Letters to the Editor

Feeling their pain

We live so close to each other and yet we do not feel one another's
pain. When a suicide bomber succeeds in killing Israelis in
Jerusalem, I can usually hear the sirens of ambulances and emergency
vehicles from my apartment in Beit Safafa. I then rush to the TV to
watch the horrible details. I do not like what I see or hear but I
have a big problem. It is a spiritual one.

My problem is that I do not feel the pain of my Jewish neighbors who
lose their lives or are burned, injured or traumatized due to the
bombings. It is a real issue for me because as a practicing Christian
I am called to love my enemies. I think one way to express that love
is to truly share the pain of others when they suffer. When innocent
Palestinians get assassinated by Israeli attacks in Gaza, Jenin,
Hebron, Bethlehem and elsewhere in the West Bank, my heart goes out
in sorrow to them. I wish I had the same compassion for innocent
Israelis who are killed or hurt.

My spiritual dilemma is further complicated by the fact that I am a
pastor of a Christian congregation in East Jerusalem and thus often
preach peace and reconciliation and call on members of my
congregation to love their enemies regardless of racial or political
realities. I confess it is much easier to speak about forgiveness
than to actually forgive and it is much harder to practice love than
to preach it. Then I think if I, a Christian pastor, cannot truly
love my enemies, what must it be like for the average Palestinian?

I have tried to examine my heart in an attempt to understand why I
feel the way I do. Why do I care less when innocent Jews are killed?
The answer to this question is not so much found in my heart as it is
found in my mind. Although I am religious and care much for my
spiritual well-being, I am also rational. Rationality, mingled with a
sense of patriotism, overcomes my spiritual motivation and desire to
love my enemies. Rationality tells me that for every innocent Israeli
killed in these cycles of violence, at least three innocent
Palestinians are also annihilated. Rationality tells me that even if
the death on both sides of the conflict is numerically equal, the
suffering on the Palestinian side far outweighs the suffering of
Israelis.

Palestinians cannot order curfews and imprison Israelis in their
homes and cities. Palestinians have no power to set up checkpoints on
the borders of Israeli cities, Palestinians cannot employ bulldozers
to demolish the homes, businesses and farms belonging to those who
kill them and steal their land. Rationality tells me that a nation
who occupies another deserves the pain resulting from an occupied
population.

I cross the Bethlehem checkpoint on a daily basis. My eyes, which are
windows to my intellect, see injustice every day. I see the
demolished homes, the collapsing economy, the masses under perpetual
and suffocating closures and the daily suffering of an entire
population. When I look eastward, near the check point, the
settlement of Har Homa built on land Israel confiscated from
Palestinians after 1967 on what Palestinians call Jabal Abu Ghnaim,
stares me in the face. Turning to the west I see the Aida refugee
camp, one of three refugee camps in Bethlehem, which is home to
Palestinians who were forced to flee their villages in 1948 in what
is now called Israel. Then I look straight ahead and I see Rachael's
Tomb, a holy place turned into a prison-like fortress. Looking behind
me it is impossible to avoid the settlement of Gilo that was also
built on Palestinian land Israel annexed after 1967.

The realities I view, along with the stories I hear are imprinted on
the walls of my soul and influence my entire person, including my
spiritual outlook. Injustice makes me very upset and definitely
affects my attitude. Consequently, when pictures of innocent Jews
slaughtered by a Palestinian suicide bomber are shown on my TV screen,
I rationalize instead of empathize. I continue to blame Sharon or the
occupation or the latest Israeli bombing attack that snuffed out the
lives of a number of Palestinians.

I long for the day when deep in my heart I can feel the pain of my
Jewish neighbors in their time of calamity as much as I feel the
utter despair of my people. I long for the day when we on both sides
of the political divide can step into each others shoes and
understand the anguish and hopelessness that the other side is
feeling. Perhaps then we can become better aware of our common
humanity, cry together and express forgiveness to the other. Only
then perhaps, will we triumph over those on both sides, who thrive on
violence, destruction and bloodshed.

Reverend Alex Awad
Bethlehem

The writer is dean of students at Bethlehem Bible College