by Michael Huber

I thought it would be easier by now. I've been home for over two months and I still have a hard time putting my experience into words. Most of the time I describe my trip as “a visit to the Holy Land.” With that phrase, I try to avoid dividing the land between “Israelis” and “Palestinians.”

Once, as I was walking through Jerusalem, I stopped to admire a vintage travel poster. Beautifully designed, it caught my eye from the street. Block letters across the bottom of the poster read, “VISIT PALESTINE.” The shopkeeper saw me standing there, so he came out to strike up a conversation. He asked, “Have you been to Palestine?”

I told him that I had been all over Palestine. I think he was mildly surprised by my answer. He asked, “Really? Where have you been?” I gave him my itinerary. I had been to Nablus (where I drank water from an ancient well, possibly the same well where Jesus encountered the Samaritan woman). I'd been to Jericho and Ramallah and to Hebron, Nazareth, and Bethlehem.

Apparently, my list was respectable. The shopkeeper said, “You have given me a good answer. But I will give you a better answer. In Jerusalem, if someone asks you, ‘Have you been to Palestine?' you must say, ‘Of course! I am in Palestine!'”

No wonder I struggle to find the right words; even the name of this place is controversial. To call this land “Israel” feels like taking sides. To call it “Palestine” feels the same way. In the Holy Land today, the conflict between Israelis and Palestinians is part of the atmosphere. Signs of that conflict show up everywhere.

Guns, a part of life

I had my first exposure to an Arab market in Hebron. The street market was sort of like Saturday Market, here in Portland. Instead of elephant ears, you could buy heads of pickled cauliflower floating in white buckets. This stuff was a completely surreal shade of bright purple. I haven't seen anything like that under the Burnside Bridge! Nor have I seen teenagers with automatic weapons huddled around the Lovejoy Fountain.

Israeli soldiers look impossibly young. It's easy to imagine them playing ultimate Frisbee with the kids in my youth group. Instead, they wear body armor and carry big rifles. In Hebron, a handful of Jewish settlers want to “claim” this city for Israel. These settlers are protected by hundreds of Israeli soldiers, and these soldiers are surrounded by thousands of Palestinians. More than once I found myself wondering what this kind of experience does to Israeli children. How does being surrounded by people who resent your presence shape your view of the universe (and your place in it)? The young Israelis had to carry powerful weapons in order to keep safe.

Guns seem to play an important role in Israeli culture. I took a photograph of T-shirts for sale in the Jewish Quarter of Jerusalem. One shirt advertises SpongeBob; another reads, “Guns & Moses” (a play on the American rock band, “Guns & Roses”). You can also buy yarmulkes decorated with the logo of the Israeli defense forces. While this merchandise is mostly for the tourists, it's pretty clear that Israel is very proud of its military power. In one bookstore, I found a DVD recounting the story of Israeli fighter jets flying to Auschwitz. While those planes were far too late to change the tragic course of history, they still have the power to shape the Israeli self-image.

In Hebron, our tour group stumbled into the wrong place at the wrong time. Israeli soldiers approached us with their weapons pointed just beyond our shoulders. They held their guns with one finger extended. That one finger hovered very conspicuously near the trigger. The soldiers were very polite. They asked us about our cameras and the reason we were in Hebron. After a few minutes, they allowed us to go about our business. For us, it was just a taste of what the people of Hebron experience every day.

Continuing strife

Conflict is part of daily life. In almost every confrontation, the Israelis have overwhelming power. They call the shots in Hebron and Jerusalem; they build settlements wherever they want. They can build a wall wherever it suits them; they can choose to stop traffic or to impose a curfew. In the daily course of life, one group of people dominates another.

My visit coincided with the end of Ramadan. To celebrate the occasion, many Palestinian parents bought gifts for their children. To my utter astonishment, toy guns seemed to be a popular choice. As our tour bus entered Jericho, we saw a group of boys playing with their guns along the sidewalk. At first, I couldn't believe my eyes. It took me a moment to realize that these guns were plastic. I kept thinking about those tense young soldiers in Hebron. Would the soldiers hesitate to see whether or not the gun was a toy? In a land of perpetual conflict, holding a toy gun seems like a terrible tragedy waiting to happen.

Eventually the boys took notice of our tour bus. Westerners are something of a novelty in Jericho. When they saw us, the boys stopped shooting at one another and gave us their full attention. You could see them waver on the edge of pointing their guns in our direction. They were sorely tempted. But the boys understood that pointing their guns at us would carry them across some invisible line. Something held them back.

I saw more toy guns in Jerusalem. Walking through the Muslim Quarter, I saw the bright packaging that littered the street: “Soldier Force Super Attack Gun! Combat Mission with Action Sound!” Again, I found myself wondering what this sort of environment does to children. What is it like to grow up in a society where teenagers with guns tell your parents where they can go and what they can do? One Palestinian man told me, “When our children jump on Israeli tanks, they are not heroes. They are patients! Send us psychiatrists!”

Outside the Damascus Gate in Jerusalem, I saw the crowd ahead of me react to something. I caught a glimpse of smoke. There was a pause, then I heard a man's voice shout something in Arabic. He did not sound happy. The next voice was that of a little boy. He spoke in English: “I am sorry, sir. I hope my actions did not offend you.” Although no plastic gun was involved, I think this boy must have crossed that invisible line. This time, an older man was willing to intervene. I wonder how long people can live in constant conflict without losing track of the lines altogether. In some Palestinian areas, “martyrs” looked down upon the street from posters mounted to the wall. These are the faces of young men who have died in the conflict. Many of them pose with military weapons. I expect that some of them were suicide bombers.

What can I say?

Most Americans are already quite familiar with the conflict between Israelis and Palestinians. That's another reason I have struggled to put my experience into words. What can I say that most of you don't already know?

Usually the conflict between Palestinians and Israelis is portrayed as a battle between “terrorists” on the one hand and “the only democracy in the Middle East” on the other. I'm afraid the recent election victory for Hamas has done nothing to change this impression. From this perspective, it's easy to know which group is on “our side.”

In my experience, our usual approach to this conflict is far from adequate. For one thing, there are a significant number of Palestinian Christians. The usual way we speak about this conflict leaves our Christian brothers and sisters completely invisible. These Christians live under the same conditions as their Muslim neighbors. They too find themselves cut off from their olive trees, hospitals, and schools by an Israeli security barrier that cuts off one village from the next. The shopkeeper that insisted Jerusalem is Palestine was a Christian. The Palestinian man who asked for psychiatrists was a Christian. A Christian church sits atop the well in Nablus. The majority of people living in the area around Bethlehem (which includes the towns of Beit Jala and Beit Sahour) are Christians.

As we met Christians throughout the Holy Land, we heard their stories and asked, “What do you want people to know about you? What should we tell our friends in the U.S.?” Every time, the answer was the same: “Tell people that we are here.” Now you know.

Personally, I want to advocate for all the children in the land where Jesus walked.