On Demons and Marathon Bombers

Scripture: Mark 5:1-20

They came to the other side of the lake, to the country of the Gerasenes. And when he had stepped out of the boat, immediately a man out of the tombs with an unclean spirit met him. He lived among the tombs; and no one could restrain him any more, even with a chain; for he had often been restrained with shackles and chains, but the chains he wrenched apart, and the shackles he broke in pieces; and no one had the strength to subdue him. Night and day among the tombs and on the mountains he was always howling and bruising himself with stones. When he saw Jesus from a distance, he ran and bowed down before him; and he shouted at the top of his voice, ‘What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? I adjure you by God, do not torment me.’ For he had said to him, ‘Come out of the man, you unclean spirit!’ Then Jesus asked him, ‘What is your name?’ He replied, ‘My name is Legion; for we are many.’ He begged him earnestly not to send them out of the country. Now there on the hillside a great herd of swine was feeding; and the unclean spirits begged him, ‘Send us into the swine; let us enter them.’ So he gave them permission. And the unclean spirits came out and entered the swine; and the herd, numbering about two thousand, rushed down the steep bank into the lake, and were drowned in the lake.

The swineherds ran off and told it in the city and in the country. Then people came to see what it was that had happened. They came to Jesus and saw the demoniac sitting there, clothed and in his right mind, the very man who had had the legion; and they were afraid. Those who had seen what had happened to the demoniac and to the swine reported it. Then they began to beg Jesus to leave their neighborhood. As he was getting into the boat, the man who had been possessed by demons begged him that he might be with him. But Jesus refused, and said to him, ‘Go home to your friends, and tell them how much the Lord has done for you, and what mercy he has shown you.’ And he went away and began to proclaim in the Decapolis how much Jesus had done for him; and everyone was amazed.

Years ago my younger sister visited me in Chicago during her college break.  She flew into Midway, tried her hand at our ‘El’, successfully mastering the orange line to meet me.  What ensued from there has become one of my favorite stories to tell about Chicago. We got onto a crowded, Friday night rush hour Red Line, luckily grabbing seats against the wall.  The first oddity we met was Jesus, in the flesh, dressed in sheets and sandals and carrying a life-sized cross with dramatic pause through the train car.  (As we watched, we were amused to see him uncharacteristically sprint the distance between train cars to catch the next open doors.)  That was interesting.  But in fact, perhaps it was a premonition – a sign of what was to come.

In the midst of our chatting about the sudden Incarnation of Jesus, I noticed a guy offer the person next to him a paper hat folded out of newsprint.  This was not a small paper hat like you might see a chef wear – it was a tall, cuffed, wizard-like hood of newsprint that could in no way be mistook for fashion.  The woman next him declined, and I saw him refocus on the stack of newsprint on his lap.  Next time I looked up, the two kids across the aisle from him were both wearing these paper hats.  His seatmate was reluctantly putting one on, while laughing, and he was hard at work folding the next one.  He had my full attention now.  A hat got passed back to us, and I tried to get my sister put it on but – cool college junior as she was – she wouldn’t do it.  So I did. 

There was something hilarious in having that ridiculous hat on my head.  I found it hard to stop smiling out of chagrin for how uncool I must have looked. In a train car where everyone does their best to mind their own business, avoid eye contact, and assume an unoffensive stare out the window or at the overhead ads…I was breaking the unspoken code of nonchalance and anonymity.  But the thing is, I wasn’t alone. The hats had spread like wildfire throughout the train car. Newcomers on the train started asking me where I got my hat, and how they could get one.  Even my sister put one on, eventually. 

I leaned over to ask the man what was behind his making of the paper hats – but his seatmate told me that he wouldn’t talk.  She had also asked, but he had written down for her that he was unable to speak. 

In the meantime, the entire atmosphere in the train car was transformed.  The normally stone-faced strangers were laughing, initiating conversation, snapping pictures and swapping numbers.  We were all fully amused at ourselves – and perhaps doubly amused at how easy it was to become amused rather than recalcitrant and aloof during our train ride.  It was one of those moments when you feel wholly and totally at home and comfortable with the entire human race – and it was manufactured by a single man making paper hats without explanation. …, inviting people to participate in silliness.

That sister, Kassi, now lives in a suburb outside of Boston, with my other sister and her family. Last year during my visit, we went to watch a leg of the Boston Marathon. As I marveled at the runners pushing their bodies to the very brink of exhaustion, my 6 year old niece Elliot held a sign that said, “Keep Going”.

The surprise for me, in this last public tragedy, was that my overarching emotion wasn’t heartbreak or sadness, but anger.   Is nothing sacred?  Is no human endeavor safe?  The ego of someone – or someones – choose this event, this celebration of the human spirit of endurance and health – how dare they pollute this event with blood spilled, trauma, and fear incarnate?  How dare they rob people of this memory…how dare they rob a woman athlete of her legs.  It just made me so angry.

Jesus’s cure of the Demoniac at Gerasene has always conjured ideas for me of addiction and mental illness.  But last week it held entirely new meaning.  With all the rage I was feeling…I was the Demonaic.  This raging lunatic lived in the cemetery – not willing, I suddenly imagined, to leave the graveside of his stolen loved ones.  He is heard day and night, howling at the stars about these deaths.  He is strong enough to break through chains and shatter the shackles, but only known to bruise him self with stones. “My name is Legion,” he says, “for we are many.”  And all I could think of was, how many deaths?  How many people are similarly robbed of their loved ones, and rage all day and all night with the pain and grief of that injustice?  Of course it wasn’t confined to Boston.  Palestinians jumped to mind. Afganis and Iraqis.  The parents in Newtown, CT, and the parents on the Southside of Chicago.  How many of these people rage into the night, wanting only to retreat to the graveside of the person they miss so much?

The 26^th mile of the Boston Marathon this year was dedicated to the 26 families of Newtown, CT.  Many of them were in attendance.  Their faces were fresh in my mind, as just recently I watched the 60 Minutes episode featuring their struggle to grieve and channel their pain into something productive.  So many of them related how they were only emerging from the fog of loss, and fighting for gun legislation gave them purpose so they didn’t retreat into despair. 

My mind flashes to my niece Elliot and her sign saying, “Keep Going.” 

I know most of us wanted to retreat this last week.  From life and limb lost at the Marathon, to political failure in Washington, to then, worries about Islamophobia, and the inevitable struggle against scapegoating, so clearly on display during the Boston manhunt, I really just wanted to head into the tombs, howl, and beat my head against the stones.  

“What do you want with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? By God, do not torment me.  Leave me alone in my misery.  Do not make me do more.”

But Jesus whispers, “Keep Going”.

Sometimes, you can run towards healing and yet pull back.  The Demonaic runs to Jesus, flaunts his pain and rage, but then asks to stay in his misery.  Man, do I know how that feels.  I know how it feels to deliver that behavior, and I know how it feels to receive it.  That friend who shows you how much hurting underlies their attitude, but when you try offering a hand, your friend retreats back into the tombs with the chains and the howling and the bitterness and the self-punishment. They are not able, or not ready, to lean into the hope of a new dawn.  Yet, somehow, we need to give them the rope to trust that they can ‘keep going’.

I was so moved by Dr. Laurel Schneider’s admission the other day, during our Anti-Racism Colloquium, that she needed to learn to face anger in order to be a good friend to Dr. Butler.  I found so much truth in that statement – because I, too, am uncomfortable with conflict and confrontation, but also because if we can’t endure someone else’s emotions – what are we really doing here?  True, it’s hard.  When you feel that hot breath of anger or raw hurt, the human condition is to retreat. Back away from the fire.  Stop causing upset to someone.  This kind of pain  - the raw grief of Newtown, the shock of Boston, the rage of the Demoniac - this kind of pain is scary. 

But Jesus doesn’t retreat from the demons, nor let the demoniac live in his misery.  Jesus ‘leans in’ to the situation, demanding, what is your name?  And then he breaks through their hold on the man from Gerasene.  What will it take for us to break through our desire to retreat with our demons?  How do we lean in to someone’s hurt – or worse yet, or own – to succeed in evicting the demons?

I often think about that newspaper-paper-hat-maker on the train.  I am convinced, almost completely, that it was a stunt designed by a sociology or psychology grad student, to time how long it would take average people to break out of their routine anonymity.  And I wonder if this was the first time he tried the paper hat trick, or if he had to work up the courage to do it.  Had he prepared himself for those first few paper-hat deniers?  Was he certain that he was going to keep going with his plan, searching for willing takers regardless of how many suspicious looks he received?

You see, because he did something amazing.  He changed that day, and maybe that week, for all of us on that train.  He changed our understanding of ourselves, and our capacity to have joy with complete strangers.  The Marathon bombers, the tragedy and the manhunt brought out the demons that we already know are there – the demons that we always retreat to.  Blame.  Anger. Suspicion. Rage.  They also brought out the hero of the human spirit, and that one-ness of purpose so common after a tragedy.  But the paper-hat maker – he caused us to surprise ourselves.  He was able to bring about that spontaneous public joviality – the kind that we see during holidays, or certain elections, or yes, when the bombing suspect was captured alive.  But he did it with hats.

At the end of the story, the villagers beg Jesus to leave, fearful of his power, fearful of hope – but the demoniac begs to stay with Jesus.  He wants to remain where hope is incarnate, and spontaneous displays of love and joy are not looked at suspiciously.  But Jesus refuses, commanding him to return to his friends and attest to his transformation, to bring this miracle into the heart of his community.  He must keep going , re-enter his community, with testimony to this in-breaking of the divine, this joy.  I think Jesus is saying, don’t retreat.  If you just keep going, you will find a way out of the tombs.  And we will be here to weather your grief and your rage, and help you find joy…perhaps with silliness.  I’m ready to keep going, but sometimes I’d just like a paper hat.

In Boston yesterday, someone decided to give away free hugs.  The newspaper said, “After a week of terror, confusion and sorrow, people in the Boston area needed a hug.  At 10 a.m. on April 21, a group of people wearing shirts asking “Do you need a hug?” and “I (heart) Boston” gathered at the Public Garden, offering hugs to any and all who wanted comfort. Davis Square resident Zachary Sciuto said,  “I just held my arms open and looked at people and said ‘Do you want a hug?’ And they just came gave me a hug,” he recalled. “It didn’t feel weird or anything, I don’t know how to explain it. It just felt natural, it felt really good.”

Israel Day 9 – Tuesday – Galilee

Tuesday was election day, which meant that our favorite guide Jared had to return home to vote, and as a result we heard from Yisrael, a different voice about Israel with a focus on security measures.  It was a day spent with the sacred waters of Israel, and deep reflection, with an oddly militaristic bent.

We had pulled into the city of Tiberius in the dark, but we awoke to a beautiful sunrise over the Kinneret (known to us as the Sea of Galilee) from our hotel.  The Sea of Galilee is neither a sea, nor is it in Galilee technically. Galil in Hebrew means ‘rolling waves’, like the rolling waves of mountains and hills that we would see later in the day.  The ‘Sea of Galilee’ is actually in the Jordan River Valley.  It is, however, the lowest freshwater body on earth (the Dead Sea is the lowest non-freshwater body), and situated near a fissure in the techtonic plates.  There are 17 hot springs surrounding the Western side of the Kinneret, with water as hot as 140 degrees F and several types of minerals present.  The area has been used for healing baths for centuries, and some posit that this is why Jesus centered his ministry in this area - where there were the most sick people in need of healing.   

Kim and Nilsa testing the hot spring

We visited Hamat Tiberius, the location of one of the oldest synagogues in Israel and now a national park.  (Hamat means ‘hot’ in Hebrew).  The synagogue was discovered in 1921 during road construction.  There were several synagogues built over the centuries in the same place, but the second one is notable because the mosaic floor features both the symbols of Judaism - the Holy Ark, the Shofar, and 2 Menorahs - and a circular image of the Greek God Helios with the astrological signs encircling it.  Four women adorn the corners representative of the seasons. The idolatrous symbols trespass Jewish law in a synagogue, which leads one to think that the rules may have been relaxed in a time of coexistence with the Hellenistic populations of the time.  There is Hebrew labeling the names of the astrological symbols, but some are misspelled or upside-down, perhaps indicating the Jewish population having some fun with the Roman belief system.

Below the statue it reads, "Feed My Sheep"

I overheard our professors telling the guide that with our particular group and religious focus, that a visit to the Sea of Galilee is more meaningful than most of the holy sites we saw in Jerusalem, and I couldn’t agree more.  The ideology of the kibbutz - the sacredness inherent in growing your own food and working ‘holy’ land - echoed in my head as we arrived at the Galilean shore.  Here is where Jesus fed people.  Here is where he multiplied the bread and fishes to feed 5000 (Matthew 14). The road to Emmaus, where Jesus appeared after crucifixion to two strangers but only became recognizable after breaking bread with them, is near Tiberias (Luke 24).  It’s on the Sea of Tiberias (another name for the Kinneret) where Jesus appears for the third time to seven disciples and has them cast a net that overflows with fish, and joins them for breakfast (John 21).  Over and over again, we see that it was only in eating together that the disciples recognized Jesus.   

We visited the water at the Church of Primacy, where the Franciscans planted a church in the 4th Century to commemorate the spot where Jesus reinstated Peter chief of the Apostles (a central theme is Apostolic succession of the Pope). And I say also unto thee, That thou art Peter [Greek, Petros], and upon this rock [Greek, petra] I will build my church; and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it. (Matthew 16:18).  Regardless of my feelings on Apostolic succession, the current Church of the Primacy (built c. 1933) was a place of subdued beauty and peacefulness for our meditation at the Sea of Galilee.  Also in the 4th Century, Byzantine Christians planted a church on the site of the Sermon on the Mount, now known as the Church of the Beatitudes.  It is a gorgeous structure situated overlooking the sea.  The church is octagaonal, symbolizing the 8 beatitudes, which are referenced in latin within the sanctuary.  Many people pilgrimage there for deep prayer, as the nuns on the microphone continually reminded us to ‘be quiet!’  

After lunch we drove through the Golan Heights to the Tel Dan Reserve. The Golan Heights provides beautiful sights, but we did not stop at any point because the area is riddled with landmines.  There are signs all along the roadway announcing in three languages for people to keep out. The Golan Heights borders Israel, Lebanon, Syria and Jordan (technically it is still recognized as Syria under international law).  When the border was drawn after the 1948, the Syrian Golan Heights overlooked the valley below, that was part of Israel.  Throughout the 20 years between the 1948 and 67 war, the ceasefire line was a sight of violent exchanges from both sides, but Syria had the topographical advantage of firing from the heights into the valley.  In the 1967 war (the 6-day war) which involved alliances of the surrounding Arab nations, Israel first repelled the Egyptian forces and captured the Sinai desert in the first few days. As a secondary initiative, they launched forces up the mountains in the Golan in order to take the highlands and secure the safety of the villages below (at least, this is how our Isreali guide told it), and it was secured in only 48 hours.  In the 1973 Yom Kippur war, Syrians entered the country through the Golan and it was a major fighting front.  Some of the landmines were planted during the fighting by both sides; many more were placed by Israel in 1974-75 to prevent another border crossing from Syria. 


A quick internet search reveals claims that landmines are not only planted in security areas but around civilian (Arab) homes and villages, and casualties from these landmines are still occurring.  Some of the landmines are old, corroded, and occasionally wash up to the surface during the rainy season.  An Israeli politician launched an initiative for landmine removal in 2010, but another source said additional landmines are being placed as of 2011.  

We stop at a public park overlook because we are so close that we can see the border with Syria. Yisrael directs our attention to the peak of Mt. Hermon, another strategic point occupied by Israel, and the road to Damascus (site of Pauls' ephiphany?) apparent from the post. UN guards are patrolling the site, and Yisrael comments that the UN is only effective in border patrol when both countries want peace. Later, in the Tel Dan, we’ll be able to see the border with Lebanon. Yisrael, our guide, points out the military outposts at the top of each peak, as well as the army barracks along the route. In lessons learned from the 1973 Yom Kippur war, Israel does not intend allow itself to be caught unawares by an invasion through the Golan, since it would take 2-3 days to call up the national guard and transport them to the front.  Instead, it holds onto the highlands with constant surveillance and a military population at the ready. This was echoed in our last event of the night, a visit with Channa Manne, a social worker to deals with PTSD in the Israeli population of the villages in the valley below the Golan Heights.  Channa said that when people had reached their limit with the conflict, they would move to a location out of reach of the rockets.  But recent conflicts have proven that there is no place out of reach of the warfare of bordering Arab countries.  Which led me to ask, Is there peace potential in knowing there’s no place that’s out of range of rocketfire?  Does that increase the incentive for more justice and peace on the part of Israeli citizens?  Or is it too late?  When does hopefulness become naivete?


Reflection: Power

We spent time on the Mount in group discussion about ‘Blessed are the peacemakers’ - and what it means to create peace.  We had been advised to pay close attention to the word ‘peace’ while in Israel and the different meanings behind it depending on the speaker. (Is it just the status quo with no violence, or does it involve justice for the Palestinian people?) Then Dr. Thistlethwaite brought up Dietrich Bonhoeffer and posed a question about the cost of discipleship. (Bonhoeffer was a German Lutheran pastor from Nazi Germany. He looked to the church to oppose the policy of the Nazis, specifically the seminaries, but found compliance.  So he founded a dissenting church, the Confessing Church. He also traveled to the US during this era, but felt he must return to Germany to do his part against the Third Reich. Ultimately, he orchestrated a failed assassination attempt on Hitler, and was executed.)  

In view of the grand church built with support from the Italian Government under Benedito Mussolini from 1936-38, we contemplated what should be the ideal of tolerance, and what do we have the power to oppose? As liberals, we aspire for a society of tolerance, but how far does that tolerance go?  What is our responsibility to stand up to evil or interrupt injustice?  I’d like to believe that, had I been alive in the rise of the Third Reich, I would have taken a stand against the anti-semitism as much as I try to use my power to be in solidarity with other oppressed people like immigrants in the US or Palestinians in Israel. But the truth is, I’m not sure any of us know what we would have done in the face of such evil. During our layover in Amsterdam, I visited the Hollandsche Schouwberg, a theater located in the heart of the Jewish Quarter. Initially a popular location for shows, it became restricted to Jewish performers and attendees only under Nazi occupation, and eventually became a place where Jews reported for deportation. The museum of course displayed pictures and items from the nearly 100,000 Dutch Jews that perished in the Holocaust. They also documented some of the underground initiatives working against the regime, including the creation of false documents, an underground newspaper, and the kindergarten across the street that smuggled Jewish children out of Holland while hosting a school.  

I asked the curator, with a point of Dutch pride (my ancestry), why it seems like there was greater resistance to the Nazis in the Netherlands than anywhere else.  (After all, I’ve heard the story of Anne Frank, hidden by the Dutch, since I was a child).  She frowned at my naivete, and said while there were 4 groups of resistance in Holland during the Nazi occupation, there were plenty who did nothing, and others who collaborated with the Nazis for profit. (The award in Holland for turning in a Jew was seven guilder). The thing unique to Holland was the sheer number of Jews living there - over 100,000 - a number equaled only in the Eastern bloc countries.  And unfortunately, the Dutch tendency to be extremely orderly and organized meant that the Jewish population was documented on file before the Nazis ever arrived, making deportation easier in Holland than other locales. Again, it’s a case of which narrative is chosen and promoted.  History is written by the victors, those who end up with power. The Dutch have chosen to portray themselves as a people of tolerance and integrity, but it’s only part of the story. I have the incredible urge to ask my parents about everything they ever heard from their parents about the Holocaust.

In this current conflict, Israel has the ability to broadcast their narrative about the Palestinian intransigence much more so than the underdeveloped, un-Western Palestinian nation can broadcast their abuses. Shared culture, technology, language, and religious heritage all makes Western countries more receptive to listening to the narrative from the Israel perspective. The Palestinians feel that the world has forgotten about them, or doesn’t care. Our (conservative) narratives about Arab cultural differences, muslim jihad, and ‘their’ indifference to violence further buffets the power of the Israel-as-victim narrative. And the Palestinians are stuck with very little power.

Israel Day 8 - Monday - The Kibbutz

Monday morning, we head for a farm, otherwise known as a kibbutz.  Given our progressive crowd of ‘food justice’ people into the community gardening movement at home, I thought it was to be about food.  And indeed, our first stop was at an organic kibbutz that is one of the most eco-friendly and least-privatized farms still in operation today (out of 270 still operating). But I had no idea how integral kibbutzim were in Israel’s development or identity.

The first and second aliyahs (wave of Jewish immigration; 1881-1903 and 1904-1914, respectively) were mainly Russian/Eastern European Jews (coinciding with the Russian pograms) who wanted to be farmers.  In most of Europe, Jews had been forbidden to own land, which factored into why they became successful merchants and bankers. (Unfortunately, these professions also factored into how they were scapegoated during the anti-Semitism of the 1930’s).  But where the first aliyah consisted of smaller groups with religious motives, the second aliyah had an ideological zeal around a collective method of farming. To give the ideology roots, Jared read to us a section from A.D. Gordon, a Zionist immigrant to Palestine in 1904 and the ‘spiritual force behind Labor Zionism’.  Gordon valued the dignity of labor and felt that return to the soil would transform the Jewish people and allow its rejuvenation.

Olive Grove

“The Jewish people has been completely cut off from nature and imprisoned within city walls for two thousand years. We have been accustomed to every form of life, except a life of labor- of labor done at our behalf and for its own sake. It will require the greatest effort of will for such a people to become normal again. We lack the principal ingredient for national life. We lack the habit of labor… for it is labor which binds a people to its soil and to its national culture, which in its turn is an outgrowth of the people's toil and the people's labor. …

“…I think that everyone of us ought to retreat for a moment into his innermost self, free himself from all outside influences - both from those of the gentile world and even from the influence of our own Jewish past - and then ask himself with the utmost simplicity, seriousness, and honesty: What, essentially, is the purpose of our national movement? What do we expect to find in Palestine that no other place can give us? Why should we segregate ourselves from the nations among whom we have lived our lives? Why leave the lands of our birth, which have fashioned our personalities and so largely influenced our spirits? Why should we not share full and unreservedly with those nations in their great work for the progress of mankind? In other words, why should we not completely assimilate ourselves among those nations? What stops us?

Benny showing us how to squeeze a fresh olive

 “Surely it is not religion. In our day it is quite possible to live without any religion at all...the answer is that there is a force within every one of us which is fighting for its own life - which seeks its own realization…

“Jewish life in the Diaspora lacks this cosmic element of national identity; it is sustained by the historic element alone, which keeps us alive and will not let us die, but it cannot provide us with a full national life. What we have come to find only in Palestine is the cosmic element... We come to our Homeland in order to be planted in our natural soil from which we have been uprooted, to strike our roots deep into its life-giving substance.”

Kim and the inky oil from a black olive

This choice, however, was a tough road to hoe.  The fact that Jews had been forbidden to own land meant that they arrived with little to no agricultural skills.  Palestine is mostly desert country with rocky soil, while the Galilean river valley area was swampy.  Pictures of the early kibbutz on the shores of the Kinneret (Sea of Galilee) show only 2 trees.  And the native populations of Arabs and nomadic Bedouin were not happy to receive these settlers, leading to raids and harassment. (At this point, land was being bought from the Ottoman Empire by the Jewish National Fund, sometimes with coins donated at cash registers in the U.S.)  The labor, financial resources, and security made group settlement a necessity.  But people in the second aliyah were taken with the socialist revolutionary spirit of the times as well. 

Holding the inheritance from God; Soil

The first kibbutz was founded in 1909.  Their dream was to work for themselves to build up the land, and in the process, build a nation.  These were the idealists that planted not only the intellectual seed of Zionism, but they also planted it geographically, establishing the connection to the actual land.  And in fact, our host, Benny, at Kibbutz Sede Eliyahu, asked us to pick up the soil and hold it in our hands, saying, “this soil is our inheritance from God.” 

This nation-building mindset required a certain amount of militant toughness.  We visited with two elderly kibbutzniks, but the words of Yehudit, a woman in her 80’s, stuck with me most. Yehudit explained that the kibbutzniks recognized that there was no possibility to have a Jewish state in Europe, so they came to Palestine to both have a socialist state and to change the Jewish character in one generation. “Jews have always been afraid. We were survivors.  The way of the Jews [historically] was to hide, to run, to cry.  We were not a people to stand up for ourselves.”  The kibbutzniks were leading a revolution to change their lives to be positive people.  The young people leading the revolution largely left religion behind, partly in line with socialist ideology, but partly also to wipe out all the traditions of the Diaspora (i.e. when Jews were scattered across the nations).  So the Kibbutzniks were forbidden to be polite, because to be polite is to be a hypocrite.  Kibbutzniks were raised to hate the character of Jews in Diaspora because they were not proud, but frightened.  So in this new character, babies were forbidden to cry.  People were not allowed to share their grief.  There were many who left, and others who committed suicide but left diaries with the suffering they couldn’t share in public.  According to Yehudit, the highest status was awarded to he who does the hardest work.  In 1943, her dream was to be “big, strong, fat, and a blacksmith.  I was most proud of my hands because these are the hands that build the country.  I was raised in a generation to do, to work, to create, not for ourselves, but for others.”  This was the creation of the New Jew.

Yehudit

Our other host, Aryeh Malchin, fought with the US in WWII, and then worked for a year smuggling concentration camp survivors – mostly children – into Palestine illegally when Britain was still limiting migration to 10,000 a year.  (Malchin described the ships, layered with secret compartments where people would have to lie down during the voyage and take turns sending representatives to the food lines).  Once caught, Malchin spent some time detained, and then founded another kibbutz.  He still lives there to this day at age 94, along with members of Dr. Mikva’s family. 

Farmland

 There are 270 kibbutzim in Israel today.  Most have undergone full or partial privatization.  Some, like the first we visited, continue to be communally sustained with meals prepared, cleaning, teaching, farming, and all other kibbutz jobs executed by members.  There is a communal dining hall, synagogue, athletic facilities, schools, and nursing homes on the kibbutz.  Some prefer to live on a kibbutz but work in the private world; in that instance, their salary is given directly to the kibbutz and they are given an allowance the same as all other members.

Our last speaker of the day was not related to kibbutzim, but rather was an Ethiopian Jew.  She spoke about how her family emigrated from Ethiopia – by foot – in a time of persecution along with 40,000 others.  Many were swindled, robbed, and some died and they only got as far as Egypt. Eventually Israel executed a covert mission to collect the population and fly them into Israel against Egyptian policy.  However, once settled in Israel, the community was met with skepticism from the Chief Rabbinate regarding their Jewish rituals and practices, which differed from the orthodox.  Since citizenship is granted based on religious identity, this threatened to leave Ethiopians out of Israeli society.  A compromise was eventually brokered to allow them citizenship, but life remains economically and sometimes racially difficult for Ethiopian Jews in Israel. 
...

Reflection: Sabra (aka prickliness)

Early in our trip, Jared had shared how the word ‘Sabra’, hebrew for cactus, is the self-appointed slang for the Israeli people.  The allegory was that they were prickly on the outside, but soft in the middle (and probably related to survival in the desert.)  This kept surfacing in my head while listening to Yehudit say they were attempting to recreate the Jewish character in one generation.  Ophir’s ‘judgmental Israeli society’ became alive in her story, with the unwillingness to entertain suffering or trauma.  She was very proud of their success, too, saying it only took 55 years.  

We have a similar pride in the frontier toughness and ‘bootstrap’ ideology of the American story, and respect for those of worked the hardest to found our nation.  There is personal agency (as in the ability to act in your own self-determination) in both stories, to make the choice to pick up and move, which is empowering and transforms the story from tragic, about persecution, to proud, about ability.  But while the origin of the story is also religious persecution, my understanding of the American goal was not erasing the traditions and personal character of the past, but creating the arena to cleanse it of corruption. And while this is the prevalent narrative in America, it is far from the whole truth, especially if you were Black, Native American, or many other scapegoated minorities.

The idea of wishing to change the Jewish character is fascinating to me.  I wish I had asked Yehudit what she feels about the conflict now; that the military side of Israel has fully embraced the tough, aggressive exterior planted by the kibbutz movement.  Would she still be proud of the impolite ‘New Jew’?  I found myself contemplating how Yehudit’s story mirrors children who have experienced trauma, especially if perpetrated by their parents through abuse, alcholism, or mental illness, sometimes develop a tough outer facade.  When trust is broken with the person or persons who are most directly responsible for their well-being, some children overcompensate for their pain by showing no weakness, as if to say, ‘everything is fine.  I can take care of myself.’   No crying.  Not showing pain.  Some children learn to show no emotion; others become bullies of those who most reflect the weakness they are trying to hide.  Eventually this behavior becomes damaging to others, and also to the child themselves.  

In our conversation with Sami at the Holy Land Trust, he asked the question, ‘what healing needs to happen within the Jewish people so that they can deal justly with Palestinians?’  In an individual, that’s got to be introspection, analysis, painful realization, modified behavior and atonement.  What does self-recognition look like in a national identity?  Perhaps this recognition of the kibbutzim role in Jewish identity is part of that introspection and analysis.  

I don’t know if a traumatized child is an apt metaphor because the actions of the Isreali government and military, and some of the political voices, are really just intent on placing their desires for a Jewish state above any consideration for Palestinian self-determination.  And if by parents, my metaphor abstractly refers to ‘the world’ and our collective conscience, the Palestinians are certainly not just some kid on the playground getting ridiculed (although humiliation is definitely part of the occupation). They simply were the politically weakest people in a game of political titans with first-world self-importance deciding their fate.  With Sami at the Holy Land Trust, we also talked about the ability of Palestinians in his work to have agency, to have some self-determination in their conscious actions towards peace.  The most damaging part of the occupation of Palestine is not the loss of land, but the occupation of their lives.  The inability to travel, to build, to farm, to create a livelihood.  It’s the loss of agency, which is a natural human drive.  When someone is robbed of almost all ability for self-determination, you still grasp for power. When so many avenues are closed to you, you still search for ways to make an impact. There is agency in choosing a jihad of suicide bombing - you make a choice to have your life make impact, however unfathomable. It’s important to create other avenues for Palestinian agency in this conflict, which is why I so appreciate Sami’s work.  The peacemakers we met with - not just Sami, but Marwan in the Aida Refugee Camp, Iyad our tour guide - are having the opportunity to take action, however small, in this bloody conflict.

From my political background, I know that Power concedes nothing without a Demand, backed by equivalent Power.  But I also know that politicians are not leaders, but follow the will of the people, and every revolutionary battle has been led from the inside, by changing the will of the people internally.  Every person we met with- on both sides- continually said that the conflict cannot be resolved by outside forces, but that it must be resolved from within. Signing a treaty for peace at Camp David, they said, means nothing at home.  Changing the will of the people often requires radical and shocking action that upends the order of the social system and reprioritizes value; like chaining yourself to an oil rig about to be sunk in the North Sea, or risking your life in marches or freedom rides that leave you exposed to dogs, fire hoses, and murder. It’s the radical action of making your life vulnerable in service to others, or your cause, that shocks people enough to think twice about their value system.  When the nation of Israel is ready to make peace, the nation will have to come to the table with vulnerability, not prickliness - with admonission of fault, recognition of Palestinian losses, and true apology. Because the cactus, although plentiful in Israel, is not a native species.  

Israel Day 7 – Sunday – Politics in Israel

Labor Party's Jerusalem HQ

We closed Shabbat with the Havdalah blessing (more on that later) and visited the Labor Party, as it was 3 days before national elections in Israel.  Labor, a historic socialist party in Israel, had fallen to its lowest numbers in the last election, and our hosts were fighting to rebound.  They were focusing on what we call ‘bread and butter issues’ in this election – fighting austerity measures in Israel and concentrating on the price of groceries and wages. (Interestingly, the price of groceries in Israel is actually set by the government, not the market).  Labor, along with other center-left parties, did much better than expected, while Likud, that had been running the government for the last 5 years, took a beating. 

St. Georges Anglican Cathedral, Jerusalem

After attending Episcopalian services in English Sunday morning (with a perfectly inspiring sermon; ‘Paul does not intend for us to sit on the premises while singing, “Stand on the Promises of Christ My King”), we spent the day learning about social issues and advocacy in Israeli society.  There are 34 political parties in Israel that function in a coalition government (which means when people vote, rather than geographic representation, each party receives a percentage, and that percentage of their chosen representatives joins the Knesset.)  Each party prepared a list of 120 names prior to a national election.  If the party were to win a majority, their first name would be their candidate for Prime Minister (and if they got 10% of the vote, the top 12 names would join the Knesset).  But, this is only the beginning – from here it gets complicated.  The party that wins the most, (this time 19 & 17% respectively), spends the next three weeks horse-trading with the other parties to bring together a unified group that has received 61% of the vote.  If successful, this will be the ruling majority, who will control the Prime Minister position, fill the portfolios (something like a cabinet that heads each section of government), and pass most of the laws over their term.  The minority can draft laws, but they must make creative alliances to be successful in passing any legislation.  If the top vote-getting party fails to bring together this majority in the time allowed, the Knesset President selects a different party to make the same attempt.  This happened in the last elected government, which is why Netanyahu, who came from the second vote-getting party, was able to be Prime Minister.

There are parties in Israel ranging from Labor (center left worker party) to Likud (right wing security party) to the Jewish Home Party (believes that Palestine should be abolished).  The surprise winner (2^nd place) in January’s elections was the Yesh Atid (translated; ‘There is a Future’) party, headed by a well-known (and handsome) former news anchor.  The main platform of the party in this election is to change military conscription to include ultraorthodox men. Currently, military service, mandatory for all Israeli men, is waived for the ultraorthodox if they choose to study Torah until age 45.  The policy echoes the respect Israeli society has for the very religious; however, there is growing backlash towards this group because, in order to study until age 45, most ultraorthodox men do not work and receive housing and other government subsidies, averaging around $1200 a month.  Demographically, this group is primed to become the majority in Israel by 2050, as they average 6.5 children per family.  (Incidentally, although ultraorthodox women have a subservient status in their society, they not only do the childrearing but also work outside the home to support the family. More on this later.)     

Both the visit with the Open House GLBT Center and the Israel Religious Action Center talked about the peculiarities of balancing the elements of theocracy in Israel with modern laws, since there is no separation of religion and politics in Israel. In matters of family law, citizens of Israel must go through the rabbinical court system. For example, Israel recognizes marriages from any country, and you can be married according to your faith tradition or in civil court. However, the religious authority for Jewish marriage is the Chief Rabbinate and Rabbinical Courts, which, as I’ve said, has always been ultraorthodox up to the present.  That can be challenging for a secular couple, or an interfaith couple, as well as a gay couple.  So many people simply leave Israel to get married in Cyprus or Canada.  This becomes a major problem, however, in divorce.  For Jews, the Rabbinical Court is the only court that can grant divorce, and this must be with agreement of the husband (women are not allowed to testify), according to Jewish Law.  If a man doesn’t agree, the woman, or partner, is stuck.  Family court may decide matters of custody or alimony, but if the divorce proceedings are filed first in rabbinical court, the process can stall.    

The Open House host shared how challenging rabbinic law is regarding issues of surrogacy (at least, until May of last year).  The Rabbinate had declared that surrogacy from a Jewish woman who is already married is considered adultery, and the child will be a mamzer – someone barred from participating in the religious fabric of life (as in, they won’t be allowed to marry in rabbinical courts).  This designation of Mamzerim follows all children of this individual.  In addition to advocacy, the Open House focuses on counseling, HIV testing, and networking for LGBT people.  They are they only LGBT agency in Jerusalem, which is the religious center of Israel, and it’s an inspiring site to see their series of rainbow flags waving outside on the street.

The IRAC, an organization grounded in Reform Judaism, centers its advocacy through Jewish scripture (this is my kind of advocacy, as you may have guessed).  Our speaker said that too many secular Jews who only have contact with religion in terms of Orthodox Judaism link it with corruption, racism, and homophobia.  IRAC hopes to help progressive and secular Jews connect with Judaism, and reject those negative aspects.  (Essentially the same reason I went to Seminary).  In some instances, they act as watchdogs, such as to call out racist statements sourced in Jewish scripture or when spoken by state-employed rabbis. (For example, it’s against Jewish law to kill unless you are saving a life. One rabbi said that if you are killing to save a Jewish life, then it’s not against the law – essentially validating brutality in the Israel occupation.)  The employees of IRAC issue counter interpretations and call out the racism in the media.  IRAC is also part law firm, part grassroots organizing for equal rights.  In 1999, gender segregation began on public buses in Israel.  (Yes, I said buses became segregated in 1999).  The ultraorthodox created this policy because they believe that men need to exist in a sphere that is pure of women, so they don’t become distracted from their studies.  Women were to enter and sit in the back of the bus, men in the front.  IRAC fought this policy in 2002 and won in the Supreme Court in 2010, causing statements to be posted in all buses that all are welcome to sit where they choose.  However, in ultraorthodox neighborhoods, segregation continued.  So IRAC has been organizing groups of ‘freedom riders’ – women who enter ultraorthodox neighborhoods and purposely ride in the front of buses.  They have heard from many ultraorthodox women that the presence of these women gives them the cover to resist the social pressure to ride in the back of the bus.  IRAC also takes on the marketing bias in Jerusalem, where the pressure from the religious conservatives pressures advertisers to censor or remove the women from their billboards, lest the women be considered inappropriately dressed.  (While in some ways, I think this de-sexualization of advertisement is something I’d support, IRAC points out that swapping out a smiling, fully dressed woman for a cartoon character is a systematic removal of women from the public sphere). 

Moriel Rothman discusses the situation in Silwan

We ended the day in Silwan with Moriel Rothman and the Rabbis for Human Rights.  Silwan is a neighborhood just past the ‘green line’ border in East Jerusalem, which is being steadily gentrified by incoming Israelis.  And while legal, the situation is one of the worse perversions of legality that we saw.  Prior to the 1948 war, Silwan was a strong Jewish neighborhood.  When the armistace lines were drawn, and Arabs were expelled out of Israel territory, likewise the (mostly orthodox) Jews living in Silwan were expelled from East Jerusalem.  These Palestinians who still live within Israel (and all their descendants) are called ‘present absentees’, or internally displaced Palestinians (IDPs), and are not allowed back to their homes or land.  Although those remaining inside of Israel were made citizens, their rights are not the same as Jewish citizens.  In 1950, Israel passed the Absentee Property Law and required anyone who wanted to claim their home to be present when Israeli officials visited; if not, their home was seized and likely demolished or given to Jewish refugees, which were flooding Israel’s shores in the years following the Holocaust. This is regardless of documents of ownership or intercession from Palestinian heads of government. (Wikipedia explains itbetter than I do.)

Home labeled as Jewish by new Israeli residents

This home is now divided in half and occupied by both a Palestinian and Israeli family

In recent years, however, Jewish families who hold deeds to properties in Silwan have been petitioning the Supreme Court to reclaim their home, and they have been winning.  Granted permission by the Supreme Court, these Jews (mostly Ultraorthodox) return with assistance from Israel’s government, which forces whichever Palestinian family has been living there to leave.  So while Palestinians have no claim to their former land, they are also, still, being pushed off of their current property in what is technically Palestine.  In response to this abuse of power, progressive rabbis and Israelis have been staging demonstrations in Silwan every week for several years – at their high point with 5000 rally attendees.  This was extremely controversial and emotional at first; when CTS’s first Israel trip joined the demonstration, several of the new Jewish residents came out of their homes to photograph them.  (This is a form of intimidation in Israel, as once you get on the watch list, you can get blacklisted.)  The protests have continued and seemed to slow – but not stop – this housing takeover.  Moriel Rothman writes about it in his blog here.  It’s heartening to see this show of solidarity and protest coming from within Israel…I just wish we could multiply them by 100.

…

Reflection: Movement

Israel’s government system is a maze that is fascinating and rife with challenges.  First and foremost, there is the tragic and infuriating conflict and abuse of the Palestinian population.  I think there’s a fair argument to be made that those Palestinians who stayed within the Israel nation and became naturalized citizens ended up with a better, albeit still shortchanged, political situation.  They have the right to vote, bring cases up against the court, and have the potential to collaborate with Jewish Israelis to fight for fairness – a long road, no doubt, but one with potential.  I heard conflicting accounts of the voting rate in the Palestinian territories.  One comment said that Palestinians vote only in the range of 20% as a protest to the state of Israel, another said the turnout was recently at 70%. Perhaps it varies depending on the area.  (This article claims that turnout of Palestinians was up 3% to 56%, the highest since 2000). At our Shabbat dinner at Ron Cronish’s house, joining us was a Palestinian Israeli lawyer who fights for human rights.  He was part of a protest to prevent road construction through Palestinian parkland, which was small in size, but promising in aspiration.  As it was 4 days before the election, our hosts asked him to heavily encourage all his acquaintances to vote, alluding that better turnout might make a difference in the outcome of the road construction.  Their hope that Palestinians might be able to move development plans through amassing political power felt familiar and auspicious.

As an organizer, I couldn’t help but be excited about today’s contents.  Just like the light show at Herod’s Castle, it’s a fascinating juxtaposition of ancient law and modern expectations.  Israel is a young society with so much potential movement, in contrast with the American governmental system which was designed, admittedly, to prevent any rash change.  In America, the burden of caring about the future of your country can be so exhausting.  You can feel like Atlas, holding the weight of the world on your shoulders, while pushing against intractable pillars of greed, media dominance, and paranoid partisanship.  We tried to pass national health care 9 times over the course of 100 years, and we still barely squeaked by with a market-based, conservative-inspired plan that has become the battle cry of socialist takeover.  Of course, being an activist in Chicago, the bedrock of organizing, is worse.  People see you coming a mile away; they know exactly what you are after, and they’ll try to blow you off like a dandelion fluff.  You have to arrive with the numbers, credibility and attitude to boot.  I’ve often longed for a professional situation where you could feel the impact you were making, rather than blindly hope until the vote is cast.

Israeli society, on the other hand, feels so unfinished.  From the absence of a constitution to the complicated dilemmas between religious and civil law, what I saw was potential.  Everything you do is pioneering and innovative.  I have always felt so fortunate to be in the narrow niche of faith and liberal politics, where methods are still being molded, leaders are still being discovered, and hearts are still being inspired in new ways.  IRAC is using this model to change laws, change minds, and change the face of what it means to be religious. Open House supports people challenging the Chief Rabbinate on matters of modern society – and winning.  Rabbis for Human Rights are able to make a media splash just by joining in solidarity with their Palestinians.  The potential for movement-building is wide open, inviting, and beautiful to these hungry activist eyes.