Tawjihi!! And Beyond

Today is an important day in Palestine. Every year all the graduating secondary school students take a standardized national Test, the Tawjihi. This is huge. The score determines their future. Whether they get into University, and which University. Or not.

Today the scores were made known. The scores are read on the radio - everyone listens, family and friends. It's a national event. All day we heard car horns of those celebrating their sister, son, niece, nephew who did well. Those who didn't do well had a much more somber occasion. Now, as I write this, a young man sits next to me looking at all the scores published in the newspaper. His sister took the test; she did well and should get into one of the good universities.

Education is terribly, terribly important here. It is a source of great pride and honor and families do all they can to provide the best for their kids. The young man next to me is the oldest brother and much of his salary goes for his sister's education while he defers his.

There are more universities here than you might think, all rather good as far as I can tell.

I think maybe this emphasis on education here has two sources. One is historical and racial/cultural. Going back hundreds of years, when Europe was in the Dark Ages and practically living in caves, the Arab world was rediscovering the Classics and making new knowledge of their own that we still depend on today. I think this tradition is held in great esteem here and carried on.

But I wonder if a second reason is that a good education gives young people here at least some promise. There isn't much promise here and even with all the education in the world, if things don't change, it might come to naught. I have ridden with plenty of cab drivers with college educations who just can't get work. With others who have no work at all, and only their diploma at home to attest to what they tried to make of their lives.

The plight of young people here can tear at your heart. Like young people everywhere, they're full of energy and hope. Like everywhere, the young men are riding the wave of the testosterone surge, spending alot of time and energy on their hair, clothes, and being tough and cool. The young women are learning to be poised and counting on a good marriage and children.

Everything here is about the family. There is simply no comprehension of a place, like the US, where so many people choose to be unmarried and choose not to have children. People here see this as a sign of the decay of the society.

The coming together of male and female here is much, much different from the west. Save in only a few places, like Ramallah, there really is no dating as we know it in the West. A young man and woman may have time to talk, always when others are present, to get to know each other a little, find out whether there is some kind of attraction and commonality. But as far as I can tell there is not the sort of "romantic love" that we in the west think is necessary. Nor is there the emphasis on "relationship" that we have been so Oprah-ized and Dr. Phil'd about in recent years. I might be wrong but it seems to me marriage here is mostly about raising children.

I hope these kids who got their scores today, whether celebrating tonight or not, will in fact have that future of hope and promise. I believe they can if we can give it to them. If we can leave ourselves and our greeds behind for long enough to make a new way for them. Inshallah.

Homage

They were my first really good friends here. The kinds of friends you tell your secrets to.

It's been a week now since they returned to Germany. They'd been here several years and it was time for them to return to their home in Germany to begin a new journey in their lives and ministries. It's not the same without them. In some ways, the ministry is not the same. I look at the darkened windows of their flat and hear the echoes and miss them.

Since they probably don't want their names splattered all over the internet I will call them by their initials "J" and "J". They're two of the most talented people I ever knew. Musician, artist, reporter, writer and poet, iconographer, executive skills, linguists. But that's the work they do. I know them mostly as friends and companions on this strange journey.

Since being here, I've come to imagine Jesus' disciples in such different ways from before. I always thought of them in reference to Jesus, their relationship to him. But J and J have helped me to imagine and understand how the disciples might have related to each other, as well. It's tough to try and follow a path that is almost impossibly difficult, and in J and J I found fellow disciples who made the hard times so much more bearable. We talked alot and shared experiences and reactions to experiences. We prayed together - some of the times I remember best are the Evening Prayers at the Cathedral. The quiet and solitude. Sometimes the tears as we remembered some of the things that happen here and stories of people we love here.

They were my first role models as missioners and one of their great gifts to me was the importance of learning the native language. They are both unusually gifted in languages and watching them speak Arabic so beautifully but more, watching the way people here appreciate that, made me know my intention to learn is well-founded.

We went to Gaza alot together. I think it was this that made us closest. Being there in that place listening to the sad, hard stories of friends there brought us common ground that we could build on. We traveled other places, too. Times on the road and waiting at checkpoints to be able to really talk. There isn't alot of time or room here for superficialities or shallow blah blah. We got to know each other in those times.

We plan to get together in Germany in a few months. And I know they will be back here. And I know we will stay in touch and nurture our friendship. But it will always be these first days in Jerusalem, Zababdeh, Haifa, and Gaza, and almost Kufr Yasif (a private joke!) when we came to know each other that I will cherish most.

When they settle in Germany and get the computer unpacked and hooked up, they will read this. So, J and J....

Shukran ktiir. Allah ma'kum.

King of the Road

The world regularly turns upside down when you're on mission.

I'm teaching this summer at a nursing school in the West Bank. The administration of the school gave me a car to use during the course, which is a tremendous luxury and takes about an hour off the travel time I would have using public transportation. But I felt guilty about having such a luxury, so I decided to share it by giving rides to the people who frequently are walking in the West Bank.

So now after passing the checkpoint, I look for hitchhikers.

Until now, I've never, ever, not once picked up a hitchhiker. You know, dangerous.....you never know who...blah blah blah. But here, it's just folks who don't have cars. I've had some wonderful experiences. An old man I've picked up 2-3 times (elderly men are known here as "hajj" in tribute to the likelihood they might have made the Hajj to Mecca at some time. Women are "hajje") who talks a blue streak. A young boy of 16 on summer break. A family of mom, dad, and two small children. It's been a wonderful chance for me to spend some time with people I might not otherwise encounter. We speak Arabic - they're thrilled when I can maintain at least a simple conversation - and they always, without fail, invite me in for tea or coffee. It's been a real treat for me and I'm grateful for this car and the chance it gives me to encounter life here in a different way.

I wonder what makes us do these things when we're on mission? Where does this come from??!!

A retired American priest who's been here for at least 20 years was recently leaving for the States for awhile and wasn't looking forward to it. Too easy and comfortable. He was explaining all this and looked at me and said with a smile and twinkle in his eye, "Some of us like danger."

I've thought about that and I think he's right. But I don't think it's that kind of danger. I don't think it's just that we're adrenaline junkies. I think it's the danger of stepping into new experiences and daring to forego comfort, convenience, and the familiar. The danger of wondering what's on the other side of what we think we know. To become friendly with what's alien. To allow yourself to discover that the people you thought were violent and dangerous are in fact gentle, generous, and funny. And the people you thought were meek, humble, and peaceful in fact have a monstrous streak in them. To look at yourself being scared and grumpy when you're cold and tired and don't understand anything anybody is saying. And to see yourself, also, waiting at the checkpoint, when you have a choice, with those who don't.

In the Gospels, Jesus calls his disciples and they just go. I used to wonder what they expected when they did that? Now I think they didn't expect anything. I think this mission business doesn't have room in it for expectations, for measuring things that way. I think it's more about just walking on, following who/whatever called us, full-faced into what lies ahead. Not wondering who or what we'll meet there, but just meeting them. Learning that the alien which we've so carefully crafted our lives around (race, nationalism, religion) really isn't. That we can meet someone on a hot dusty road in the Occupied West Bank, find a way to communicate, and wind up sharing tea.

I've learned that on the road this summer. It's been wonderfully dangerous.

Balance

Last week I received several emails and a phone call from friends, asking if I was ok after they heard about the sad event here in Jerusalem when a man drove a bulldozer into a bus and 3 people were killed. Although it was good to receive that caring, I was confused at first. "Why are they asking about this? This stuff goes on all the time here?"

Then I realized that many people might not know that this stuff goes on all the time here. Depending on which "stuff" we're talking about and where "here" is. I was reminded that what really happens here is not well known outside. I've mentioned this in blogs before, but it seemed a good time to talk more about that. About how some sad events are exploited for political gain, how other sad events are never mentioned, and about how so many who we should be able to trust collude in all this.

The event in Jerusalem last week was plastered all over the internet and all the newspapers. I assume it also received TV coverage in the States, from the notes of concern I received. It was said a "Palestinian," who was immediately dubbed a terrorist, was responsible. That version feeds the mythology that some want to perpetrate, but I must tell you it's not true. The man was Arab and was an Israeli citizen living in Israel. His motive had nothing to do with politics or religion. He had a history of mental illness and was pissed at a man who owns the bulldozer company. He did what he did to get that man in trouble.

Sad isn't it? Just a sick man with revenge on his mind. No Palestinian, no terrorist, no politics, no religion. But it became so in callous, wanton deceit and the world responded dutifully as it always does. Poor, poor Israel, the beleaguered democracy under constant attack by these terrorists.

For balance, here's something else that's been going on the past couple of weeks........

There is a village in the West Bank called Ni'lin. The Wall is being built around it. (The Wall is the "security barrier" that isn't, but is a mechanism for land-grab and isolation of peoples). The construction, which was encircling and strangling Ni'lin as has been done in many other places including Bethlehem, was declared illegal by the World Court and ordered to be stopped. It wasn't. It almost never is. The Wall has been found illegally built many times, including by the Israel Supreme Court. Occasionally construction stops, usually it doesn't. The IDF (Israel Defence Force) screams "Security" and trumps the court.

For some time, demonstrators have been protesting the Wall in Ni'lin. Palestinians, internationals, and Israeli activists. Last week, the IDF declared the village a military danger zone, circled it with troops, blockaded all entry and exit, and put the village under curfew because the demonstrations had become "too violent". They cited rock throwing and rolling burning tires.

These are acts of violence, yes they are. But I'll pause a moment while you ponder about the forces of a nuclear power, armed to the teeth, finding rock-throwing too violent. And whether an appropriate response is to punish the entire population of the village.

Can you say "Gaza"?

When this happens and a village is put under curfew, which is one of the things that happens here which you don't hear about, it means house-curfew and the curfew is around the clock. In other words, while this order is in effect people cannot leave their houses. For anything. If they do, they are shot with rubber bullets, or tear-gassed, or their houses are invaded by the soldiers and destroyed. When people in Ni'lin were injured by the bullets and needed to go to the hospital, ambulances were not permitted entry by the IDF. This was corrected the next day when an activist called a member of the Knesset who ordered the soldiers to let the ambulance enter. I hope the child who had been shot in the neck came out ok.

The curfew has been lifted just now. The soldiers remain in place.

It's not the stories you usually hear from here is it - Salivating mad terrorists besieging a peaceful, quiet democracy. But these stories are the "stuff" that goes on here every day. People detained into their houses by armed soldiers, food and water running out, medical help denied, shot if they venture out. Democracy.

When you hear about the next sad event from here, and unfortunately you probably will, please remember the people you hear about in your prayers or thoughts of concern or however you note those things.

But also please remember the other people you're not hearing about. They need your prayers, too.