From Jeremiah 6:16 “Thus says the Lord: “Stand by at the crossroads and look, and ask for the ancient paths, where the good way lies; and walk in it, and find rest for your souls.”
Throughout my journey in Israel and Palestine, a simple children’s song continually ran through my mind. “Father Abraham had many sons, and many sons had Father Abraham. I am one of them, and so are you. So let’s just praise the Lord.” From the time I sang this in VBS, I never questioned God’s care and concern for all of his creation, regardless of race or religion. I’ve never had this belief challenged as strongly as it was in Israel, particularly in Hebron while visiting al-Ibrahimi Mosque.
This 1,000-year-old Mosque enshrines the tombs of Abraham and Sarah, Isaac, Jacob, and their wives. In 1967, Israel captured the Mosque and has since converted part of it to a Jewish Synagogue and restricted Palestinian access.
At an Israeli checkpoint near the Mosque, I watched as a mother struggled to get her children and their groceries through the small revolving gate. After taking my turn, I looked up to see an automatic rifle pointed directly at my face by a young Israeli soldier, his finger hovering over the trigger. Once the moment of sheer terror passed and my heart calmed, I looked for the teenagers in our group, so I could be with them as they, too, received this “warm welcome” into Israel.
We attempted a moment of silent prayer in the Mosque but were stopped. “You know we cannot do this here,” the Israeli guard told Jiries. “Maybe in America, but not here.” There we stood—Christians, Muslims, Jews—all of us pointing back to Father Abraham. Yet, even on this most unifying ground, we still fight and push each other away. We journey to holy ancient shrines built of dead stones but reject the living stones God places in our path. Religion and its customs should route us to a way of life that allows humanity to see God. It should not become a barrier among his creation.
Returning through the narrow Hebron streets, we came upon Israeli settlers touring the Old City. Because of the violence, settlers are especially heavily guarded here. The soldiers stopped and formed a barrier around them. The tension in the air nearly smothered me. I was terrified as I slid past a hard-faced soldier, careful not to bump his hand on the trigger. Over his shoulder I caught the eye of a young woman about my age. I wondered if she—like so many Hebron settlers—had moved here from America. I quickly averted my glance, but not before I noticed the terror in her eyes. She was just as afraid as I was.
When we allow the Confuser’s fear to control our hearts and minds, we forget who we are in relation to each other. Instead of a tender reception at the gate, the stranger receives a hostile welcome. Where the handshake of peace should be between two brothers, a rifle stands in its place. Where two sisters should share an embrace, they instead have an armed soldier between them.
Too often we use scripture as a divisive tool to defend these barriers that exist between us. We lift certain verses, ignoring their context. When we look at the full narrative of the Old Testament concerning the Israelites, we see what was God accomplishing by calling the Israelites by his name, why God would establish people in a land. They were chosen to do something, to be something special—to demonstrate God’s eternal kingdom on Earth, to express and to mirror virtues of his own character. What I witnessed of the state of Israel is clearly not a demonstration of God’s kingdom.
When people become the target of racism and violence as the Jewish people were in the Nazi Holocaust, it’s understandable that they seek to create security for themselves, but we cannot allow our world to be ruled by fear. We must move forward by remembering who we were before the fear animated our actions, before our relationship was broken.
As Melkite Christian Abuna Elias Chacour said, “We Jews and Palestinians do not need to learn how to live together, we need just to remember how we used to live together for centuries and centuries—all of our ancestors who were living together, who were sharing things together.”
We stand at a crossroads. We have an obligation to the Jewish people who desperately need security of place in this world, to the Palestinians who, as Abuna Chacour said, “were forced to become the Jews of the Jews,” and to the next group who will take their place. Through forgiveness and reconciliation, we must break this cycle of fear and violence before it is passed on again. We must look for the ancient paths, where the good way is—letting go of our fear, our pride, and our sense of entitlement in order to remember who we are and what our purpose is. And if we walk in it, we will find rest for our weary souls.
Fear not, God says. For behold, I created you all in our image. Love one another as I have loved you.
Return to God 