Carry Me Home

Upon returning home from Israel and Palestine, I could continue to make several assumptions about peacemaking in the countries, but I believe I would be over stepping my boundaries. Having grown up fairly ignorant of the conflict, my personal knowledge has grown by leaps and bounds within the last few months. Therefore, I don't have a plan for Israel and Palestine nor do I want one.

However, let me share with you what I do know. Before I left for the trip, I was certain that peace could be made through conflict transformation practices if the right one was used. Why can't the people of Israel and Palestine sit in circle? If only they knew the possibilities that could arise from sitting in circle! (I once thought to myself.)

As I have learned, there are often physical limitations to being in circle with one another. In the case of Israel and Palestine, laws prevent the people from coming together easily. I was quickly reminded of the importance of surveying context in conflict transformation, an idea that is frequently mentioned in the Religion and Conflict Transformation program at Boston University. Every conflicted situation as a unique dance that will resist change or cannot be changed. What is the next move of a peacemaker in the dance?

Just as I mentioned in my original narrative, I still believe that God calls communities to shalom, or right relationship. There is inherent dignity and worth in every individual, and possibilities for shalom arise when we begin to discover those qualities. How do we live relationally in the world? 

In closing out the experience of the trip with this bog, but not ending the reflection, I will continue to ask myself that very question. For now, I wonder how the world can be moved if places in great conflict began to create opportunities for healing. What if the healing process became our goal in this world? Would peace prevail when wounds begin to heal and hearts begin to mend? I don't know. 

It seems as though I haven't been able to answer many of the questions that I've asked.  

Nevertheless, I will always carry with me the encounter that I had in Hebron. I will always look back on the shared experience at the pottery wheel with a Palestinian man and believe in the call to shalom--the call to new community. I will always believe in opportunities for shared experience and story telling as creating possibilities for restoration between people. All we have to do is be vulnerable and listen!

Path to Peace Wall

Having just left the Israeli Kibbutz, we traveled farther west towards the Gaza Strip. Was it safe for us to be this close? Primarily controlled by Hamas, what many countries, including the US, call a terrorist group, many students wondered what we would discover by standing outside of the wall that separated the Gaza Strip from Israel. There weren't many signs of life for about a mile, except armed checkpoints and guard stations with bored border patrol units "watching" the wall.

Upon following a dirt road, we arrived at the Path to Peace Wall that towered over us less than 500 ft from the "border wall". The dove painted on the wall seemed to glisten in the sun. Unable to process this symbol of peace facing one of the most violent areas of the country, I closed my eyes and took in a deep breath. 

When the designer and artist of the wall began to explain the purpose and creation of the project, I began to recognize the true meaning of our journey. As a symbol of peace and hope, the wall represented collective action against violence. The designer of the wall meant for it to be a place where people can join in nonviolent action against the years of hatred, violence, and anger. It represents common ground. 

As I added mosaics to the wall, my mind kept returning to my experience in Hebron. What is the role of shared experience in peacemaking? How can violence in the world, and more specifically in Israel and Palestine, be transformed through the practice of creating something? How can reverence for life be ignited through the creation of art or through storytelling? 

At the Path to Peace Wall, I continued my personal commitment to nonviolence by helping to make this beautiful piece of art that represents life and hope. How can the people of Israel and Palestine encounter one another long enough and deep enough to find healing? What if that is actually the end goal? Should we begin searching for opportunities of healing over creating peace? How can a shared experience promote group healing?

Kibbutz

A Jewish Kibbutz, a community of people who have intentionally chosen to live a relational and collective life, lies in close range to the Gaza Strip. Reminding me of the new monastic movement, I was intrigued by the way of life on the Kibbutz. From sharing tools, food, and monetary resources, the people on the Kibbutz have learned what it means to rely on others and maintain a collective responsibility. 

Although I have always found this way of life intriguing, it wasn't their lifestyle that made me tune into the speaker a little more closely. This Kibbutz, settled outside of the Gaza Strip, is working in the field of nonviolent action and conflict transformation. 

By the end of our conversation with a leader on the Kibbutz, I walked away with a variety of stories that I could share, but what stands out to me the most is their attempt to create a space for the sharing of narratives. A sector of the Kibbutz is working to create a space for listening with understanding and speaking the truth in love. Because the war ceased any opportunities for relational living between the people of Gaza and the people of Israel, the restorative practices of the organization at the Kibbutz had to become creative. Although there is an exception for the people of Gaza to leave for humanitarian reasons, the violence often created a fear that kept peacemakers in Gaza from leaving. Therefore, the practices continued through conversations over the phone, Skype, email, etc. Even though the preferred method for restorative practices was to share a physical space, they continued their belief in nonviolent action by creating alternatives. 

"The common denominator is that violence is the only option to ending the conflict," pronounced the speaker. There is a high state of trauma all the time, but in order for conflict to be transformed, the people of the Kibbutz and organizers for peace have chosen to continue and move forward by transforming their trauma by creating a space for story telling. 

Encounter in Hebron

I do not think words could accurately articulate my experiences in Hebron, so I hope the pictures included in this post will make up for my lacking words. By the time we reached Hebron, my emotional and physical state was taxed...again. Violence and peacemaking were topics of conversation 100% of the time, and my entire being need a break. However, I quickly realized that I was not going to get that break in Hebron.

Upon our arrival in Hebron, the tour guides, Aziz and Kobi, noted that they would not be able to travel together in certain parts of the city. Why? Because Palestinians were not allowed on the Israeli side and vice versa. It was important for us to stick together "in case we had to make a quick exit". Excuse me? 

As we walked into the city, the IDF (Israeli Defense Force) and the border police were in high volume. I noticed many officers becomeing forceful with Palestinian boys trying to sell us some of their goods. We were asked multiple times if the entire group was Christian. Taught to always answer yes to that question, a few students nervously shook their heads. 

Throughout our journey in the city, I heard a variety of stories and learned pieces of information that never make the US news. Did you know that Jewish residents of the Old City of Hebron (a place they would have had to occupy) often throw stones onto the Palestinians walking below? I grew up learning that "throwing stones" was an act of Palestinian boys. 

Parts of the Old City of Hebron were practically vacant, as its residents fled the area during the Second Intifada. The city shut down and businesses failed.

Many more things could be said about my experience in Hebron, but I think I'll leave you with a story that I will carry with me forever. With my emotions running high, I needed a little quite time--time to just be. Looking for that experience, my friend Lauren and I walked into a pottery shop next to our lunch place. The walls of the shop were covered with beautiful pieces of pottery painted in vibrate colors. Walking deeper into the store, the shop owner and potter was sitting at his wheel shaping and molding clay that would soon be a part of the other merchandise on the shelf.

I stared at the way his hands moved over the clay on the wheel and the gentle way he sprinkled water on the shape to keep it from drying out. It was beautiful, and he made it look easy! As we caught each others eyes he said, "Would you like to try?"in his broken English. Unsure of exactly what I said, a mumbled and nervous response came about that led me to the potter's wheel.

He sat me down at the wheel and covered my clothes with a well used apron. He threw some clay on the table and motioned for me to go for it. Never having sat a pottery wheel or even mold clay, I had no idea what I was doing. Laughing throughout my attempt, I also caught a giggle from him as well. When he finally decided that the pottery wasn't shaping up like it should, he took my hands and helped me mold my first piece of pottery. Together we poked, prodded, and shaped my first vase. A Palestinian man in Hebron brought me into the story of his daily life by allowing me to sit at his pottery wheel. I experienced what he experienced every day. It was a beautiful moment.

What if this is all it takes for peace between people? What if all we need is the opportunity for a shared experience? What if creating something together was an expression of each of our narratives? What if this type of experience could lead us to understand those around us on a deeper level?

The man in the picture below does not know my name, and I do not know his, but in my mind, we walked a journey together that will forever change my understanding of encountering another human being in this world--a being full of dignity and worth. 

Neve Shalom / Wahat Al Salam

As soon as we stepped foot onto the grounds of Neve Shalom/Wahat Al Salam, my heart gleamed with excitement and hope. A community where Jews and Arabs live together, Neve Shalom/Wahat Al Salam represented everything that I hope for in the transformation of any conflict—the opportunity for shared experience. The people of this commune live together, side by side, utilizing opportunities to share their individual narratives.

 “The other” becomes an everyday encounter. In fact, I wondered if there was such thing as “the other” in a place where one grows up fully exposed to a variety of ideas. Regarding the live in community at Neve Shalom/Wahat Al Salam, our speaker said, “We want to maintain as equals while maintaining one’s own nationality.” The children swim together in the pool, live side by side, and learn both Arabic and Hebrew in their classes. While learning and creating their individual identities in the world, they were also creating space to learn about their friends and neighbors.

Moreover, the lived mission of the community was not only an internal venture but an external one too. With a peace school on the grounds for travelers and learners, Neve Shalom/Wahat Al Salam is doing educational work for peace and understanding. They are working to create a culture of peace and nonviolence in every person that encounters them. Neve Shalom/Wahat Al Salam was truly an “Oasis of Peace”.

Tent of Nations

“Our land is our mother, and our mother is not for sale.”

            Having just climbed out of the village of Lifta, a deserted Palestinian village located deep in a valley, I was exhausted. No more, please. Every part of me needed a break—emotional, physical, and mental. Throughout the trip, my spiritual practices, which provide me with rejuvenation, were lacking. There seemed to be no time, and I was running on LOW.

            However, the day was just beginning with our climb out of Lifta, and we were headed to a place called “The Tent of Nations”. Feeling like my stomach was in my chest, I closed my eyes in hopes to catch some rest. When I woke, our bus, our 40 some odd passenger bus, was backing up down a narrow dirt road. Seriously? Where are you taking us? Is there more hiking involved?

            The bus finally came to a halt due to huge boulders that were blocking the road. We piled out, maneuvered around the boulders, and ended our journey standing outside of a locked gate. After standing there for a few minutes, an enthusiastic man came running down the road leaving a small dust trail behind him. As we walked through the gate, we were greeted by a rock that read, “We refuse to be enemies.". Okay, I like it.

            The grounds of the Tent of Nations were decorated with brightly colored paintings, mosaics, and other lively things like the orange VW and donkey you see in the picture above. If I had to rest anywhere for lunch, I was happy to be in this place. Located on the top of a hill, we had a beautiful view from all directions. Bring on the restful lunch.

            It wasn’t until we began our conversation with the founder and landowner of Tent of Nations that I realized how valuable and important the land is for the people who work it. Once registered to his grandfather, it was clear to me that the land had been in his family for a long time. However, when the war started and much of the surrounding land became occupied Israeli territory, it became an uphill battle for the land to stay in the family. Because the land is in occupied territory, the landowner has no control over resources and struggles daily to get permits to build things that will help him maintain the land.

            Although Tent of Nations is racking up a plethora of legal fees, by continuing to work the land they believe they are building a bridge of reconciliation, justice, and peace. By working the land they are protecting it from confiscation, but also expressing the need for change. Even though settlers will often uproot the olive trees that represent hope for the people, the frustration of the people from Tent of Nations becomes an energy that allows them to continue their work.

            Tent of Nations opens its gates for people all around the country and the world to come and work. People are invited to harvest the variety of trees they house as well as plant trees. Those who work and volunteers at Tent of Nations are taking part in a shared experience with the other. They are actively involved in creating the collective narrative of the future—hope. 

"We refuse to be enemies."

Meeting with IDF Colonel

"We are already late," pronounced Aziz, "and a Colonel in the Israeli Defense Force is not going to wait for us." 

 With limited opportunity to reflect on the conversation from Sabeel, I didn't think my mental state would be able to process any more information regarding the conflict. However, our meeting with a Colonel in the Army was clearly not going anywhere. Putting aside what I had just heard from a Palestinian Christian perspective, I prepared to switch gears for the Israeli narrative. (It crossed my mind that we weren't doing justice to the stories we were hearing, because we failed to have ample amount of time to process.)

Several times throughout the meeting with the Colonel, I found my eyes widening from surprise of certain statements and looking around the room to make sure everyone just heard the same thing I did. From the group's previous conversation and this meeting with the Colonel on Ammunition Hill, a historical site for the Israeli people, the true meaning of occupation began to settle in. It hit me, like a ton of bricks, that thousands of people were stuck, some without hope, fearful, and angry, in a way of life that they didn't choose. People--human beings--were forced to live without some of the most basic human rights they need and deserve.

What made this realization sink in? As the Colonel was telling stories to explain the purpose of the "security fence, not border", he began to talk about the graffiti that runs rampant along the wall. 

*Graffiti on the Palestinian side*

At one time having ordered the graffiti on the wall to be painted over, the Colonel decided that it would be okay for the graffti to be left alone. Why? "It [the graffiti] shows that the people aren't taking their anger out using violence. We live in a democratic nation, so I'll let them," said the Colonel. 

What? The people of Palestine have been separated from their families, forced from their homes, and locked in a small radius without the ability to easily move around. (These are the ideas that immediately crossed my mind as the Colonel spoke.)

Throughout our conversation, I had to constantly remind myself of the concept of Dual Narratives, my passion for conflict transformation, and thoughts on peacemaking. This was his story. This was his narrative. This was his experience.

 Not only was it hard for me to imagine how this conversation would go over in restorative practices, but I also began to wonder how the pragmatics of the circle process would work in an area where those in conflict are legally unable to have shared experiences. The people of Palestine must meet certain requirements to leave the West Bank, and no one from the Gaza Strip is aloud into Israel. 

What does conflict transformation look like when people cannot meet together at the table?