Christmas Eve in Bethlehem

My heart lit up when I stepped into Manger Square a couple of weeks ago, on Christmas Eve. The large plaza in the center of Bethlehem was radiating from bright strings of neon Christmas lights. The familiar lyrics of Silent Night were pouring from the large speakers on the stage in the middle of the square. A red banner with "Merry Christmas" written in cursive announced the occasion and welcomed the Christian pilgrims. Large, inflated Santa Clauses welcomed greeters entering the cheerful shops encircling the square. Arab vendors, happy to overcome their religious differences for the unique economic opportunity, were selling Christmas balloons to passing children. The music, the lights, the decorations — it was Christmas at last!

The sight may have actually been disappointing if I had come straight from America. It may have felt depressing to see the quaint authenticity of the birthplace of our Lord and Savior lit up like Las Vegas. I wasn't coming straight from America, though. I was coming from six miles away in Jerusalem, where it is always summer and never Christmas. It was the first time this year that I got to hear "Silent Night." It was the first time I saw Christmas lights. It was the first time I saw Santa Clause. Christmas was finally here!

It wasn't just like Christmas everywhere else in the world, though. I was there in the very town where Jesus was born. The town where the whole story took place. I could almost imagine Mary and Joseph looking for a place to sleep for the night. I looked around and wondered where the inn would have been that didn't have any room, but I was distracted by the pair of soldiers watching me out of the corner of their eyes. These weren't the soldiers I'm used to in Jerusalem. These soldiers had their barrettes on top of their heads, their pants were a bit more fitted, and their machine guns seemed scarier. They were Palestinian Authority security forces. They stood in pairs at every corner. They stood at attention, determined to prove to the foreign visitors that they were capable of maintaining peace and order in the tumultuous territory.

I followed my group of friends further into the square. The place was completely packed with tourists and a surprising number of Muslim Arabs who I suppose just came for the party. I fought my way through the crowd, keeping an intent eye on the orange shirt of my friend in front of me, desperately determined not to lose my group. We stopped at a falafel stand, and after some quick calculating, I was thrilled to discover that my falafel only cost me the equivalent of $1.25. I scarfed that down and hurried to find a place where I could see the stage.

The muffled voice of a Palestinian political leader spouted out from the speakers on the stage. He rambled on in Arabic, inserting occasional bits in English with words like  "peace," "freedom," and "justice." I made a mental note to learn Arabic. The speaker wasn't up there for too long, though, before he was replaced by members of an evangelical church in Jerusalem. They raced through a few, not particularly on-tune, Christmas carols. They apparently were not given a very big time slot, but they were certain to leave time at the end for an appeal to everyone in the crowd to "open your heart at this very moment to Jesus Christ and let Him come into your life." Their time was up. They ran off the stage.

A woman with a gorgeous voice took the stage this time, singing the number one, most popular Christmas song in our house while I was growing up. I remember lying in my cozy bed at Christmas time as a child, waking up to the duet of my mother's voice and the voice of Kathy Mattea singing "Mary Did You Know?" The woman performing wasn't Kathy Mattea (I don't think), but she did the song justice, and her voice echoed beautifully over the square. Mary did you know, that your baby boy would one day walk on water? I looked out in front of me at a pathway cleared by the police. A teenage boy jumped over the security fence, trying to cross to the other side. A soldier grabbed him forcefully by the bicep and decidedly encouraged him back over the fence where he came from. Mary did you know, that your baby boy, would save our sons and daughters? Another soldier walked down the cleared pathway, stooped over, holding the hand of a four-year-old Palestinian boy. He leaned over and whispered something to the boy. I walked up to the the fence to see if I could figure out what was going on. Moments later a woman pushed her way to the front of the crowd and reached out frantically toward the boy on the other side of the fence. I could almost see her tears of relief and joy radiating out from under her white hijab. She picked the boy up and gave him a big hug. Did you know, that your baby boy has come to make you new? This child that you delivered, will soon deliver you. On the other side of the square, a friend of mine who came with another group noticed that his camera was missing from his pocket. The blind will see, the deaf will hear, the dead will live again. An American, Jewish boy I recognized from my university came running out from one of the bars to greet his friends, "You guys, they sell real Palestinian beer here!" The lame will leap, the dumb will speak the praises of the lamb. Mary did you know? 

It was time for us to go. I followed my group back through the winding alleys of Bethlehem. We stopped for a moment to watch a Catholic procession in priestly looking garb pass with lit candles in their hands. We crossed the checkpoint in a large Arab bus. Two Israeli soldiers entered the bus and spoke to the driver. The driver told us all to get our passports out. We held up our passports in front of us, and the soldiers marched down the bus glancing at each of them. The soldiers exited the bus, and we continued on our way back to Jerusalem. Kathy Mattea's voice continued in my head. Mary did you know, that your baby boy is Lord of all creation?  Mary did you know, that your baby boy will one day rule the nations? 

I'm not Jewish

Before I came to Israel for the first time, a year and a half ago, I wondered how the Israelis would respond to me as a Christian.  I knew I was going to be living in a Jewish state surrounded by Jewish people, and Jewish-Christian relations throughout history have not always been pleasant.  I had also gotten the impression from the media in the United States that Israelis are not a very tolerant group of people.  It has been very interesting, therefore, now that I am actually living in Israel, to see how Jewish Israelis respond to my religious orientation.  The topic of my religion almost always comes up within the first few minutes when I meet someone new.  One of the first questions Israelis usually ask me is, "Are you going to make aliyah?"  (To make aliyah is to move to Israel and become an Israeli citizen under the Law of Return which allows Jewish people and their families to become Israeli citizens automatically.)  I then explain that I cannot make aliyah, because I am not Jewish, and they say, "Oh, so you are Christian."  So, my religion is rarely a secret, and I have lots of opportunities to see how Israelis respond to that.      

Most of my contact with Israelis has been with Jewish people who are secular.  My experience with the secular Israelis is very similar to my experience with secular Americans. Most of them seem to think that religion in general is stupid, but as long as I do not impose my religion on them or make any demands on them personally, I can believe whatever stupid ideas I want to believe.  The most common response I get when I tell someone I am Christian is, "Oh, cool.  We like Christians.  We just don't like Muslims.  It's not because we are racist.  It's just because they try to kills us."  A couple of times people have asked me, "Are you Catholic or Protestant?"  When I told them I was protestant they said, "Oh, good.  So that's why you like Israel."  Usually, when I am talking to secular Jews, the topic of religion ends here, however, and we move on to a topic more interesting to them.

I have had less contact with religious Israelis, but I have had a fair amount, and my experience there has been positive as well.  Their attitude usually seems to be, "As long as you are not trying to convert us or our people, or interfering with our Judaism, you non-Jews can believe whatever you want."  They believe that gentiles are expected to follow the seven Noahide laws (the moral commandments that, according to the Talmud, God gave to Noah), and as long as they do that, they will go to heaven.  My brother and I went to a Shabbat dinner at the home of a religious family, and they were very kind to us.  We told them before we went that we were Christian, and they just requested that there be no proselytizing.  We ended up having some very interesting conversations, and and we enjoyed our time there very much.

Proselytizing, however, is a very, very big deal in Israel.  The religious Jews get extremely angry when Christians try to convert their people to Christianity, so any type of ministry work can create huge problems.  One of my professors mentioned one time that he can never get the Mormon students in his classes to argue with him about religion, because the Mormon church has an agreement with the state of Israel that their students will not talk about religion while they are here.  I do not know the details of that arrangement, but it does not surprise me one bit.  Most Christian missionary agencies in Israel actually go to other countries to evangelize Israeli students who are traveling abroad.  The missionaries have more freedom in other countries to talk to the young Israelis about things they cannot talk to them about here in Israel.  

I have also noticed that Messianic Jews (Jews who believe that Jesus is the messiah) are treated worse than Christians.  As long as Christians are not converting anyone, they are not a threat to Judaism, but Messianic Jews are a threat to the very definition of Judaism.  Most non-messianic Jewish people would insist that not believing in Jesus is part of the definition of Judaism.  If someone believes Jesus is the messiah, he is no longer Jewish.   If someone claims to be Jewish and a believer in Jesus, therefore, he is redefining Judaism.  It is like saying you can worship Muhammad and still be a Christian.  Many Jews in Israel feel like the messianic Jews are pretending to be Jewish and perverting Judaism.  The messianic congregation I attend in Jerusalem has continual confrontations with the rabbis and members of neighboring synagogues.  Usually the confrontations are relatively peaceful, but they are often unpleasant.  I also know several kids who were kicked out of a religious school when the school found out they believed in Jesus.  I was talking to a twelve year old girl at my congregation, and she was surprised to hear that my roommates knew I was a believer in Jesus and they did not care.  I asked her if her friends at school knew she was a believer and she gave me a wide-eyed look and said, "Oh, no!  Only my one very best friend.  I don't tell anyone else."  The messianic Jewish people in Jerusalem are clearly the outcasts, and it is extremely unfortunate to see the way they are sometimes treated.   

As a Christian, however, I have not experienced any of that kind of persecution.  I have felt very accepted, and I have been treated well.  I feel more left out than anything else.  I think this is the first time in my life I have ever been a minority in any way shape or form.  Sometimes I feel like Judaism is a big club, and I am not in it.  I get tired of telling people I am not Jewish.  I know they will still treat me well, but I often detect a slight sense of disappointment when they realize I am not one of them.  I understand that I will never be accepted into the center of Israeli society, because I do not really belong there.  I am not a part of the historical promise that God made to Abraham's descendants, and I have had to come to accept that.  I feel very fortunate, however, to have this amazing opportunity to participate in Israeli culture to the extent that I am participating now.  I am learning so much about their language, their history, their religion, and their culture.  I am very thankful that the Israelis have welcomed me into their country and allowed me to have this experience, even though I am a Christian.   

The Law

I wish I knew more about the Biblical law.  I read the Mosaic Covenant when I was growing up, but I did not find it to be particularly relevant.  I read about all the stuff that the Jewish people were supposed to eat and wear and sacrifice.  Most of the commandments did not pertain to me, though because I am not Jewish.  I paid attention to the moral commandments like, “Thou shalt not murder,” and “Thou shalt not commit adultery,” but those make up a relatively small portion of the law, and I just skimmed over the rest.  Coming to Israel, however, has inspired in me a new interest in the Biblical law. 

“The law” is, hands down, the most controversial and highly debated religious topic in Israel.  Most of the Jews who in live in Jerusalem (especially in and around the old city) are religious. That means, by definition, that they observe the law in one way or another.  They all disagree, however, about how the law should be followed.  The Haredi are the most meticulous observers of the law.  They interpret the law literally, according to strict rabbinical tradition.  They want to be absolutely certain they do not break a law, so they take everything to an extreme.  They dress in black and white, grow out their payot (side curls), wear tall black hats, and have tzitzit (tassels) hanging out from under their shirts.  God commanded them to bind His commandments to their foreheads and hands (Deuteronomy 6:8), so they literally tie little boxes to their foreheads and arms when they pray.  The little boxes have the law inside.  I could go on for days talking about how they observe the law, but that should at least give you an idea. 

Not all the religious Jews in Jerusalem are that literal or strict in their interpretation of the law.  Some men wear kippot and tzitzit but do not grow out their payot or dress in black and white.  Many married women have their hair covered completely, but others just wear a symbolic headband.  Most of the restaurants in Jerusalem are kosher and the whole city pretty much shuts down on the Sabbath.  There are people who eat at the non-kosher Chineese food restaurant, however, and there are always a few bars open, even on Friday night. (Although there may be a group of Orthodox Jews standing outside chanting and hissing in protest.)  There is a huge range of ways that people choose to relate to the law, but it is a very public decision that is expressed externally for everyone to see. 

Living in the middle of such a controversial dispute, I cannot help but think about how the issue relates to me.  I am still a gentile; living here does not make me Jewish.  That does not seem to be a good enough excuse, however, to just ignore the topic.  It is impossible to live here and not get dragged into the debate.  I have to make decisions every day about what I am going to wear, what I am going to eat, what I am going to do on Shabbat, and how I am going to celebrate holidays.  I want to take the law seriously, and I want to encourage the people around me to take the law seriously, but that is where the challenge lies.  What would it look like for me to take the law seriously?  What would it look like for the Jews to take the law seriously?  How could I be supportive and encouraging of that?  These are gigantic questions that have opened up a whole new section of the Bible for me to study. 

Based on my initial reading of the law, I am suspicious that God had a different set of expectations for gentiles living in the midst of Israelite society than for gentiles living elsewhere in the world.  It appears as though God intended some of the laws for His people as well as “the stranger dwelling among you.”  These laws were intended to be culture wide, and they required everyone in the society to follow them.  The law about the Sabbath is a good example.  Deuteronomy 5:14 explains that “[On the Sabbath] you shall not do any work, you or your son or your daughter or your male servant or your female servant or your ox or your donkey or any of your cattle or your sojourner who stays with you…”  God apparently wanted every person and animal to rest during the Sabbath, not just the Jewish people.  Some of the laws, however, were not intended for gentiles, even the gentiles living in the middle of Israelite society.  Deuteronomy 14:21 explains, “You shall not eat anything which dies of itself.  You may give it to the alien who is in your town, so that he may eat it, or you may sell it to a foreigner, for you are a holy people to the Lord your God.”  This suggests that the kosher laws were specific to the Jewish people, and the whole society was not required to follow them. 

If I am right about the fact that some laws were intended for Gentiles living among the Israelites, that raises a whole new set of questions for me.  Which laws did God intend for the Gentiles?  How did He want the Gentiles to follow them?  Would God want us to follow the law today the same way He commanded the ancient Israelites?   If there are laws that I should follow, what do they really mean, and how do I follow the true spirit of those laws?  The questions go on and on. 

Regardless of how I decide the law applies to me personally, I also have to consider how my choices affect the people around me who are trying to follow the law.  I have a friend who is an Orthodox Jew.  Orthodox girls are required to wear skirts that come down below their knees.  We were going on a trip one time with a group of secular students, and my friend started complaining about the fact that she would be the only one on the trip wearing a skirt.  I told her that I would wear a skirt too, and her eyes lit up.  I was surprised how happy that made her.  It is hard to know, however, what your actions will communicate.  If I go out and eat with a Jewish friend and order pork chops, I can imagine a number of ways that a friend could take that.  She may realize that you can eat pork and still be a good person.  She may think I am saying, “I do not have to follow your silly rules, and I am going to rub that in your face.”  She may think that I am just a stupid gentile who is completely oblivious to the Jewish law.  It is hard to know how someone might take my actions, but it seems like it is my responsibility to try to understand what I am communicating.  I want to be as loving as possible to the people around me and encourage them to follow God and follow His law as He intended it.  This is all the more reason I need to understand God’s law.  I need to figure out what God did intend and how that would look today.  I also must take each individual situation and person into account as I make my day-to-day choices.

Beyond the practical reasons for wanting to understand the law, however, I am also just really curious.  Every time someone walks by me with long side curls, I cannot help but wonder what in the world God meant when He said, “You shall not round off the side-growth of your heads nor harm the edges of your beard.” (Leviticus 19:27)  I wonder about the law when I cannot get a cheeseburger at the kosher McDonalds; when the girl on the street walks up and gives me candles for Shabbat; when I walk by the window of a shop selling mini prayer shawls for babies; and when I’m sitting on Ben Yahuda Street, starving, waiting for the sun to go down so the restaurants will finally open up again.  I wonder where all these traditions came from.  The law makes up large section of the Old Testament, and it is clearly a significant part of God’s revelation.  It contains a wealth of information, instruction, symbolism, and illustration to help us understand who God is and what God values.  Coming to understand that revelation, however, is going to be a big project.   

Living with Danger

When I am at home in the United States, people often ask me if I am scared when I am in Israel.  I was thinking about that the other night when I was hanging out in Tel Aviv with my brother and some friends.  We were swimming in the Mediterranean Sea and looking out at the bright, bustling city. Off to our right we could see a play area that was swarming with laughing, screeching children.  To our left, a group of girls were clapping and singing “Happy Birthday” in Hebrew.  Blaring Israeli pop music from a bar across the street was punctuated by the constant honking of cars pushing their way through the jammed street.  Everywhere you looked, there were guys playing soccer-volleyball; couples strolling along the soft, white beach; families playing in the pathetic little waves; and people out enjoying the evening.  It was hard to even imagine being scared, because everything was really normal.  There were so many people out having a good time, and nobody was acting the slightest bit scared.   

Everyday life here in Jerusalem looks a little bit different than life in Tel Aviv, but people don’t act scared here either.  Young siblings walk to the market without their parents to buy food for dinner.  Families clad in their fancy black and white clothing stream into the old city to pray at the Western Wall on Friday nights.  When the sun goes down on Shabbat, the stores all open back up, and people start coming out of the woodwork.  The streets are filled with the music of enthusiastic (though not always particularly talented) street musicians.  During the week, the buses are packed with commuters, the malls are packed with shoppers, and the parks are packed with families.  People don’t act scared.  They just go about their lives as normal.    

I think the main reason why people aren’t scared is because Jerusalem is not actually very dangerous right now.  There have not been any suicide bombings in Jerusalem since 2005 when the second Intifada (the Palestinian uprising) came to an end.  The last two wars were confined to the north and the area surrounding Gaza.  Jerusalem itself has remained unscathed.  I admit that five years is not a super long time, but the residents of Jerusalem have recovered quickly.  I met a man whose wife was killed in a terrorist attack in 2001.  I am sure that was a horrible experience, and I am sure that he still feels his loss.  He has been able to move on with his life, though.  He remarried, and he lives in a nice apartment in the middle of Jerusalem.  Now that the danger is no longer a daily reality, he has gone back to his normal life.  That seems to be true for most people around here.        

My impression, however, is that Israelis are particularly resistant to terror even during dangerous times.  If they got scared and ran away every time they were attacked, they would lose their country, and they wouldn’t have anywhere to run anyway.  I met a woman who moved here from America during the second Intifada, when Israel was experiencing regular terrorist attacks.  She was concerned about her two young boys, because their school was not in a safe neighborhood.  One day her son said to her, “Mom, if we kids took things as seriously as you do, we would never be able to grow up here in Israel.”  That attitude seems to be pretty common among the people who have grown up here.

 There are plenty of things in Jerusalem that remind you there are still potential problems.  Soldiers carry their M-16s everywhere they go.  You have to go through security to enter a shopping mall, a post office, and sometimes even a café.  To get onto my campus, I have to show my ID, have my backpack searched, and go through a metal detector.  Last week, I was out shopping, and someone left his backpack behind at a bus stop.  The bomb squad wasted no time.  They cleared the area, blocked off the street, and blew up the backpack.  Ten minutes later, everything was back to normal.  I know that all sounds pretty crazy, but it is amazing how quickly you get used to it.  You learn to travel light and keep track of your belongings.   It just becomes part of your everyday life, and before long, you hardly even think about it.

For me, living with the threat of wars and terrorist attacks feels a lot like living with the possibility of getting in a car accident. I always know in the back of my mind that I could get in a horrible accident.  I put on my seatbelt every time I get in the car, just in case.  I am not really scared, though, every time I drive somewhere.  The chances are very good that I will not get in an accident today, and I would go crazy if I lived my life with that much fear.  I just get in the car and drive to the grocery store.  If God does bring a catastrophe into my life one day, I will cross that bridge when I get to it and trust God to help me through.                     

   

Tisha B'Av Demonstration

My brother and I had a very interesting experience last week. It was Tisha B'Av (the ninth of Av), the day when the Jews remember and mourn the destruction of both temples. We read in the newspaper that there was going to be a peaceful march around all four walls of the old city of Jerusalem. The march was to demonstrate Israel's right to the land and express sorrow over the destruction of the temples. My brother and I decided to go to East Jerusalem (the neighborhood comprised primarily of Palestinians), and watch the march from there. We arrived plenty early, so we sat down and waited for the CNN worthy action.

What we observed, however, was a scene that you would never see on CNN. We watched the Arabs going about their everyday business. Little boys ran around playing in the streets while their fathers cleaned up their shops and prepared to close. The streets were packed with rush hour traffic, people running to catch taxis, wives coming to pick up their husbands from work, teenagers joking around and laughing. Everything seemed normal until I noticed the steady stream of Orthodox Jews trickling through the crowd, making their way to the Jewish Quarter. What was strange was that none of the Arabs seemed to care.

A large group of soldiers and police men gathered next to us, preparing security for the march. They sat around eating boxed lunches with packaged sandwiches. When they finished eating, some of the soldiers gathered up the extra, unopened sandwiches and put them in a big box. I looked over, and a soldier offered the sandwiches to a Palestinian boy who was walking by. The boy thanked him politely and started passing the sandwiches out to his friends.

Later, a couple of police men rode by on horses. Several little Palestinian boys were super excited about the horses, and they went running after the police men. I immediately looked at the boys' mother to see her response, but she did not seem to mind at all. I was just surprised that she had not taught her sons to run away from Israeli police.

When the march finally came through the neighborhood, I was even more surprised by how normal everything seemed. The people marching were waving flags, and they made some announcements over a loudspeaker in Hebrew. They were very polite, though, and they marched by minding their own business. The Palestinians did not cause any problems either. They lined up on the sides of the street and sat there like they were watching a parade. They were not exactly clapping and cheering, but they did not cause any problems either.  They just sat there and watched.

I have to admit, the evening was anti-climactic. I can see why CNN was not there to do a big report on the event. It would have been extremely boring news. It was very interesting to be there, though, and see that side of Israeli/Palestinian relations. Clearly, things are not always that peaceful between the two groups. You can ask anyone around here, and they will be quick to fill you in on all the problems and tensions that exist. Since that night, however, I have found myself noticing all the normal interactions between the two groups. Muslim families frequently walk through the Jewish market without any problems. It's not unusual to see Jews bartering with Arab shop keepers. The other day I saw a group of Palestinian girls riding bikes in a park full of Jewish families.  I do not see the two groups hanging out together, but for the most part, they seem to just leave each other alone.  As far as I am concerned, that is newsworthy.