Deliverance and Daily Bread: Prayers in Qalandiya Checkpoint

When I stepped into the Qalandiya checkpoint, my fingers found their way to the rosary I carry in the right-hand pocket of my jeans. The last time I passed through this checkpoint, which stands between Ramallah and Jerusalem, was a two years ago when it was still being turned into the full-scale "terminal" it is today. Even at noon on a Wednesday, Qalandiya was crowded and the line was long. In the midst of this crowd of people all wanting to get through as quickly as possible, many with frustration and resigination on their faces, I felt confused and a little anxious. I needed something to hold onto, some tangible symbol of the hope that felt so far away.

Qalandiya checkpoint is a sprawling complex, but the entrance to its heart - where soldiers check IDs and bark commands through static-filled loudspeakers - is a narrow corridor not more than two feet across created by metal fencing. As I stood in in the passage way, feeling like a caged animal, I ran the beads through my fingers and began to pray.

Standing in a checkpoint designed to humilate the words of the "Our Father" finally made sense to me. In the middle of violence and injustice, there is nothing else for which to pray. Daily bread. Forgiveness. Deliverance from evil. These are all that matter.

The soldiers open the turnstile for a few minutes at a time. I passed through while the green light flashed and put my bag on a convayer belt. Next, I stepped through a metal dector. When it beeped, I took my keys and rosary out of my pocket and placed them on a tray before passing through the metal detector again. Then I pushed my passport up to the glass window between me and a young Israeli soldier. After she checked it, I turned to retrieve my bag.

I was walking toward the exit, eager to stand in the open air again when a smirking Israeli police officer demanded my passport. He checked my visa and then looked up into my face. "You look angry. Why?"

"I think this is a good reason to be angry," I replied, struggling to keep my voice even as a guestered toward the checkpoint around me. I was angry, but felt more like crying than shouting.

"So you're angry," he said. "That's fine." He grinned again and handed back my passport. With nothing left to do or say, I walked away.

The truth is, I felt ashamed of my anger. The Palestinian men, women, and children standing with me in the interminable line were nothing but calm. Who am I to be angry, a white American? Back on a crowded bus, I took a deep breath, as though I'd been holding mine all through the checkpoint.

The bus driver started off towards Jerusalem, driving along the 25 foot hight apartheid wall. Written on the wall in black spray paint were five words that caught my eye: "People are stronger than walls."

I smiled to myself, pullled my rosary out of my pocket, and started to pray again.

The Stations of Shaadi
13 March, 2008
Written by Eileen

The South Hebron Hills are a place of great beauty. Gazelles roam the
hillsides, birds are abundant in the sky. When you look out over the
hills you can see ancient Palestinian villages where people are still
living a simple, subsistence lifestyle. They have flocks of sheep and
goats. They market lambs, and the women make delicious cheese and
butter. In springtime, the valleys are brilliant green with crops of
wheat and barley.

But this beauty is marked with pain. As you look out across the
horizon now, you also see the unmistakable mark of Israeli
settlements. They appear as modern suburban developments dropped down
on the hilltops in this rugged terrain. Settlement outposts extend the
reach of these settlements, and confiscate increasingly more
Palestinian land exclusively for Israeli use. Religiously zealous,
ideological and violent settlers threaten and attack anyone who dares
draw near. Palestinian shepherds here find they have less and less
land to graze their flocks, and must take grave risks when they do.

As we accompany these shepherds, they often speak of the stories this
landscape holds for them. They speak of the land they knew as
children; the places they used to roam; the valleys their fathers and
grandfathers used to graze the flocks. Recently, as we accompanied one
shepherd, Shaadi, he pointed out some of the landmarks in his memory
along the way.

From high on a hilltop, we can see the nearby settlement and outpost.
Although he does not mention it, we are looking across at a place
where his children have been repeatedly attacked while walking to
school. He continues to send his children to school, knowing that to
do so is defiance of the violence and threats to push him and his
family off of their land.

As we pause at the cistern to water the flocks, he recounts the time
when three masked settlers from the outpost attacked him and his young
son while they were watering the sheep. The settlers arrived in a
truck and began firing stones at them with a slingshot. They broke the
legs of two of his sheep. His nine year old son was also hit by the
rocks. Shaadi tried to comfort his son, who would not speak after the
attack.

When he called the Israeli police to report the attack, the police
refused to come to the village to take his report saying they were
afraid of the settlers, "We are only two police. We need a whole army
to go in there. The settlers will break our windows." Shaadi replied,
"If you are afraid of the settlers, how do you think I am?"

A short walk later, we pass by the place where three years ago a
settler from the illegal settlement outpost Havat Maon, stole fifteen
sheep from his flock. Despite filing a police report, including video
evidence of the entire incident and eyewitness testimony from an
international observer, no charges were filed against the settler.

As we approach his home, he talks about the forced removal of several
hundred people from this area. On April 7, 1998 over one hundred
families in the area, including Shaadi's, were served orders to
abandon their homes by April 12th. In a dark irony, the deadline
given was Easter Sunday. The families refused to leave. The military
confiscated their meager belongings, and offered to return them if
they agreed to leave. They refused.

Shaadi's home is a simple place, closely connected with the homes of
his extended family. But even home is a place of scarred memories.
Settlers have come and attacked his family. Shaadi shares the painful
memory of the time when armed settlers came to the village, and
started shooting. His mother was shot in the leg, and his brother was
also wounded. For him and his family, there is no safe place of refuge.

As is typical in the area, they once had a toilet out-building
adjacent to the house. In May of 2006, the Israeli Civil
Administration issued a demolition order for the toilet. A few days
later a bulldozer came and destroyed it. He has not been allowed to
rebuild it. It seems even the basic human dignity and privacy of a
toilet will be denied him.

Shepherds in this area continue to face violence and threats on a
daily basis. In January of this year, while Shaadi was out grazing his
flocks with a few other local shepherds, settlers came out from the
outpost and fired six shots at them. The flocks scattered, and the
shepherds fled. The Israeli police refused to respond, saying they
`had better things to do".

A few weeks ago, Shaadi was one of several shepherds that went to
graze their flocks in a valley called Mshaha, south of the illegal
settlement outpost, Havat Maon. They went together as an act of
resistance to threats and violence from the settlers. They went to
recover the use of their land, and find sustenance for their flocks.
On this day, Israeli soldiers arrived and demanded that the shepherds
leave. The shepherds responded that this was their land, and that they
wanted to appeal to the commander to decide the issue. Settlers from
the outpost also came and spoke with the soldiers. The soldiers ran
toward the flocks and kicked several sheep, trying to drive them away.
Many of these shepherds reported injuries to their sheep, including
broken teeth, and internal bleeding. Shaadi lost two lambs later that
week from injured ewes.

As we were finishing up this long walk, we paused along the way as a
young lamb was born. Shaadi tended gently and expertly to the newborn,
and invited us back to his house for a meal. We rejoiced in the new
birth, hopeful that this might be finally a sign of new life for him
and his family.


i:`Settlements' refers to Israeli only housing built within the
occupied Palestinian territories. Settlements are all illegal
according to international law. Settlement outposts are illegal under
international law, as well as under Israeli law.

I'm late, but this was too wonderful not to share

Santa Comes to Bethlehem for Nonviolent Protest

For a blog that normally ignores holidays all together, I took a strangely observant turn this Christmas time. So let me take a moment to make a retroactive wish for all of the readers of this blog: whatever your faith or lack thereof, may your observances be inspired and maybe the upcoming year (whenever your calender starts it), be filled with hope.

Remembering Beit Sahour

A lovely article from Uruket.net. I hope they will forgive me for reprinting it in its entirety. Their website is well worth a visit.

We, the people of Bayt Sahur, being an integral part of the Palestinian people and its Intifada, refuse to pay taxes to the occupiers of our land, considering such payment to be a symbol of slavery and oppression. We consider the occupation of one people by another to be a clear violation of all international laws and religions, and it is in violation of the most basic human rights and democratic principles. We strongly believe that every citizen has to pay taxes to his national government in order to enable it to perform its duties and obligations. No taxation without representation!

With this leaflet from November 5, 1989, the people of Bayt Sahur (Beit Sahour) announced the beginning of a campaign of civil disobedience centered around the nonpayment of taxes to the Israeli government. Israel, afraid that such resistance would become a model to other villages and towns throughout the Palestinian territories during the first Intifada, responded to their resistance with force.

Bayt Sahur is a largely Christian village in the West Bank with a population of approximately 12,000. Its Christian population hundreds of years, and local legend asserts that it was Bayt Sahurian shepherds to whom the bright star above Bethlehem signaling the birth of Jesus Christ appeared. The reason for this, the legend goes, is that Bayt Sahurians have a legendary reputation for gossip, and God therefore figured the news of Christ's coming would travel quickest if Bayt Sahurians found out first.

Bayt Sahur was the site of perhaps the most organized and effective Palestinian resistance to Israeli colonialism during the first Intifada. Residents of Bayt Sahur quickly concluded that the Intifada was no passing phenomenon and began organizing their own resistance beginning in January, 1988. Initial attempts at a coordinated, regional network failed, but more localized efforts flourished and soon, much of the town was involved in active resistance to Israeli colonialism.

This resistance took the form of popular committees organized by the citizens of Bayt Sahur at the grassroots. These popular committees, lijan sha'biya in Arabic, were the driving force of the Intifada, and established a security force to fight Israeli settlers and the Israeli army. They also organized commerce, medical care, and even judicial affairs. The people of Bayt Sahur did all this at great personal risk, since many of these activities were illegal, and could even result in their death.

Perhaps the most memorable campaign of resistance that occurred in Bayt Sahur during the Intifada was city resident's refusal to pay taxes to the Israeli government. This followed a call by the Unified National Leadership of the Uprising (UNLU) from February 5, 1988, to conduct "complete civil disobedience" ('isyan muduni shamil) including the nonpayment of taxes. The Israeli response began in July of that year. On July 7th, a curfew was enacted and numerous people were arrested. A sit-down strike was soon organized to demand the release of all those arrested. This, too, was brutally repressed by Israeli authorities, who arrested hundreds of people who took part in this action, sending many to prison. On July 17th, Archbishop Michel Sabbah threatened to begin a hunger strike unless the curfew was lifted. The Israeli authorities so feared the leader of Palestinian Christians and his ability through his actions to motivate others to resistance, that they called off the curfew that day. These and similar skirmishes continued for over a year, until in September of 1989, Israel decided to put an end to Bayt Sahur's civil disobedience campaign once and for all.

On September 20th, 1989, Israeli troops surrounded Bayt Sahur, setting up military checkpoints, cutting telephone lines, and barring nonresidents entry. Tax officials entered Bayt Sahur with armed security personnel and began raiding businesses and private residences, taking cash when available, but settling for other valuables, such as couches, TV sets, chairs and tables when they had to. On October 4th, Israeli authorities eased their siege and allowed Palestinians to pay taxes. No one did. This enraged Defense Minister Yitzhak Rabin, who declared that Israel was going to "teach a lesson" to Bayt Sahur, knowing that the resistance in Bayt Sahur had to be crushed so that it would not be seen as an effective model of resistance elsewhere in Palestine. Following this declaration, Israeli aggression intensified, finally ending on October 31st, 1989 with the withdrawal of Israeli troops, although not before collecting almost $1.5 million in goods from Palestinian businesses and homes.

Although costly, the withdrawal of Israeli troops was hailed as a victory by the people of Bayt Sahur, who quickly thereafter hosted a Day of Prayer celebration. This celebration was attended by the mufti of Jerusalem, Sheikh Sa'd al-Din al-'Alami, who was greeted enthusiastically when he visited the churches of Bayt Sahur. In solidarity with the struggle of the people of Bayt Sahur, 'Alami issued a fatwa against the purchase of any goods confiscated by israeli authorities during the month of siege, calling it "stolen property," and declaring that, "It is forbidden or a Muslim, Arab, or any man with a conscience to buy any of these unjustly plundered goods. Purchasing any such item is like participating in the theft of the plundered goods, and whoever does so deserves punishment for stealing his brothers' property." At auction, much of this confiscated property did not sell.

This Christmas, let people of all faiths and denominations remember and honor our Christian brothers and sisters in Palestine, past, present, and future, in their struggle against Israeli apartheid.

(This account owes much to factual information and analysis found in chapter 4 of Glenn Robinson's Building a Palestinian State, Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1997.)

Good Shepherds

You, God, are my Shepherd
I will never be in need.
You let me rest in fields of green grass
You lead me to streams of peaceful water,
And you refresh my life.

Abu Basil walks slowly, constantly mumbling to himself and to his sheep. At 70, he is the oldest man living in at-Tuwani. Within his life time, he has seen the end the British mandate over Palestine, the beginnings of Jewish immigration to his homeland, the 1964 Israeli occupation of the West Bank, and the arrival Israeli settlers in the South Hebron Hills. Throughout all of these changes, the rhythms of Abu Basil’s life have remained steady. This morning I found him grazing his sheep in a valley near the Ma’on settlement. Like every morning when I accompany him in his fields, Abu Basil shook my hand and then motioned for me to sit down on a rock. For a while we talked - not much since Abu Basil’s Arabic is nearly incomprehensible to the best Arabic speakers on our team - about Ramadan and his baby goats. While we spoke, his month-old kids baaed and trotted over towards greener thistles on the opposite hillside. Abu Basil arose from his rock and walked over to them, shouting, waving his arms, and tossing rocks in their path. Eventually the goats followed his commands and left the ungrazed hillside for the all but barren valley. Abu Basil sat in silence while he waited for his herd to finish. Then, abruptly as always, Abu Basil dismissed me with a nod, indicating that he was heading home. I stood up and gathered my bag and camera, but then Abu Basil took my hand. “I can’t go to the hill,” he told me, “because of the Israelis.”

You are true to your name
And you lead me along the right paths.
I may walk through valleys as dark as death,
But I won’t be afraid.
You are with me,
And your shepherd’s rod
Makes me feel safe

The people of at-Tuwani village have been shepherds for generations. Raising sheep and goats provides meat for the family and wool and dairy products for sale in the nearby city of Yatta. But in the 1980s, extremist Israeli settlers moved onto land belonging residents of At-Tuwani and other neighboring Palestinian communities. Now shepherding is a tricky business. Because of settlement expansion and Israeli army restrictions, shepherds like Abu Basil cannot access enough land to graze their flocks. Settlers attack Palestinian shepherds in their fields. CPTers now accompany shepherds in these dangerous areas. Most mornings I pack up my video camera and cell phone and walk out to Khourba hill. I pick a comfortable rock to sit on and chat with shepherds, as old as 70 and as young as 14, who quietly herd their folks, occasionally looking over their shoulders at Havot Ma’on settlement. Knowing full well the dangers they face, these farmers calmly call to their sheep and goats and stand their ground.

You treat me to a feast,
While my enemies watch.
You honor me as your guest,
And you fill my cup Until it overflows

In the face of violence and injustice, the shepherds of at-Tuwani still find land sufficient for their flocks. The settlements may have electricity 24 hours day and water to spare, but at-Tuwani is rooted firmly to the land it has always known. As the villages of the South Hebron Hills organize themselves to nonviolently resist the expansion of Israeli settlements, slowly they are reclaiming more and more of their land. In 2004, when Christian Peacemaker Teams was invited to accompany shepherds in at-Tuwani, the valleys and hills to the south of Havot Ma’on settlement were inaccessible. Now, thanks to their courage and determination, shepherds are able to graze in more of their land than at any time since the arrival of Israeli settlers. The quiet persistence of these shepherds gives me the hope I need to continue working here in the South Hebron Hills. Come what may, I believe the people of at-Tuwani will still be here.

Your kindness and love
Will always be with me
Each day of my life,
And I will live forever
In your house, God.

Text: Psalm 23 from the Hebrew Scriptures

Hello. My name is Joy and welcome to At-Tuwani!



This is a short video that I've put together introducing myself, Christian Peacemaker Teams, and the village of At-Tuwani, where I hope to be working. (It's my first video editing project, so be kind.)

I'll be working in Palestine with CPT full-time for the next few years. I will be returning home periodically and when I'm here, I'm always excited to speak. If you're interested in scheduling a presentation, send an email to bltreyn AT hevanet DOT com

Hope
(I was asked to talk about hope at my Quaker meeting. Here's what I said.)

Good morning. My name is Joy and I’m here to talk about hope. I’d like to start with cartoon:

At first glance, it’s easy to think that this woman is a bit of a jerk. Or maybe she’s someone whose privilege blinds her to the suffering of others. That may be true, but I think there’s an more interesting possibility. I think that this is a woman who has lost hope.

Like most people, I have a list of things that I’d rather not think about. Here's my list: global warming, the AIDS epidemic, the people who made the clothes I wear, and the Republican and Democratic nominees for president. When I think about things like this, I feel heavy. I start thinking about all of the things that I don’t do well enough, or often enough, or at all. I feel as though our problems are insurmountable. I lose hope.

But there are other situations in which I have tremendous hope. When I was asked to talk about hope, I started thinking about the differences between the situations and find depressing and the situations where I find hope. I realized the difference between hopelessness and hopefulness doesn’t lay in the situation itself. Against all odds, I feel a tremendous, deeply rooted, and thus far unshakable sense of hope for the situation in Palestine and Israel. And honestly, if there has ever been a situation that appears hopeless, it’s the Israeli military occupation of Palestine.

But I feel hope. I’ve found that the difference between hopefulness and hopelessness lays in my own willingness to become engaged. I don’t find hope by protecting myself from discouragement. The hope I feel for Palestine, has come from working in Palestine. Not from visiting or witnessing or learning, though those are all good things. For me, there is something special about working. As I have worked in Palestine, I’ve been able to see God working. God is doing some pretty amazing things. I’ve stood besides Palestinians who were willing to risk being beaten, jailed or shot to nonviolently prevent land confiscation. I’ve stood beside Israelis as they participated in Palestinian–led demonstrations. Because they were willing to face angry soldiers and because they were willing to openly call for a just peace, these Israelis were able to create real relationships with Palestinians. That’s real peacemaking. I know people who have put themselves on the line for twenty years to build a better future for their families. I’ve seen Palestinians graze sheep in places they used to be unable to walk a year ago. I’ve seen God working. And I have hope. I have the sort of hope that feels obvious, the same way that I have a faith of God that feels obvious. George Fox described his understanding of God by saying “and this I knew experimentally.” This hope I know experimentally.

It’s easy for me to give in to the temptation to preserve hope by sheltering myself from the realities that I believe will endanger it. It’s tempting to believe that easy, unthreatening answers are hopeful ones. But for me, hope flows from seeing God working in our world. That means that hope requires being willing to invite heartbreak. Experiencing the presence of God requires openness and if we are going to be open to the world, we’ll find a lot of heartbreak. And if we allow our hearts to be broken, I think we can find hope. We are blessed or cursed to be a part of a tradition that doesn’t pull at lot of punches. At our best, Quakers have been people who have been willing to take difficult, painful stands for justice, all the while being wildly hopeful.

I’d like to close with one of my favorite prayers:

May God bless us with discomfort at easy answers, half-truths, and superficial relationships, so that we will live deep in our hearts.

May God bless us with anger at injustice, oppression, and exploitation of people and the earth so that we will work for justice, equity and peace.

May God bless us with tears to shed for those who suffer so we will reach out our hands to comfort them and change their pain to joy.

And may God bless us with the foolishness to think that we can make a difference in the world, so we will do the things which others say cannot be done.

The Palestinian Stations of the Cross:
A Meditation for Christians on Good Friday

Today is Good Friday, the day that Christians, like myself, celebrate the passion of Jesus. This year, I gathered with an ecumenical group to walk and pray through the Stations of the Cross, a liturgy based on the sufferings of Jesus as he was condemned to death, humiliated, and crucified. Through the Stations of the Cross are often reduced to fourteen reasons to feel sorry for Jesus, they contain within them revolutionary potential. Jesus was commended to death because of the way that he disrupted the religious, political, and military status quo and made the wealthy and powerful deeply uncomfortable. In this way, Jesus' suffering shows us the consequences of nonviolence. (drawing by Palestinian cartoonist Naji al Ali, creator of Handala.)

As we prayed the Stations of the Cross today, we prayed for people in our own community who are suffering: veterans and victims of the war in Iraq, people without health insurance, people who are hungry and more. I was immediately inspired to offer up a meditation on the pain of Palestinians, another group of people whose suffering and nonviolent resistance should be remember by Christians today and all people every day.

And so "The Palestinian Stations of the Cross" was born. I've used the traditional Catholic stations and scripture references from the United Confederacy of Catholic Bishops. The queries, a Quaker touch, are taken from Preaching Peace and are intended to bring the reader back from the specificity of the Palestinian situation to a broader context. I feel a unfortunate need to clarify my intention. These mediations are not intended to make the claim, "The Jews killed Jesus, now look what they are doing to the Palestinians!" Quite the opposite. That claim is hate-filled and incorrect. Instead, my intention is to invite Christians to examine our complicty in occupation of Palestine. The author of Preaching Peace writes "On the Sunday of the Passion, we [Christians] all cry out as part of the crowd, “Crucify him, crucify him!” For those of us who need the Stations, it is this cry that gives us our best entrance. To do anything less is to minimize the reality of the Passion so that we might cushion its impact on us. Alongside this impact vanishes the Passion’s power to convert." I hope that this clarifies my intention.

Enjoy! Good Friday blessings to those who are celebrating today and special blessings to all people of all faiths and those of none!

A note: this is a rough draft - I'm sure that there are plenty of typos right now. Rather than wait until its perfect, I've decided to aim from punctuality instead. Thanks for your indulgence.

The Palestinian Stations of the Cross:

Station One: Jesus is Condemned

When day came the council of elders of the people met, both chief priests and scribes, and they brought him before their Sanhedrin. They said, "If you are the Messiah, tell us," but he replied to them, "If I tell you, you will not believe, and if I question, you will not respond. But from this time on the Son of Man will be seated at the right hand of the power of God." They all asked, "Are you then the Son of God?" He replied to them, "You say that I am." Then they said, "What further need have we for testimony? We have heard it from his own mouth." Luke 22: 66-71

Jesus was condemned by beloved members of his own religious community. Today, Palestinian Christians find themselves abandoned by the global Christian community. Today, Bethlehem lies behind a 25ft high cement Wall, erected by the Israeli army. Christians pilgrims who used to visit Bethlehem now leave it off of their itinerary and leave their Christian family suffer. Other Christians offer political support to Israel to the exclusion of friendship with Palestine.

Queries: How many times do I have the knowledge and the power to say no, and stay silent? How many times do I participate, by my silence, in the Passion of Jesus? Who will die because I do not say no?

Station Two: Jesus Takes Up His Cross

When the chief priests and the guards saw [Jesus] they cried out, "Crucify him, crucify him!" Pilate said to them, "Take him yourselves and crucify him. I find no guilt in him." ... They cried out, "Take him away, take him away! Crucify him!" Pilate said to them, "Shall I crucify your king?" The chief priests answered, "We have no king but Caesar." Then he handed him over to them to be crucified. So they took Jesus, and carrying the cross himself he went out to what is called the Place of the Skull, in Hebrew, Golgotha. John 19: 6, 15-17

For 40 years, Palestinians have born the cross of military occupation. Palestinians have lost their land, their homes, their olive trees, their cultural traditions and their lives. Throughout these 40 years, Americans of all religious faiths, but especially Christian Zionists, have offered their support to the Israeli military occupation of Palestine. Because the unconditional support our government offers the state of Israel, all Americans are complicit in the suffering of the Palestinian people.

Queries: When have I said, “Well, he certainly deserved that!” or “It’s only fair. Look at what she did!”? When have I failed to forgive as I have been forgiven? When have I laid more weight on your blessed shoulders?

Station Three: Jesus falls the first time
(Traditional)

Palestinians bear the cross of land confiscation. 329 thousand Palestinians are separated from their land by an Israeli erected "security" wall which runs mainly inside the West Bank. This wall has been built in violation of international law and causes daily hardship to Palestinians. But in villages like Bi'ln, Marda, and at-Tuwani, Palestinians are using nonviolence to struggle for their rights.

How many times, Lord, have I sacrificed my “I” as I took satisfaction or pleasure in the fall of another? How many lynchings have I started with my laughter?

Station Four: Jesus meets his mother

Standing by the cross of Jesus were his mother and his mother's sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary of Magdala. When Jesus saw his mother 11 and the disciple there whom he loved, he said to his mother, "Woman, behold, your son." Then he said to the disciple, "Behold, your mother." And from that hour the disciple took her into his home. John 19:25-27

Palestinian mothers bear a special cross under occupation. Like Mary, they are faced with the reality that they cannot ensure their children's safety. In addition to all of the responsibility mothers all over the world bear, Palestinian mothers must worry as their children pass through dangerous areas on their way to school, as safe play areas are demolished or blocked off by the path of the Apartheid Wall, and as children cope with trauma and post-traumatic stress disorder. As more and more Palestinian men lose their jobs to ever-skyrocketing unemployment, Palestinian women have also stepped in to provide of their families through alternative income generation projects. To be a mother under military occupation is a feat nothing short of miraculous.

Queries: How many times, Lord, have we watched another suffer, but from a safe distance? How many times have you looked out through the eyes of another for comfort, but were unable to find it?

Station Five: Simon helps to carry Jesus' cross

They pressed into service a passer-by, Simon, a Cyrenian, who was coming in from the country, the father of Alexander and Rufus, to carry his cross. Mark 15: 21

Palestinians bear the cross of home demolitions. To date, thousands Palestinian homes have been demolished. The majority of these homes were demolished only because the Palestinians who owned them were unable to obtain permits from the Israeli authorities. Thankfully, many people have stepped into bear this cross like Simon, including Rabbis for Human Rights and the Israeli Campaign Against Home Demolition. We praise God for their willingness to stand beside Palestinians through advocacy, rebuilding, and nonviolent direct action.

Queries: How many others have we called on to do our violence for us? How many soldiers pulled triggers because we could not? How many executioners pushed buttons for us?

Station Six: Veronica wipes the face of Jesus
(Traditional)

The story of Veronica wiping the face of Jesus is a story of humanity reveled. Palestinians bear the cross of denied humanity. Today, the international press castigates all Arabs, but especially Palestinians, as terrorists. An accurate reporting of Palestinian political concerns and demands is difficult to find, but images of the humanity of Palestinians - of children going to school, of parents going to work, of Christians and Muslims worshiping God - are ignored. Furthermore, the military occupation of Palestine itself denies the humanity of Palestinian by subjecting them to humiliating searches and delays at checkpoints and by making daily life impossibility difficult.

But like Veronica, many Israelis, Palestinians, and internationals are working to revel the humanity of Palestinians. Organizations like Tayuush, Checkpoint Watch, Christian Peacemaker Teams, and International Women's Peace Service witness and document human rights violations in the West Bank and intervene nonviolently. In doing so, they wipe the face of God and revel Palestinian humanity to the world.

Queries: How many times have we missed your humanity, Jesus? How many times has it been easier to deal with your suffering because we left your face marred beyond recognition? Do we have it in us to see your face?

Station Seven: Jesus falls a second time
(Traditional)

Palestinians bear the cross of violence at the hands of Israeli settlers. In the city of Hebron and in villages like at-Tuwani, Israeli extremists harass Palestinians, sometimes shooting or shooting adults and children. These settlers do not represent mainstream Israeli opinion and illegally occupy West Bank land that once belonged to Palestinians.

Queries: How many times have we added our voices to the mob’s, kicked someone when she was down? It isn’t that it’s easier for us to attack someone who’s weakened, it isn’t easier; it is necessary. We need you to fall, so that we can see you as different, as disappointing, as worthy of our hatred.

Station Eight: Jesus meets the women of Jerusalem

A large crowd of people followed Jesus, including many women who mourned and lamented him. Jesus turned to them and said, "Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for me; weep instead for yourselves and for your children, for indeed, the days are coming when people will say, ‘Blessed are the barren, the wombs that never bore and the breasts that never nursed.' At that time, people will say to the mountains, ‘Fall upon us!' and to the hills, ‘Cover us!' for if these things are done when the wood is green what will happen when it is dry?" Luke 23: 27-31

All women living in Jerusalem bear the cross of division. Palestinian women must negotiate the realities of living in a national limbo. As Jerusalemites, they are not treated as citizens of Israel, but neither to they hold West Bank or Gaza ID cards. They must have home demolitions, substandard social services, unfair tax burdens, and harassment at the hands of Israeli police and other power holders. Israeli women living in Jerusalem must bear the burden of a national policy of violence, colonization, and injustice. Many live in fear of suicide bombing and all suffer from a national budget which priorities military power over human needs. But we can thank God that some Israelis and Palestinians are choosing to work together to end the occupation. The brave example of organizations like Women in Black shines for all of us.

Queries: How many times have we contemplated your Passion, Lord, and wanted to cry for you? How many times have we wanted to weep because of your pain, and not because we caused it? How often have we blinded ourselves to our complicity in violence by feeling sorry for the victims?

Station Nine: Jesus falls a third time
(Traditional)

Palestinians bear the cross of movement restrictions. As they travel through the West Bank, Palestinians are blocked by more than 500 different road blocks, checkpoints, gates and other barriers. These restrictions prevent economic development and keep Palestinians from going about their normal lives.

Queries: How many times have we seen another’s weakness as an opportunity to shape them, to change them into what we want them to be? How many times do we take advantage of the fact that you are too weak to resist, Jesus, and fasten you to the Cross?

Station Ten: Jesus is stripped before the crowd

When the soldiers had crucified Jesus, they took his clothes and divided them into four shares, a share for each soldier. They also took his tunic, but the tunic was seamless, woven in one piece from the top down. John 19:23

Palestinians bear the cross of humiliation. Like Jesus, Palestinians, especially women, are regularly subjected to strip searches and sexualized harassment as they enter or exist the Palestinian territories or at checkpoints within their homeland, as they travel from their homes to their schools or markets.

Queries: How many times have we branded someone with a scarlet letter? Drunk, convict, weakling? How many times have we labeled our brother or sister, so as to set them apart, reduced them to nothing by using shame?

Station Eleven: Jesus is hung on the cross

When they came to the place called the Skull, they crucified him and the criminals there, one on his right, the other on his left. [Then Jesus said, "Father, forgive them, they know not what they do."] Luke 23: 33-34

Like Jesus, Palestinians also face torture. According to human rights lawyers with Addameer, Palestinians who are arrested by Israeli authorities face mistreatment ranging from beatings, to being force prisoners to sit on a tiny chair with hands and feet tied, sleep deprivations, and violent shaking, to psychological games and humiliation. As the majority of Palestinian men spend time in Israeli prisons, this torture is a national scar that touches every Palestinian community.

Queries: Mute with horror, we stumble to our homes, as though the earth were moving under our feet. The ground itself seems unsteady as we contemplate a world without violence. On what will we stand?

Station Twelve: Jesus dies on the cross

It was now about noon and darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon because of an eclipse of the sun. Then the veil of the temple was torn down the middle. Jesus cried out in a loud voice, "Father, into your hands I commend my spirit"; and when he had said this he breathed his last. Luke 23: 44-46

At least 1,021 Israelis and 4,070 Palestinians have been killed since September 29, 2000. We must morn all deaths caused by the conflict and occupation. Equally importantly, we must examine the ways in which we are complicit in these deaths and begin to work for justice and peace.

Queries: How often, O Lord, have we fled our own horror, left the care of the dead and the dying to others? How many times have we let our fear of the power of death drive us into hiding?

Find God in the Darkness
Based on a sermon given at West Hills Friends, Portland Oregon

Lately, I've realized that very few people actually understand what
people like me are doing working in Palestine. Certainly there are
many people who've never heard of organizations like Christian
Peacemaker Teams or the International Solidarity Movement, but that's
not what worries me. It's the way our friends and supporters and
often the way we ourselves describe our work that's begun to disturb
me. Often people like me who work supporting Palestinian nonviolent
resistance are described as "active peacemakers" or "people standing
in the way of violence." They say that we're "standing in solidarity
with the oppressed" or "shining God's light in the darkness" or, my
personal favorite, "trying to save the world."

I suppose all of that is true, to some degree, and I find it deeply
flattering. But I think these descriptions are also very convenient.
They make the work we do seem difficult and that in turn allows people
to react to it in one of two ways: first, these descriptions makes it
very easy for the listener to say, "why, I could never do something
like that." Secondly, and this is what concerns me more, these
descriptions make our work seem very important and even gallant. They
create a dangerous potential for nobility and self-righteousness.
They also shield us from the questions that the Israeli military
occupation of Palestine poses and make it easier for us to avoid
questioning ourselves. They also prevent us from fully confronting
the despair always present in situations of oppression.

So, let me tell you what we, the people who serve in organizations
like Christian Peacemaker Teams, really do. I think that you'll find
in the reality is less gallant and more humble that we might wish for.

We let Palestinians feed us. We accept gifts from people who cannot
afford to give them. We meet people and try not to mispronounce their
names. We explain to many people that we don't know President Bush
personally, but we'll tell everyone we do know their story. Most
importantly of all, we act in a way that allows people to preserve
their dignity.

We participate in the daily realities of the oppressed – in this case
the Palestinians – as much as outsiders of varying degrees of
privilege ever can. Sometimes we stand in line at checkpoints for
hours. We try to convince soldiers to let people go home or to the
grocery store. We sweat. We grumble (at least I do). We look for
that of God in other people.

We spend money in places that no one else goes. We smile at people
whose lives are hellish. We play soccer with children.

We are a presence. We care. And it's hard to know if we're doing a
lot of good, but we find it difficult to stop or to do anything else.

Over this summer, I set aside time to study Arabic so that my work in
Palestine might be more effective and more respectful. On a typical
day, I might have found myself traveling to Jerusalem on an errand.
I'd probably be in a bit of a hurry, but I'd visit my friend Mahjadee who
owns a dying tourist shop on Manger Street. Talking would turn to
drinking coffee, which would turn into an Arabic lesson and buying a
present from my mom. An hour later, I might finally leave Bethlehem
for Jerusalem. I'd try my best to act human-ly to the Israeli
soldiers who check my ID at the checkpoint, though I'm not sure how
one does that when a glass window and a wall of silence separates us.
I'd run my errands in Jerusalem and then I might buy prayer beads for
my friend Marwan, who always smiled sadly whenever I told him I was
going to Jerusalem. I'd find a shop and choose a piece of Jerusalem
to bring back to Marwan, who hasn't been able to travel to his holy
city, only 5 miles from his home in Bethlehem, for 12 years. I'd let
the shop owner rip me off, to the degree I could afford. Then I'd get
back on the bus, show my ID again at the checkpoint and go home to my
host family. What did I accomplish? I'm still not sure.

Or maybe, on a day I was feeling strong and resilient, I might visit
my friend who has the misfortunate to work next to a holy site for
Christians, Muslims, and Jews: Rachel Tomb. Because of its proximity
to the tomb of Rachel, Jacob's wife, the Israeli army has surrounded
his shop with the 25ft high cement Annexation Wall. The Wall snakes
inside Bethlehem to swallow up the tiny shop and all of his business
with it. His shop is dying now and when I would come to visit he
would tell me his problems and cry because the situation had stripped
him of everything and is now chipping away at his last possession: his
dignity. I would drink tea, say hello, and try to make him let me pay
my bill. All I could do was let him know that I knew he was there and
give him a few more shekels to scrape together to feed his family.

Sometimes, usually even, our work seems more direct. Christian
Peacemaker Teams volunteers accompany children on their way to school.
CPTers stand in the way when settlers throw rocks at them. We try
to find ways to support the Palestinian-led nonviolent resistance
movement. We sometimes serve as a bridge between Israeli and
Palestinians activists and we attend demonstrations against the
Israeli Annexation Wall. On what might be called an "exciting" day
(and those are the days one learns to fear) international activists
might grab or pile on top of Palestinian activists to un-arrest them.
When we are successful, we know we've helped to make sure a mother or
father or beloved child will go home safely, instead of off to spend
years in an Israeli jail. Like all activists, we have many projects:
we create documentaries, reports, and activist resources. We write
letters, paint signs, and work very hard. Always, we are writing
about what we see. We're always trying to say whatever we need to say
to help our friends understand what is happening, to make them care,
and insight to them to do something.

In my experience, these simple actions are what comprise the reality
of what we are doing when we work in solidarity with Palestinians. I
think, though, that in all of this, while we may want desperately to
believe we are changing the world, and I still have faith that we are,
we are also looking for God in the dark places. We may like to think
of ourselves as peacemakers Jesus called blessed, but we have also
become blessed because we are poor in spirit and blessed because we
mourn.

When I returned to Palestine this summer, my prayer was that I would
see God in the soldiers and Israeli officials I came in contact with.
As I stepped off the plane and tried to steady my nerves for the trip
through Israeli security, my prayers were immediately answered. The
girl behind the glass was about my age and pretty. It was easy to see
God in her. I didn't expect to continue to see God in the eyes of
Israeli soldiers, but I did. And the truth is, I still don't know
what to do with the piece of God I saw so clearly in those young
soldiers. Would Jesus carry a gun? I still don't think so. But I
saw him doing just that.

What do we do with experiences like this? It's hard to see clearly in
the dark. But sometimes it is in the dark that I am finally able to
see God.