Beyond Occupation and Terror - Part 2

This is the second part of a travelogue of my recent experience traveling to Israel/Palestine as part of an Christian-Jewish seminarian interfaith group; read the first part here.

Day 3: Our group traveled up to the Golan Heights, led by Yisrael Ne’eman, a historian and political analyst who specializes in Israeli security issues. Mr. Ne’eman immigrated to Israel in the 1970s and served in the Israeli Defense Forces (IDF) as a combat medic for over 20 years along the Lebanese and Golan borders, and co-founded Mideast On Target, an analysis group with a focus on Zionist interests and Israeli security. 

As our minibus wound its way up the narrow passes of the Golan through a dense morning fog, Mr. Ne’eman laid out several centuries of Mideast history and the influence of colonial powers on the formation of not only conflict but also of national and ethnic identity. He focused specifically on the British Empire’s shifting allegiances between various Arab nations and the emerging state of Israel in the 20th century. We walked in the fog through part of the Israeli-controlled Golan, as Mr. Ne’eman pointed out Israeli bunkers, barbed wire and warning signs for live mines in the fields. 

The Golan Heights became a flashpoint in the Six-Day War of 1967, when Israeli forces captured the territory from Syria; Israel’s current occupation and construction of settlements in the Syrian Golan has effectively annexed it to Israel, despite the action being condemned by the U.N. Security Council and much of the international community. It was challenging for me to hear about control of the Golan strictly in terms of Israeli security, given that the occupation of the Golan also provides Israel with extensive land use and essential water access (Israel gets one-third of its water from the region); still, Mr. Ne’eman provided a fairly sober and balanced perspective on the need for peace and security for both Israel and Syria. On a spiritual level that lonely escarpment, blanketed in mist, made me so mournful for all of the lives lost, both Israeli and Syrian, in the Six-Day and Yom Kippur wars; it is astounding that so much bloodshed and conflict occured on such a small sliver of land. Unfortunately, we never had the opportunity to process this experience as a group, as our packed itinerary kept us moving on to our next destination…

Before we arrived in Jerusalem we stopped at Ma’aleh Gilboa, a religious kibbutz on Mount Gilboa; there we met with with Rabbi Yossi Slotnick of Yeshivat Ma’aleh Gilboa, a program that allows young Israelis to do Torah study in place of part of their total military service. The rabbi spoke earnestly about the challenge of Israeli Jews and Arabs living together cooperatively; while he said that he hoped for such a possibility, he had little to offer in the way of hope towards a solution. This meeting was very brief and very disappointing for some; the discussion aroused by this encounter would end up lasting for several days. Central to this discussion was the idea of loving one’s neighbor — namely, who do we understand as our neighbor? I’ll state here as a disclaimer that I had to evesdrop on much of the initial discussion on the bus while trying to hold a laptop on my knees and write a post for Auburn’s blog, so my impressions might be a bit piecemeal.

One of the students, a Baptist, expressed deep disappointment that a religious leader and teacher did not offer a more affirmative vision for love between Jewish and Arab neighbors; her understanding of the Samaritan parable in Luke was that Jesus taught a universal conception of human community. However, for many of the Jewish students the meaning of neighbor and community was both less clear and more particular; one of the Orthodox students agreed with Rabbi Slotnick that while Jewish ethics and morality might dictate a loving attitude towards other “nations”, there is very little scriptural evidence to support the importance of loving one’s non-Jewish neighbors.

Personally, I was also discouraged by Rabbi Slotnick’s resignation, even as I appreciated his honesty; I had hoped that the words of Exodus 23:9 would be a call to action for progressive religious leaders in Israel: “You shall not oppress a stranger; you know the heart of a stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.” However, is there a difference between “love” and “do not oppress”? What exactly do we, as Christians and Jews, want — or expect — from a resolution to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict? Do we want only peaceful but separate coexistence, or do we want indiscriminate integration of Israeli Arabs and Jews? This debate was, for us, about more than a single- or two-state solution; it reached the heart of our ideals about the nature of human community and the meaning of peace on earth.

As we approached Jerusalem, we passed the Dead Sea and had our first glimpse of a West Bank settlement; on our left, high up on a ridge the Ma’alei Adumim settlement loomed. We arrived at our hostel and immediately prepared for Shabbat.  Jewish students were playing host for Shabbat in Jerusalem, and Christians split off to join various services and dinners.  Two of us Christians ended up vying for the same Orthodox Shabbat experience, and it came down to a coin toss. With the flip of a sheckel, I had scored the privelege of joining one of the Orthodox students to services at the progressive Yakar shul; more notably, I had the honor of Shabbat dinner at the home of Dr. Avivah Zornberg, an internationally-recognized Torah scholar. Huzzah! 

Yakar is an unimposing Orthodox shul with two floors and two services for Shabbat. On the ground floor, where we were, was a sober gathering with deeply reverent davening (men at the front of the room and women in the back, separated by a screen), while the second floor was a raucus group of young twentysomethings erupting in ecstatic worship; during our silent prayer, we could hear the shouting and stomping of feet above us. I followed along with the prayer as best I could (i.e. not well) with my one year of Biblical Hebrew, and joined in the sung parts where I was able. The service itself was beautiful beyond words. Afterwards we joined Dr. Zornberg at her home for dinner, and more of my assumptions about Israeli Jewish Orthodoxy were challenged. Dr. Zornberg comes from a generational line of Orthodox rabbis, and is herself devoutly Orthodox; she also happens to be a feminist and an independently-minded scholar who incorporates psychology into Torah study. She is also a warm, attentive listener who radiates intellectual curiosity and genuine compassion. In short, she defies the characterization of Orthodoxy in Israel as being only the traditional, insular haredim — the ultra-Orthodox. As this trip was unfolding, I continued to be grateful for the interruptions, challenges, and reversals of my preconcieved notions and prejudices about Israel — and, as you’ll see soon, about Palestine.

Next post: days 4 and 5 — the Old City, the Church of the Holy Sepulchure and Palestinian perspectives on the conflict!