The Tour Part I (See Pictures Below)

June 9th, 2008 Citadel Youth Hostel, Jerusalem, Israel
(Correction: the settlement which was involved in the protest on Friday was Hashmon’im, not Modi’in. That story can be read at this link: http://www.palestinemonitor.org/spip/spip.php?article458)

After a quick shower and quick packing, Adam and I journeyed to Jerusalem and returned to the Citadel. Our friend Faydi was working and we told him a few stories of our experiences as we paid for the next four nights. We watched the end of Hilary Clinton’s concession speech on TV and met two American sisters who were traveling together for awhile. The four of us walked to Ben Yehudah Street, wandering around before meeting some other people on a little side street. I get uncomfortable around large crowds. Places with loud, obnoxious American music and people dressed in apparel that would get them stoned in parts of the world are just not my places. I want to know what brought all these people here, where they come from, and if they know the sort of things that are happening less than fifteen miles away. Back at the hostel, I visited with two other Americans and told them about what I’m doing here and some of the things I’ve seen. They were shocked. We talked about Jesus and how his message of Love, Reconciliation, and Peace can transform people, which can lead to overcoming oppressive narratives. We cannot forsake what is most important to God: “justice, mercy, and faithfulness.” These conversations are a huge part of why I am here.

(written June 10th, 2008 Notre Dame Guest House, Jerusalem, Israel)

Adam and I were up by 7 and, after splashing our faces with water, we were off to the Mount of Olives. We walked a bit more leisurely than usual. I didn’t see anyone from the group on the summit, so we found a spot in the shade and waited. I thought the group was supposed to arrive around 7:30, but we had reached the summit close to 7:45 and no one was there. At 8 I decided it might be smart to turn on my cell phone. And of course, soon after I did, I got a call from my dad saying they were in the breakfast room of the Seven Arches Hotel and had been there since around 7.

Reunions are always great, especially when they occur in amazing places. My dad, my grandparents (who we call Honey and Pooh: Pooh comes from the Grand Pooh-bah on Happy Days, and Honey derives from their nephew thinking that this was her name when my granddad was using a term of endearment) were there, as well as my dad’s brothers, one of which, Rob, is a minister at a church in Nashville and the other, Barry, is a professor at Wheaton College. My aunt Judy, Rob’s wife, and cousin Mitchel, Barry’s son, were there also, accompanied by slightly distant relatives and old family friends. Rich Little, my close friend who was one of my professors in Australia, Gary Byram and his family (another close friend who was my other professor in Australia), and Pam Little (Rich’s mom who is the coordinator of Harding’s program in Australia) were all there and it was so good to see all of them. The group is very large. Seventy-two constitutes a very large group. I have very much enjoyed getting to know some of the people, especially Greg Watts. Mr. Watts and his wife went to the church at which my uncle Rob preached in Milwaukee. I have met their son before, who used to date the sister of my best friend’s fiancé. He seems like a wanderer. Also, I have had several very good conversations with an old family friend named Les Williams and his daughter Alisha. Overall, this is a good group.

Because of the group’s size, two buses were rented in order to accommodate everyone. And two guides were hired, both of which are Palestinian Christians: Jamil (or Jimmy) and Tony.

(written June 18th, 2008 Palestine Monitor Office, Ramallah, the West Bank)

I am exhausted. I have had little sleep and no writing time over the past week, which explains why I have not been able to update the blog. Therefore, I am going to (attempt to) forego my desire for immense detail and simply run through most of the week, which should make most of the very few people who actually read this blog quite happy.

Our first stop with the group was the Harem al-Sharif, or the Temple Mount, followed by the Western Wall. We then walked along the excavations that have been done around the edge of the Temple Mount as my uncle Rob explained much of the history and significance. The group made a short visit to the Pool of Siloam before going to the Jerusalem Hotel for lunch. This would be an appropriate place to note the extreme amount of food we ate with this group. Amazingly, our meals and lodgings were paid for and we took advantage of it. I think I am going to fast for the next week.

We returned to the Mount of Olives for a view of the city and walked down the Palm Sunday Road to the Church of All Nations and the Garden of Gethsemane. The group was staying at the Notre Dame Guest House and that night we met in the chapel of the Notre Dame for a worship service. My granddad spoke about “Four Decades in the Holy Land as a Teacher, Archaeologist, and Pilgrim.”

A few people wanted to go explore some, so Adam and I offered to show them around. Sean arrived just as we were about to leave, so we he came with us. We ventured through Jaffa Gate and down into the Old City, making our way to the Western Wall to see it lit up at night. We explained some of our experiences so far and briefly described the situation.

(written June 19th, 2008)

This is getting ridiculous. I just need to spit it out.
Monday was a fairly relaxed day. Mount Zion was the first stop, visiting Herod’s family tomb and the Church of St. Peter in Gallicantu (or “and the Cock Crow”). A lookout point provides a wonderful view of the Mount of Olives, the Wall, and the Valley of Hinnom (or Gehenna), translated as “hell” in most Bibles. The mistranslation, and misuse, of such things has led to some very serious problems in the history of Christianity. And that is all I will say about that.

Archaeological evidence supports St. Peter in Gallicantu as the location of the High Priest Caiaphas’ house. A 2,000 year-old staircase leads from the valley in which the Garden of Gethsemane is situated to the church on Mount Zion. Jesus probably walked these steps as he was taken to be tried.

We next visited the Church of St. Anne and the Pool of Bethesda, where Jesus healed a man who had not walked in thirty-eight years. I continue to find it amazing how the signs of Jesus are so closely related to the message of Jesus. Jesus recovers the sight of the blind, enables the lame to walk again, and raises the dead to life, all symbolizing the renaissance that he came to bring. I don’t think Jesus asks us to see things differently; I think Jesus asks us to see with completely new eyes, to walk a completely new path, and to experience a completely new life.

We had lunch on the roof of the Ecce Homo Convent in the Old City before splitting the group up for a free afternoon. Rich and I wandered the Old City, weaving through the streets before sitting on the rooftop above the Tomb of King David. I have immensely missed my conversations with Rich. We discussed social issues, the possibility of writing a book, and how Jesus and his message look in the midst of the Israeli-Palestinian struggle. Rich asked me how I was staying pure and unpolluted from the temptation to hate, encouraging me to remember the way a Jewish carpenter confronted injustice and inequity without demonizing those who perpetuated the two. And he told me not to find my identity in the issues about which I am most passionate. He said that when he burrows back to finding himself as a follower of Jesus, he is then able to be more effective in his actions. As we talked, Jewish and Palestinian children ran by us throwing water at one another, laughing as they played.

That evening, Alex Awad from Bethlehem Bible College spoke to the group about “The History of the Conflict from the Palestinian Perspective.” At one point, Mr. Awad said something that I hope affected everyone there: “I do not want the United States, or anyone, to be pro-Palestinian. I want them to be pro-justice and pro-equity.” I spent some time talking with my dad in the lobby later that night. I may be very much against certain ideologies, but I never want to be anti-people, because when I do that I hate, and then I might as well go home because I will not help anything. This land has too much hate for me to add to it.

On Tuesday, we went through the New Gate to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, and then went to the Garden Tomb through the Damascus Gate. After seventy-two people filed into the ancient room, we gathered for a reflection, led by Rich, who spoke of the transformative power of the Resurrection and the symbolism of rebirth and renewal in the message of Jesus. We journeyed to West Jerusalem and visited an incredibly impressive model of the city in the late Second Temple period. We then went to the Vad Veshem Memorial to the Holocaust. One cannot understand the Israeli narrative without first understanding the significance of the Holocaust.

I had been to Yad Vashem before in 2001, but it was just as depressing and as moving now. I trembled as I walked through, looking at the pictures and reading the notes and listening to recorded stories of survivors recounting one of the worst periods in history. I still cannot fully fathom that people can do such things to other people. Jesus’ quoted prayer from the Psalms, “Father, forgive them because they don’t know what they are doing,” seems to be an adequate appeal for much of human history. But something else struck me as I walked by the walls filled with horror-pictures of murder and people being forced from their homes. Many survivors came to Palestine looking for a haven from the persecution they had known for so long. But some of these same people who were killed and kicked out of their homes began to kill and kick out the people who were living in this land before them. Past injustices cannot, and do not, justify present or future injustices.

Our good friend Mahmoud Abu Eid spoke to the group at the Notre Dame that evening, and did an excellent job. My two distant cousins, Holly and Betsy, went to Ben Yehudah with Adam and Sean after the lecture. I was not keen to return, and Alisha wanted to explore the Old City on her last night in Jerusalem, so I led her around, showing her the view from the Citadel Youth Hostel, sneaking up on the ramparts of the ancient walls, and walking through the Muslim cemetery at the foot of the Harem al-Sharif facing the Mount of Olives.

We left early Wednesday morning and crossed over into Bethlehem. A good friend of the family, Edward Tabosh, owns a shop just inside the Wall, so we took the group there to shop. This group really liked to shop. Sean and I took two small groups to walk along the Wall and view the graffiti and the House with Seven Walls. We then went to the Church of the Nativity. For some reason, I have re-noticed something on this trip about Jesus’ birth. The first people who honored this newly-born child were impoverished, local shepherds and wealthy, foreign rulers. The symbolism of that story is remarkable.

I opted not to go in the church and instead walked down the street to the Holy Land Trust and chatted with Anna and Leif for a little while before meeting up once more with the group. We made our way to Beit Sahour and the Shepherds’ Fields before going to the Al-Basma Center, directed by Mr. Abdullah Awwad. I met him two years ago, and he is one of the most passionate people I have met. A Palestinian Christian, his center provides care for mentally handicapped in the area that have been rejected by their families. The Al-Basma Center provides jobs for them making Christmas ornaments, cards, and other objects. Mr. Awwad and his wife accompanied the group for lunch at the Tent Restaurant, and he spoke to us about hope and service and quoted William Wordsworth.

The group went to meet with Dr. Salim Munayer, who is in charge of an organization called Musalaha (reconciliation in Arabic). Among other things, Dr. Munayer takes Israelis and Palestinians into the Negev Desert for several weeks and attempts to deconstruct prejudices as they tell one another their stories. Unfortunately, Sean, Adam, and I weren’t able to attend because we had a meeting in Ramallah. Mahmoud’s son, Jamey, had been with us during the day and came with us to Jerusalem. As we went through security, the soldier was confused as to why Jamey had a Jerusalem ID, because Jamey was speaking excellent English. Jamey explained that, obviously, he is a Jerusalemite.

“Then why are you traveling with these people?” the solider asked aggressively, motioning to the three of us.
“Because they are friends of my family,” Jamey said.
The soldier then made Jamey go back through the detectors five more times before allowing him to leave. We stood there the entire time, refusing to walk ahead and leave our friend.
“I’m sorry,” Jamey said as we left.
“Don’t apologize to us,” I said, almost sharply. “This is not your fault. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

We met Flo, Kirsty, and a few others at a restaurant near Clock Square and discussed the near-future of the Palestine Monitor. Flo would soon be leaving (and is now, sadly, gone) and Kirsty is going on holiday for the remainder of our stay. So, the operation of the Palestine Monitor will fall to us. Kirsty will be available for help if we need it, but we will be in charge of reporting, editing, and publishing, making sure that the purpose of the Monitor continues to be fulfilled. We were rather humbled by the trust they were placing in us. At first, we were a bit daunted, but if we work together and with the others who will be around then we will do fine. This kind of thing looks very good on a résumé.

We returned to Bethlehem that night, getting a taxi to the wall. As we walked through to the other side and into the caged walkway down to the street, we realized that all three of us really needed to relieve some very full bladders. Toilets were a little scarce in that vicinity. Then, almost in unison, we looked up at the towering slabs of concrete beside us. We lined up in the shadows and let loose on that structure of segregation and fear. I have never felt that good about the act of peeing, or the object on which I peed, in my life. We call that “peeful resistance.”

We walked to the incredibly fancy Intercontinental Hotel where the group was staying (for a very discounted price). I dropped my stuff off and took a taxi to the Church of the Nativity, walking down to Anna’s apartment. I visited with her and her roommate, sitting up on the roof. The stars shone brightly over Bethlehem.
(To be continued . . .)