The Puppeteer

The following words came to me on plane ride from Washington, D.C to Atlanta with my friend Daoud.  We were on the way to speak at Emory University and two other sites in the area.  I have been struggling for a few years now with how to capture the Israeli authorities control over the lives of Palestinians living in the West Bank. Nearly every phase, every movement of their lives  are limited by some unknown entity.  Jeff Halper of ICAID called it the "matrix of control".

The Puppeteer

-by Bill Plitt-©11/13

Both hands tied by strings on one end

and attached tightly to figures far below

in distant places, unknown faces.

The Puppeteer controls the movements,

the conversations, and traces of human life

in all its phases.

A little twitch there/here,

the body below moves one step forward,

two steps backward,

all in irregular rhythm,

Unknown, unpredictable, unrelenting.

The walk to the school, the farm, the family;

the job slowed, stopped, mired;

the wounded traveler thwarted by the strings

attached to the head, the arms, the lips, the legs,

stands at the mercy of The Puppeteer -

Not seen, not heard, not human.

How much less water, electricity, food withheld

before the suspended can move no more than just enough,

never entirely free of the strings attached

to the fingers, hands and knees.

Inhumane, unmerciful, unloving, unkind.

And the children, otherwise amused by puppets

performing their stories of moral goodness,

fall prey to the phantom manipulations

as their lives unfold in acceptable order -

Not spontaneous, not free, not hopeful.

A little twitch there/here,

the body below moves one step forward,

two steps backward,

all in irregular rhythm,

How long, oh Puppeteer, can you control

the hearts, minds, and bodies of those innocent souls

who pay double for their water, 

move only when permitted, and

build only for it to be demolished?

The answer, of course, is known by a few

who rise up in anger, call out in rage, too,

and demand to be free –

all children of God who, deep down, seek harmony.

SAYING GOODBYE TO GOOD FRIENDS, MEMORABLE PLACES, ACTS OF REMARKABLE COURAGE

I left Jerusalem this afternoon for Haifa where I am staying with Fakhira's family,  It is time like these when I wish I knew more Arabic.   The conference ended on a high note with some distinguished speakers from  U.S, UK and Europe, all with powerful messages on either biblical interpretation, international law, or the impact of Sabeel on the world.  We began the morning with a beautiful service at the Lutheran Church  of Mt. of OLives, and then to Jericho and the a gathering by the Jordan river, to reconsider our own baptisms, and then to Sabeel  celebrations for their 25th  anniversary.  A highlight was the children's choir from Ramallah and a string quartet of master musicians. 

We then returned to Jerusalem for another amazing meal, of which I passed, and the final evening\program.

My overall high's were:  the worship experiences, the faces of the young musicians , and the time at TENT IF NATION with friends who were attending for the first time. The conversation in the village of Maiser with the former head of the council, and the Secretary of the Kibbutz Metzer with regards to their reported co-existence as neighbors was also a highlight. More in that through a draft article that I'll attach.

I did begin to feel the effects of several weeks of continuous travel, and the physical demands of such a trip and wonder if this might not be last visit to Palestine.

There was also a lot of opportunities to talk about FOTONNA< TON<>IPMN and the work of the church with folks.

Stories to develop are: time with Daoud on the land and the excitement of those who heard/saw and wanted to bring us to speak to their communities in the States; visits with friends/families,  promotion of the letter to the Hague's International Court, a variation of the "Puppeteer" with stories of the impending doom, and the report on the kibbutz.  BP

CALLING IT APARTHEID AT LEAST, ETHNIC-CLEANSING...

After hearing Mustafa Bargouti last night and his powerful presentation, I felt enraged towards the Israeli authorities for the level of control and violence they use to keep the "peace".  It left me devastated and angry.  The graphic nature of the presentation and the precision of the information left no doubt of the evil intent of the authorities to ethnic cleanse what is left of the OPT.  Unlike Daoud's presentation which always about hope, while Bargouti did indicate his continued dedication to non-violent resistance, and BDS in particular, Daoud's presentation encouraged me.  I left last night feeling no hope in our ability to change the balance of power which seems to be the obstacle for a solution.

The choice I have now is either to retreat or continue to narrow what I can do.  I might even drop the idea of visiting the kibbutz, and going to the Negev, and return to Bethlehem and TON.   I already know about the horrible plight of the Bedouins and the possibility of the Kibbutz/village being about normalization rather than true co-existance.

IMPRESSIONS OF HOPE AND CHANGE IN THE LAND

I arrived tired but safely to my hotel after a long flight of 11 hours, and shuttle
to Jerusalem,  public bus with back back to Bethlehem, a hike to the hotel up the
hill, and then down to Manger Square and the Nassar family reception in their home nearby, and returning to my hotel room thoughtfully provided for me by friends there.  Now, the bodily and cultural adjustments that are inevitable.

Spending time with the Nassar family on Friday, by going to many of their music rehearsals during their day off on Fridays was a pleasure.  They are such a talented trio.  I like witnessing their growth and musical skills and appreciation.  Daoud returns today, and I'll give them some space before joining them at a piano concert that Shadin will offer this evening. 

My impressions of the Bethlehem are that they continue to normalize the occupation in their life here,almost a given these days.  I hear the peace delegation from Palestine walked out on the talks.  I think that is for the better as they will surely lose more in any kind of settlement, for that is the Israeli/US
way.  Life as an occupied people is a better alternative, as the Israelis are required to "care for them'.  NOW THAT they have access to the International court, they should demand that the Israelis truly take care of them by
providing them with the human rights they are owed.

I am looking forward to the next few days, particularly in teaching a class on conflict resolution with the women of the village, along with Jihan on Monday.B

"Building Bridges of Love and Understanding"

Good morning!  Daoud Nassar, director of the Tent of Nations Project, arrived on Sunday for his 12th U.S Tour.  He left yesterday, October 21st, for Cincinnati where he will begin with a bible study with friends there, and visit a local high school before joining me in Detroit at the Israael/Palestine Mission Network meeting.  Then, he will be on to Hartford, CT with Tree of Life churches before heading to Atlanta and Americus, Georgia where he will embrace a shared experience with the farmers of Koinonia.  Early in November we will travel to N.W Ohio once again to meet  with farmers and students of that region who have supported the Tent of Nations program vigorously in the past. He will then return to the Washington, D.C area with meetings with State Department officials, local University Peace and Justice programs, and presentations in Virginia to several church communities before heading home on November 14 where he and I will join together in Bethlehem.

Once again I feel called to travel to the region where there is so much darkness these days but
where there is also light.  It is in the darkness that I find light, a shining light of hope
and a path where Jesus once walked in a different time, and still does today.

“We Refuse to be Enemies”

On his  U.S Tour in June of 2013, Daoud preached a sermon on John 14: 16-19 & 27

on three different occasions.  Many were moved by his message of refusing to be enemies even in the face of danger.  Some thought it was not quite enough.

A member of the planning committee for a church where Daoud preached, saw me on the street the day after,  and chased me for a block to say, “Daoud’s sermon was wonderful, but he had a chance to “hit it out of the park and missed it”, she said nearly out of breath and a little disappointed.

After a moment or so of listening to her words and identifying her concern, I concluded that maybe the “high” I was personally feeling from the experience the day before, was misguided. I began to feel somewhat discouraged by her assessment, and apparently, that of other members of her committee who had hoped to change the hearts and minds of the congregation with Daoud’s words and stories of injustice.  What she wanted him to share were several stories about how the Israeli imposes great restrictions on his human rights of life, liberty and happiness.  For she had traveled recently herself to the “holy land”  and was outraged as all of us are when we see for the first time, what life is like for the Israelis and Palestinians (I/P).  

As she prepared to leave me with her final thoughts, as I had only listened at that point, I said somewhat defensively, “But that is not Daoud’s way.  He doesn’t play the victim role, and for him to share the many stories he could tell,  he stood the risk of being inconsistent with his message of “refusing to be enemies”.   I left it there with her, however, she clearly wasn’t persuaded. I walked away a little unsatisfied myself.  I had also crossed a line from teacher to advocate.

When people like myself become involved with the issues of the Middle East conflict in I/P, we eventually cross a line between education and advocacy.  Education is needed to inform audiences about the gaps of information we have because of the overwhelming voice of the single narrative of the Israelis we have heard for so long.  There is a need to hear another narrative long absent from the conversation.  But at some point, the change agent emerges through the inevitable impatience that comes from such a teaching role, and the call to action is unbearable.  

At that point, the line between impartiality and “balance” has been crossed, and the activist shows up at street demonstrations and boycotts.  The advocate takes a public position, never ever able to recross the line and teach in quite the same way as before.  Of course it is not that rigid a change, as life is dynamic and in constant ebb and flow. Education, though, never really stops.   The teacher doesn’t stop teaching.  The message which was simply background history shifts to a new level of focused advocacy on the common ground of the injustice of the Israeli government’s occupation of Palestinian people and their land.  No longer is  it about avoiding a choice of one side as opposed to the other.  It’s about what we do with what we now know.  It’s about seeing all, all of us as God’s children. I wonder if the woman who stopped me, and her committee

might now begin to do the real hard work within her congregation of advocating change?  It certainly wasn’t up to Daoud to do this.

As the days have peeled away since my encounter, I have thought much about the criticism I received from the woman that day on the street near the church where Daoud had preached.  After sharing with Daoud the chance encounter with her, I felt even more strongly that he was right to stay within himself, the authentic self, although I  still wasn’t a 100% sure of what I had said.  He was.

On a recent Sunday, at my own church, after having heard Daoud preach there a few weeks before, a long time friend reached over the pew with a warm greeting, and said, “I really thought Daoud’s  sermon was wonderful, though a little understated, given his circumstances.”  She and her husband had traveled to the farm of Tent of Nations, and heard the story, and saw the human landscape that surrounds the Palestinians there.  She knew there was more that Daoud could have told the congregation.  For what he didn’t say was more powerful than a series of stories he might have said about the awful conditions under which he and his people are forced to live.  He refused to concentrate on the oppression of the occupation, and the victimhood of such control, but  instead, focused on the call to be more like Jesus did in an era of another empire of his day.

At the end of his sermon, Daoud does tell one brief story about his family being stopped by an Israeli commando patrol in full battle gear who shouted to Daoud at gun point to get out of the car, leaving his mother and wife inside, and his three children asleep on the back seat. After taking Daoud’s ID, the soldier then ordered him to empty his car into the cold of the winter night, so that a more thorough search could be done.

Daoud explained that his children would be frightened as they awoke and saw the guns. He pleaded to no avail.  As Daoud awakened his children, he spoke to them in English so that the soldiers would understand his words.  He said to his children, “You will see soldiers here and it’s ok.   They are friendly people and won’t harm you.”  After the search, and the family were allowed back into the car, the young officer said to Daoud, “Sir, I want to apologize to you.  What we did here tonight was not good.”   They parted peacefully.  The family drove away to their home in Bethlehem.  No doubt the soldier, and perhaps his comrades went away with new thoughts about the orders they were enforcing on this family and other Palestinians they might meet in the future.

On the Sunday when Doaud preached that one story was all that his audiences needed to hear at the end, because most of the sermon he had already delivered was about, our call to be ‘faithful, loving and hopeful’ in the belief for another way.  What he didn’t say and could have said, spoke volumes about his faithfulness  to the gospel.  I hope that the woman who caught me on the street that day after Daoud preached, is having second thoughts about the impact  Daoud’s sermon had on members of her congregation.  I think she’d share a different impression as I now firmly believe to be so.

***

27 Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.

BP

Bethlehem, Oh Little Town

As the patriarch proceeds down the Star Street route*

That is reported to be the path that the Magi’s took 

So long ago.

The honk of horns from the cars that are 

Cascading on their ascent to the famed square 

From  David’s city afar.

While the cacophonous sound  of drums 

And bag pipes proceed before them 

In some declaration when

Out of the corner of my eyes I saw 

An older man with young boy in tow, 

Whom he appeared to be dragging unmercifully so - 

It got my attention-

Only to soon see that his charge was sightless, 

As he pulled him along, quite boldly it seemed 

In hopes that some holy one would cure him of disease.

Amidst all the clammer in both haste and speed

Our healing God goes unseen in the space between.

The words above capture some of the feeling of the second week in Bethlehem where I lived with the Daoud Nassar family whose family’s historic home still exists on Star Street,  and*where legend has it that the Magi’s traveled there on their way from Jerusalem to the baby’s manger cradle.  But this day, a two hour long parade of scout troop bands from neighboring villages and towns marched and played to crowds lining the walls of the old city street, as a fleet of cars, escorted the pious Roman Catholic Cardinal of the region seated in the back of a Mercedes, passed us on the way to the waiting crowd in Manger Square.  I say “capture the feeling” because what I experienced that holiday were not the tinsel and wrapped packages of my own experiences at such time at home, but the feeling of family and the expectant arrival of the Holy one there in that little town.

The incident that stands out in my mind so vividly still, and reflected in the poem above, is the image of an older man, perhaps the father of a young boy being compassionately brought close to the priest in hopes of receiving his healing blessing.  At first, I was alarmed by the counter flow up the street of the two people going against the grain of the parade coming down, and the almost desperate, but later it seemed, loving way the elder presented his son to the holy man.  The story in Luke of the faithfulness of friends lowering their sick companion through the roof to Jesus below was what I really saw at that moment.

Later, Daoud  who had seen it too, confirmed that the man and boy were his neighbors and indeed what I saw was accurate.

So family, love and hospitality is what I felt that week in Bethlehem.   After the parade that afternoon, and I had had yet another one of those many savory meals, we attended the Christmas Eve candle light service together at the English speaking Lutheran Church, a short walk away uphill.   The church was full when we arrived, and many had come far to celebrate the birth of Jesus that night.  Many like myself, from other countries, and many who were serving in some volunteer capacity in the region, gathered together in the wooden pews surrounded overhead by the majestic arched walls above.  At one point during the prayers of intercession, one could hear nine languages reading antiphonally the nine prayer passages coupled by a collective phrase of gratitude in Arabic. There was a sense that silent night of the universality of the faith community as we lighted our candles together.

The next morning, on Christmas Day, we went as a family to the same church to the Arabic service where the Nassar family children dominated the music program with their playing of tubas, handbells, trumpet and voice - such talent!   Receiving communion among the Arab members of the church was very special, and even more meaningful a service than the evening before.  Following  worship, I walked to the home of an old friend who works as a diplomat in the Palestinian government, and shared yet another scrumptious meal with her and her mother, and the memories of her father who had died during the year.  He had always welcomed me and my friend Bill, so warmly as “brothers” each time we came to his home.

The remainder of Christmas Day, I shared time with Daoud’s family as a steady flow of relatives came to the home to express their love.  It is custom that family members visit the members of their family who have married outside their own circle to express solidarity.

The next day, Daoud and I went with his brother Daher, to the farm to plant trees that were a gift for 12 members of the Endo clan in Virginia.  It was a wonderful time for us of working and relishing the events of the week.  When alone in the chapel cave with my harp, I couldn’t help to remember that image of the father and son in their encounter with the holy one on Star Street.  I wonder.....?

“Amidst all the clammer in both haste and speed

Our healing God goes unseen in the space between.”                 BP 1/9/13

Dancing Between the Spaces

The harp’s voice is sweet and harmonious

As it dances between notes and enhances other voices.

From a C major chord to a Bb minor, the sound resonates

For new ears, in surprising new tones that await the hearer.

The voice in between is so pleasingly rich 

And comforts the spirit in its newness of name, 

As in the Genesis passage with Jacob so clear, 

This musician is called to be melodiously here and there.

And God dances between the notes.

Is it a Waltz, a Dabke, a Hora, that plays so richly in our ears?

Or, is it something more spiritual which transcends such traditions, 

Some mystique, some riddle,

That even the dancer knows not who the partner is?

But what does it matter in the bigger picture for sure,

For the sound is what appears from the heavens, its seems,

And we know God is dancing in the steps, between.

The harpist travels  to new places each time, often not

Reasoned or part of some rhyme.

This wanderer has been led for some, many years

To those spaces in both places not seen by his peers, 

Which calls the traveler to listen for new sources of light 

Which give meaning within the dark lands which lie in sight,

Where the harpist wanders with hope for something more 

Of God’s wisdom in the form of the “bouncing ball” 

That dictates some pattern for the singer and dancer,

And, with the hope for assurance that harmony and rhythm 

May soon fill the spaces.

The harpist finds the path along the ridge of the mountain 

Just south of the city of the Babe born so long ago. 

Others have proceeded with all forms of the day

With maybe a cymbal, a drum or even a stringed Qanun to play.

Then comes a cave, a place of retreat, where one can really 

Release the sounds from within that come naturally 

From some inner voice, or a distant self,

Which resonate off the walls of time in a titillating style

In the festival of life and its dance between the spaces.

BP

Written after my 8th visit since 2006 to Israel/Palestine in 2012, the poem was inspired by both the playing the harmonica, a constant companion, and feeling the spirit of the land, a regular encounter.  The “harp” as it is often referred to, is not typically a solo instrument.   It’s role is to lift up the voices of others in the “chorus”.   As the new Poet Laureate, Natasha Threthewey said recently, ..”what poetry can do for us is to remind us when we feel most alone, we are not alone at all”.  I hope you feel that sense today. BP  1/3/13

Reflections on the time with Israel's Arab Citizens

One of my intentions on this trip was to understand better the conditions of Palestinians with Israeli citizenship within the State of Israel. Unknown to me before last year was the scope of discrimination experienced by the nearly 1.5 million Arabs living there.

Here are a couple facts gleaned from Mossawa, the Israeli Arab Human Rights Organization, and from the Follow-up Committee on Arab Education:

• Over 32 pieces of discriminatory legislation were passed by the Israeli Knesset during 2012 including new restrictions as to where Arabs are prohibited to live.
• Over 6,000 classrooms short in Arab-only schools in separate system for Jews and Arabs
• 25% achievement gap between Arab and Jewish students
• 23 % gap in end-of-schooling testing results which determines future vocational and educational paths.

I participated in the 6th Annual Jaffa Convention on Arab and Jewish Relationships where members of the Israeli Knesset, ministers of the present government and Arab leaders had conversations about the future of Arab relationships within the State.  I visited both the headquarters of Mossawa in Haifa, and the center for the Follow-up Committee Project on Arab Education in Nazareth and met with staff of the Palestinian Media project in the ancient port city of Acca.  

I also lived for several days with the Halloun family in the village of Isofia near Haifa, a Palestinian Christian family with Israeli citizenship, and visited the town of Ibillin where two friends are teaching in the Mar Elias H.S .   While in Ibillin I had a private meeting along with some Canadian Mennonites visiting the school, with Archbishop Elias Chacour, author of “Blood Brothers” and a nominee for several years for the Nobel Prize for Peace.  All of these experiences led to some new understandings of the plight of Arab citizens in Israel.

• The Israeli government has some deep and serious problems inside its own state which violate the human rights of nearly 20% of it’s people.

• Through projects like the “Follow-up Committee” which serves as a professional body addressing the educational and pedagogical issues pertinent to the Palestinian Arab community in Israel by pressing the Ministry of Education

  and local Arab Councils, there are efforts for pushing for reforms.

• Israeli Arab citizens have a number “02”  stamped on their passports, along with “Arab” for Nationality, while Jewish passports have “01”  and “Israeli” on theirs according Archbishop Chacour. *

I find this story relatively untold in our country.  Just as I said during my first trip to Israel/Palestine and witnessing the occupation first hand in 2006,  “I never knew”, so is the case inside Israel.

Sources:

arabedu@netvision.net.iL

mossawa.org

Jaffa Convention: The Citizens accord Forum between Jews and Arabs in Israel.   jaffaconvention.org.il, Home page

I’Lam Media Center for Arab Palestinians in Israel. www.ilam-center.org

          

BP: 1/1/13

* Archbishop Elias Chacour

Entries and Departures to and from Israel

On Sunday evening of the 16th, I flew into JFK at around 7:00 for a 11:00 flight to Tel Aviv.  New York airports are hectic places, filled with people rushing to get somewhere.

Pardon my bias, but New Yorkers do it in a uniquely brusk style.  The 747

bird that carries 300 plus folks is like a small city, a borough at least, maybe located

in Brooklyn for that matter.  The presence of small groups of travelers dressed in black, and young people with “T” shirts declaring their independence dominate the scene.  After all, they are traveling to the promised land and some perhaps on the “Birthright”

pilgrimage. Some might be settlers.  Some are Israeli citizens heading home after visiting family here.

After queuing through a number of  land-based security systems in D.C, and then again to the Delta gate at JFK, before finally reaching the gate at the end of the long, dimly lit corridor, where  the 747 awaits me with flashing lights on its wings, and attendants appear like ants scurrying around before the plane’s departure, I finally feel I’m there . And yet before me  is another scrutinizing machine to pass through even though I  haven’t been exposed to the light of the outside since I departed the D.C terminal.  “What is this about, again?” I ask.

The plane started to fill nearly two hours before its took off.  I sat outside in the jetway

waiting for the last moment to board.  Meanwhile groups of young American Jews

sang songs in Hebrew and jaunted down the plank; men with dark suits, long beards and tall hats with women and lots of children in tow, merged  into the cabin doorway.

I was feeling quite alone and unattached. I didn’t seem to fit.  I wasn’t aware of another Christian-looking person on the plane, at least I felt that way, though not really knowing how to distinguish between us in an impartial way.  I stood by  my aisle seat for a half hour waiting for the other person to move to the middle seat between me and a young man at the window with a kippah a top and ear phones wrapped around.  He was ready for the flight with or without me it seemed.

Finally She arrived, an older women with wrinkled skin, angry eyes and disheveled hair.  She had  her ticket in hand and  while pointing at me and the two contested seat, She shouted several words at me in Hebrew which most always appears to me to be loud and hostile even though the message might be something like “ I love you”. ( I get that feeling about Arabic too.)   I had no idea what she wanted.  At first I thought it was for me to exchange places with her, but since I  make frequent investigations of the nearest lavatory during the night, I wasn’t willing to give up that seat.  She was almost screaming at me and it seemed to everyone else around us at one point, and then she moved several rows down and spoke to the flight attendant as animately. 

This incident did not help improve a deep seated feeling that all the people on this plane must be political zionists, and if they knew my view of the occupation of Palestine, they would have my life in a flash.  My perception of this woman’s personal attack only enhanced an already, angry resentment for people that I didn’t know, but thought were evil.  For that is what the Israeli Occupation is for both parties.

Then,  when the plane seemed full, a woman boarded hurriedly, having arrived late from her connection from Boston. As she scanned the ship for her seat, my adversary came forward and convinced the late arrival  to switch places with her which she did willingly.  I concluded later that she was also Jewish as she read meditatively in her prayer book during the next few waning hours of the night flight. Her response seemed to please everyone on the plane including me.

When I asked my new companion what seat she had, she said, “all the way in the back, in the middle seat”.   “Oh” I said. Then I thought, the angry woman must not have wanted to sit next to me, a goy perhaps?  “Why not?”  I thought.  The experience only confirmed my perceptions of my fellow passengers, though I really didn’t know any of them personally, other than the hostile one.  Then an announcement came on, the plane would delay its take off until 30 passengers from Boston arrived.  An hour later young people ran down the aisles to their seats with their back packs bobbing- more “birthrighters” I suspected.  We were late.  I felt alone.  I was tired but it was too early to sleep.

*********

Twelve days later, on the flight to New York, I boarded the plane and found my economy class Plus aisle seat on the first row with lots of leg room and the lavatory within two steps.   Ahh.  heaven!  Then when the plane was about to depart, a young woman with a two year old, collapsed in the empty seat next to me.   “Oh, oh!  This was going to be a difficult flight for all of us,” I thought.  

Then the husband-father came over and asked if I might give up my aisle seat (in heaven) for the one on the other side, (less than heaven).  Reluctantly and a little resentfully, I picked up all my stuff,  and moved to the other side.  There was a young man with a kippah by the window in the three-seated row who greeted me friendly like, almost over apologetically as if he were making up for some lost moment in the past. He then said as the doors closed, “It looks like we have a middle seat to share between us.”   This seemed like heaven again. 

Later, his 8 year old little brother switched seats with him from the business class where youngest had been sleeping.   In the middle of the night as he lie there scrunched up in a ball and apparently cold, he must have put my jacket on.  I reached over and I boosted it up to cover his exposed shoulders.  He smiled.  He reminded me of my grandson Jackson.  It was heaven.

BP