Interfaith dialogue in "No-Man's Land"

On Sunday evening, I went to a meeting of the "Circle of Light and Hope," an interfaith dialogue group that is part of the Interfaith Encounter Association, an organization "dedicated to promoting peace in the Middle East through interfaith dialogue and cross-cultural study." I was put in touch with Bob, a rabbi who was one of the chairs of the group, through the Elijah Interfaith Institute, my primary point of contact for the interfaith connections I made while on this trip. 

Bob is an American rabbi from Ohio who had moved to Israel in the early part of the 21st century, just before the second intifada. He has a fondness for geology, and this interfaith group of Israeli Jews and Arab Muslims spawned out of his friendship with Taleb, an Arab Muslim man who was also a geologist. (After buying a sampler of geological specimens from the Holy Land from Taleb at the meeting that night, saying I would give it to my husband since he loves rocks, Bob invited me to come up to his apartment after the meeting to "see my rocks," showing off several lighted cases of geologic specimens from around the world.)

As we corresponded about meeting logistics beforehand, Bob told me that the group's discussion topic for that night would be "Jesus: What each religion teaches about him, and what each religion believes about a Messiah." He swore to me that they did not pick this topic because an American Christian seminary student would be with them, but that Taleb had suggested it at their last meeting before they even knew I'd be coming. But he did ask me to speak on this topic "from a Christian perspective," since he said it was often difficult to find Christians to participate in their interfaith dialogue group. This was fascinating to me given the over-population of Christians in most interfaith groups in the U.S., but again I was reminded of the very different demographics of this land -- Christians are not the dominant majority here the way they are in the U.S.

On Sunday afternoon I walked to Bob's apartment in Jerusalem to meet up with the group that was going to the meeting. We piled into a car with three other Israeli Jews and headed off to a restaurant just past the border between Israel and the West Bank. Bob explained to me that the group had chosen this particular spot to meet since it was in a sort of "no-man's land" between Israel and the West Bank -- it was an area to which both Israeli citizens and Palestinians could travel freely. Since Israeli citizens are not allowed in the Palestinian territories and Palestinians are not allowed into Jerusalem without a serious vetting process and a permit, this was a compromise zone where all parties would be able to meet together. I thought of Ghassan Manasra in Nazareth and the physical danger that interfaith work had brought to him and his family, and the military metaphor of an interfaith dialogue in "no-man's land" seemed rather appropriate.

As we drove down the highway toward our destination, my Israeli hosts pointed out various landmarks to me -- there's such-and-such monastery, there's so-and-so church. As we got further outside of Jerusalem, I noticed what appeared to be a large sound barrier wall beside the interstate. 

"Is that 'The Wall?'" I asked, referring to the infamous separation barrier between Israel and the West Bank. 

"Um... hmm... no, I don't think so," was the consensus from my Israeli travel mates. "No, that's not it. You'll see it when we get to the restaurant, you can see it from there."

As we drove up to the restaurant area, we passed a turn-off for a road into Beit Jala, an area in the West Bank. "You see that road there?" Bob asked. "That goes to Beit Jala and the West Bank. We're not allowed to go down that road."

"Yeah, but I was in Bethlehem the other day," a Jewish Israeli woman with a strong New York accent piped up from the back seat. "I was with some people and we went to the church. I know we're not supposed to be there, but I went anyway. They can't stop me from going there."

We pulled in to the restaurant parking lot and a minor quarrel ensued as all of my travel mates argued amongst themselves as to where "The Wall" was, trying to find a place where it was visible to point it out to me. "It's over there!" "No, it's right here!" "No, that's it... you can see it there." "No, that's not it." Finally it was determined that it was actually about 600 feet from where we stood. "Oh, there it is" -- right above our heads.

We walked in to the restaurant and found our Palestinian dialogue partners already seated and waiting for us. I was introduced around, and a few other people who hadn't been to the group before were introduced, including a young Palestinian college student who was studying in Jerusalem. As we talked, Taleb, the other co-chair, translated what we were saying into Arabic for the few Palestinian folks who did not speak English.

After our dialogue, we heard a brief presentation from a young Jewish Israeli man who was working with young adults in Jerusalem on a project called "Oil for Peace," which was about bringing "Jews and Arabs, both religious and secular" together to cultivate olive oil. (The organization has a website at www.oil4peace.org, but unfortunately for me and my English-speaking readers, seems to be only in Hebrew at the moment.)

At the end of the day, we drove back toward Jerusalem and encountered an amazingly beautiful sunset over the mountainous landscape of the West Bank. I pulled out my camera and took pictures, to the "oohs" and "aahs" of my fellow travelers, and stern instructions for me to send them a copy of these pictures!!! 

As we re-entered the Jerusalem area, we came to a checkpoint on the road, where several soldiers were pacing about and checking cars on their way through. A car a few spaces in front of us was being searched thoroughly; the soldiers opening the trunk and sifting through the stuff inside. I started to fumble for my passport in my bag, to be ready and prepared. 

"So, are these Israeli soldiers or Palestinian soldiers?" I asked naively.

"Oh, they're Israeli, of course," Bob replied. "All soldiers at the checkpoints are Israeli."

I pondered this for a minute, feeling somewhat confused that the Palestinians would not be involved in patrolling the borders of their own land, if this land was indeed the "Palestinian territories."

Finally it was our turn. We drove up and Bob rolled down the window on my (passenger) side and waved at the guard who approached our window. "Shalom!" he said cheerfully, and the soldier waved us on through. No asking to see ID, no searching the car, nothing. I awkwardly shoved my passport back into my bag. 

Bob had mentioned to me in an email as we were coordinating our trip that he is also a soldier in the anti-terror unit of the Israeli Defense Forces (IDF). Perhaps these guards knew him? I was surprised by the ease with which we passed, compared to the cars in front of us. Was it our Israeli license tags? I couldn't make heads or tails of any of it.

After we got back to Jerusalem and Bob showed me his rocks, he called me a cab and walked downstairs to wait for it with me. As we stood there, I started to ask him about his experience in Israel, how long he'd lived here, etc. Given that he was a solider with the IDF, I was curious as to his perspective on the murmurings in the news about the recognition of a Palestinian state by the U.N. in September. (I had arrived in Israel on the same day that Obama made his speech about the Middle East advocating for the creation of a Palestinian state.)

"So what do you think will happen in September?" I asked him.

"Bah," he said, shrugging it off with a rather indifferent look. "Nothing will happen. Nothing will really change."

"Do you think it will start another wave of violence, maybe a third intifada?" I asked.

"Eh," he said, again sounding nonchalant. "Maybe. I hope not. Who knows what will happen." 

He got quiet for a minute, then volunteered without any prompting, "People can say whatever they want about the Wall. But you have to understand where it's coming from. A bunch of extremists had holed up in Beit Jala -- that neighborhood we drove by today on the way to our meeting -- and they were shooting at us. Most of the people over there are really wonderful people, like the folks we met with tonight. The problem is when these extremists come in and start creating violence. You can say whatever you want about the Wall. But what else were we going to do? They were shooting at us."

I found myself wishing I had a lot more time to talk with Bob and to meet other Israeli soldiers to get their perspective on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. I had a feeling, as with the military in my own country, that they were a more diverse and complex group than anti-war activists often made them out to be. But perhaps that's for another trip.