish settlers. Presently, RHR is sending out teams of three or four volunteers to go with Palestinians to their fields and groves in order to provide some protection, simply by being present. On March 2nd I went with another American and an Israeli student from Hebrew University to a grove of olive trees located east of Ariel, in the middle of the West Bank. The grove is just below an illegal Jewish settlement where, in the past, the settlers have attacked the Palestinians who own the land. Our instructions were to assist the Palestinian landowners in pruning the trees, but to call the police and the army, if settlers came down the hill. We were also told to retreat to avoid a confrontation. RHR had notified the police, and the army, in the area of our presence in the olive grove and we had the names and phone numbers of each commander. RHR says the police are generally more reliable than the army, but it varies from place to place. Fortunately, the settlers did not bother us, so we enjoyed a lovely spring day with our Palestinian hosts working in the olive trees amidst the blooming, wild flowers. In addition to pruning, RHR teams assist with olive picking in the autumn and in the spring help Palestinians who are planting. The RHR planting program began as an effort to replant trees uprooted by settlers, and sadly hundreds of old olive trees have been illegally and maliciously destroyed in such attacks. The tree planting program gives priority to assisting the Palestinian farmers that have a hard time reaching their land because of the

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Separation Barrier and the arbitrary closures of checkpoints that sometimes allow passage through the barrier. Human Rights The June 2004 report states that: “RHR does not take a position on the existence of a barrier, which is a political and defense issue, but we are opposed to the route of the Barrier because it creates an unnecessary conflict between the Israeli right to security and the Palestinian rights of access to their land, medical care, etc.”11 Most Israeli activists oppose the Separation Barrier in principle, although RHR’s position is consistent with the ruling of the International Court of Justice. Both Israeli and international activists have criticized RHR for not objecting to the Separation Barrier in principle, and also for protesting only house demolitions where there is no building permit, and for not opposing the destruction of the homes of Palestinian suicide bombers. On the basis of human rights law both of these Israeli demolition programs involve collective punishment against families for a legal violation committed by one or two individuals, and RHR agrees that collective punishment is a violation of human rights. RHR has chosen to oppose collective punishment only when it is not clouded by a security argument. This position is consistent with their protest of the demolition of the homes of Palestinians who lack a building permit. The RHR strategy reflects the diverse views of its membership, and is harder to attack as political or as ignoring the security needs of Israel. Lilach Tchlenov explains RHR’s position on both the Separation Barrier and house demotions in this way. “We say that the Barrier is not for security considerations, it is political; the route was not chosen because of security, but because of something else, and it violates human rights.” Moreover, she says, it is very important for RHR to concentrate on human rights violations, and to avoid taking political positions. “In education, we are dealing with what are human rights, what are human rights violations, how we can minimize them, and what are the Jewish sources saying about this.” RHR must be apolitical, Tchlenov argues, if it is be effective in increasing support for human rights within Israeli society. “One of our educational and general aims is to say that human rights is not a political thing.”12 RHR believes that support for “human rights” should not be linked to a political agenda, but rather should be asserted within Israel as a commitment every Jew should make because of the ethical teachings of Judaism.

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Secular advocates of human rights law are generally critical of this kind of religious approach to human rights, whether voiced by Jews or members of other religious traditions, for two reasons. First, the religious approach seems to endorse human rights law only to the extent that these human rights are supported by religious teachings, which suggests that a religious position will not completely support international law. Second, a religious approach to human rights does not clearly reflect the disagreement among members of a religious community, which in practical terms means that a religious argument in support of human rights may well represent a minority point of view within that religious tradition. These critical observations, I believe, should be accepted. Certainly, religious arguments in support of human rights are limited to interpretations within a religious tradition of its fundamental ethical teachings, and there will always be debate and some disagreement about such interpretations. But what is missing from this secular critique is an appreciation of the power of the religious argument for human rights. It is one thing to say human rights are the law, and quite another, at least for those with faith in God, to say human rights are the will of God. Can the struggle for human rights be won through politics alone? Certainly, for the religious among us, who are now a considerable number, a more compelling moral argument is required. Rabbis for Human Rights offers an important example of how a small number of committed Jews are trying to make such an argument, for the sake of their Jewish tradition of faith, as well as for the sake of securing justice through greater enforcement of international human rights law. More information on Rabbis for Human Rights is available online at www.rhr.israel.net.

Notes 1 These two scripture passages are emphasized by Rabbi Tzvi Weinberg in “Message from Incoming RHR Chairperson,” Rabbis for Human Rights, vol. XIV (June 2004), 2.

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2 Interview with Rabbi Tzvi Weinberg by Maia Carter-Hallward, 28 October 2004. 3 Rabbi Tzvi Weinberg, “Message,” 2. 4 Ibid. 5 Interview with Lilach Tchlenov by Maia Carter-Hallward, 28 February 2005. 6 Interview with Rabbi Weinberg. 7 “Economic Justice,” in Rabbis for Human Rights, vol. XIV (June 2004), 7. 8 Ibid. 9 Rabbi David J. Forman, “A Morally Shameful Chapter,” in Rabbis for Human Rights, vol. XIV (June 2004), 18-19. 10 Ibid. 11 “Separation Barrier,” in Rabbis for Human Rights, vol. XIV (June 2004), 11-12. 12 Interview with Lilach Tchlenov, 25 February 2005.

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Men with Guns We were five men without guns — a rabbi, three other Jewish Israelis, and one American Christian. We went to the South Hebron Hills on March 15th to try to make it possible for Palestinians to plow their fields. But men with guns came and sent us away. Palestinian farmers in the South Hebron Hills had appealed to Rabbis for Human Rights for help because the nearby settlers were preventing them from cultivating their land. Rabbi Arik Ascherman had confirmed with the district army commander of the area that the Palestinians owned the land they wanted to plow and had a right to plow it. We came to assist them in exercising their right to plow, so they could sow their seeds and then, in the autumn, harvest their crops. Without our presence, the Palestinian farmers would not attempt to plow their land, as the settlers have not only threatened them, but also damaged their equipment, burned their crops, and uprooted their trees. The Israeli army and police have not provided them with protection, and have only been concerned with protecting the settlers. It seems there is no rule of law in the South Hebron Hills, but only men with guns. The First Field When we came to the first field to be plowed, there were two tractors waiting on the top of the hill above the field and several Palestinians standing in the field. We stopped our minivan beside the road, and three of us got out and walked into the field. The van continued down the road to bring the other two men in our group to another field, where RHR had promised to be present. By the time the three of us reached the Palestinians, two army vehicles had arrived and a half dozen soldiers, fully armed, got out of the vehicles and came to the side of the road. The soldiers said we couldn’t plow the field, so Arik telephoned the army district commander. A lengthy discussion ensued, with phone calls made by Arik, the Palestinian landowner, and the officer of the army unit. Soon, two Israeli policemen, also fully armed, arrived and joined the debate.

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The first position taken by the soldiers and police was that the farmers could plow on the other side of the road, but not on the side they were on (which was their property). After a lengthy argument, the Palestinians were told they could plant a few olive trees. They apparently thought this meant down in the field where we were, so we walked up the hill to a car owned by one of the Palestinian landowners and carried a few saplings back down. But the army officer said the trees had to be planted higher up the hill. Then the army officer received a fax in his vehicle that said there would be no plowing, because he had been ordered to remove us from the entire area, which had been declared a security zone. At this point, Arik asked the Palestinians what they wanted to do. He said, if they wanted to stay, then we would stay with them, but that would risk arrest for all of us. They said they didn’t want to put us in that position. We all left. In our van we hurried to reach the second field up the road, which was outside the area the army officer described as now “closed for security reasons.” On our way Arik explained that the army unit responsible for protecting the security of the settlers had overruled the army district commander, who is in charge of relations with Palestinians. But as he was giving us a more detailed explanation, he was interrupted by what proved to be an urgent call. “The settlers are attacking our group,” he said. “Be ready to move quickly when we arrive.” The Second Field As soon as we came to the second field, we got out of the van and moved to where Jewish settlers were standing in front of the tractor, preventing it from plowing. Although we had just left soldiers and policemen about a mile back down the road, none of them had come to protect us from the settlers. Two of the settler men were armed with automatic rifles, and almost as soon as we entered the field a vehicle came over the hill driven by a settler, with an armed soldier riding in the front seat. The soldier got out of the car and stood watching. About a quarter of the field had been plowed, and the farmer driving the plow remained seated on the tractor, with the engine shut off, as once again there was a vigorous debate, this time between Arik and the settlers. One of the settlers spoke no Hebrew, only English, but most of the settlers spoke to Arik in Hebrew. The settlers claimed that they had worked this land, and that the ownership of the land was in dispute with the Israeli Custodian of land for this

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area. The Palestinians in this second field acknowledged that the settlers had plowed this field last year and planted in it, but against the protests of the Palestinians. The Palestinians stated that they not only owned the land, but also had planted it before the settlers came and plowed their seeds under. The settlers had then replanted the field with their own crops. More settlers arrived, including a large man with a gun who walked to the front of the tractor and yelled at the driver, “These leftists will go home, but you live here and we know where to find you.” (An Israeli RHR member translated what the settler had said.) Then the settler yelled at us, as Arik ignored him and negotiated with the other settlers. At this point, one member of our group, Beny Gefen, a good-sized man in his 70s, began to yell back at the big, armed settler, who walked over to confront him. As Arik tried to mediate their dispute, the army unit that had prevented plowing in the other field arrived. Once again, there were many phone calls made on the cell phones that everyone here carries, including the Palestinians, the settlers, the police, and the army officers. A different police unit arrived, and finally the army officer told the farmer on the tractor to go home. So, the farmer lifted his plow and drove his tractor out of the field. While the settlers, the army unit, and the police chatted on the road, we walked with the elderly Palestinian, who owned this land, up over the hill to his home, which was two or three shacks made out of stones, sticks, cloth, and plastic. We had, of course, been invited for tea. Several thin mattresses with plastic covers were laid out, and we sat down, reclining on pillows provided by the women, with three elderly Palestinian men, and several younger men. Two older Palestinian women sat about twenty feet away, with a small child, and one younger Palestinian woman continued to work in one of the tents behind us. Two young girls, 3 or 4 years old, hovered nearby, as we talked and drank tea. Even before the tea was served, soldiers appeared on the hill above us, so Arik went to talk with them. When he returned, Arik said we had become an “event” that might lead the army to close the entire area. The soldiers remained on the hill, watching us with the Palestinians, while the Palestinians explained that the settlers were not only interfering with their cultivation of their land, but with their use of the water well on their property. We were seated close to the cistern they used to trap water in the winter, but without access to the well they had to bring water in during the summer, which was very expensive. Arik took notes, as they gave him the details of

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their difficulties, and then we thanked them for the tea, and walked back to the road and our van. As we walked, Beny explained to me that the statement in Hebrew on his backpack might be translated as “I hate settlers.” One of the more moderate settlers had asked him, if he really hated all settlers. Beny’s response was that he hated all settlers who were putting his grandchildren at greater risk, by treating the Palestinians so badly. “I lost a son during the invasion of Lebanon,” he said, “and at first I thought violence was the only answer. But now I see the only hope for peace is to have separate states for Israelis and for Palestinians. The religious settlers are making that impossible.” Before we reached the road, Beny and I stopped to admire the wild flowers in the field, for they offered a dazzling display of red, yellow, white, and purple. Beny said that he had worked as an agronomist all his life, and each spring always took time to enjoy the beauty of the wild flowers in the hills. Commitment As we rode back to Jerusalem in the bus, Beny said he feared there would be a war in Israel, between religious settlers and secular Israelis. He also told me that going out with RHR was how he was spending his retirement years. It was, he said, the least he could do for his grandchildren. As the bus continued toward Jerusalem, I learned from Hillel Bardin, another retiree in our group, that he’d become involved with RHR when the Jews in his neighborhood near Beit Sahour (which is close to Bethlehem) tried to help prevent land from being taken from Palestinians for an Israeli settlement. Their protest had failed, but Hillel continued in dialogue sessions with Palestinians and in that way learned of the work of Rabbis for Human Rights. He had not lost a child to violence, like Beny, but he was deeply disappointed by what Israel had become. Hillel has one son living in the United States, who has become more conservative about Israel since leaving the country, and two other children living in Israel. He said his youngest child, a daughter, was most sympathetic to his involvement with RHR. Hillel had invited his son living in Israel to come with him on one of RHR’s trips to help Palestinian farmers, but his son had said, “I’m afraid I’d be so angry with the settlers, that I’d lose control of myself.” Arik reminded us, as we entered Jerusalem, that the effort we’d made to help the farmers was not wasted, even though they were unable to plow.

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“You have to force the issue here to get anything to happen,” he said. He’d already talked with a newspaper reporter for the Hebrew newspaper in Israel with the largest circulation, and he thought there might be an article covering what had happened. In addition, both the army and the police had been put on notice that Israeli activists would be investigating their actions, and doing their best to bring pressure on them to protect the legal rights of the Palestinian farmers in their area. “We’ll be back,” Arik said, “and maybe next time the farmers will be able to plow their fields.”

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Right and Wrong I teach ethics to university students, and I know how hard it can be to argue convincingly that some things are right and wrong. In our pluralistic society there is no religious or philosophical source of moral values that everyone accepts as authoritative, and students are quick to point out that values differ among cultures and have changed throughout history. But I always argue that some things are right and some things are wrong. My experience in Einabus offers a good example. I went with a group sponsored by Rabbis for Human Rights to the Palestinian village of Einabus. This is a village in the middle of the West Bank just west of highway 60, about 50 miles north of Jerusalem and a few miles south of Nablus, near the ruins of Shechem. Palestinians living in Einabus have olive groves on the hillside above their village, but they have been unable to tend their trees for the past few years because the Jewish settlers living on the top of the hill in a settlement called Yitzhar have frequently attacked them. A Palestinian was killed in the olive groves above the village in 2004, and hundreds of olive trees have been damaged. We went to Einabus to help Palestinians return to their land in order to tend their olive trees and plow their fields. The Israeli army had agreed to be present to protect us and the Palestinians. Nonetheless, we weren’t sure the army would do its duty because, in the past, it has allowed the settlers to drive the Palestinians off their own land. Wrong Rabbi Arik Ascherman, the Executive Director of Rabbis for Human Rights, again led our team of ten, six men and four women. We were nine Israelis and one American. Nine Jews (but not all religious Jews) and one Christian. All the men, except for Arik, were retired and elderly, but two of the women were younger, in their forties or fifties. I knew that many Israelis would never go into the West Bank, for fear of being attacked and killed by Palestinians. I was curious as to why these Israelis were willing to drive their own cars into the West Bank and go to Einabus.

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The answer was quite simple: they were appalled that the settlers had maliciously cut down the olive trees of the Palestinians. They had no doubt that this hateful act was wrong, and these Israelis felt morally compelled to try to do something to right this wrong. Once we reached Einabus and made contact with the landowner of the olive grove at the top of the hill, just below the Yitzhar settlement, Arik called the army commander to be sure that soldiers would be present. After this was confirmed, we began our trek up the hillside along a winding donkey and tractor path. It was a steep climb, and along the way we encountered three blockades of stones and boulders, which the settlers had built to keep tractors out of the fields. Near the top of the hill, where we could see the Jewish settlement and the army outpost, we saw two soldiers watching us from the ridge as we walked around the hillside to the olive groves. The Palestinians prune and shape their olive trees so that two or three main limbs extend out the trunk of the tree roughly two or three feet from the ground. This allows them to step up into the fork of the tree, where the main branches divide, in order to prune the branches and pick the olives. The settlers had used chain saws to cut the main branches of each tree about waist height, probably because it was easier than bending down to saw through the trunk. So, when we arrived at the olive grove we saw a field of stumps, each surrounded by the main branches that had been cut off. Some of the cut branches had been burned, and a few of the trees were entirely dead. But most of the tree stumps had new shoots growing out of the cut ends of the main branches. My ethics students have been trained to try to see moral issues from both sides, so recalling my classes led me to ponder how the settlers would try to justify their actions. I can only think of two possible arguments. The first might be that cutting down the grove gave the settlement added security, as it made it less likely that Palestinians could sneak up on the settlement and attack it. But this would be a weak argument, even assuming that Palestinians might want to attack the settlement, because the olive grove was a hundred yards below the settlement and the land between the grove and the settlement was open and bare of cover. The second possible reason the settlers might offer to try to justify their destruction of the olive grove would be the claim that God has given all this land to Jews, therefore the Palestinians who are working the land have no right to do so. This argument ignores entirely the legal rights that Palestinians

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have, under Israeli law as well as international law. It simply claims that God’s will decides (and in this case has decided) what is right and what is wrong. Not only many Jews, but many Christians (including what are known as Christian Zionists) would accept this second argument, because it is based on a literal reading of the Bible that these true believers argue is the only correct way to read the Jewish and Christian scriptures. Of course, if we disagree with this interpretation of the Bible, then it is easy for us to dismiss their argument. But, how might we try to convince biblical literalists that they are wrong? This is the challenge taken up by Rabbis for Human Rights, at least with respect to Jews. Right In response to the claim that scripture justifies driving Palestinians from the land God has given the children of Israel, RHR makes several arguments based on other passages in Jewish scripture. First, Genesis 1:27 at the very beginning of the Torah states that every human person is made in the image of God, and thus the human rights of every person, whether Jew or Gentile, must be respected. This means, at least, that Jews must consider the rights of Palestinians, and cannot simply ignore or violate these rights. Second, the Torah admonishes the people of the covenant to pursue justice. As Rabbi Tzvi Weinberg reminds his fellow Jews Deut. 16:20 reads: “Justice, justice shall you pursue so that you may live and inherit the land that the Lord your God gives you.” Rabbinical commentaries explain that the word “justice” is used twice to remind the reader that both the ends pursued, as well as the means used to attain these ends, must be just. Even if a Jewish state on all the land of ancient Israel were a just goal (and many, including many Jews, would dispute this), the means of establishing this state must also be just. Land that belongs to others, and is worked by them for their livelihood, cannot simply be taken from them. Third, in addition to these texts in the Torah, the Prophets contain many statements that show God’s love and concern for other nations. For instance, Micah 6:8 reads: “…and what the Lord requires of you: only to do justice and to love goodness, and to walk modestly with your God...” And Amos 5:24 commands:

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“But let justice well up like water, Righteousness like an unfailing stream.” If Jewish settlers should argue that God’s concern for justice is limited to conflicts among the chosen people, RHR would cite texts from the Torah where again and again God reminds the Israelites that they were strangers in Egypt. Yet, God cared for them, so they, too, must care for and respect the strangers among them. Rabbis for Human Rights would turn as well to teachings in the great rabbinical tradition that has long guided Jews and their understanding of Torah. Rabbis of the past made clear that the biblical command to conquer the land of Canaan was limited to the generation of Israelites that did so, and that Jews are to inherit this same land only by peaceful means with God’s aid. (Ketubot 11a, Maimonides, introduction to Sefer HaMitzvot; Sefer Hachinuch, Commandment 532) In response, the settlers might point to statements by contemporary leading rabbis, such as Sefardi Shas party leader Rabbi Ovadai Yoseh, who has called settlers on the West Bank “heroes” and who now claims that Jews are commanded to settle all the land given by God to Israel. But, in its annual report for 2004, RHR points out that even Rabbi Ovadia Yosef more than 20 years ago admitted that Jews can compromise with Arabs about the land in order to avoid continuing bloodshed. (Torah SheBal Peh, Itzhak Rafael, etc. Mosad HaRav Kook 1980) The Talmud, which is the book of rabbinical commentary used by Orthodox rabbis to interpret the Torah, says that: “Whosoever has the capacity to prevent his household from committing a crime, and does not, he is accountable for the sins of the entire household.” (Shabbat 54b) This is why some Jewish Israelis take part in actions organized by Rabbis for Human Rights. These Jews want to pressure the Israeli army to fulfill its legal obligation to protect Palestinians, who seek to work their own land in order to provide a livelihood for their families. Moral Complexity At least several of the Israelis I worked with in the olive groves above Einabus were secular Jews, so quoting the Talmud or even the Torah was, for them, hardly the point. The moral claim of the Palestinians was clear and compelling. The conduct of the religious settlers was malicious and cruel. For some, quite simply, the idea of damaging olive trees was utterly wrong. And, whether or not they knew it, there is Jewish teaching that condemns

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this specific action, even when the trees belong to an enemy. For the trees and their produce are a gift of God and the land, and these gifts are not to be neglected or abused simply in pursuit of selfish, human ends. All the Israelis participating with the RHR felt it was right to help the Palestinian landowners reach their land safely. It was right to pull cut branches from the weeds and drag them to the sides of the grove. It was right to make it possible to plow with a tractor and cultivate around the trees. Yet, as we took breaks to rest from the strenuous labor, some of the Israeli men had moral questions about our intervention. They noticed that only two landowners were with us in their olive groves that day, and wondered why one of these landowners stopped us from moving to a grove lower on the hill, saying that this grove belonged to someone else. We knew RHR lacked the means to contact all the landowners individually, so Arik had relied on one of the landowners telling the others we would be there that day. Had he done that? Were the other landowners away, too afraid to come up into the fields, or simply unaware that we were planning to be there? Another Israeli wondered why the Palestinians didn’t cooperate more. His experience in coming out to these work projects was that each landowner was concerned only with his own field. Coming down the hill we moved the stones and boulders out of the rutted path up the hillside, so tractors could pass. This was hard, exhausting work that could have been done much more easily (and with less strain on our backs) by a tractor with a grader on the front. We could hear a tractor tilling a grove below us, and wondered why there wasn’t an organized effort by the entire village to help us accomplish more that day. The two Palestinian landowners we did help each spoke good Hebrew, and clearly that gave them an advantage in dealing with Israelis. Were these two men the “best” contacts for the village? Were we only helping those with the most land and skill? Might other members of the village resent our presence and assistance? These are moral questions that deserve to be addressed by RHR. Friendship Certainly, by our actions, we were strengthening friendships between Israelis and Palestinians. When we arrived in Einabus one of the Israeli women warmly embraced one of the Palestinian landowners, and the landowners gave us food and drink before we were done for the day. Moreover, the Israelis who

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came out to support the work of RHR and to help Palestinians on their land ate lunch with the Palestinians, and chatted amicably in simple English and halting Arabic with several young boys who came up the hill after school. The men participating in this RHR intervention were mostly retired professionals. They included two physicists, an economist, a computer programmer, and an agronomist. They also had wonderful Jewish names: Avraham, Aaron, Benjamin, David, and Hillel. All the Israelis spoke English, some fluently, and two of them had children in the United States within an hour’s drive of my home. Three of the older men were clearly worn out by the hard work that day, and one of them had a bad leg that he favored as we slowly descended the hill. One of the women was quite limited in her ability to do physical work, but had come to offer her presence as protection for the Palestinians. She sat by herself on the hillside, as we cleared the tangled olive grove of dead branches. The three other Israeli women worked hard with the men. The oldest, a small woman wearing a scarf wrapped around her head, was indefatigable. I was delighted to find these Israeli women engaged in a lively conversation with three older Palestinian women, who came up the hillside in the afternoon to pick and gather herbs. I watched as the women chatted together, smelling various plants, pointing and making other motions with their hands, to help them communicate. These very human interactions led me to conclude that what we were doing was right, despite the moral complexity of our intervention. It was right to help these Palestinians with their olive groves, not only because the destructive acts of the settlers were wrong. It was right because we were building relationships among people, who were divided by their different cultures and religious traditions, as well as by their common commitment to live on this land. Once we had descended the hillside and were packing our stuff into Arik’s car, I took a few photos of one of the landowner’s children, who wanted to pose for me. They were delighted to see themselves in the viewer of my digital camera, and they waved with their father and mother as we drove away. Further down in the village, however, when we drove through a crowd of young boys, they also greeted us, but banged on the car as we passed by. It was impossible to know if they knew we were mostly Israelis, or even to determine whether or not they were friendly. A group from RHR will return to Einabus on days the Israeli army has agreed to provide protection for the Palestinians, and RHR groups will go to

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other villages with similar problems. All the data collected from these interventions will be included as evidence in the RHR appeal to the Israeli high court requesting a judgment that would require the Israeli army to protect the right of Palestinians to access and use their land. This ruling, if it comes, will not completely right the wrong done by Jewish settlers. This can only be accomplished if adequate compensation is also ordered for the economic loss sustained by the Palestinian villages denied access to the land that provides their families with a living. If the court recognizes the right of the Palestinians to their land and also their right to be protected by the Israeli army, as they use their land, then a moral victory for both Palestinians and Israelis will have been achieved. Furthermore, Israelis and Palestinians will have taken one small step together towards a just peace in this divided land.

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In the Olive Groves Again I want back, again, with Rabbis for Human Rights to the olive groves above Einabus, and below the Yitzhar settlement. These groves are legally owned by Palestinian residents of the village of Einabus, but the settlers of Yitzhar, who live on the crest of the hill taken from the Palestinians, have for several years prevented the residents of Einabus from using their land. Two days earlier the Israeli army had protected the Palestinian landowners and the RHR volunteers, while we worked in the olive groves and cleared the branches cut from the trees by the settlers in 2003. We had come again to ensure that the Palestinians could plow around the trees and prune the new sprouts that had grown out from the stumps left by the settlers’ chain saw attack on the trees two years earlier. Progress I was delighted to find that the three barriers of stones and boulders that we had cleared on my first trek up the hillside had not been rebuilt by the settlers. We had two tractors going up the hillside this morning, and one of them carried two of the older women volunteering for RHR, as the climb was a bit much for them. We also had more Palestinian men with us today, which was an encouraging sign. Once we reached the olive groves at the top of the hillside, we saw that plows had already tilled the earth among the trees in some sections, digging up the weeds and many rocks as well. The plows would continue to work in other groves, but in this area the work to be done involved using a hatchet to cut new shoots off the base of the olive trees, and also to dig up the weeds and loosen the soil around each tree. Beny, the retired agronomist, who had also been out with the RHR team two days earlier, told me that he had had an argument that day with the landowner about pruning the damaged trees. Beny believed that the new, small branches on the stumps of the cut tree branches should be left alone, rather than pruned, until the trees fully recovered from the severe cutting. He knew this was best for fruit trees, at least for groves that were irrigated. After consulting a friend the next day, however, he had come to agree with the landowner that, at least with olive trees where there is no irrigation,

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pruning now was the best course of action. Beny explained that the pruned trees would make better use of the limited supply of water from the ground during the heat of the summer. In addition, clusters of new branches attracted an insect that would harm the trees. So, pruning now was the best action to support both the survival and recovery of the trees. When we arrived at the olive groves we didn’t see any soldiers on the crest of the hill, nor were any Jewish settlers visible. Later in the day settlers came to observe, and as we were eating a wonderful lunch of bread, various dips, and vegetables, three soldiers walked down the hillside to where we were seated. I was told by one of the RHR volunteers that the soldiers were Druse (a religious and ethnic group living in Lebanon and northern Israel), and clearly the debate between the landowner and the army commander was in Arabic, not Hebrew (which the landowner spoke very well). The issue had to do with how high up the hill we were going to work, for the olive trees on the back side of the slope came closer to the settlement than on the front side. Anyone who has heard Arabs have a conversation knows that shouting is common, even when there is no emotional issue involved. In this case, with the use of the land in question, emotions were running high. Yet, in the end there seemed to be an agreement that actually favored the Palestinian farmers. One area particularly close to the settlement, which we could see had not been cultivated for several years, was ruled off limits. But otherwise, the Israeli commander said, the men were free to plow and work in their groves. The landowner’s wife, who had come up the hillside with one of her daughters to bring us lunch, had a loud conversation with her husband after he had finished his argument with the soldier. She made sharp arm movements and her facial expressions suggested anger. Then, just as quickly as she had begun what seemed to be an argument, she calmly walked up the hillside and began to gather edible plants. Zuzi, an Israeli RHR volunteer, showed me a wild grain that can be eaten, and I tried a few of the small seeds. She also pointed out the wild mustard, and a wild pea that had very tiny pods containing soft and delicious peas. We ate lunch alongside a large herd of sheep and goats. The herd had sought the shade of a small cluster of trees in one corner of the olive grove. Both the sheep and the goats were larger than I am accustomed to seeing in the United States and, fortunately for us, they were downwind. The Palestinian goatherder, who was helped by a small boy, told me he had been living in California until two months ago, when his father died. He had come home to take care of the family and their land.

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Activists There were only a few pruning shears and hatchets for trimming weeds and loosening the soil around the base of trees and, consequently, I spent less time working in the groves on my second visit to the hillside above Einabus. I had more time to talk with the Israelis, who go out on these RHR interventions to help Palestinians plow, plant, prune, and pick their olive trees. Most of those I’ve met on these RHR trips into the field are secular Israelis, who are over 65 years old. Two of the four RHR interventions I’ve been on, have been led by Rabbi Arik Ascherman, who is in his mid- thirties. On those occasions both the trip out and back in the car was filled with phone calls to the army, the police, the drivers of cars bringing Israeli volunteers to a meeting point, and calls to the Palestinians we were going to meet in Einabus or whatever location we had scheduled. On one of these trips, our group included Cynthia, who was recently ordained a rabbi in the Reconstructionist tradition, which has its headquarters in Philadelphia. She is an elderly woman, who has lived in Israel for 30 years, but went back to the States in order to finish her education and become a rabbi. In our group, however, she deferred to Yoav, a rabbinical student, who stayed in touch with the RHR office and made the necessary calls to the army, the police, our Palestinian contacts, and the drivers of the two other cars that brought volunteers to Einabus. Yoav has red, curley hair, which reminded me of the classic paintings of David facing Goliath on the battlefield. He had not shaved, and wore a kippa clipped to his hair with a pin. The secular Israelis included Zuzi, a mid-forties woman of Hungarian origin, who told me she had become critical of the Israeli occupation while she was in the Los Angeles area a few years back. She drove Beny from Tel Aviv to both of the interventions this week in Einabus, and she clearly knew the Palestinian farmers she had come to assist. Netanya, a short woman, over 65, and originally from South Africa, said she had started going out with RHR groups about two years ago. She admitted that most of her friends thought she was crazy to get involved like this, and had even told her they didn’t want to know when she was in the West Bank, as they would worry about her. “I never talk politics with my friends,” she said, “because it won’t do any good. Even if they think the Israeli occupation is wrong and that Palestinians are being treated unfairly, they are afraid of terrorists and are willing to let the government do what it thinks is necessary for Israeli security.”

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Aaron, trim for 71 and a retired tax consultant, said he went out with RHR, because he was appalled by the terrible actions of the Jewish settlers. He cited the settlers at Yitzhar who had attacked the olive groves near Einabus. Like Netanya, he was a secular Jew, and was in favor of a two-state solution to the conflict between Israelis and Palestinians. He didn’t particularly like the Palestinians we were helping because he found their loud talk jarring and he thought they could be much more cooperative among themselves than he had observed they were. Sylvia, who needed a ride on a tractor to get up the hillside, was in her mid-seventies. With shining, white hair and a warm smile, she said she spent all her time trying to help Palestinians. When she isn’t out with a RHR group in the West Bank, she is handling schedules for Machsom Watch, the Israeli women’s group that sends teams to monitor the checkpoints in order to document human rights violations, and to try, by their presence, to prevent those violations. To my surprise, most of these volunteers did not describe themselves as religious or political. They were committed to helping Rabbis for Human Rights because they felt it represented the moral teachings of the Jewish tradition. For them, these teachings, are what being a Jew really means. They voted and were critical of secular Jews who don’t vote but will complain about the government. They were activists in the sense of defending human rights. But, they were not involved with a political party, nor did they take part in peace demonstrations. Hope As we ate lunch, sitting in the olive groves, I realized that this was the highlight of the day. Men and women were sitting together, sharing food, and talking. Israelis and Palestinians were simply chatting, and enjoying each other’s company. Because the Israelis were not Orthodox Jews, who can’t eat with Gentiles, we could all eat together. No one prayed to Allah, to Adonai, or to Jesus, which would have made others uneasy. We ate, we passed food to one another, we talked of family and friends, we laughed at jokes, we told stories. I watched the sheep and the goats grazing nearby, and the Palestinian mother sitting with her young daughter. Then I took pictures of Beny and Aaron, of Natanya alone, and of Natanya and the Palestinian woman together, of the young boys who joined us, of Sylvia and Cynthia, of the Palestinian landowner, and of Yoav.

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By eating together, we represented what we all hope for: a life shared on this land that allows Palestinians to live and enjoy the fruits of their labor, and Israelis to work, and retire, and feel safe. Clearly, achieving such a life together will require the same sort of courage and openness among Palestinian and Israeli men and woman that I experienced with these moral activists in the olive groves above Einabus. Despite the depressing facts of the continuing occupation, my day in the olive groves above Einabus filled me with hope. Palestinians were recovering the use of their land, and with their care the olive trees would again bear fruit. Moreover, Israeli and Palestinian men and women were creating friendships that their children will remember, and can rely on, in their struggle to realize a just peace for both peoples.

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Religious Views

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Religious Views Rabbi Arik Ascherman

Rabbi David Rosen

Rabbi Ehud Bandel

Rabbi Jeremy Milgrom

Dr. Yousef Al-Natsheh, Dr. Mustafa Abu Sway, Rev. Prefessor Maroun Lahham Al-Quds University, Jerusalem

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Lions Gate (Jewish), Mary’s Gate (Muslim), St. Stephen’s Gate (Christian)

Dome of the Rock, Plaza, and Arches

Jewish Wailing Wall, Muslim Dome of the Rock

Church of the Holy Sepulchre, columns supporting building within building

Muslim cemetery, eastern wall of the Old City

Jewish cemetery and Palestinian housing, road to Abu Dis

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Transforming Difficult Texts Interpreting is not simply an erudite exercise. It may well influence world events. Today many evangelical Christians read the promise of the end of the world in the book of Revelation as justifying actions in the Middle East, including the displacement of Palestinians by Jews in the land known biblically as ancient Israel. This displacement is forecast as leading to a great conflagration. At Passover Jews recite a passage from the Psalms, which appeals to God to, “Pour out your wrath on the nations that did not know you, that did not recognize your name; for they have destroyed and laid waste to Judah and Israel.” Jewish settlers in Israel may read this text literally as justifying the condemnation of Gentile nations, as well as the expulsion (and present persecution) of Palestinians living on the land they believe that God has given to the chosen people. I was privileged while in Jerusalem to hear an Orthodox Jew, Rabbi David Rosen, discuss how within the Orthodox tradition this passage from the Psalms, which is read every Passover, might be understood as an appeal to God to transform, rather than destroy, the obdurate peoples of the world. I believe his insights may also help Christians more faithfully interpret some of the difficult and even shocking statements in the Christian Bible. God and Truth Rabbi Rosen began to consider this difficult text from Psalms by looking at a passage in the Babylonian Talmud that, at first glance, seems unrelated. The Talmud asks why the ancient sages known as the Men of the Great Assembly merited this title. The answer given is that they restored God’s glory to its former luster. They did this by resolving an ancient dilemma concerning the prophets Jeremiah and Daniel. Both prophets had altered a statement in the Torah, that praises God as great, and mighty, and awesome. (Deuteronomy 10:17) Jeremiah had said only that God was great and mighty, and Daniel only that God was great. How could these prophets detract from the very revelation of God given to Moses, as recorded in the Torah? This was the dilemma.

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The answer given almost two thousand years ago by these Jewish sages often eludes us today. They understood that a text from scripture must be read in its historical context. What was the historical context of Jeremiah? The first temple had been destroyed, and the Babylonian conquerors were cavorting where it once stood. To be faithful to the truth, in the face of the defeat of God’s people, the prophet Jeremiah no longer could say God was awesome, but only great and mighty. Similarly, Daniel was writing from exile and the chosen people were suffering persecution under a foreign king. The facts of his time were bitter, but could not be dismissed. To be faithful to the truth of his context, Daniel wrote simply that God was great, omitting the attributes in the Torah that praise God for also being mighty and awesome. The Talmud says Jeremiah and Daniel were not detracting from the truth about God, or from the truth revealed in the Torah. Each prophet understood that by allowing the enemies of the chosen people to exercise their free will, God was revealing his glory in a powerful and awesome way. This insight into God’s freedom, and into our human freedom, required a change in language. Therefore, the Men of the Great Assembly who understood this found in the new phrases of both prophets, not the absence of what is revealed in the Torah, but a transformation of God’s might and luster, as now revealed in the continuing survival of the chosen people among their enemies. “How could Jeremiah and Daniel uproot an instituted text from the Torah, the word of God?” the Talmud asks. Rabbi Rosen answers, “Because they knew that God is truth. Therefore, they could not say something about God that is false. Here the Talmud, amazingly, is affirming individual autonomy. Of course, Orthodox rabbis would say that not everyone is a Jeremiah or a Daniel. Nevertheless, what the Men of the Great Assembly recognized is that an individual, who is religiously sensible, cannot say something about God that he or she knows to be false.” Rabbi Rosen argues that we must understand every passage in scripture in a way that reflects our perception of the truth of the divine reality. The Men of the Great Assembly saw this, and that is why they were given such a magnificent title. They understood that Jeremiah and Daniel were affirming the truth of God that was revealed in their own historical context. Today, we may apply this insight to the text from the Psalms for Passover by asking what speaking the truth requires us to say about this difficult text.

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In our contemporary context how might we understand the truth of this ancient prayer? “Pour out your wrath on the nations that did not know you, that did not recognize your name; for they have destroyed and laid waste to Judah and Israel.” Rabbi Rosen suggests that a clue can be found in the Talmudic story of the wife of Rabbi Meyer. The rabbi was suffering from the taunts of a few young people, and he prayed to God to get rid of these tormentors. His wife, who overheard him, said he was wrong to ask this of God. She reminded him of the text from Psalm 119 that says: “Let sins be eliminated from the earth, and the wicked shall be no more.” This text from scripture is not asserting that sinners should be eliminated from the earth. It is only appealing to God for help in ending sins on earth. “What you must pray for,” she told her husband, “is the repentance of these young people, so they may become good and respectful adults.” The lesson we may draw from this story is that the truth of God, and of scripture, requires us to seek the transformation, rather than the condemnation, of those doing evil in our world. This is why Rabbi Rosen now replaces the word wrath in the Passover text from the Psalms with the divine attribute of compassion, so the reading now calls on God to bring the nations to repentance. “Pour out your compassion on the nations that did not know you, that did not recognize your name,” so they might discern, as have the chosen people, the word of God. In Hebrew the words translated as wrath and compassion vary in only one letter. But more importantly, we are commanded by both God and scripture to read our ancient texts truthfully in the context of our own time. “We know the God of truth today,” Rabbi Rosen affirms, “if we may be so bold as to say that we know God truthfully at all, as the transforming power working both through human freedom and works of divinely inspired compassion.” Rabbi Rosen sees the call by Jesus in the New Testament to “ love your enemies” (Matthew 5:44) as recognizing this same insight, in his context, and as reflecting a strong tradition within Judaism, even if that tradition did not become dominant in the first century of the Christian era. Today, however, given the many meanings of the word love, Rabbi Rosen prefers to use the word compassion to express the truth about God revealed both by the texts of scripture and the context of our time. Rabbi Rosen would agree fully with Paul’s reference in Romans 12:20 to Proverbs 25:21-22: “If your enemy is hungry, give him bread to eat; if he is thirsty, give him water to drink. You will be heaping live coals on his head...”

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Giving food and drink are acts of compassion, and the metaphor of “ heaping live coals on his head” may be understood as the wrath of shame and guilt, which our enemies will experience because of our compassion. Like Jesus, at least in these teachings, Paul reveals he has learned how to read texts truthfully in his own historical context. “Do not be overcome by evil,” Paul says, drawing on a long tradition of Jewish insight into texts and contexts. “But overcome evil with good.” (Romans 12:21) Reading the Christian Bible Near the end of the first century, after the Jewish revolt had failed and the conquering Roman armies had destroyed the temple in Jerusalem, it seemed that the end of the world was near. The Revelation to John found at the conclusion of the New Testament reflects this historical context, as it proclaims hope in God for those who feared their lives would soon be cut short. Jewish insights from the Talmud may guide us in reading the New Testament, which was written primarily by inspired Jews who were reading the scriptures of the past and restating the truth of God’s divine reality, as best they understood it, in and for their own time. After the defeat of the Jewish revolt in 70 ce, Jewish Christians expected persecution by Romans, who would likely see them as indistinguishable from Jews. After all, the Roman governor of Jerusalem had executed their teacher as a rebel. Yet, these first Christians knew they were not simply propagating the Jewish tradition of the past. Therefore, they sought to be truthful to their own context by writing gospels and letters that explained their differences with Jews. Tragically, in doing so, their accounts not only included teachings about obeying the Roman authorities, but also blamed Jews for the death of Jesus. In order to show that Jesus was not a threat to Rome, he was depicted as a victim of a Jewish conspiracy. In the gospel of Matthew, Jesus is quoted as saying, like a good Jew, “Do not think that I have come to abolish the law [of Moses] or the prophets; I have come not to abolish but to fulfill.” (Matthew 5:17) This same gospel, however, includes a difficult text for contemporary Christians, which is read at Easter. When Jesus is before Pilate, in the gospel narrative, Pilate washes his hands and says to the crowd of Jews: “I am innocent of this man’s blood; see to it yourselves.” With chilling words, bearing horrific implications for history, the text continues: “Then the people as a whole answered, ‘His blood be on us and on our children!’” (Matthew 27:24-25)

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No crowd could actually speak with one voice, and no person can seriously believe that first century Jews, or any crowd of Jews, would have cursed themselves and their descendents. Instead, we must see that this text expresses the fear of Jewish Christians in the first century. They are calling for the wrath of God, but not for this wrath to fall upon the nations, as the Roman Empire of nations is their home. Rather, these Christians call for God’s wrath to be visited upon the Jewish people. For they believe that Jews have put their desire for national sovereignty and independence above the reign of God over all the nations, as affirmed by the ancient prophets of Israel. The truth of their historical context, these Jewish Christians believe, is manifested in the end of the Jewish revolt, the destruction of the temple in Jerusalem, and the triumph of imperial Rome over the civilized world known to them. Therefore, they believe this is God’s truth, and not the victory of pagans over the God of Israel. The truth about God in the first century was not that Jews should be blamed for the death of Jesus, or that the world was coming to an end, as the New Testament gospels and the Revelation to John seem to say, if read literally. Like the Men of the Great Assembly, we must discern the truth about God not only in ancient texts, but also in historical contexts. Our truth will be found in the freedom of peoples to change and in the religious traditions that survive the turmoil of history. Our Context Today, we must look for the truth of God in the continuing life of the Jewish people, as well as in the Christian churches that have dominated western history. We must also seek to know the truth expressed through the resurgence of Islam in our time. Christians are not the only survivors in our historical context. Jews, who now have power over a nation, are also survivors. Muslims clearly have a growing appeal not only to Arab peoples, but, also, to many nations that are oppressed by what they see as the rapacious, global power of western culture. Christians may hope that Jews will read their difficult texts in a way that appeals to God for compassion upon nations. Also, Christians must read the difficult passages in their scriptures with a similar commitment to God’s truth in this time. This may well be the end of an era, but we need not understand our scriptures to mean that God is bringing life on earth to an end. Instead, we know from our texts and historical contexts that the God of freedom longs

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for a world in which compassion is not only a divine reality, but also the animating spirit of our humanity. Our challenge, therefore, is to build a world that reflects the truth we know. The God, who is great, and mighty, and awesome, is now guiding us, in our freedom, to respect the diverse traditions of all the nations by sharing, in peace, the wondrous gifts of human life.

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Kiddush HaShem (Sanctifying God’s Name) For Jews, Kiddush HaShem expresses the Great Commandment: “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your might.” (Deuteronomy 6:5) Kiddush HaShem means more than speaking properly about God; it means living faithfully before God. Sanctifying God’s name involves deeds as well as words, ethics as well as worship. Shameful conduct, therefore, is not simply wrong, but defames God’s name (Chilul HaShem). This is why the response of Jesus, when asked to name the greatest commandment of the Law of Moses, is a proper Jewish response. After quoting Deuteronomy 6:5, as first among the commandments, Jesus quotes Leviticus 19:18: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” Then he says, “There is no other commandment greater than these.” (Mark 12:31) By identifying these two commandments together, Jesus emphasizes that loving our neighbors is crucial for loving God with all our heart and soul. In other words, Jesus identifies the Great Commandment as Kiddush HaShem, the sanctification of God’s name. In the week before Easter I spoke with three rabbis who have been active in Rabbis for Human Rights. Each of them has a distinctive view today of the challenge for Jews in Israel, but all of them believe that defending human rights is Kiddush HaShem, the sanctification of God’s name. Although the three rabbis differ in their critical assessment of Rabbis for Human Rights, they agree that it has linked Jewish support for human rights to this fundamental commandment acknowledged by every Jew. Rabbi Ehud Bandel My friendship with Rabbi Bandel goes back more than a decade to the time he was the founding Executive Director of Rabbis for Human Rights. Rabbi Bandel is also a former President of the Masorti (Conservative) Movement in Israel. The Masorti Movement has much in common theologically with Conservative Judaism in the United States, but it is not simply the Israeli wing of that movement. RHR began in 1989 as a response to the first Palestinian Intifida (uprising). Six rabbis, two from each stream of Judaism, launched the organization,

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which at first focused only on protesting and seeking to rectify violations of human rights suffered by Palestinians at the hands of the Israeli government. While opposing the violence of the first Intifida, RHR sought both to defend the human rights of Palestinians as children of the one God, and also to remind Jewish Israelis that their Jewish religious tradition requires respecting the human dignity of every person, whether Jewish or not. In the beginning RHR did not assert the human right to “self-determination” — the first right asserted in the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights and in the International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights, the two main treaties implementing the 1948 Universal Declaration of Human Rights. And, for pragmatic reasons, RHR initially adopted the American view of human rights and therefore limited its activities to violations of civil rights. The work of RHR changed, however, after the Oslo peace process began in 1993. As the Israeli government began to consider the idea of Palestinian self-determination, the peace movement among Jewish Israelis moved to support a two-state solution. During the lull in the violence between 1993 and 2000, RHR broadened its work to include protesting violations of economic rights in Israel, as well as among Palestinians. Today it continues to protest hunger and homelessness in Israel, as well as elsewhere, as a denial of fundamental human rights. During this period RHR became more activist, giving at least silent assent for acts of civil disobedience in support of human rights. Under its second Executive Director, Rabbi Arik Ascherman, RHR joined secular Jewish Israeli activists in condemning the demolition of Palestinian homes by the Israeli government, and in mobilizing people to protest demolitions in order to bring public attention to this violation of human rights. In East Jerusalem, especially, Palestinians have been denied building permits to construct homes on their own property, or to renovate the homes they own in order to accommodate growing families. This policy of the Israeli authorities — a tactic to put pressure on Palestinians to sell their land — violates the civil liberties of Palestinian property owners. RHR argues that demolishing homes because Palestinians lack building permits, which Israeli officials refuse, without good reason, to issue, is a cynical practice that not only harms Palestinians, but also demeans the Jewish tradition of justice. RHR resists home demolitions in an apolitical way. For example, it has not actively protested the demolition of Palestinian homes under two other

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circumstances: when done by Israeli security forces as part of a military action, and when the homes demolished were owned by families of suicide bombers. Individual members of RHR have expressed publicly that home demolitions for these reasons are also wrong, as acts of collective punishment. Their position is that collective punishment, in principle, is inconsistent with the philosophy of human rights and is condemned by international law. RHR, however, has not taken this position as an organization, because its members are divided over the justification of the security arguments advanced for home demolitions in these two instances. Rabbi Bandel believes that the failure of the Oslo process and the beginning of the second Intifida (in 2000) has not changed the activity of RHR, but the second Intifida has undermined the hope that he and other Israelis had for reconciliation among Jewish Israelis, Arab Israelis, and Palestinians. The second Intifida was devastating for Jewish Israelis, not only because it ended the hopes of the Israeli peace movement in the Oslo process, but also because the second Intifida was marked by a new level of Palestinian violence. Israelis had seen the first Intifida as protesting the unjust practices of the Israeli government and army, and many RHR members supported this concern even as they rejected the violent protests of Palestinians seeking some redress for their suffering. For these Israelis, the first Intifida was understandable, and seemed to reflect both genuine grievances by Palestinians and also their search for a just resolution to the conflict. In contrast most Israelis have seen the second Intifida as an attack on the Israeli civilian population by Palestinian terrorist organizations, which are not only committed to Palestinian self-determination, but also to the destruction of Israel. The violence of the second Intifida is perceived as fueled by Islamic extremism, and this kind of terrorism reinforces Jewish fears of persecution and annihilation. In the context of the second Intifida, it became more difficult for RHR to justify its work to many Jewish Israelis, who have felt the security needs of Israel require more leeway for the Israeli military. Most Israelis have supported a more forceful response to the violence that many Palestinians have claimed is necessary if they are to achieve their self-determination. The rabbis and lay Jews who persist in the work of RHR believe strongly that the soul of Judaism is at stake in facing the injustice of the occupation. Rabbi Bandel spoke of the story of Hillel, who was challenged to state the

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Jewish commandments while standing on one leg. His response was, “What you do not want done to you, do not do to others. The rest is commentary.” Added to this teaching, Rabbi Bandel said, is the repeated admonition in the Torah to Jews to remember that God took care of them when they were slaves in Egypt. Therefore, Jews are commanded to take care of the non-Jews living among them. I asked why these teachings are not being respected by religious Israeli settlers, who are abusing Palestinians today and stealing their land. Rabbi Bandel replied, “If you want to base a racist platform on Jewish sources, it’s very easy.” When the Israeli Supreme Court banned Rabbi Kahane from running for the Knesset, because his platform was racist, Kahane created a new platform made up of quotations from the Torah, the Mishnah, the Talmud, and Maimonides. “You can find horrible sayings from our sages,” Rabbi Bandel said. But these sayings should be interpreted in their own context. For instance, rabbis who supported the Bar-Kockba revolt against the Romans in 132 ce said terrible things about non-Jews, but Rabbi Bandel argues that these statements cannot be generalized as holding for all Jewish and non-Jewish relationships. There is a huge difference between being an oppressed minority under Roman rule, and being the majority in a state that is occupying Palestinian land. Teaching that Jewish needs should be given priority over Gentile concerns is understandable, when Gentile rulers are persecuting Jews. But, this teaching should not be applied when Jews are the majority, and when they are the ones violating the fundamental human rights of Gentiles living under Jewish rule. Moshe Greenberg, a well-known scripture scholar and a member of RHR, has acknowledged that there is no way to escape a selective reading of the texts of scripture. The real question is how we make that selection. “Are we,” Rabbi Bandel asked, “simply choosing texts that fit our preconceived notions, or our sense of what is politically correct? Or, are we reading selectively from scripture in a way that is true to what scripture itself reveals?” He quoted the famous passage from the prophet Micah: “...and what the Lord requires of you: only to do justice and to love goodness, and to walk modestly with your God...” For Rabbi Bandel, and for all the members of RHR, this prophetic emphasis on moral righteousness rather than on religious ritual is at the heart of how they read Jewish scripture. This witness in scripture is not limited to the Prophets, as the same teaching is found in the very beginning of the Torah. The creation story

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affirms that every person is made in the image of God. (Genesis. 1:27) The Torah does not begin by saying that Jews have privileges that other peoples do not have, but instead that God cares for every person on earth. When Jews violate the human rights of Palestinians, Rabbi Bandel argues, even with the good intention of ensuring greater security for Jews living within Israel, they desecrate the name of God. When Jews do what is just, for Palestinians as well as for Jews, they sanctify the name of God. This was why Rabbi Bandel wore his kippa when he first made trips for RHR into Palestinian refugee camps. He wanted Palestinian Christians and Muslims to know that he was there because he was a Jew, that he was not a secular Israeli who also supported human rights law. He wanted to be recognized as a religious Jew, acting for a religious Jewish organization. He was trying to protect the human rights of Palestinians as a way of sanctifying the name of the one God. For this same reason, Rabbi Bandel cannot give up on the work of reconciliation among Palestinians, Arab Israelis and Jewish Israelis, for he sees this as what God commands we all do. Rabbi Bandel believes that he must work for repentance and forgiveness, no matter how impossible such efforts may seem, because this is what must be done to sanctify the name of God. The peace that God wills is not simply the cessation of violent hostilities, but the presence of reconciliation. For Jews, like Rabbi Bandel, this means working to ensure the human rights of Arab Israelis, and also Palestinians, as well as protecting the human rights of Jewish Israelis. It also means defending the human right to self-determination for the Palestinian people, as well as for other peoples. If the Jewish people are to claim this right for themselves, then they must defend this right for the Palestinian people as well. But in this regard, Rabbi Bandel said, he hopes that Palestinians and other peoples will come to understand and respect that “Zionism is the national liberation movement of the Jewish people.” Those who have fought each other for self-determination can only be reconciled, if there is mutual respect for the right of self-determination. Rabbi Jeremy Milgrom Rabbi Jeremy Milgrom first came to Israel at the age of 15, when he won a trip that was awarded for his knowledge of scripture. He studied to be a rabbi both in Israel and in the United States, and was ordained within the American Conservative stream of Judaism. He returned to Israel, because

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he felt the issues surrounding the survival and flourishing of a Jewish state would shape the beliefs and practice of Judaism for years to come. As co-director of RHR in the mid-1990s, Rabbi Milgrom led efforts to help Bedouins, many of whom live in caves as they have for centuries. As the policies of the Israeli government began to force these people from their traditional homes, Rabbi Milgrom tried to bring the violation of their human rights to the attention of the Israeli public. The inability of RHR, as an organization, to provide much help for the Bedouins, as well as the failure of the Oslo peace process, has led Rabbi Milgrom to see RHR’s work as largely symbolic. Although for many years he endorsed the idea of a Jewish, democratic state, which almost all members of RHR continue to affirm, he now believes a Jewish state cannot be democratic. The requirement of a Jewish majority means giving preference to the rights of Jews over the rights of those who are not Jewish, in order to maintain Jewish dominance. For Rabbi Milgrom, what the Jewish state has done to the Bedouins, and to the Palestinians as well, has convinced him that the Zionist dream of a Jewish democracy will inevitably be an oppressive tragedy for the people within Israel, who are not Jewish. His primary example of the moral dilemma facing Jews is their position on the right of return. Jews claim for all Jews in the world, whether they have ever lived in Israel or not, the right to come to Israel and be full citizens, simply because they are Jewish. For Palestinians, however, Jews refuse to acknowledge their right of return, even though many Palestinians were living in what is now Israel, and were driven unjustly from their homes during the 1947-48 war. Zionism, for Rabbi Milgrom, cannot be democratic, unless it supports the right of return for both Jews and Palestinians, and Zionists cannot do this, because too many Palestinians might return to Israel and become a majority, which would threaten the Jewish nature of Israel. A Jewish, democratic state, he believes is a contradiction in terms, and for evidence he simply points to the policies of the Israeli government over the past half century. Rabbi Milgrom feels that the problem with RHR today is that it has accepted the view that before 1967 things were OK in Israel, and that it is sufficient to try to return to that ethos with perhaps greater protection for individual human rights under a negotiated separation plan. But, given the policies that have been pursued by the Israeli government, Rabbi Milgrom cannot see that a viable Palestinian state is possible.

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Israeli settlements and their connecting roads and security barriers have taken so much of the Palestinian land, and cut up the West Bank into small sections, that he thinks it is ludicrous to expect Palestinians to accept what Israel will now offer. In short, Rabbi Milgrom believes Israel has so defined its own human right to self-determination, with settlements surrounding Jerusalem to the east and controlling hilltops throughout the West Bank, that the human right of self-determination for Palestinians has been fatally compromised. Rabbi Milgrom believes this political problem cannot be solved so long as Israelis claim that God has given them the land of Israel including Judea and Samaria (the West Bank). Thus, the crux of the problem is not political, but religious. When asked how RHR might confront this theological issue, he answered that Jews must now liberate themselves from their attachment to Zionism. It is not enough to believe in the prophetic vision that Jews are to be a servant nation, among the nations, as the Zionist vision of Israel does not permit this humble role. Rabbi Milgrom says that, for Zionists, Israel is to be a Jewish nation that protects Jews against all other nations, no matter what. Referring to the creation story in Genesis, Rabbi Milgrom reads it as blessing the entire human family. He believes this overarching theme at the beginning of the Torah should now be used to deconstruct the traditional Jewish belief in the people of Israel as the chosen people of God. If God would have us respect and protect the human rights of every person and people, then no person or people should be able to impose their religious identity through the power of government on those who do not share such a faith. In many respects Rabbi Milgrom seems to agree with the secular Jewish Israelis I have met in Jerusalem, who affirm international human rights law and castigate the Israeli government for its widespread and systematic violation of this law. Most of these secular Jews also believe that a two-state solution is no longer feasible, because of the actions taken by the Israeli government in supporting settlements throughout the West Bank and the confiscation of Palestinian land under the guise of constructing a security barrier. Rabbi Milgrom differs with secular Israelis, however, in seeing the issue of ensuring justice for Palestinians as not simply political. He also sees it as religious, and perhaps even as fundamentally religious. He argues that a secularized Israel is not realistic, at least in the near future. So, the battle for a democratic state of Israel must be waged with the weapons of religious texts, and with their interpretation and application to the present reality.

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He embraces a one state solution, permitting the right of return of Palestinians as well as Jews, and a democratic process that would not privilege the Jewish tradition as an established religion. He fully understands that this would lead to a Jewish minority within the state of Israel, but he is willing to accept that. He believes the ethical and spiritual character of Judaism was preserved more authentically when Jews were a minority. Now, Jews support national security as the most fundamental of God’s commandments, when a proper reading of scripture, Rabbi Milgrom argues, should lead Jews to embrace pacifism. When the Israelites ask Samuel to give them a king, Samuel tells them that God is their king. Later, when King David abuses his power, by killing Uriah so he can marry Uriah’s wife, the lovely Bathsheba, God sends Nathan to call David to account. (1 Samuel 8-12, 2 Samuel 11-12) At the heart of Jewish scripture is a God who commands justice. Nowhere in scripture, as Rabbi Milgrom reads it, does God command support for a Jewish state. Rabbi David Rosen Rabbi David Rosen is one of the two Orthodox rabbis who founded Rabbis for Human Rights, along with two Masorti rabbis and two Reform rabbis. He served on the board of the organization for several years, but is much less active now, as he is fully engaged in representing the American Jewish Committee internationally. He gave two reasons for the founding of RHR. First, the response of the Israeli government and its armed forces to the first Intifida included the mistreatment of Palestinians that threatened the prophetic ethical teachings of Judaism. “So, first and foremost,” Rabbi Rosen said, “we sought to defend the essence of Judaism, where we felt it was being sullied.” Secondly, “we wanted to assert that human rights apply to all people regardless of religion or race or nationality.” The founders of RHR believe that the very integrity of a political and legal system is undermined, if for reasons of security the rights of some of its citizens, or the rights of those deserving the legal protection of the government, are ignored and denied. In this sense, both the ideals of Zionism and democracy were put to the test by the response of the Israeli government and Israeli society to the first Intifida. Overall, Rabbi Rosen feels, the justice system of Israel has maintained its integrity except when the concern for security has been allowed to justify actions by the government that are contrary to international human rights

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law. Sadly, he admits, when military experts assert that certain actions are necessary for the security of the state, the courts and the Knesset are inclined to defer rather than raise questions. Jewish religious teaching clearly requires that the means, as well as the ends, be just. So, RHR was organized to defend a view of Zionism that adhered to this high ethical standard. “All the rabbis who joined RHR were deeply committed to the well-being and future of Israel,” Rabbi Rosen said. “We saw Zionism not simply as a political program, but as developing the spiritual life of the Jewish people.” Thus, Rabbi Rosen believes, government policies that deny human rights are not merely a violation of international law. “The failure to protect human rights is a desecration of Jewish ethical teaching.” Initially RHR focused on issues involving religious freedom and access to health care, as the restrictions imposed on the movement of Palestinians were clearly in conflict with international human rights standards. Moreover, RHR members felt such battles with the Israeli government might actually be won, because coverage by the Israeli media was possible, and Israelis want to think of themselves as humane and fair. He recounted an early intervention by RHR concerning a Palestinian boy in Nablus, who was being prevented from receiving kidney dialysis at the Israeli hospital, because his older brother was a leader of the first Intifida. When RHR contacted the Ministry of Defense, they were told that the rules of the army did not permit such a punitive practice. Yet, the practice continued. After the threat of media attention forced an internal review, which confirmed the facts as RHR had reported them, the Ministry of Defense ordered that the boy be allowed to receive the dialysis he needed. RHR hasn’t always been successful in its interventions, but sometimes making a religious argument has been more effective than simply claiming that a practice by the Israeli government is in violation of international human rights law. That was the case, Rabbi Rosen said, in protesting restrictions on the movement of Christian and Muslim Palestinians to and from their places of worship, particularly in the Jerusalem area. Yet, he admitted, the government’s professed commitment to protecting access to holy sites has never kept it from ordering closures and restricting travel for security reasons. Rabbi Rosen acknowledged that RHR has always been a small organization but its voice has had an impact on Israeli leaders. He believes, however, that religious arguments only succeed in Israel to the extent that political

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realities make these arguments seem feasible. “When Oslo started taking off, suddenly we were in the mainstream, and everyone wanted our support. But, once the setbacks started, we again became more and more marginal.” The religious argument for human rights has become especially important during the second Intifida. Israelis as a whole, whether politically of the right or the left, have perceived the second Intifida as a real threat to the survival of Israel. They believe this Intifida has targeted Israeli civil society, rather than the army or the government of Israel. The second Intifida, Rabbi Rosen said, has made it much harder for Jewish Israelis to defend the human rights of Palestinians. This is especially true, when opinion polls in the West Bank and Gaza show support for suicide bombers killing Israeli civilians. Under such duress, Israelis have little patience with arguments that the government is violating the human rights of Palestinians. The response of RHR, therefore, has been to emphasize why defending human rights is essential for being a Jew. The strongest argument in Israel for human rights is that Jews must protect the human rights of Palestinians in order to preserve the Jewish ethical character of Israeli society. To illustrate the importance of RHR during the second Intifida, Rabbi Rosen told the ancient story of a rabbi, who came to Sodom and then preached day and night, calling the people to repentance. No one responded, yet the rabbi persisted. Finally, someone asked him why he bothered, when no one was listening. The rabbi replied, “In the beginning I thought people would listen, but now I am speaking for myself, so I know where I stand and what my own values are.” Rabbi Rosen hastened to clarify that he was not comparing contemporary Israel with the biblical Sodom. “But in RHR we do think that both Jews and Palestinians are profoundly traumatized. And because of this trauma, both peoples have become defensive and reactive, which makes it harder for them to respond to the plight and the pain of the other.” This may help to explain why the settlers have been allowed by Israeli society to behave so badly. Rabbi Rosen believes most Israelis who would describe themselves as mainstream or traditional Jews have very mixed feelings about the religious settlers. “On the one hand they admire the commitment and dedication of these settlers, but also they recognize that their zealousness has led to what I would call a form of idolatry.” The place of Jews on the land, he asserts, must be a means of becoming the just nation that Israel is commanded to be, and not merely an end in itself. “For making means into ends is exactly what idolatry is.”

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The settlers, of course, look to religious texts to justify their theft of Palestinian lands. Jews who are committed to a just Israel, however, must argue that other texts, which command that Jews protect the human rights of all people, are more central in Jewish teaching. Rabbi Rosen believes this religious issue will be decided primarily by politics, which is why the disengagement from Gaza and the removal of settlements there is as much a political issue as it is a theological one. Because possessing the land is seen as justifying the theology of the religious settlements, the political decision to remove these people from the land will fatally undermine their claim. This is why, despite the present trauma of both Israelis and Palestinians, Rabbi Rosen is hopeful. Now the voice of RHR needs to be heard, he believes, because it offers an alternative vision for Israeli Jews. “When I speak of our ethical values, I mean first and foremost that every human being is created in the image of God. Moreover, I would go further and say that, if we don’t behave in accordance with this value, we are not truly Jewish.” Rabbi Rosen added, “If Israel is not truly democratic, Israel is not truly Jewish.” The character of democracy reflects the fundamental teachings of Judaism, as long as the state is secular and not a theocracy. He believes a Jewish majority will not undermine the democracy of Israel, if this majority is true to the essential values of the Jewish tradition. It is also why, for Jewish Israelis, there must be a two state solution, because otherwise Arab Israelis and Palestinians will outnumber Jewish Israelis within the borders administered by Israel. This would make it impossible to maintain the Jewish character of the state of Israel. Rabbi Rosen believes that Palestinians need a separate state as much as Jews need their separate state. Each people must exercise the right to self-determination before either state can consider a closer relationship with the other. He sees Zionism as the Jewish national liberation movement, which is parallel to the Palestinian national liberation movement. For both to succeed, supporters of each movement must recognize the right to self-determination claimed by their adversaries. Human Rights as Sanctifying God’s Name These three rabbis agree that Jews should support human rights not simply as contemporary international law, but as moral imperatives that are fundamental for Jewish faith. To their fellow Jews, in Israel and elsewhere, they say: “Do not desecrate the name of God in the way you live, but sanctify

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your life and the lives of others by respecting the human dignity of each person and the right to self-determination of every people.” These three rabbis are speaking only to their own people, and yet those who are not Jewish can certainly learn from what they are saying. Of the three rabbis, only Rabbi Milgrom believes that democracy cannot be achieved in a nation that gives privilege to one religious tradition. By criticizing the Zionist hope for a Jewish state that both defends Judaism and provides justice for its Arab citizens, Rabbi Milgrom also challenges any national aspiration that expects to represent God’s reign on earth. Rabbi Rosen argues that religious settlers are committing idolatry when they claim God has commanded them to take the land of Palestinians and Bedouins. He reminds us that just actions require not only good intentions, but also the use of just means. To obey the commandments of God is a good intention, but denying the human rights of others is also denying the will of God. As God commands respect for the human dignity of all peoples, we must respect fundamental human rights as we seek to be faithful to God’s other commandments. Rabbi Bandel expressed most poignantly his sadness that a reconciling peace no longer seems possible. He spoke of the need for repentance, both among Jewish Israelis and also, in his opinion, among Palestinians. He believes that peace without healing will only interrupt the violence, not end it. Kiddush HaShem, sanctifying God’s name, involves repentance as well as justice.

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Finding Hope Early one Friday evening I went for Shabbat with several other EAs to Kehilat Kol HaNeshama, a progressive synagogue in West Jerusalem. Prior to the service Rabbi Arik Ascherman, the Executive Director of Rabbis for Human Rights, talked to us briefly about the work of RHR and also what the Shabbat means for him. A tall man with curly hair and a full beard, it was clear that he had rushed from the strains of work to welcome us for Shabbat to his synagogue. He began by reminding us that Israel is a democracy, and that this is a hopeful fact. The press is free, candidates for public office are given time on radio and television, and the court system has responded to appeals by RHR and other Israeli activist groups. Therefore, he believes, civil disobedience in Israel must be a last resort, rather than a general strategy. He said he had recently been convicted for refusing to move from in front of a bulldozer that was going to destroy a home, but he had taken this action only after months of protesting, court appeals, lobbying Knesset members, etc. He characterized the work of RHR in three ways: protesting the violation of human rights for Palestinians, working for economic justice within Israeli society, and sponsoring human rights education for young people. He said that RHR is apolitical in the sense that it advocates for human rights, but not for a particular political position or party, or even for a particular solution to the conflict between Israelis and Palestinians. As an example, he described the intervention by RHR when the Israeli government moved Bedouins out of caves in the Negev, where they had lived for generations. The decision as to whether or not the Bedouins should be left alone in the caves or resettled in some other suitable accommodation was, for him, a political decision. Their eviction from the caves out into the cold desert environment, however, was clearly a violation of their human rights. In this case, the Israeli high court agreed, yet even so the Israeli government continues to make it difficult for the Bedouins to remain in their caves. Clearly, the government has some reason for wanting the Bedouins moved elsewhere, but lacks any legal justification for relocating them. RHR offers a Jewish voice for human rights. Rabbi Ascherman told us that every small Jewish child knows the Talmud passage that says, “If

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someone is coming to kill you, get up early and kill him first.” But even adult Jews are not familiar with the teachings that follow this passage. The Talmud says that, if you can prevent the person from killing you by using non-lethal means, then you have an obligation to do so. The Talmud goes on to say that if someone threatens to kill you unless you kill an innocent person, then you are obliged to let yourself be killed, rather than take the life of the innocent person. Jewish teaching puts a check on the use of violence, even in self-defense, and RHR sees this in our contemporary world as supporting human rights for everyone. Is RHR succeeding in trying to educate Israelis and protect Palestinians? By going out to be present when Palestinian farmers are plowing and planting their fields, pruning their olive trees, and picking their olives, Rabbi Ascherman believes RHR is helping. RHR has prevented attacks on Palestinians and also pushed the Israeli army to restrain the illegal acts of settlers. Although settlers do continue to attack Palestinian farmers, some of them are now being prosecuted. And RHR works constantly with the Israeli army to try to ensure that soldiers show up and do their job, when the farmers go out to work their fields. As further evidence that Judaism supports human rights, Rabbi Ascherman referred to a Jewish teaching (midrash) about Hagar and Ishmael, her son by Abraham. A question arises for rabbis because in scripture, after Sarah persuades Abraham to send Hagar and Ishmael into the wilderness, God takes pity on them and gives them water, so they will not die. In the midrash the angels scold God. “Can’t you see the future?” they say. “This child will father the Arab nations, and when they become Muslims they will make life difficult for Jews. If Ishmael dies, it will be best for your people.” In the midrash God replies, “Now the child is innocent, so now he deserves my pity.” Rabbi Ascherman says this ancient teaching reminds Jews that everyone is a child of God, and RHR sees this as meaning everyone deserves to have his or her human rights respected and protected. Before we went with him into the synagogue to join in the Shabbat service Rabbi Ascherman explained that, for Jews, this is what the Shabbat is all about. “We pause for a day of rest each week, letting go of our dreams and worries about what we are doing, to find hope in remembering that we are not the masters of our universe, but co-creators in it with God.” Finally, he told us, “There must be a coalition of hope among Israelis and Palestinians and all those who seek a just peace. We have to break the

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stereotypes about the other. We cannot teach hate for the other and also seek justice.” Even when others are doing what we know to be wrong, we have to hope for their repentance and also for reconciliation. “It all comes down to hope.”

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Christians and Muslims in Jerusalem On April 23rd I went to a program on “Christian-Islamic Coexistence” at Al-Quds University in the Old City of Jerusalem. It was sponsored by the Center for Jerusalem Studies (www.jerusalem-studies.org) and featured comments by three scholars. Rev. Professor Maroun Lahham Professor Lahham spoke from the Christian perspective. He described Palestine as a land of dialogue, both of necessity and because this is God’s will. “Relations between Christians and Muslims are generally good,” he said, “especially between intellectuals and within the leadership of the Palestinian Authority.” And he gave four reasons for these good relations. First, the relationship has existed for 15 centuries. There have certainly been times of conflict, but nonetheless for both Christians and Muslims in Palestine the other is part of their own history and culture. Second, both Christians and Muslims in Palestine are Palestinians. Christians here are fully “Arabized,” to use Professor Lahham’s word. He contrasted this with Coptic Christians in Egypt, who do not see themselves as Egyptians. Palestinian Christians, however, see themselves as Arabs. Third, the Palestinian Christians are indigenous. Their church is not the result of colonial missionary activities, although some Christians are now in charge of Christian institutions that only date back to the colonial period. He also suggested that Islamic fundamentalism has less appeal in Palestine, because of the indigenous Christian population. Fourth, Christians and Muslims in Palestine suffer together. They are both victims of invaders, of the colonial powers, and now the Jewish state. The Crusaders did not distinguish between the indigenous Christians, Jews and Muslims. When these Franks, for this is what the historians then called them, took Jerusalem, they killed everyone they could catch. On the Palestinian street, however, Professor Lahham said there are certainly issues that put a strain on the relationship between Christians and Muslims. Western influence is associated with the Christian culture of the West, so some Muslims question whether Palestinian Christians are really

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Palestinian. The experience of children in families and in school may raise this question, as Palestinian Christian families have more contacts with the West than Muslim families. Also, Christians have been a minority among Palestinians for 13 of the past 15 centuries, and, historically, it seems there are always tensions between a minority and the majority population. “There is no crisis in Christian-Muslim relations,” Professor Lahham said. Wise men on both sides are providing effective leadership in both religious and political circles. But Palestinian Christian preachers must continue to teach that the long relationship between Palestinian Christians and Muslims is God’s will. Similarly, Palestinian Muslim sheiks should teach their people that good relations with Christians are necessary for a successful Palestinian state. Dr. Mustafa Abu Sway A Muslim perspective was presented by Dr. Mustafa Abu Sway. He made three points. First, Muslims see Christians as part of the history of the prophets, which begins with Adam and ends with Muhammad (peace be upon all of them). Muslims, Christians and Jews are not completely other or alien, because many of the prophets named in the scriptures of each of these religious traditions are also named in the Qur’an, which Muslims see as the final revelation of the one God. Second, when Saladin drove the Crusaders from Jerusalem, he returned its holy sites to the Orthodox and Armenian Christians who had been treated by the Crusaders in the same terrible way that Muslims had been treated. When Saladin entered Jerusalem the Orthodox Bishop invited him to worship in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, but Saladin respectfully declined in order to avoid setting a precedent that would have brought many Muslims into the Church. Saladin knew it was best to protect the right of Christians to worship in their own holy places, and also to have holy places for Muslims where Christians did not regularly come to worship. Third, Dr. Sway said, it should be noted that the present dialogue between Christians and Muslims in Jerusalem is very recent. But, this fact should not be taken to mean that Christians and Muslims have been separated in the past. He mentioned that, when he was an infant, his mother took him to a Christian friend to be breast fed, not because his mother had inadequate milk for her son, but as a manifestation of the sisterhood between the two

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women. And his mother also nursed the daughter of her Christian friend, which made the Christian girl his sister. The children of these two families grew up almost as one family, and Dr. Sway learned that he could not marry his Christian sister although by blood she was unrelated to him. He also knows of at least one case in Jerusalem, prior to 1948, where there was the same sisterhood and shared breast-feeding between two mothers, who were Muslim and Jewish. Dr. Yousef Al-Natsheh Speaking from the perspective of an art historian, who is also a Muslim, Dr. Al-Natsheh said he thought that the relationship between Christians and Muslims in Jerusalem was quite remarkable. He noted that it was normal a thousand years ago for Christian and Muslim theologians to talk about God together. Of course, there have been conflicts. It is a fact that the Fatimid Muslim ruler Hakim destroyed the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, but, Dr. Al-Natsheh pointed out that he also treated Egyptian Muslims very badly. Dr. Al-Natsheh took us on a brief tour in the Old City. We stopped first at the Al-Quds University building along the Via Dolorosa, between the fifth and sixth Stations of the Cross. The University is housed in an old Crusader building, although you would not know the historic character of the structure by its façade facing the street. We walked back along the Via Dolorosa to the Ecco Homo Arch, which is only partially visible because buildings have been constructed around more than half of it. The emperor Hadrian built this arch in 135 ce, after he crushed the second Jewish revolt. After rebuilding Jerusalem, Hadrian renamed it Aelia Capitolina, a name combining his family name with a tribute to the pagan gods. Beyond the Ecco Homo Arch we stopped in front of the Church of St. Anne. Beside the church are the ruins of bathing pools, which were used by pagans before the Christian era, because they believed the god Serapis (Asclepius) was present there and would provide healing. In the first century ce, Jews called these pools Bethsaida (or Bethesda), and John 5:1-13 relates a story of Jesus healing there. After 135 ce a pagan temple was built beside these pools, but by the middle of the fifth century a church had taken the temple’s place. The present Church of St. Anne was built around 1135, in the middle of Crusader rule over Jerusalem. When Saladin took the city in 1192, he transformed the

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church into a Muslim theological school, and his inscription for this school is over the door. We left the Church of St. Anne and walked west through the Lions Gate. Dr. Al-Natsheh told us that Muslims often called this Mary’s Gate because they associate the Church of St. Anne, which is named after Mary’s mother, with the mother of Jesus. Christians know this as St. Stephen’s Gate, for it commemorates the first Christian martyr. (Acts 6:8-8:1) The current Hebrew name, the Lions Gate, is derived from the lions that the Muslim sultan, Suliman, had carved on the outer wall on either side of the gate. Then we walked down into the Kidron Valley to what is known as The Tomb of the Virgin. There is nothing in the New Testament about the death of the mother of Jesus, but a memorial has been at this site at least since the sixth century. The descent into this tomb requires going down a long, dark stone staircase. The tombs of Baldwin II and Queen Melisande, from the Crusader era, are on the left and the right, as you descend. At the bottom, when you turn to the right, you face the tomb where legend says that Mary’s remains are buried. Dr. Al-Natsheh pointed out to us that there is a niche on the right side of the tomb, which is in the southern wall. It is a mihrab and gives the direction of Mecca, for Muslims have for centuries come here to pray. Mary, the mother of Jesus, is a central figure in the Qur’an, and legend says that Muhammad saw a light over her tomb on his night journey to Jerusalem. In remembering Mary, all three religious traditions come together. A Jewish mother, her son now revered by all Christians as God’s chosen one, and both the mother and son remembered for their holiness in the Qur’an, which is read by all Muslims. In these common memories may we may find hope for a just peace in Jerusalem.

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Telling the Truth There are at least three problems with telling the truth. First, we sometimes believe that the consequences of telling the truth will be worse than lying, or keeping silent. In the study of ethics the usual example given to illustrate this problem involves a Gentile hiding a Jew from Nazis during World War II, and then having to decide, when a Nazi comes searching for the Jew, whether or not to tell the truth. When considering this dilemma, many will conclude that lying is better than telling the truth, as lying seems more likely to protect the life of the Jew. A second problem is that we may think we know the truth, but be wrong. All of us have had the experience of learning later that we did not understand what was true earlier, although earlier we thought we did. Circumstances change so rapidly, with new information always more readily available, and we often discover that what was true a short time ago may not be true now. In the example of the Nazi hunting for a Jew, the person hiding the Jew may say the Jew is in his house, believing he is (and fearing the danger to himself, if he lies). But the Jew may have slipped away, believing (correctly in this example) that the Gentile might give him up to the Nazis. A search of the house will prove the Gentile was mistaken, although he thought he was telling the truth. The Nazi will think the man was lying, but lying involves deliberately telling what one believes to be false. In this case, the Gentile was merely mistaken. We, too, may easily be mistaken about what is true. Third, we may be unsure that what we think is true is really true. Again, using the example of hiding a Jew from Nazis, the Gentile would be most truthful, if he told the Nazi that the Jew was in his home and might still be in his home, although he is not certain of this. The lesson to be learned here is that it is often safer to say that we are stating what we think to have been true, although we cannot be sure that it is now true, or will be true in the future. These examples illustrate that telling the truth is not always so easy. Michael Prior I raise these questions about telling the truth, before reflecting on a conference I attended in Jerusalem in memory of Professor Michael Prior, a

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Catholic priest who taught at St. Mary’s College of the University of Surrey in the UK, but who was known primarily for his research, writing and advocacy on behalf of Palestinians. Michael Prior wrote controversial books, such as Zionism and the State of Israel, and The Bible and Colonialism. He is celebrated for telling the truth about what the State of Israel has done to Palestinians in the name of Zionism. He is also remembered for telling the truth about texts in the Hebrew scriptures that present God commanding the Israelites to commit what today we would call ethnic cleansing and genocide. We may well imagine that there is some debate about whether or not such statements are actually true. There can be no doubt that the Torah (the first five books of Hebrew scriptures and also the Christian Old Testament) includes texts that literally command what today we would call ethnic cleansing and genocide. This is a fact that can be verified by reading the texts, which are unchanging and are available for public scrutiny. For example, Deuteronomy 7:1-2 says: “When the Lord our God brings you [the Israelites] to the land that you are about to enter and possess, and He dislodges many nations before you — the Hittites, Girgashites, Amorites, Canaanites, Perizzites, Hivites, and Jebusites, seven nations much larger than you — and the Lord your God delivers them to you and you defeat them, you must doom them to destruction: grant them no terms and give them no quarter.” In the conference remembering Michael Prior, Dr. Nur Masalha, Senior Lecturer and Director of the Holy Land Research Project at St. Mary’s College, remarked on what he thought was an ambiguity in Prior’s writings about such texts in the Torah. Masalha was uncertain whether or not Prior’s writings were only condemning the use of these texts in our modern context, or were condemning the words themselves in scripture. Clearly, Prior condemned the use of these texts to justify oppressing the Palestinians. But, Masalha asked, did his commitment to telling the truth lead him to condemn scripture itself? In texts such as Deuteronomy 7:1-2 the words are clear, but the interpretation of these words has varied among Jews and Christians. Is scripture simply a literal reading of the words? Or is scripture an interpretative undertaking by those who read these words? The authors of the Torah were not lying. Certainly, they told the truth, as they understood the truth. But even if this was their understanding of the truth in their time, it might be a mistake to assume it is the truth for all time. This is clearly so, if we affirm God is free and continues to act in history, as both Jewish and Christian texts affirm.

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Both Jews and Christians see evidence in the prophetic writings of the Bible that must be considered in understanding God’s will with respect to the nations. The Prophets present God as ruling all the nations and at times even refer to Israel as the servant of the nations. The individual prophets, who are called by God and who speak to the people for God, do not affirm that Deuteronomy 7:1-2, or other similar texts in the Torah, assert what is true either for all time, or in their time. Telling the truth about scripture requires stating clearly that no prophet says the Lord God wants the people chosen by God to slaughter other peoples in order to take possession of the land where the tribes of Israel became a nation. Thus, if this text is read in the context of the prophetic writings in Hebrew and Christian scripture, telling the truth about Deuteronomy 7:1-2 will lead to a different understanding of what the truth of God’s will might be for us in our time, and perhaps even in every time. Michael Prior read the Bible this way to argue that the ethnic cleansing, which Zionist leaders promoted before and during what Jews remember as Israel’s war for independence, should not be understood as God’s will. He interpreted texts from the Torah in the context of the Hebrew scriptures, including the Prophets and the Writings. He argued that telling the truth about the ethnic cleansing of Palestinians by Zionist Jews in 1948 also means denying that the Hebrew scriptures can truthfully be used to justify driving Palestinians from their land. Rabbi Jeremy Milgrom, in his comments about Michael Prior at this conference, made a similar point using evidence from the Talmud, the commentary on the Torah that Orthodox and Ultra-Orthodox Jews read as providing Jews with a truthful interpretation of the Torah. In the Talmud there are rabbinical teachings that in certain circumstances justify theft from a Gentile by a Jew, when such a theft from another Jew is considered wrong. But there are other texts that question the truth of such an understanding of God’s will. Rabbi Milgrom shared with us a story from the Talmud of a rabbi whose disciples bought him a donkey from a Gentile, and then discovered to their delight that a valuable jewel was hidden on the donkey. When they told their rabbi, he asked if the seller had known the jewel was there at the time of the sale. The disciples said that was unlikely, but argued this was simply due to his ignorance or misfortune. To their surprise the rabbi did not agree. He commanded his disciples to return the jewel to the Gentile seller. For the rabbi did not want the Gentile

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to think the God the rabbi worshipped was a God who sanctioned cheating a Gentile. On the contrary, the rabbi wanted the Gentile to praise the God of the rabbi, as a God who demands justice for all people. Rabbi Milgrom said that the ancient rabbis who wrote the Talmud limited their debate about whether to understand the truth of a biblical text literally or allegorically, to the specific circumstances addressed by the text. The rabbis rejected applying a biblical text to other nations in other times, as if it were necessarily intended to express some general or universal truth. In this way the rabbis taught that truth was contextual and required the interpretation of texts in order to understand the truth of God’s will in any particular time. Jerusalem Most of the speakers at the conference remembering Michael Prior talked about Jerusalem, which was the stated topic of the gathering. The Rev. Dr. Naim S. Ateek, Director of the Sabeel Ecumenical Center in Jerusalem, which was a co-sponsor of the conference, said: “There can be no peace in Jerusalem as long as there are exclusive claims made concerning the city.” Most everyone in the room agreed that this is a true assessment of the situation, both now and for the future. This position challenges the status quo, however, for many Jews make exclusive claims about Jerusalem. But the Israeli government has not made these claims into policies or laws, although it has limited access to the religious sites maintained by Christians and Muslims. Dr. Bernard Sabella, Executive Director of the Department of Service to Palestinian Refugees for the Middle East Council of Churches, shared the results of a poll among Palestinians that reveals support for protecting access for all three religious traditions to the holy sites in Jerusalem. He did point out one crucial difference between Christian and Muslim responses to this poll. Almost two-thirds of the Palestinian Muslims polled would prefer to have Jerusalem administered as an Arab trust, which would allow Christians and Jews access to their religious sites. Palestinian Christians, on the other hand, want Jerusalem administered under a secular legal arrangement, which allows equal access and rights for the members of all three religious traditions. Sabella praised Michael Prior for having the courage to speak the truth. Sabella also said he no longer supports Christian-Jewish dialogue, unless it directly addresses the terrible injustice for Palestinians that is a result of Israeli policies and practices in Jerusalem and the West Bank. “Israel is a

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colonialist, racist, separatist state,” Sabella said. He added that he had only come to this conclusion with a great deal of regret, after many years of working with Israelis for a just peace. Professor Jeff Halper, head of the Israeli Committee Against House Demolition (ICAHD), agreed with Sabella’s statement about Israel, but he explained that most Israelis do not actively support the policies of Israel that may accurately be described as colonialist and racist. “All that matters for most Israelis is their personal security,” he said. “They don’t care about Palestinians, but they also don’t care about settlers. Polls show that two-thirds of the Israelis do not support the idea of a Greater Israel. Halper argued that these Israelis don’t like Prime Minister Sharon, but, nonetheless, have supported his disengagement plan from Gaza, because they think it will help ensure their personal security. Halper also said, however, that his commitment to telling the truth meant he had to say most Israelis would agree with the assertion that: “Jerusalem belongs to the Jews.” For the average secular Israeli, Zionism simply means Jews have a right to their Jewish State on this land. Unlike the religious settlers, the majority of Jewish Israelis do not claim a divine right to the land. But they would argue that Israel was created through the UN under international law at the end of World War II, and that Jews have fought to defend their right to have a Jewish State. Thus, Jews will continue to do what it takes to maintain Israel. Although most Jewish Israelis are not religious Zionists, who claim this is God’s purpose, they are Zionists in this sense. In addition, Halper explained, most Jews do not think of Israel in terms of exact borders, and would trade some land on the West Bank that Israel now occupies for greater security. Yet, hardly any Jew thinks Israel should return all of the West Bank to the Palestinians. Moreover, Jews will resist giving back any of the area around Jerusalem, including that part of the West Bank beyond the Green Line marking the 1967 border of the territory controlled by Jordan. The settlements around Jerusalem, in the eyes of most Jews, are not really settlements, Halper said, but neighborhoods of Jerusalem that will remain part of Israel and part of a united Jerusalem. Halper believes this general attitude among Jewish Israelis is unjust, and it clearly is contrary to international human rights law and UN resolutions pertaining to the conflict. He argues that this attitude toward Jerusalem by both the Israeli government and most Israeli citizens makes a viable Palestinian state impossible.

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Dr. Asad Ghanem, Chair of the Ibn Khadhun Centre in Galilee and a faculty member of the Department of Politics at Haifa University, urged Palestinian intellectuals and political leaders to propose a specific plan for the future of Jerusalem. He sees the fairly recent fact that half the population of what is called Greater Jerusalem is Palestinian and the other half Jewish, not as a problem, but as the beginning of a solution. He believes this fact could be the basis for what he describes as “a bi-national city.” He argues this might make it possible to conceive of a “bi-national state” for Jewish Israelis and Palestinians (including those who are now Arab Israelis). Ghanem’s proposal for a bi-national city and a bi-national state precipitated a vigorous debate about one state and two-state solutions, which did not result in a consensus. But this discussion did reveal that the future of Jerusalem is the key to a just peace for both Jewish Israelis and for Palestinians. Invoking Michael Prior’s commitment to truth one last time, I suggest that we may come closer to discerning the truth, if Israeli and Palestinian leaders address issues concerning Jerusalem earlier in any peace negotiations that may take place, rather than leaving this difficult conflict until the end of such negotiations. The truth is that Jerusalem must be shared by, and be open to, both peoples if there is to be a secure peace for Israelis and a just peace for Palestinians.

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Secular Views

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Hannah Barag

Gila Svirsky

Women In Black, Demonstration

Dr. Tayseer Maray

Robi Damelin

Lydia Aisenberg

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Israeli Fortifications, Syrian Border, Golan

Apple Packing Plant, Golan Development

Israeli Security Facility, Golan

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Visiting Mishmar Ha’emek Kibbutz Participants in the Ecumenical Accompaniment Program took a short trip in the spring of 2005 to visit a kibbutz, the Golan Heights, and the University of Haifa. Our goal was to learn more about the history of Israel. At Mishmar Ha’emek we were given a tour by a prominent member of the kibbutz, Lydia Aisenberg. A slight, intense woman with red hair, Lydia Aisenberg, spoke forcefully to us, as I am sure she does with other groups that visit her kibbutz. She is a journalist by training, a political activist by avocation, and an effective advocate for her kibbutz. She is secular, socialist by inclination, and sympathetic to the suffering being inflicted by Israelis on Palestinians, a combination that most of those in her audience found attractive. And she knew it. Lydia began by identifying herself as a Jewish girl who faced anti-Semitism as a child in Wales, and as a young adult in London. When she was a young child, she was accused of killing Jesus, and of drinking the blood of babies who were killed on Passover by her parents. She was the only Jewish child in her Welsh town, and she was moved from school to school by her father to try to avoid these harsh attacks. At age 11 a teacher brought her to the front of a class of 40 students and asked here to explain why her ancestors killed Jesus. As a Welsh golf champion, she was unable to join any golf club. In the 60s in London, she saw signs on rental apartments that read, “No Jews or Blacks,” or “No Jews or dogs.” So, for £10 she changed her name from Greenberg to Green in order to pass among Gentiles. It never felt right, however, and later she paid another £10 to regain her original name. She came to Israel in 1967 to learn Hebrew and found equality and social justice on the kibbutz, as well as a husband. She continues to live at Mishmar Ha’emek, she said with a wry smile, because there she has her laundry done, receives three meals a day and so doesn’t have to cook, and also doesn’t have to worry about paying her electric bill. Kibbutz The Mishmar Ha’emek kibbutz began 82 years ago, when the pioneering Jews who came to the area drained the swampland in the valley and learned

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from the Arabs nearby how to farm the land. Until the 1948 war, relationships between Jews and Arabs were good there. Some of the surviving kibbutz members, who were children during these years, made close friends with Arabs and spoke Arabic as their first language. When the war broke out in 1948 a group of Arabs gathered above the Arab villages on the hill above the kibbutz and asked the villagers to join in an attack. Some did, but others simply fled the conflict. In addition to loss of life on both sides, the war led to Arab refugees, mostly in Jenin on the West Bank, and the destruction of the Arab villages near the kibbutz. Lydia believes that the 1967 war, at least for many Israelis, has never ended. Moreover, the two Intifadas, especially the second, have led Jews in Israel to conclude that the world is against them. The UN is seen as prejudiced because of the General Assembly resolution equating Zionism with racism. Today, many Israelis want peace for Palestinians, as well as Israelis, but they are no longer willing to do much to protect the human rights of Palestinians. She described how the kibbutz began in a small area, renting land from the state, and evolved into a very successful community. But, it was a struggle to achieve that success. The first kibbutz members were socialists, atheists, and/or rebels — although some might have prayed to God occasionally, just in case God did exist. They lived simple lives, held most property in common, and worked the land. Their purpose was to create a new Jew and a new state of Israel. When agriculture proved unable to provide them with an adequate living, the kibbutz underwent its own industrial revolution. Today, it has plastic factories, exports, and has changed, almost entirely, its way of life because of its greater affluence. These changes required accepting the need to educate their children for business and professional careers, and accepting the place of the kibbutz within the capitalist system. The kibbutz controls a large piece of the valley, and also maintains a right to the woods on the hillside behind the kibbutz, as long as they have cattle grazing there. It is no longer economical to keep the cattle, Lydia said, but the kibbutz doesn’t want to lose its right to the woods. The kibbutz has members from 37 countries. Lydia married a Russian Jew, who survived the Holocaust. When her foster mother, who was born in Basra, Iraq, first came to Israel, she married another Holocaust survivor, who was from Poland. He had lived in Belgium after the war, and when he wasn’t allowed to become a citizen in Belgium, he moved to Israel.

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Conflict with Arabs Lydia defended her country’s struggle to survive, noting its unique problems. In addition to the trauma of the Holocaust and continued war, it has absorbed a large number of immigrants. Most recently, these immigrants have not been Zionists. Instead, they’ve been Russians and Ethiopians. Forty percent of the one million immigrants in the last ten years have not been Jewish, and they have had problems getting married because the Orthodox establishment controls marriage in Israel. Lydia told a plaintive story about an older member of the kibbutz who had been close friends with Arabs as a child. Just before the war began in 1948, he spoke with a group of Arabs who had gathered outside the kibbutz fence. As he turned to walk away, he was shot. Years later, when Lydia offered to take kibbutz members with her to an Arab village, where she had been interviewing people, this elderly man joined the group. And there, he met the daughter of one of his old friends, who told him her father was alive in a Jenin refugee camp. A reunion was planned, but then the second Intifada began and the reunion was canceled. When Lydia urged her Jewish friend to contact his old Arab friend by phone, he said, “It isn’t so easy,” pointing to the scar on his face where the bullet had entered his skull. Recently, when she was back in London, Lydia saw a newspaper depiction of two Jewish politicians as pigs. All her old feelings of persecution were aroused once again. She fears that anti-Semitism is on the rise in Europe, and is reinforcing the Jewish sense of vulnerability. Lydia is the mother of four sons who have commanded army units and her youngest son is still in the army. She, however, remains a pacifist. She is a Zionist, but she wants justice for the Palestinians. This is why she spends most of her time now working for Palestinian human rights. Lydia said she would continue her work with Palestinians, but she has little hope that the conflict would soon be over. She knows that the Israeli government is treating the Palestinians very badly, but she also believes that there would be no peace until the Palestinians give up terrorist attacks on Israelis as a way of trying to pressure the Israeli government into agreeing to a better deal for Palestinians.

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The Golan for Development The Golan for Development (GD) is a non-profit organization founded in 1991 in the occupied Golan Heights. Its headquarters are in Majdal Shams, one of the five Syrian villages remaining out of the 139 villages that existed in the Golan Heights before the Israeli occupation in 1967. Majdal Shams is located northeast of the Sea of Galilee, in the furthermost corner of the territory now controlled by Israel. Lebanon is to the west, and Syria is to the east. Israeli policies after the war of 1967 tried to obscure Israel’s taking of the land. After villages were bulldozed and destroyed, the stones were often used to build new settlements on the same location. These settlements were then named with a Hebrew version of the former name of the Arab village, and Arab names were removed from local maps. Fully-grown trees and shrubbery were imported from the Jordan Valley so visitors to the area would think that Israeli settlements had been in place in the Golan Heights before the 1967 war. Dr. Tayseer Maray, a tall, short-haired man with a quick smile, explained that of the 130,000 Arabs living in the Golan Heights in 1967, only about 18,000 remained. But these people have effectively resisted many of the initiatives of the Israeli occupation. Self-Help The Israelis have confiscated 95% of the land of the Golan Heights and restricted use of the natural water resources. They also took control of all government services including education and health care. In the schools they imposed the Israeli curriculum in Hebrew, and the health clinic established by the Israeli government was only open seven hours during the day. As part of its resistance to Israeli rule, the GD organized alternative schools taught in Arabic, and presented material to the children explaining that their land had been taken from them. It also started its own health clinic that is open 24 hours a day. In order to compete with the GD health clinic, the Israeli clinic changed to a full-time schedule. “This is great,” Maray said, “for now we have two full-time health clinics in Majdal Shams.”

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Pursuing this strategy of self-help, the GD encouraged people to build water tanks to store the considerable rain that falls in the mountains. More than 600 of these circular, metal tanks were constructed in the Golan Heights, and when later we drove around the area we could see that these large tanks (each about 10-12 feet in diameter) were full of water. When I asked where the funding for the GD came from, Maray said that the people of Majdal Shams and the other villages in the Golan Heights were able to pay for education and health services, because they earned money from growing and selling high quality apples. The GD has assisted the apple industry by investing in modern equipment and methods of storage, so the apples do not have to be sold when the price is low, but can be kept in good condition and sold during the winter. Only 10% of the funding of the GD comes from Europe, and all of this money is used for projects rather than for administrative costs. The GD employs 70 people, 30 of whom work in the health clinic. The GD provides health insurance for all its employees, and it has a contract with one of the four Israeli health insurance companies. When it first contracted with an Israeli provider, the benefits were low and the costs high. But the other Israeli companies saw the market and made better offers, so the present contract is excellent. All this has been possible, in large part, because the people maintained their unity in resisting Israeli policies. Additionally, their remote location made it more difficult for the Israeli army to impose its will, and the GD provided effective leadership for the entire community. There is also a long history in this region of being conquered and resisting. The people remember fighting the French and the Turks, and their heroes are those who fought and died defending their mountainous villages from invaders who came out of the valley below. The Israelis are just the most recent outside force that has tried to subdue their fighting spirit. From 1967 to 1981 the Golan Heights was under military rule. Then the Knesset annexed the area, and offered citizenship to the people of the Golan Heights, hoping that acceptance by the people would give legitimacy to the annexation. In 1982, however, there was a general strike for two months in the Golan Heights, as the people resisted annexation. At the same time the Israeli army was tied down in Lebanon. So, the government backed off from using heavy handed methods in the Golan Heights to try to force an end to the strike and, instead, negotiated with the leaders of the communities.

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Syria The Israeli government has tried to highlight the differences between the Druse and other Arab Muslims, so it has allowed a semi-autonomous administration in the Golan Heights. The Druse inhabitants of the Golan Heights were offered Israeli citizenship, but in the ensuing years only 5% of the people have accepted this status. The rest of the Druse in the Golan Heights have Israeli IDs, but identify themselves as Syrians and not as Israelis. Most Druse consider themselves Arab Muslims, as well as Druse. They do not wish to become Israelis. Between 1990 and 1995 only the sons of collaborators from the Golan Heights could go to Damascus for further education, as the Israeli government hoped this incentive would induce more residents of the Golan to cooperate. Only a few families were persuaded, however. Now, if they pay their taxes, 95% of the population can get permits to send children to the Syrian capital. And most are willing to do that for the sake of their children’s education. The border with Syria is very close to Majdal Shams and is marked only by a low, wire fence. But there are land mines for 100 yards beyond the fence, so no one goes in the area. On national holidays, Syrians come to the area beyond the mines and use megaphones to communicate with family and friends in Majdal Shams. We could see the road that ends about 100 yards from the fence. This is where the people gather when they come to celebrate their holidays. An Israeli military outpost stands above the road beside the Syrian border, and there are landmines in a field below it. Signs on the fence around the field warn of the explosives in the ground. In other places near the village, however, landmines are not clearly posted. Since 1967 landmines have caused 16 deaths and injured 50 people, mostly children. The Israelis refuse to remove the landmines because of the danger to its soldiers in doing so. Nearby, there is an Israeli settlement. The Israelis have invested heavily in apple production in the area, as a way of weakening the economy of the Syrians. As the Israeli apples are now of equal, or even superior quality — for their investment has been greater — the GD has begun marketing some of its apples in Syria and through Syria in other countries as well. Most of the refugees from the Golan Heights now live in Syria, and the relatives of the present occupants of villages like Majdal Shams are also Syrians. Therefore, it is not surprising that the Druse of the Golan Heights would seek closer economic ties with the markets in Syria.

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As we left the Golan Heights we drove past the ruins of Nimrud, which towers above the Golan. This Muslim fortification was designed to defend the road to Damascus from a possible Crusader attack. The site is in poor repair today, but its massive presence reminds the people of Majdal Shams of the long history of invasion and occupation that has defined these fertile slopes above the Sea of Galilee.

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New Historian Ilan Pappe Dr. Ilan Pappe met us at Haifa University. He is short, has gray hair, and his shoulders are slightly rounded. Dr. Pappe looks like the academic he is. He directs an Israeli organization for Palestinian studies, which is related to a partner organization in Ramallah where Palestinians pursue Israeli studies. His work benefited from the law in Israel allowing access to government records after 30 years. In the 1970s, he and other historians began to research the records of the 1948 war and its immediate aftermath. Because of their critical work, they are known in Israeli society as New Historians. Records from the war allowed Pappe, Benny Morris, and other researchers to verify that what we call “ethnic cleansing” not only occurred during the war, but was part of the Zionist plan that has continued to guide Israeli government policies. Arabs did not simply flee during the war because they were told to by Arab governments, but because they were driven out by Israeli armed forces acting on orders from Israeli political leaders. The facts of 1948 have been concealed from the Israeli public, and when exposed by Pappe and other historians have been fiercely resisted. Yet, these facts are verified by the historical records. Because Palestinians were unjustly removed from their land and driven from their homes, under international law they have a right to return (or, at least, should have that right recognized as part of the negotiations for a political settlement). Facing the Facts Pappe argues that Jews in Israel must come to terms with these facts from 1948, if there is to be any possibility for peace. He believes, however, that the facts on the ground, created by the Israeli government after the 1967 war and its occupation of the West Bank and Gaza, have made a two-state solution to the conflict impossible. “There are 12 million people between the Jordan River and the Mediterranean Sea,” he said, “and half of these are indigenous” (known first as Arabs, and then as Palestinians) “and half newcomers” (Jews who are now Israeli citizens).  The best offer made by Prime Minister Ehud Barak in 2000 is seen by Jewish Israelis as better than any offer they would make now, after the second Intifada. But Barak’s offer would have given half the people (the Palestinians)

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only 20% of the land. Pappe is not surprised that the Palestinians rejected it. The peace process and its unjust conclusion, which the Clinton administration pushed Yassar Arafat to accept, is seen by Pappe as the direct cause of the second Intifada. Jewish Israelis do not have knowledge of and, consequently, do not understand their government’s oppression of the Palestinians. Because Palestinian terrorists have targeted Israeli civilians during the second Intifada, Jewish Israelis also have no sympathy for the suffering of Palestinians. As a result, there is no peace movement in Israel that is large enough to support a solution acceptable to the Palestinians. There are several factors, however, that might change Israeli public opinion in the long run: • 75% of the Israelis are poor, • insecurity will return when the two-state solution proves unwork able, and • pressure from the international community. The last is essential, as the two peoples are unable to secure a just peace on their own. Zionist Israel began as a secular and socialist vision, involving a colonial act at the end of the international period of colonialism. The Palestinian response to Zionism was also secular and socialist. More recently, religion has been used on both sides of the conflict to manipulate people and provide energy for what is essentially a political struggle. Islamic fundamentalists motivate suicide bombers with their ideology, and Jewish settlers demand Israeli government policies that disregard human rights law and assert the right of Israelis to the land. After the second Intifida began in 2000, the New Historians were labeled traitors for their critical view of Israel. As a consequence, the University tried twice in 2002 to dismiss Pappe. In 1948, 70,000 of the 75,000 Arabs of Haifa were expelled in a single day. Today, despite the good relations in Haifa between Jews and Arabs, the Jews refuse to accept this history. Dr. Pappe’s Institute at Haifa University commemorates this expulsion annually, but Jewish leaders in Haifa oppose such a commemoration event. Presenting the Facts Pappe made the following suggestions for trying to communicate the facts in other parts of the world.

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Remind people that they read almost nothing about the oppression of Palestinians by Israel, but regularly see media reports about Palestinian terrorism. • Talk about the taking of the land from Palestinians, as this is easily understood. • Speak of the Israeli crime in 1948, and explain that the partition proposed then would have given 85% of the land to Jews when they were a small minority of the population. • Acknowledge that the Jews were victimized horrifically in the 20th century, but assert that this does not give Jews the right to victimize Palestinians, as they have done. • Schedule more than one meeting with a group, since one meeting isn’t enough to present all of the facts. • Talk about the Palestinian refugees, who were promised by the UN that they would be able to return to their land, as international law requires, but who have been denied by Israel their right to return. • Admit that the Arab nations have not treated the Palestinian refugees well. • Explain that Arab Israelis and Palestinians have lost their right to their own land. Ninety-three percent of the land of Israel belongs to the Israeli people, and even on their own land Arab Israelis and Palestinians are not given permission to build or expand their homes. Use examples of home condemnations and demolitions. Pappe believes the only way to restore human rights to Palestinians is to change the nature of the Israeli state. The Israeli trauma over disengagement from Gaza will not do this, as it will convince most Israelis that they have suffered enough for Palestinians. It will make it harder to disengage from settlements on the West Bank.

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Israeli Women for Peace While I was living in Jerusalem I met with a number of Israeli women active in secular Israeli peace groups such as Machsom Watch, the Alternative Information Center, the Israeli Committee Against House Demolitions, and Women in Black. Mothers and grandmothers of soldiers in the Israeli army are the heart of the Israeli peace movement. They not only see through the rationalizations of the politicians for continuing the brutal occupation of the West Bank, but they also have seen the damage that serving in the West Bank has done to their children and grandchildren. Women in Black One Friday I went with other EAs to stand for an hour with about twenty women at a main intersection in West Jerusalem, as part of a Women in Black weekly vigil. We held signs in Hebrew, English and Arabic, that said, “End the Occupation.” And we handed out flyers explaining the purpose of the vigil. The flyer said: “Why, beginning in 1988, have Israeli women — Jewish and Arab — maintained a vigil under the slogan, End the Occupation? • Because the occupation means ruling another people, oppressing them and indiscriminately killing women and children in the process. • Because the occupation is the breeding ground for violence and fanaticism on both sides — and because it undermines basic human values and corrupts Israeli humanity. • Because the occupation has poured money into settlements at the expense of developing towns, taking resources from the most vulnerable sectors of Israeli society. • Because the occupation means living in permanent fear of the next attack. • Because occupation and peace can’t exist together!” While we were standing at the intersection, four young men came out of the guesthouse across the street, which belongs to the American Conservative Jewish movement. They held up a sign that said in Hebrew, “Peace

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activists support terrorists.” As soon as the young men arrived, three Israeli soldiers moved from behind us and put themselves between us and the four young men in order to prevent any attack on participants in the Women in Black vigil. Over the years women participating in these demonstrations in Israel have been called terrible names, had debris thrown at them, and even been physically assaulted. But these Friday vigils, which are held each week in several cities in Israel, now have the protection of the Israeli government. When I asked an elderly Israeli woman how long she had been coming to the Women in Black vigils, she said is halting English, “You don’t want to know.” When she inquired as to why we were there, and I explained that we were an ecumenical Christian group, she wanted to know if we believed in God condemning all the Jews at the end of the world. “Isn’t that what Christians believe?’ she said. “Some Christians do believe that,” I answered honestly, “but the Bible doesn’t actually support this belief.” As we talked, an elderly man stopped across the street and began to speak with the four young men holding the sign that accused us of supporting terrorism. Quietly, without any indication of acrimony, he succeeded in persuading them that they should take their sign down and go back into the guesthouse. The young men were no threat to us, but it was good to see an Israeli take the initiative to confront them in a respectful way that proved successful. Gila Svirsky After the vigil was over, we walked to a nearby park to talk with Gila Svirsky, who has been attending Women in Black vigils for 17 years. Of average height and in her fifties, Gila could easily pass as the Jewish mother she is. But, after listening to her for only a few sentences, it is clear she is much more. I had asked her to talk about the Israeli peace movement, because most EAs have had little exposure to it. She described the peace movement as having two parts: Peace Now, the moderate lobby that convenes demonstrations and files court cases, and everyone else, which she characterizes as the Progressive Peace Movement. After naming several other organizations, she spent most of her time talking about the work of the Coalition of Women for Peace, in which she is a key organizer and leader. The Coalition of Women includes Women in Black and 8 other organizations, and involves several hundred women in Israel, both Jews and Arabs. The Coalition also works in partnership with Palestinian women’s groups, whenever and wherever that is possible.

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She described demonstrations with both Israeli and Palestinian women carrying signs bearing the slogan, “We refuse to be enemies.” The Coalition also sponsored a “die in” in Tel Aviv, with signs that said: “The Occupation is killing us all.” The women in the Coalition have done concerts for peace, picked olives with Palestinian farmers, and delivered supplies to Palestinians trapped by Israeli closures. (After the Israelis invaded Jenin and cut off the water, members of the Coalition of Women managed to get diapers, sanitary napkins, and wipes to the Palestinian women who were trapped for days in the city.) They also do outreach work within Israel. Gila said that 25% of Israelis are immigrants from Russian speaking countries. Because these immigrants tend to be manipulated by right-wing political groups, the Coalition of Women is organizing consciousness-raising meetings with them. Most of these women are poor, so the Women’s Coalition explains to them that the Israeli government’s expenditures on the occupation of the West Bank are largely to blame for the lack of funds being spent on education and health care for Israelis. In addition, the Coalition of Women sponsors reality tours for Israelis to see the West Bank, checkpoints, and the Separation Barrier. Several thousand Israelis have taken part in these tours. Gila argues that all this work has had a positive impact on Israeli public opinion and what was once a left-wing point of view, about two states and Palestinian sovereignty, is now accepted by a majority of mainstream Israelis. She feels that the peace movement has succeeded in persuading Israelis that the occupation is bad for Israel. Funding the settlements is draining money out of the economy, and sending soldiers into the Occupied Territories is bad for the young men and women who go there. “Fifteen years ago, there was almost no awareness of this,” she told us. “Now polls show that 67% of the Israelis want to get out of most of the settlements on the West Bank.” What is needed now, Gila said, is a vision of what to do both during and after the disengagement from Gaza. “The Oslo peace process gave us a vision of the future that looked better,” she said. “But we lack a vision to give us hope after disengagement from Gaza.” She said the leaders of the Coalition of Women would soon meet to discuss this issue and to formulate a strategy for the next several months.

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Working for Reconciliation Participants in the Ecumenical Accompaniment Program in Palestine and Israel “accompany” (at least in spirit) those who are pursuing nonviolent strategies to secure a just peace for Palestinians and Israelis. In keeping with that purpose, we met with two speakers from an organization that describes its work as “bereaved families supporting peace, reconciliation, and tolerance.” The organization began as the Parents Circle, but added the name Families Forum as it grew to include not only parents who had lost a child to the conflict, but also family members who had lost a parent, or a brother, or a grandchild, or another member of their family. (See http://theparentscircle. com for more details.) Dr. Adel Misk, who was serving as Chairman of the Families Forum when he spoke to our group, explained why he became involved. “My father was killed almost 11 years ago during the incidents of 1993,” he said. “Since then I’ve become a warrior in a different form: for dialogue between both sides, for peace, for reconciliation.” He shared with us his despair after his father was killed. Dr. Misk is a Palestinian surgeon who has cared for both injured Israelis and Palestinians in hospitals on both sides of the conflict. He has seen many people die, but daily uses his surgical skills to help people survive. Therefore, when he returned home one day after working at the hospital and found his father fatally injured after being shot by an Israeli soldier, he was devastated. Dr. Misk was at first enraged and then depressed for several months. But he responded when a member of the Families Forum invited him to come and share his loss. The experience of being listened to, and understood, by others who had also experienced the death of a close family member freed him from his despair. Now, he said, he takes every opportunity to talk about the importance of putting a human face on the enemy, in order to move away from violent tactics and blind anger to more constructive activities that are necessary for realizing a just peace. “Our way is to persevere, in spite of the pain, in spite of the sorrow, in spite of the hatred, in spite of the vengeance, the normal reaction of any human,” he told us. “We all say: if anybody who has lost a close family member

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will go and shout for revenge or will call for the death of someone, this will never bring anyone back.” It has been very difficult, Dr. Misk said. “It took us a lot of time, but we finally came to the conclusion that there must be dialogue between our two peoples. We live so close to one another; we live inside one another so to speak, yet we don’t know each other. Palestinians suffer and Israelis suffer. But who is willing to talk about our suffering?” Robi Damelin lost her son, David, who was shot as he manned a checkpoint in the West Bank. David, she says, was studying for his Master’s Degree in Education and was active in the Israeli peace movement before he entered the army and was killed at the age of 28. He had considered refusing to go with his unit into the Occupied Territories. But when called up, he went out of loyalty to the soldiers serving under him, and because he thought he could help them do their duty more humanely. Immediately after David was killed, Damelin said, she made a major mistake. While she was being interviewed on television, she condemned the head of the religious settlement near where David was shot, blaming him and those who shared his mad vision of a “Greater Israel” for the death of her son. Not surprisingly, he has refused to speak to her or to anyone from Families Forum. Now she regrets allowing her anger to undermine her work in building relationships that respect the suffering of people on all sides of the conflict. Damelin explained that Palestinians and Israelis have avoided recognizing the pain of the other side. The reconciliation process initiated by the Families Forum puts victims who refuse to avenge their loss and choose to reconcile at the forefront of the public debate. It is an effort to humanize both sides, by acting as an example for the Israeli and Palestinian peoples. Education During the past decade, members of the Families Forum have discovered that their personal stories allow them to reach younger people. So, the organization is sending teams (of one Israeli and one Palestinian member) into Israeli and Palestinian high schools. In 2003-2004 these teams spoke to over 1,400 groups and, in doing so, talked with more than 40,000 students. The majority of these young people are between 16 and 18 year old, and for many of them the meeting is their first contact with a bereaved parent or family member from the other side of the divide. Through sharing their own tragic experiences, team members have been able to encourage students to

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begin the long process of transforming their own feelings of suspicion, fear, and even hatred towards the other side, which are legitimate feelings given the realities of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. The teams do not talk to the young people about politics. The goal of their meeting is to help young people consider more carefully the suffering and causes of the conflict, and to gain some appreciation for the terrible price being paid by both sides. After hearing a team, one Israeli student said: “We are joining the army very soon, so our awareness and sensitivity toward the Palestinian population are highly important.” Another Israeli student wrote in her evaluation: “The meeting changed my opinions. Hearing the story from its source, especially that of the Palestinian side, made me feel that they are people just like us. They also have thoughts and feelings, and they also want peace.” After hearing a team, a Palestinian student living in East Jerusalem wrote: “The meeting increased our hope that peace will come. Such meetings contribute to the acceptance of reconciliation.” Hello Peace A second initiative by the Families Forum involves a toll-free telephone service. This allows Palestinians and Israelis to talk about reconciliation, tolerance and peace. Over half a million calls have been placed since the project began in October 2002. The idea for the phone line came from the experience of a young Israeli woman, Natalia Wieseltier. In November 2000, when the second Intifada was raging, she tried to call an Israeli friend, but a man answered and said she had the wrong number. “I said who is this, and he called himself Jihad and said he was an Arab living in Gaza,” Wieseltier remembers. Instead of hanging up, Wieseltier asked him how he was. “He said he was very bad, his wife was pregnant, and their town was under a curfew. We ended up talking for about 20 minutes.” “We weren’t making apologies to each other. I wasn’t trying to make him feel better. We were just talking as individuals. At the end of the conversation he said he was amazed that Jewish people were able to talk like that. He thought we wanted all Palestinians dead.” The following day Jihad found Wieseltier’s number on his phone and called her back. “He left a message saying that talking to me had made a real difference in the way he was thinking,” she recalled.

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Jihad gave Wieseltier’s number to his brother, who also called her. Then he gave it to some of his friends. “I was called over and over again,” Wieseltier said. “It was like a telephone marathon. I think they all thought there was this weirdo Jew from Tel Aviv who likes talking to Arabs. I started thinking that if we could all talk like that, about the basic everyday stuff, we’d be amazed at how much we had in common.” When Wieseltier began to ask her friends to take some of these calls, she discovered that they were reluctant. “They thought they’d get called and threatened,” she explained. “We needed a way people could talk anonymously, without giving their phone numbers.” Eventually, Wieseltier heard of the Families Forum and proposed the idea to its leaders. Now that the Families Forum has launched Hello Peace many Israelis and Palestinians are discovering how conversations make a difference. Sammy Waed, a Palestinian, never dreamed that he might make friends with an Israeli soldier, especially one who had occupied his hometown of Ramallah. But Samy, who is 20, tried the new hotline, and ended up speaking to Arik, a 23-year-old from Tel Aviv. “Arik told me how much he hated his army service, because he was in the middle of a civilian population, policing children, and causing harm to innocent people,” Waed said. “Before, I thought Israelis didn’t care at all when innocent Palestinians suffer and are killed. But now I know they do care, and I have hope that there can be peace.” Callers to the toll-free number hear a voice message: “Hello, you have reached Hello Shalom, Hello Salaam. If you wish to talk to an Israeli about reconciliation, tolerance, and peace; dial 1. If you wish to talk to a Palestinian about reconciliation, tolerance, and peace; dial 2.” Callers can listen to as many of the hundreds of prerecorded voice messages as they wish, and then decide whether or not they want to contact someone. Callers can remain anonymous, and can call as often as they like. Hello Peace advertisements appear on billboards and in newspaper ads in Israel and the Palestinian territories, to make people aware of this opportunity. Hello Peace is making friendships possible between Israelis and Palestinians. Callers telephone each other after terrorist attacks or army actions on the West Bank to be sure a friend is OK. One Palestinian asked an Israeli he’d met through Hello Peace to speak with his two children, because he wanted them to know that Jews are not monsters.

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Visiting Bereaved Families During the first week of June 2004, a joint Israeli-Palestinian delegation from the Families Forum traveled to the Palestinian village of Dir El-Hattab to meet with bereaved families there. Robi Damelin took part in this visit, and tells the story this way: “We arrived at the roadblock and came face to face with the terrible and harsh reality of the day-to-day life of the Palestinians living under cruel occupation: men, women, children, babies, standing under the blazing sun with no shade or facilities, waiting to hear their fate. Could they come out of the village to go on with their daily business, or could they get back home? “The young soldiers (it could have been my David, standing there) are forced into a position of having to decide whether the people should be allowed to pass. Imagine, deciding whether or not to let a little baby with hemophilia go through the barrier of human creation to reach the nearest hospital. Saying No, and then finding out that the baby did not survive. I am sure that they would have preferred to be anywhere except this sad and inhumane roadblock. “Our hosts were standing patiently waiting on the other side, no strangers to the reality of the situation. Finally a young officer said, ‘OK, you can pass through without army protection.’ He then whispered to his colleagues, ‘Check on them from time to time.’ “This beautiful village is ravaged by the consequences of the occupation, for the people are cut off from their daily living with no way out. The circumstances of their fate were made only too clear by our hosts, after we arrived. The meeting began with an introduction by Khaled, and then everyone told their personal stories. It was so painful to once again realize what the conflict is doing to all of us, and how intertwined and similar, as people, we are. “The most moving part of this whole surrealistic journey came in a statement made by a teacher. He said that whenever he had previously heard an Israeli was killed, he had felt a sense of joy and satisfaction. But now, after looking into our eyes, he saw the people behind these deaths and suddenly felt so sad. “This statement represents the essence of what we are trying to do. The empathy stirred in the human being on each side is the beginning of the road to a dialogue and reconciliation. I am grateful to be part of this group.”

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Olive Tree Planting Following the uprooting of hundreds of olive trees by Israeli settlers in the Palestinian village of Issawiya, Ibrahim Khalil, a member of the Families Forum and a resident of Issawiya, recruited some of his Israeli friends in the forum to help his village recover. After receiving Khalil’s request in early April 2004, the Families Forum raised sufficient funds to enable the villagers to plant 600 new olive trees, which will replace most of those destroyed by the nearby settlers. Because Israelis were not being allowed through the checkpoint at Issawiya, members of the Families Forum who tried to help with the planting of the trees were unable to do so. But the farmers of the village received the trees and were able to plant them. Candles of Hope Twenty Israeli and Palestinian women, all members of the Families Forum, met on the first of August 2004 at the flat of the Forum’s member, Nadwa Sarandah, to launch a new project initiated by the Business Council for Peace (Bpeace). Anne Glauber, founder of Bpeace and a Senior Vice President and Director of Global Issues and Communications of Ruder Finn, was present and launched the project with other Bpeace members. A rare collaboration of peace and reconciliation is taking place today between Israeli and Palestinian craftswomen. The Jerusalem Candle of Hope, a fragrant hurricane candle with flowers and olive leaves embedded in honey-scented wax, is crafted by Israeli women living near Nazareth. A group of Palestinian women gather near Bethlehem to hand embroider exquisite muslin gift bags that hold a tea light to illuminate the candle. The result is a beautiful combination of handcrafted work. At the launch of this project, in a brief but moving ceremony, each member of the Families Forum, Palestinian and Israeli, said the name of the loved one she had lost and then lit a candle. Each purchase of a Jerusalem Candle of Hope generates much needed income for these women, many of whom are the sole supporters of their families in very difficult economic conditions. The sale of just two embroidered bags can feed a Palestinian family for a day, and numerous unemployed Israelis have been hired as a result of this project. Purchases to date have provided opportunity and hope for many.

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What Should We Do? After Dr. Misk had to leave our Ecumenical Accompaniment discussion for another appointment, Damelin stayed behind and answered questions. When pressed by EAs working in Palestinian communities to admit that the suffering of the Israelis is not equal to the suffering of the Palestinians, she agreed. Damelin also acknowledged that the work of their organization is no substitute for a just political resolution, which would end the Israeli occupation. She said that members of the Families Forum are all involved politically, in their own way, but in their work together they set that commitment (and their differences about politics) aside in order to lay the groundwork for reconciliation. They believe that without sowing the seeds of reconciliation between Israelis and Palestinians, no political settlement will be sustainable. “That’s why the Oslo peace process didn’t work,” Damelin said. “The negotiations were all about security and political matters, and lacked the personal engagements between Israelis and Palestinians that are also necessary for building trust and understanding.” When asked what Westerners should do to help end the injustice of the Israeli occupation, Damelin replied that greater understanding of and appreciation for cultural differences are essential no matter what strategy is pursued. She gave, as an example of the lack of understanding, the decision by the Presbyterian Church in the United States to selectively divest from some corporations doing business with Israel. As a former South African, Damelin said she knew from personal experience that the sanctions used against South Africa worked. “But the same approach will not work against Israel,” she told us. That approach “will unite the left and the right in Israel. If Presbyterians and other Westerners had a better understanding of Jewish and Israeli culture,” they would have known that. When challenged, she accepted that the Presbyterian divestment campaign was not a boycott, nor was it the same as sanctions against South Africa, as many Jews have claimed. She needed no prompting to agree that the suffering of the Palestinians was so great now that some new initiative was needed. Damelin did not claim to have a solution for the political conflict, which she described as incredibly complex. She maintained, however, that the divestment strategy, no matter how selective, would be counterproductive. She talked about how she had recently taken part in a discussion of divestment at a forum held in the large Fourth Presbyterian Church in Chicago.

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She knew that Presbyterians were not anti-Semitic, and she was grateful to them for their courage in supporting sanctions against South Africa. Yet, she felt strongly that Jewish Israelis, and most American Jews, would see the use of divestment tactics against Israel as anti-Semitic actions. “You’ll never win the argument that you’re not anti-Semitic,” Damelin cautioned, “and comparisons with ending apartheid in South Africa will only make Jews more resistant and less willing to support negotiations.” From her personal experience, she said, “I know that the suffering of the Palestinians is horrific, and in some ways worse than in South Africa.” But the analogy, she maintained, is not helpful for seeking a just peace. “There are six million Israelis,” she reminded us, “and three and a half million Palestinians (not counting the million within Israel). The government of Israel is not going to step aside, as the white government of South Africa did, no matter what pressure is applied. “If the Presbyterians want to make a difference,” she proposed, “I would encourage them to invest in training programs for young Israeli and Palestinian leaders.” She explained that Families Forum now sponsors summer camps for young children, as well as high school students. “Enabling young Palestinians and Israelis to meet and listen to each other is essential for any negotiated peace to succeed. Of course, it’s not the whole solution,” Damelin said. “But it’s necessary to achieve a sustainable, just peace in the Middle East.”

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Machsom Watch The small, almost frail woman who served us tea and lovely Pesach (Passover) cookies was at least seventy years old. But it soon became clear that she was remarkably active in opposing the Israeli occupation of the West Bank. Her name is Hannah Barag and she is one of the leaders of the Israeli women’s movement called Machsom Watch. Machsom Watch monitors what the Israeli army calls “checkpoints” within the West Bank. The Hebrew word machsom is usually translated into English as checkpoint, however, Hannah told us that in Hebrew it means, to stop. This is what the Israeli checkpoints really are meant to do, Hannah said. They are a way of stopping Palestinians, as they move around within the West Bank, trying to go to work, to school, to visit family and friends, and to obtain medical care. Pro-Israeli Machsom Watch began in February 2001 when four Israeli women were having tea one afternoon and began to talk about the second Intifada. They knew that there was a machsom outside Bethlehem where Palestinians had to present the proper identification in order to pass through to enter Jerusalem, or to return from Jerusalem to Bethlehem. The women were curious and decided to walk down to Bethlehem from their homes on the south side of West Jerusalem in order to see for themselves. What they saw that afternoon led them to begin what has become a 500 member organization of Israeli women. Machsom Watch is not a feminist organization, Hannah explained, but it is limited to women because Israeli men have been too affected by their experience in the Israeli army. Like many of the women in Machsom Watch, she also served in the army. But she feels that Israeli women have been more successful in recovering from that dehumanizing experience than have Israeli men. The Jewish Israeli women who began Machsom Watch include a woman who had experience in South America, and several women working with Women in Black, the organization that sponsors weekly demonstrations that call for an end to the occupation of the West Bank. In the beginning, these women went only once a day to the checkpoints near Jerusalem. Their

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purpose was to watch and to note what they saw. They knew they hadn’t realized what was happening at these checkpoints, so they simply intended to tell other Israelis what they saw. “Machsom Watch is not a pro-Palestinian organization,” Hannah emphasized. The motivation of the founders was not political. They were opposed to the occupation of the West Bank, but they did not intend to support a two-state solution or any particular political agenda. They were moved to form Machsom Watch because it became clear to them, as they watched the Israeli soldiers harass and humiliate the Palestinians at the Bethlehem checkpoint, that the occupation being carried out in their name, as Israelis, was morally wrong. It was wrong because it denied the basic human dignity of the Palestinians, and this means that checkpoints are a continuing cause for violations of human rights. But the checkpoints were also wrong because administering them was corrupting Israeli society. The occupation of the West Bank (which some call Palestine and others describe legally as the “Occupied Territories”) is immoral and inhumane, not only for the Palestinians forced to endure it, but also for the Israelis required to administer it. “Please be clear about this,” Hannah said. “Yes, we were sorry to see what was happening to Palestinians. But we were appalled that this was being done in our name as Israelis, and that our young people were engaged daily in harassing and humiliating Palestinians. We formed Machsom Watch not as a way of supporting Palestinians and their political objectives, but as a way of trying to show Israelis that the occupation of the West Bank was destroying the moral character of Israeli society.” Once they were aware of what was happening, the women who formed Machsom Watch felt responsible, as members of a democratic society. “We couldn’t ignore what we knew. We had to do something to try to change what was so obviously unjust and destructive.” After observing the face of the occupation at the checkpoints near Jerusalem for several months, the women who initiated Machsom Watch realized that they were aware only of the most obvious manifestations of the occupation. So, three Israeli women went into the West Bank to visit other checkpoints. The Occupation System The three Israeli women began to realize that the fixed checkpoints were only part of a system that made life difficult for Palestinians by

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restricting their movement within the West Bank. They saw what are called flying checkpoints, which Israeli soldiers set up along a highway or a street, whenever they wish, without notice. Traffic is backed up and people have to wait, sometimes for hours. They also saw that mounds of dirt had been used to block roads and streets, so Palestinians could not drive through, but had to walk over the mound of dirt (or mud during the rainy season) and then change vehicles to get to where they were going. In addition, they learned that checkpoints are not simply used to check identification papers, but to close areas, without any notice to the people who are in these areas. If the people are home, they can’t leave, and go to work or to school or to shop. If people are away from home, they can’t go back home until the Israeli army opens the checkpoint. There is no public Israeli announcement that the closure has ended. The Palestinians simply have to rely on word of mouth, phone calls to friends, or go to see for themselves As the women of Machsom Watch continued to visit checkpoints, they not only noted human rights violations and the way that Palestinians were harassed and humiliated, as they were stopped, searched, questioned, and sometimes detained by the Israeli army. The women also began to understand how the occupation uses rules, procedures and structure to oppress the Palestinians. “The checkpoints are not about security, despite the claims of the Israeli government,” Hannah said. This is clear because, in the first place, the checkpoints are not along the border between Israel and the West Bank, but are mostly within the West Bank. The checkpoints do not screen Palestinians as they try to enter Israel from the West Bank (which is defined by the 1967 border now known as the Green Line), but instead interfere with their movement within the West Bank. Second, checkpoints are not about simply looking for weapons or explosives, but are a way of administering a system that requires Palestinians to have identification papers in order to move around within the West Bank. This is not like carrying a passport to move between one country and another country, which is perfectly reasonable. Under the occupation Palestinians have to obtain identification papers from the Israeli government, which then checks on them as they move around within the West Bank, the area that is supposed to be their own territory. Under the Oslo agreements the West Bank was divided into three regions, each with different administrative arrangements. Area A was to be

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solely administered by the Palestinian Authority. Area B was to be administered jointly by Israelis and Palestinians. And Area C was left to the control of the Israeli army. All these areas, we need to remember, involve land that Israel occupied after the 1967 war. Now that the Oslo agreements have broken down, the Israeli army goes into Area A as well as doing what it likes in Areas B and C. But the problem, which Machsom Watch has extensively documented, is that Palestinians are required to have proper identification to move between these administrative areas on the West Bank. This bureaucratic requirement for holding the proper paperwork in order to move around in your own community is what makes the occupation, and the checkpoints enforcing it, so oppressive for the Palestinians, and so corrupting for the Israelis who are administering this inhumane system. To obtain the proper papers Palestinians have to go where the District Commanding Officer has his office, usually in an Israeli army base. If a Palestinian has his identification paper stolen by another Palestinian, or more likely has it confiscated by an Israeli soldier or a Jewish settler, then he lacks the ability to move around in order to obtain new papers. If someone is fined, for a traffic violation in Area C, that person has to go the District Commanding Officer’s headquarter to pay the fine. But, he can’t get there, because he can’t go into the army base where the office is located. He probably doesn’t read Hebrew, and citations and instructions concerning what to do to pay a fine, or obtain new identification papers, are in Hebrew. Even if he wants to cooperate, he may not know how. As the women of Machsom Watch began to realize that the occupation was creating problems for Palestinians that the Palestinians couldn’t solve, the women began intervening as well as watching. Now they go with Palestinians, in order to get them into army bases so they can process the paperwork the occupation requires of them. They also cooperate with Palestinians who have to pay fines, by collecting the money from the Palestinians, going into the DCO headquarters, paying the fines for the Palestinians and then bringing them the receipts. Dilemma This kind of intervention, however, creates a moral dilemma for the women of Machsom Watch. They oppose the occupation, and they document how it violates the human rights of Palestinians and corrupts the Israelis who

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are held responsible for administering the system. But, when they intervene to resolve the particular problem that a Palestinian is having, in a sense they are not challenging the system but helping to maintain it. “In Machsom Watch,” Hannah says, “we have an ongoing debate about whether we should only fight to stop the occupation, or whether we should try to make it more humane. Most of us feel if you can’t stop it, that you should at least try to help the people who are victimized by it.” So, she and other leaders have developed contacts with all the DCOs, as the district commanding officers are called, and with army officials all the way to the top of the system. Now, when there are problems, the women of Machsom Watch first call the DCO responsible for a particular checkpoint in order to try to resolve the issue. Hannah gave one recent example. A Palestinian man, driving a car that was registered to the company he owned, was prevented from going through a checkpoint, because the car registration listed the name of the employee of the company who regularly drove the car. The soldiers who told the man he couldn’t pass were following the rules that state the names on the personal ID and the vehicle ID have to match. The fact that the car belonged to the driver, because he owned the company, did not convince the soldiers that they should allow him to drive the car through the checkpoint. The man had passed through two checkpoints without being properly checked, had done his business, and was on his way home. He was told he could not return home, because his papers were not in order. “It took four hours and fifty phone calls,” Hannah said, “to get this man through the checkpoint, so he could go home.” It was the beginning of Pesach, so she had to call army commanders and their superior officers at home, until she finally found someone who would take the responsibility to tell the soldiers at the checkpoint they could let the man through. The construction of the Separation Barrier is exacerbating the problems Palestinians have in getting around within the West Bank. As she has monitored the checkpoint near Abu Dis, which is a southeastern suburb of Jerusalem, Hannah has seen a number of cases where a wife will have a Jerusalem ID and her husband only a West Bank ID. If they are living on the outside of the Separation Wall, she can go to Jerusalem, but he cannot. If their home is on the inside of the Separation Wall, he cannot go home, because he lacks the proper papers.

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People in areas inside the Separation Wall, that are effectively being annexed to Jerusalem, may wake up to find that they are illegal in their own homes, under Israeli law, because they lack the proper papers to remain in the area. They may also discover that they cannot drive their car if it has an Israeli license plate, but the owner has a driver’s license issued by the Palestinian Authority. This is a circumstance that is very common in areas around Jerusalem. “Taxi drivers,” Hannah said, “are particularly vulnerable in this crazy system.” If they are fined, they may not be able to go where they have to go to pay the fine. Delays at checkpoints cost them time and money, in gasoline burned and loss of fares. Age limitations imposed at checkpoints also cause problems for many Palestinians. These rules are applied without notice, and the ages may be changed. Young men, in particular, are often not allowed to pass, even if they have the proper identification papers. Also, in some areas deemed to be a higher security risk, a magnetic card is required in addition to the regular identification document. These cards also have to be obtained from the DCO office and this action requires travel to and from the DCO office and some knowledge of Hebrew. If any family member has a police record, a person will not be given a magnetic card. And, in administering this rule, all members of the extended family are considered family. Because people can be arrested on suspicion, without any showing of probable cause, and because the extended families of Palestinians are large, a person may be unable to obtain a magnetic card because of a relative he doesn’t even know, or who has done nothing wrong but, nonetheless, was arrested. The result is that many young people cannot obtain the magnetic card they need to move around, and, consequently, they cannot go to school or look for work outside a very restricted area. The system does offer a solution to these young people, and that is a system of collaboration. This requires reporting on family and friends to the Israeli army. Those who collaborate must provide information in order to keep their magnetic cards. So, they submit reports to the Israeli army. It follows, then, that people are constantly being arrested and detained for no good reason, and often they never know why this has happened to them. Furthermore, in Areas B and C, the army has the authority to detain and keep adults in prison without charging them for as long as army officials think is necessary. The army also can detain children for 16 days without allowing visits from family or legal representation.

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Soldiers and Settlers It took about two years, Hannah, said, before the Israeli army realized that there were “civil eyes” watching and reporting at the checkpoints. Army staff members do not like Machsom Watch, and the soldiers are sometimes rude and abusive to the Israeli women who are watching them. Nonetheless, working relationships have developed and Hannah believes there have been some positive changes. “Although soldiers continue to be verbally abusive and engage in unacceptable behavior, now there is almost no physical violence at the checkpoints against Palestinians, whereas there was when we first began Machsom Watch.” The system managed by the army, however, has become more adept at making it harder for the women of Machsom Watch to observe what is going on. Flying checkpoints are much more common now, and no one knows where or when these will be set up. In addition to the flying checkpoints, the Israeli army will close areas for security reasons. These security closures give the army the authority to prevent women from Machsom Watch from entering an area. The army must have the proper orders to implement security closings, so the women demand to see written orders before they accept such a closure. The women will report these closures, and often use their own observations to challenge the reasons given for them. Nonetheless, Hannah said, one checkpoint north of Nablus has always been closed to the women of Machsom Watch. The relationship on the West Bank between the Jewish settlers and the Israeli army is very friendly, because many of the settlers are serving in the army units based near the settlements. Permanent checkpoints are usually located near large settlements. This means that Jewish settlers, Palestinians, and soldiers in the Israeli army are to be found at these checkpoints. It is rare for soldiers to harass the members of Machsom Watch, but settlers have become more and more abusive. The women have even been physically attacked, and settlers often make false reports to the Israeli police that members of Machsom Watch have attacked them. The women of Machsom Watch are all committed to non-violence and for the most part they are older women. Generally, Hannah said, they even refrain from using harsh language in response in the foul language heaped on them by some settlers. The army can’t arrest civilians, and this legal restraint gives free reign to the settlers in Areas B and C in their harassment of the women of Machsom Watch.

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Settlers also harass and attack Palestinians around the checkpoints. The Israeli police have the authority to arrest civilians in these areas, but usually the police are not present to make arrests. The women in Machsom Watch have formed a separate but related NGO in order to address this problem. This organization sends people into Palestinian villages to take testimony from those who have been harassed and attacked. These women also help Palestinian victims of settler abuse get into police stations to file complaints (in Hebrew) against their attackers. Hannah said her work in Hebron has taken her into areas where it was illegal for an Israeli to go. These actions put her at risk of being prosecuted. Ironically, in addition to fearing both the Israeli settlers and Israeli police in Hebron, she also fears the fundamentalist Muslims who are so dominant in that city. Why? “The occupation has become a system of oppression,” Hannah said. “Most Israelis don’t understand this, because they don’t want to know about it.” She used a homely simile to explain why the Israeli government is pursuing this unjust policy. “Like a man, who has agreed to marry an ugly women because she has a large dowry, Israel wants the dowry, but not the bride.” The system involving the checkpoints, the settlements, the confiscation of land, and the paperwork required of the Palestinians is designed to pressure Palestinians into leaving. “The bureaucracy of occupation is meant to make the people go away,” Hannah said. When I asked if this system wasn’t designed to maintain security for Israelis, Hannah replied, “The checkpoints don’t prevent terrorism, but create it.” In the experience of the women of Machsom Watch, many of the stories published in the newspapers about capturing terrorists at checkpoints are propaganda and not factual. For instance, the Israeli army has put out reports of youth carrying explosives through the checkpoints, but Machsom Watch has only been able to verify one such case. And in this instance, the youth was retarded and manipulated by an adult. “He is in jail,” she said, “and the life of his family is ruined. All his relatives are now unable to obtain the identification papers required to move around within the West Bank.” The entire occupation makes the lives of Palestinians miserable, and is intended to do that, Hannah said. The taking of Palestinian land by the Israeli army to build the Separation Barrier is terrible. The taking of

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Palestinian land by the Jewish settlers for their houses and outposts and olive groves and sheep is criminal. And the administrative nightmare imposed on all Palestinians, requiring proper identification for movement within the West Bank, makes their life miserable. The taking of land and the identification requirements only affect some Palestinians directly. Checkpoints, however, subject all Palestinians to harassment and humiliation, as well as make their lives so much more difficult. “The checkpoints are the most oppressive part of this system,” Hannah said, “for they affect everyone.” Machsom Watch publishes monthly reports in Hebrew and English, and these are available on its website. (http://machsomwatch.org) It is a completely volunteer organization and does all its work with no employees. The women who monitor checkpoints and write reports are not reimbursed for their travel costs, or for their many telephone calls, or for their time. Contributions to Machsom Watch cover the costs of maintaining its web site and publishing its reports.

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Redefining Security On Friday afternoon before the Shabbat ending Pesach, I was talking with Gila Svirsky, a leader of the Coalition of Women for Peace. We were talking about efforts by some Israelis to convince the general Israeli public that the Israeli occupation needs to end. The Coalition of Women for Peace was especially concerned with reaching lower-income women. Many of these are from Russia, and Gila noted that most of them were unaware that Israel’s occupation of the West Bank was draining resources away from social and economic services for Israelis. Since 25% of the Jewish Israeli population has come from countries that were part of the Soviet Union, it would be important to convince even a small proportion of these women to stop voting for politicians who support the occupation. “Something in Israel is not right,” Gila said. “Israelis think like victims, but the reality is that we are the victimizers.” New Strategy Recently, leaders of the nine women’s groups that make up the Coalition of Women for Peace in Israel met and agreed on a new strategy. Instead of arguing that the occupation violates human rights and international law, these women’s groups will try to answer the question: “What does security mean to you?” Through discussion groups, small demonstrations, and a media campaign these groups will argue that ending the Israeli occupation of the West Bank will provide more security for Israelis than continuing the occupation. “Poor people say they need jobs, they want the streets to be safe, and they expect the government to provide an education for their children,” Gila said. “Ending the occupation of the West Bank will never be their concern, until they realize what maintaining the occupation is costing Israel.” The women’s groups are convinced that ending the occupation is the only way that the Israeli government will be able to change its spending priorities and invest in public education and the rebuilding of the economy. Some of the relevant facts are included in the following: The Israeli government is spending $1.5 billion per year to maintain the occupation, and the cost to the government of maintaining settlers on the West Bank is more than twice what the government spends per resident in

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Israel. (“The Price of the Settlements,” Ha’aretz Special Edition, 26 September 2003.) Poverty has increased in Israel, and now 20% of the adults and 30% of the children are poor. (Peter Hirschberg, “Poverty Becomes Israel’s New Enemy,” 1 November 2003, http://www.globalpolicy.org/socecon/inequal/2003/ 1101israel.htm.) Crime has increased. The number of women murdered by their partners has doubled in the past 3 years, and Israel has the highest rate of juvenile violence in the world. (Ruchama Marton, “The psychological impact of the second intifada on Israeli society,” Palestine-Israel Journal, vol. 11, no. 1 (2004), and Vered Levi-Barzilai, Ha’aretz, 7 November 2003.) Gila Svirsky also pointed out that the Israeli occupation has led to an increase of racism in Israel, and that support among Israelis for democracy is declining. In a poll conducted in June 2004, 64% of Israeli Jews indicated that they wanted the government to expel Arab citizens of Israel from the country. (Center for the Study of National Security, Haifa University) Moreover, twenty years ago 90% of the Israeli Jews thought democracy is the best system of government, but recently only 77% of the Israeli Jews indicated that this was their belief. (Research by Professors Asher Arian, David Nahmias, Doron Navot, and Daniel Shani, http://newisraelfund.org/.) Support In the face of these discouraging facts, Gila Svirsky also said the Coalition of Women for Peace would point out that most Israelis want to end the occupation of the West Bank. Today, 84% of Israelis support the idea of a mutual end to the hostilities. (March 2005, joint survey of Truman Research Institute in Israel and the Palestinian Center for Policy and Survey Research, http://pcpsr.org/survey/ polls/2005/p15ejoint.html.) While 69% of the Israelis say that all or some of the settlements on the West Bank should be evacuated, only 25% of the Israelis say that no settlements should be evacuated. (Center for Peace Research at Tel Aviv University, Aug. 2004, http://spirit.tau.ac.il/socant/peace.) “Only an end to the occupation,” Gila said, “will create greater security for Israelis, as well as justice for Palestinians.”

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Abu Dis Separation Wall, Jerusalem Side

Conclusions Avoiding Separation Wall, Abu Dis

Southeast Jerusalem

Israeli soldiers at Separation Wall, Abu Dis

Separation Wall, Bethlehem

Barricade in old city, Hebron

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New checkpoint, Bethlehem

Separation Wall, southeast of Jerusalem

Separation Wall, Abu Dis

EAs at Wall

Qalandia checkpoint

JJayyous checkpoint

Israeli checkpoint, near Rachel’s Tomb

South Abu Dis

Jayyous Separation Barrier

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Talking Points: Israel/Palestine In March 2005 while I was living in Jerusalem I met with a group of Americans on an alternative tour of the Holy Land. They asked me for advice on talking about what they’d seen, when they returned home. This is what I said to them. Talk from your own experience. Talk about what you’ve seen and heard. Don’t pretend to know what you don’t know. Talk about the facts on the ground. Avoid opinions, speculating about the future, and debates about what really happened in the past. Bring the discussion back to what is happening now. Emphasize that criticizing the state of Israel is not anti-Semitic. You can criticize the American government without being anti-American, and you can criticize churches without being anti-Christian. The same holds true of Israel and Judaism. Don’t argue, if someone accuses you of being anti-Semitic. Steer the discussion back to the facts on the ground. Don’t debate divestment. Selective divestment of corporations selling Israel equipment, which will be used to maintain its occupation of Palestinian land, is a tactic to bring pressure on the Israeli government. Whether it will work or not, or is the best strategy, is speculative. Acknowledge that concerned, good people differ on this, and return to the facts. Rely on Israeli criticism of the Israeli government. Web sites where you can find such materials include: • www.btselem.org (B’Tselem: The Israeli Information Center for Human Rights in the Occupied Territories) • www.icahd.org (Israel Committee Against House Demolitions) • www.machsomwatch.org (Machsom Watch) • www.theparentscircle.org (The Parents Circle — Families Forum, which is made up of Israelis and Palestinians who have lost loved ones due to the violent conflict) • www.rhr.israel.net (Rabbis for Human Rights). Acknowledge Israeli as well as Palestinian suffering. The suffering of both peoples will only end with a just peace, which requires ending the Israeli occupation and terrorist attacks on Israel. When speaking with predominately Jewish groups, quote rabbis. Rabbis for Human Rights has excellent statements on its web site. The rabbis of RHR

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say they are aware of, or have good reason to believe, that Israel’s human rights violations include: • denial of access to medical care for the injured, the seriously ill, and women in labor • demolition of homes • disruption of the supply of water, food and medicines from large portions of the civilian population • looting and wanton destruction of property • torture of detainees • shooting and, in some cases, killing innocent civilians and medical workers (sometimes simply for violating a 24 hour curfew)

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Talking Points: Religion After I sent out a few talking points on issues here in Israel/Palestine, I was asked to comment on how religion is affecting the conflict. I had omitted any reference to religion in my previous remarks, so here are some additional talking points addressing religion in Israel/Palestine. For most Israelis and Palestinians, the conflict here is not about religion. For Israelis, it is about land and security. For Palestinians, it is about land and ending the Israeli occupation. Some Orthodox and Ultra-Orthodox Jews believe God has commanded Jews to occupy and control all of ancient Israel. Many of these Jews are settlers on the West Bank, and they opposed the disengagement from Gaza, on religious grounds. They also oppose any restrictions on present or expanded settlements in the West Bank because these are viewed as impediments to their goal of driving the Palestinians out of Judea and Samaria, which is what religious Jews call the West Bank. Some Muslim Palestinians are religious fundamentalists, who denigrate Judaism and want to destroy Israel. These segments are in control of the armed groups that make up Islamic Jihad and some portions of Hamas. Probably, more pragmatic Palestinians control the political wings of these movements, and Hamas has decided to pursue its goal of an independent Palestine by participating in elections conducted by the Palestine Authority. Islamic teachings in the Qur’an about Jews and Christians vary from protecting people of the Book, to condemning those who fail to submit to the final revelation of the one God to his prophet, Muhammad. The history of Jews living under Muslim rule also varies, but Muslim rulers have often provided more protection for Jews than have Christian rulers. Most Christians in Israel/Palestine are Palestinians, and their view of the conflict with Israel is very similar to the view expressed by Muslim Palestinians. Christians are a small minority in areas controlled by the Palestinian Authority, but their religious rights are generally protected in Muslim areas. The religious complaint these Christians have about the Israeli government is that checkpoints, the Separation Barrier, and other restrictions interfere with travel to Jerusalem and Bethlehem. The Muslim religious complaint

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is that these travel restrictions interfere with their right to worship on the Haram al-Sharif in Jerusalem. Religious political parties in the Israeli Knesset have power beyond their numbers. At times their votes are needed by the government in order to act. When this happens the religious parties can demand government favors, for example, funding for their religious schools, in exchange for their votes. Christian Zionists support the Orthodox and Ultra-Orthodox Jewish claims that God has commanded Jews to settle and control all of ancient Israel. The Israeli government appeals to these Christians in America to pressure the U. S. government, and welcomes them to Israel. An alliance of Orthodox Jews and Christian Zionists formed to resist, although unsuccessfully, the removal of Israeli settlers from Gaza. This alliance will continue to support expanded Israeli settlements in the West Bank. Among Israelis there is a debate about Jewish obligations towards nonJews. Some rabbis claim that in a time of war, the Talmud permits disregarding the rights of non-Jews, even if they are civilians. Other Jews argue that the Torah clearly identifies all people, non-Jews as well as Jews, as made in the image of God, and that the teachings in the Talmud, which permit disregarding the rights of non-Jews in some circumstances, do not apply now. Examples of Jewish arguments supporting universal human rights can be found on the web site of Rabbis for Human Rights.

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Land (f )or Peace Israelis are debating whether to give up land for peace, or to give up peace for land. Prime Minister Ariel Sharon forced the disengagement from Gaza, which involved relocating 8,000 Jewish Israelis from their homes in Gaza settlements. Sharon’s main argument, it seemed, was that giving up the occupied land in Gaza would allow Israel to keep most of the Palestinian land it confiscated on the West Bank. Currently, there are more than 300,000 Jewish Israelis settlers living on the West Bank, including East Jerusalem. Most Jewish Israelis think that the largest settlements are permanent, including all the settlements around Jerusalem. Therefore, Jewish Israelis view these permanent settlements as not subject to negotiation with the Palestinians. Israelis believe the United States has agreed with this, at least in principle, although the Bush administration is reluctant to acknowledge this. Opposition to Disengagement Those who opposed disengagement from Gaza offered several counter arguments. First, giving up land without a recognizable and identifiable gain has made Israel look weak. This is the widely held view of the decision by former Prime Minister Ehud Barak to pull occupying Israeli troops from southern Lebanon. Afterwards, Hezbollah in Lebanon claimed victory and Palestinians saw this withdrawal as an affirmation of the effectiveness of violence. Second, those who opposed leaving Gaza said disengagement would bring terrorist guns closer to the rest of Israel. Just as with Lebanon, they claim, it would become easier to attack Israeli citizens inside Israel with rockets and mortars. They argue that the result would be less security, rather than more. Third, many Orthodox and Ultra-Orthodox Jews argue that God has given all the land now in dispute to Israel, including Gaza, so none of it should be ceded to Palestinians for any reason. The first two arguments involve a debate about the likely consequences of Israeli withdrawal. Since the consequences of relocating the Jewish residents of the Gaza settlements cannot be fully known until years after disengagement, there is no way for either side to convince the other with these arguments. Each side is predisposed to expect the consequences that support

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its argument, whether that was to withdraw the settlers, or to leave them in Gaza. That makes the third argument more crucial, because it is not about the possible consequences of disengagement. Instead, it is about what it means to be a Jew. To be faithful, must Jews strive to control all the land where their ancestors once lived and sometimes exercised political control? Is that commanded of Jews? Or, are Jews commanded to seek a just peace for all those living on the land of their forefathers, which includes Palestinians as well as Jews? This argument is basically a debate about Jewish scripture and its interpretation. We should not be surprised that those engaged in this debate, on both sides, can find texts in the Hebrew scriptures, and the Talmud, which support their positions. Scripture Jews opposed to giving up land for peace point to texts about Israel as God’s chosen people. These not only include the Ten Commandments, but also passages commanding ancient Israelites to kill the inhabitants of the promised land, who resisted their conquest and the right of the chosen people to rule. These texts are at the heart of the exodus narrative in the Torah, and no religious Jew can simply dismiss them. Jews who are willing to give up land for peace look primarily to texts in the Prophets. They point to passages such as Micah 6:8, which reads: “... and what the Lord requires of you: only to do justice and to love goodness, and to walk modestly with your God...” But they also find great significance in the opening of the Torah, where God makes man and woman in God’s own image. (Genesis 1:27) This text in the creation story reveals that every person, whether Jew or Gentile, male or female, is precious in the sight of God. From a Christian perspective, the creation story and passages from the Prophets seem more clearly to reflect God’s will than the story of God’s chosen people in Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy. But this is largely because Christians read the Hebrew scriptures in their Old Testament as pointing not only to Jesus, who was crucified, but also to the risen Christ as understood through Paul’s interpretation of the Hebrew scriptures. The early church even rearranged the Hebrew scriptures to emphasize this understanding. Jews read their scriptures basically in chronological order of the events described: Torah-Prophets-Writings. The Old Testament, how-

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ever, presents these books in a different order: Torah-Writings-Prophets. In the Christian Bible, God speaks to the chosen people, the chosen people struggle on their own without hearing directly from God, then God speaks again but this time through inspired prophets. Christians read the New Testament as the final chapter in this story of God’s revelation, and the Church proclaims that the prophecies of God revealed to the Jews (but rejected by them, from the Christian point of view) have been fulfilled in Jesus Christ. To understand the debate among Jews concerning their scriptures, Christians need to consider what it would be like to read the Old Testament books in the order that Jews read them: Torah-Prophets-Writings. The Torah presents the direct words of God to Moses, the Prophets the indirect word of God through inspired men, and the Writings the reflections of Jewish leaders on the Torah and the Prophets. This way of reading scripture makes the Prophets less important, as scripture concludes with the Writings. For Jews, the Torah is preeminent because it not only comes first, but also presents God giving the commandments to Moses for his people. Religious Jews, who are willing to trade land for peace, cannot expect to win this argument by simply quoting the Prophets to religious Jews, who oppose such a trade. Supporters of giving up land for peace must find justification for their understanding in the Torah. Moreover, they must combat interpretations in the Talmud that privilege the chosen people, because for religious Jews the Talmud is the guiding interpretation of the Torah. Orthodox and Ultra-Orthodox Jews study only the Talmud, because it immerses them in the ancient debates among rabbis as to how Jews are to read and interpret the Torah. These Jews argue there is no need to read the Torah on its own, because it is all in the Talmud. In Orthodox and UltraOrthodox yeshivas (seminaries) the Prophets are largely ignored. Texts emphasizing “the chosen people” are at the heart of the Orthodox and Ultra-Orthodox understanding of God’s commandments. This is why, for these Jews, the idea of giving up land for peace contradicts their basic Jewish identity. Palestinian Land We need to understand that, under international law, the land some Israelis would trade for peace is Palestinian land. It is land taken during the war of 1967, land which the Israeli government has confiscated from Palestinians to build settlements and roads and security barriers, land that Jewish

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settlers have taken for their own orchards and their own crops. Under international law all the settlements on the West Bank are illegal. There is no Israeli land on the negotiating table. All that might be traded for peace is Palestinian land now occupied by Israelis. It is clear that to attain peace most Israelis would trade only some of this occupied land, as they believe a good deal of it should be retained by Israel to ensure its security.

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Resisting Terrorism and Occupation From February to May, 2005 I lived in Jerusalem. I experienced the threat of terrorism, which is a daily fear for Israelis. I also came to know what it means for Palestinians to live under occupation. In Jerusalem I met and talked with both Jewish Israelis and with Muslim and Christian Palestinians. I traveled on Israeli buses in West Jerusalem and ate in cafés near sites where suicide bombers had killed Israeli young people. I also rode in Palestinian buses and vans in parts of the West Bank, passed through Israeli checkpoints, and walked in Palestinian olive groves as Jewish settlers stood on the hills above with their M-16 automatic rifles. My short visit does not qualify me to speak for Israelis or for Palestinians, nor would I presume to tell Israelis or Palestinians what they should do to resolve their differences. I do believe, however, that I can explain why terrorism is wrong, and also why the occupation of a people’s land is wrong. The reasons in both cases are the same. Terrorism A terrorist act involves violence against innocent people and is intended to put political pressure on their government. Suicide bombings kill civilians and threaten the general population, and some Palestinian political groups have used such terrorist acts to try to force the Israeli government to end the occupation. The fact that the occupation of Palestinian land by Israelis is wrong does not make terrorist acts protesting the occupation right. Of course, terrorism is not merely wrong when some Palestinians engage in such acts. Terrorist acts by the Irish Republican Army in Northern Ireland, or by the Tamil Tigers in Sri Lanka, or by Sunni insurgents in Iraq are also wrong. Terrorism is wrong, because it denies the human rights of its victims. Terrorism not only harms innocent people, but it also undermines the human right of self-determination. Terrorism uses coercion to try to force a government to do what it otherwise would not choose to do. Self-determination requires the rule of law and democratic elections, providing the opportunity for people to have some say in what their government does. We all know that terrorism is wrong, and, consequently, we are outraged by Palestinian terrorist acts. We are less sure that occupation is wrong,

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because we know so little about what occupation involves. Therefore, we may take it for granted that Israeli security requires checkpoints restricting the movement of Palestinians within the West Bank. We are unlikely to express outrage about Israeli settlements being built on land belonging to Palestinians. And we may think that the Separation Barrier Israel is building is merely protecting Israelis from Palestinian terrorists. Until my recent visit, I did not realize what the Israeli occupation of Palestinian land means, both for Palestinians and for Israelis. Now I am as outraged by the occupation as I am by acts of terrorism. For I have come to understand that the Israeli occupation of Palestinian land is dehumanizing both for the Palestinians, who are suffering under occupation, and for the Israelis, who are administering the occupation. By Palestinian land, I mean the land conquered by Israel during the 1967 war that the international community usually refers to as the West Bank (and Gaza, before it was returned to Palestinian control in the fall of 2005). What is known as the Green Line differentiates the state of Israel that was recognized between 1948 and 1967 from the area occupied by the state of Israel during the 1967 war. Since 1967 the Israeli occupation of Palestinian land has meant erecting checkpoints to limit Palestinian movement within the West Bank, building Jewish settlements on the West Bank and in Gaza, and constructing a Separation Barrier on Palestinian land throughout the West Bank. The settlements, checkpoints, and Separation Barrier violate the human rights of Palestinians. And, this system of occupation also dehumanizes the Israeli soldiers, the Jewish settlers, and the government officials who are involved in enforcing it. Checkpoints When most people hear about the checkpoints that Palestinians have to go through, they think these are on a border that separates an Israeli area from a Palestinian area, like an immigration checkpoint between two countries. But the checkpoint strategy employed as part of the Israeli occupation of Palestinian land involves putting numerous stopping points on roads that Palestinians have to travel in order to go from one place to another on the West Bank. When Israeli soldiers stop and question Palestinian drivers and pedestrians they are not checking primarily for weapons, although soldiers will look in vehicles and search some individuals. Instead, at checkpoints, soldiers are

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checking to see if those trying to travel have the proper identification papers that the Israeli government requires them to carry. In this way, checkpoints are part of a system that controls the movement of Palestinians within the West Bank. Every adult Palestinian has to have an identification certificate, and these papers indicate where a Palestinian may travel. Some Palestinians have Jerusalem IDs, and these people can travel within the West Bank and also within Israel. Other Palestinians have only West Bank IDs, so they cannot travel to Jerusalem or within Israel. The decision regarding what kind of ID a Palestinian is allowed to carry is made by the Israeli government. Palestinians encounter checkpoints all over the West Bank. These checkpoints include temporary roadblocks, known as flying checkpoints, that require all vehicles stop and be checked. Those who have been stopped must wait in line, show their identification papers, and receive permission to continue their journey. Often, they are prevented from going through a checkpoint because the Israeli army has closed it, or because they have inaccurate and/or incomplete identification papers. Settlements Jewish settlements built on Palestinian land are a crucial part of the Israeli occupation. Since 1967 hundreds of these settlements have been established on the West Bank, often on hilltops overlooking villages where the Palestinians live and the valleys they cultivate (see page xiv). Israelis often begin a settlement by moving onto Palestinian land and then defying their own government, when they are ordered to leave. The settlers rely on their political support to pressure the Israeli government to allow them to remain. After the Israeli government accepts a settlement and declares it legal under Israeli law, Jewish settlers demand that the government subsidize their settlement and also protect them from the Palestinians living nearby. This means government support for constructing fences around settlements, building roads to settlements, establishing military bases near settlements, and creating checkpoints to monitor the travel of Palestinians near settlements. In carrying out these security measures the Israeli government takes more land from Palestinians for fences, roads, barracks, and checkpoints. Under international law an occupying government is responsible for protecting the rights of the occupied people, and for preventing settlement of the

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occupied land by citizens of the occupying power. The Israeli government has not lived up to these obligations. Instead, it has usually protected the Jewish settlers who have illegally taken land from Palestinian residents. Some settlements are the size of cities, or large suburbs, particularly around Jerusalem. These settlements were initiated by government action, and many of their inhabitants are not religious Jews, but instead are simply Jewish Israelis glad to have subsidized housing. Other settlements involve taking over property in urban Palestinian neighborhoods, as has happened in both Jerusalem and Hebron. All the settlements, however, are illegal under international law and involve taking Palestinian land for housing and security perimeters. Moreover, all the settlements involve giving privileges to Jewish settlers that are not available to Palestinians. Instead, the privileges afforded the settlers are enforced at the expense of the Palestinians. Two arguments are offered by Israelis to justify settlements on the West Bank. First, many Israelis believe that because Israel won the 1967 war it has the right to confiscate the land of the losers. “To the victor go the spoils,” they say. But this is contrary to international law, for an occupying power does not have the right to annex the territory that it is occupying. It is also clear that the government of Israel does not want to annex all of the West Bank with its large population of Palestinians, for absorbing these Palestinians into Israeli society would make Jews a minority and a Jewish state impossible. This is why Israel is pursuing an occupation strategy that uses Jewish settlements to take land from Palestinians, and checkpoints and a Separation Barrier to make life so miserable for Palestinians that they will leave. The second argument claims that the land in dispute belongs to contemporary Israel, because the Torah teaches that God gave this land to the Israelites and their descendants, the Jews. Those who assert this position reject all Palestinian claims to ownership, no matter what legal documents Palestinians may have, and the Jewish Israelis taking this position refuse to accept that there is an occupation. Not surprisingly, international law defends the rights of the occupied Palestinians and requires that these rights be protected by the occupying government. In addition, many Jewish Israelis believe that the justifications given by religious settlers for their violence against Palestinians are contrary to the commandments of Jewish scripture. Contemporary polls show that a majority of Jewish Israelis support closing many of the settlements and returning much of the Palestinian land that is now occupied, in order to achieve a lasting peace.

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Separation Barrier The third aspect of the Israeli occupation of Palestinian land (in addition to checkpoints and settlements) has been imposed in the last few years. Identified as the Separation Barrier, this system involves the construction of a fence or a concrete wall through the West Bank. The Israeli government claims this barrier is needed for security, but the route of the barrier is not intended to separate Palestinians from Israelis. The Separation Barrier primarily prevents Palestinians from reaching their land, their water, their places of employment, their hospitals, their schools, and their friends and relatives. Rabbis for Human Rights maintains that the Israeli government has a right to build such a barrier along the Green Line on Israeli land. This would be like building a wall or fence along the border of a country, with only certain entrances and exits into the country. But this is not what the Israeli government has done. It has constructed the barrier east of the Green Line on Palestinian land. Therefore, Rabbis for Human Rights opposes the route of the Separation Wall as both a violation of international human rights law and also a form of collective punishment that is contrary to the ethical teachings of Judaism. The map on page xiv shows the proposed route of the wall. The Separation Wall may provide greater security for Jewish settlements that are on Palestinian land in the West Bank. But by including these Jewish settlements on the Israeli side of the barrier, the barrier also includes some of the Palestinian communities that are near these Jewish settlements. The Separation Barrier extends almost 4 miles to the east of the Green Line in some places. Elsewhere the barrier is closer to the Green Line. Around Jerusalem, the barrier will permanently separate Ramallah to the north and Bethlehem to the south from East Jerusalem, which has thousands of Palestinian residents. On the road to Ramallah the barrier has been built down the middle of a main street, separating Palestinians on one side from Palestinians on the other side. In Abu Dis (a residential area on the backside of the Mount of Olives) the Separation Barrier blocks the main street of the town and separates the only church in Abu Dis from most of the people who live in Abu Dis. The barrier also puts Al-Quds University within the walls that surround Abu Dis, even though many of the students come from the other side of the barrier. In addition to preventing movement within the Palestinian community, and confiscating Palestinian land to build and manage this barrier, the barrier itself is menacing and oppressive. Where the barrier is a fence, coils of

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barbed wire surround it. Where the barrier is a concrete wall, in many places (as around Bethlehem and Abu Dis) the wall is 25 feet high. Resisting the Occupation Terrorism is wrong, because it violates human rights by using illegal force against innocent civilians. Occupation is wrong for the same reasons. The argument that all Palestinians must be denied their human rights, because a few Palestinians are committed to terrorism, is morally and legally unacceptable. The Israelis who support the occupation of Palestinian land claim they must confiscate land and strictly control the movement of Palestinians to ensure their own security. But the victims of the occupation are largely innocent of any wrongdoing, and do not pose any threat to Israeli security. Just as with terrorism, the end does not justify the means. The human rights violations of the occupation are not justified by the Israeli government’s desire for greater security. Palestinian terrorists have attacked civilian Jews to try to make them go away. That is wrong. Israeli officials are administering a harsh system of occupation on Palestinians to try to make them go away. That is wrong. Terrorism is wrong, because it tries to justify killing innocent persons. Occupation is wrong, because it tries to justify killing innocent persons. Most of the Palestinians killed by Israeli settlers and soldiers are not terrorists, but are people who resisted the occupation by not doing what Israelis have no right to expect them to do. They are innocent victims, in the same way that those killed by terrorists are innocent victims. Moreover, both terrorism and occupation are wrong, because of what these political strategies do to the societies that support them, or at least have not strongly resisted them. Many Palestinians have celebrated the deaths of Israelis killed by suicide bombers. Palestinian society has become more violent and vengeful, because of the terrorist strategy that some of its members have pursued. Palestinian children are growing up to believe that violence against all Israelis is justified, and that only violence will offer Palestinians a better future. This is bad for Palestinians and their hopes for a viable future, as well as for Israelis and their hopes for a secure country. Just as supporting and engaging in terrorist activity is making the Palestinian society more violent, enforcing the occupation is making Israeli society more violent. Many Israelis celebrate the killing of Palestinians. In

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addition, many of the young Israelis, who serve in the army and impose the restrictions of the occupation on Palestinians, become brutalized by the brutality they impose on others. Violence among Israelis has risen, and the abuse of women by their husbands or partners has increased. Israelis must not be surprised when their young people have difficulty adjusting to civilian life after the disturbing experience of harassing and humiliating Palestinians at checkpoints, and elsewhere on the West Bank. These are among the reasons why the Israeli women of Machsom Watch oppose the occupation. “Please be clear about this,” Hannah Barag said to me. “We are sorry to see what is happening to Palestinians. But we are appalled that this is being done in our name as Israelis, and that our young people are engaged daily in harassing and humiliating Palestinians.” Is there a way to end Palestinian terrorism and the Israeli occupation of Palestinian land? We must hope so, for both terrorism and occupation are wrong. Terrorism and occupation violate the human rights of those who are victimized. Terrorism and occupation undermine the moral character of those who plan and implement the abuse of others in the pursuit of greater political power. Terrorism and occupation are illegal and immoral. In order to defend human rights and the rule of law, and for the sake of our own humanity, we must resist both.

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Other books by Robert Traer: Faith, Belief, and Religion (The Davies Group, Publishers, 2001) Quest for Truth: Critical Reflections on Interfaith Cooperation, (The Davies Group, Publishers, 1999) An Interfaith Dictionary (Oxford:IARF, 1993) Faith in Human Rights: Support in Religious Traditions for a Global Struggle (Georgetown University Press, 1991) Other publications BY rOBERT tRAER: “U. S. Ratification of the International Covenant on Economic, Social, and Cultural Rights,” in Promises to Keep: Prospects for Human Rights, ed. Charles McCoy (Berkeley, CA: The Graduate Theological Union and Literary Directions, 2002). “Ending Religious Violence,” Dharma World, Vol. 31 (Jan./Feb. 2004): 913. “Our Interfaith Challenge at the Beginning of the Twenty-first Century,” World Faiths Encounter, No. 29 (July 2001): 13-21. “Beyond ‘Religion and...’,” Breakthrough News, Global Education Associates, (Sep.-Dec. 2000): 1-3. “Faith in Human Rights.” Church & Society, 88, no. 4 (March/April 1998): 46-58. “Beyond Tolerance: Call to Repentance,” Faith & Freedom, 49, (Spring/ Summer 1996): 47-51. “Interreligiöser Dialog darf kein Bazar sein! Kritische Gedanken zur Zusammenarbeit der Religionen,” Schweizerishches Reformiertes Volksblatt, 3 (May/ June 1996): 9-10. “Thinking Globally, Acting Locally,” Faith & Freedom, vol. 48, no. 141 (Autumn/Winter 1995):152-56. “Le Soutien des Musulmans aux Droits de l’Homme.” Conscience et Liberté, 49 (1995): 17-24.

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“A Confessional Approach to Interfaith Cooperation.” Visions of an Interfaith Future: Proceedings of Sarva-Dharma-Sammelana, ed. Celia and David Storey (Oxford: International Interfaith Centre, 1994), 318-330. “Religious Freedom.” A Sourcebook for the Community of Religions, ed. Joel Beversluis (Chicago: The Council for a Parliament of the World’s Religions, 1993), 114-5. “Religious Freedom at the End of the 20th Century.” Church & Society (Sep./ Oct. 1992): 38-50. “Nonadversarial Conflict Resolution.” Dharma World, 19 (Jan./Feb. 1992): 29-31, 35. “Faith in the Buddhist Tradition.” Buddhist-Christian Studies, vol. 2 (1991): 85-120. “Christian Support for Human Rights in Latin America,” International Review of Mission, vol. 80, no. 318 (April 1991):245-49. “Human Rights in Islam,” Islamic Studies, vol. 28, no. 2 (Summer 1409/1989):117-29. “On Human Rights: The U.S. Lives in a Glass House,” Human Rights 16, no. 1 (Spring 1989). “Christian Support in Asia for Human Rights,” Asia Journal of Theology, vol. 3, no. 2 (October 1989):670-83. “Abolishing the Death Penalty,” The California Prisoner, (August 1989):8, 10, 12. “Chinese Views on Human Rights,” China Notes, (Autumn 1988):1-3. “Religious Communities in the Struggle for Human Rights,” The Christian Century (September 1988):835-38.

aDDITIONAL RIGHTS, Credits AND PERMISSIONS: The photographs used in the design and cover of this book are the property of the author. The publisher is grateful for his exclusive permission to use them. The cover photo was taken inside the Jerusalem Wall in the Old City.