Sarah's Duck

This is a picture of a duck keychain that my little sister gave me before I left for Jordan. It has nothing to do with this post.

Today was my first real day off. So, I took a bus back to Amman and indulged myself.

Visited my favorite coffee shop in the city (not saying much, since I only know like three)...

Visited the famous King Abdullah Mosque...

The mosque’s entrance faces a Coptic Orthodox Church across the street, signifying the peaceful coexistence of Muslims and Christians in Jordan. 

And, best of all, visited with friends! 

(There were better pictures. But I liked this one.)

Wil Maxey, a Wheaton student who is working in Bethlehem for the semester, was visiting Amman with his parents. They graciously invited Agnes Chen and me to join them for lunch and then for a walk to (and in) the Roman amphitheater! A blessed time.

Recently, I realized that I haven’t really mentioned what I’m doing at the school. Figured I should probably do that. So...

Breakfast, lunch, and dinner everyday at the cafeteria with the students, volunteers, and some of the staff. Although breakfast starts at 7:30, I usually wake up in between 6 and 6:30 to squeeze in an hour of time by myself before the day begins.  

Monday through Thursday, there is a short chapel service after breakfast, just before classes start. In addition, there is a prayer meeting on Tuesday night, a Bible study on Thursday night, and a longer chapel service on Sunday night. I attend all of these religious functions. 

Regarding work, I have a different schedule for each day of the week. Instead of writing out each day’s schedule, then, I’ll just list the five responsibilities that I have been given, and you can imagine them scattered randomly throughout the week. The first item takes up the greatest amount of time, the fifth the least. 

1. Administrative work for the school’s director, Brother Andrew de Carpentier. This fascinating man deserves his own blog post, but that’ll have to wait. For now, I’ll just say that he is involved in several massive projects (in addition to running a school), and I’m doing some communications work for these projects. Really cool stuff, actually. I’ll write about it later. 

2. The deaf-blind unit. This is also really cool. And crazy. Beautiful. Horrifying. I’ve only done a couple hours’ worth of observation so far. There will be much to share in the future, I think. 

3. Student supervision. On the playground and in the boarding house, which I’ve already mentioned. Tiring, but oh so rewarding. 

4. English library. There are piles of books that are waiting to be classified, registered, and shelved. As it turns out, I dreamt of being a librarian for like half my childhood. This job is actually fun for me. 

5. “Sports teacher” for the high school boys. Basically, this means that I play basketball or soccer with them twice a week. Sounds good to me!

Prayers as I continue to adjust to life at the Holy Land Institute are appreciated. 

Grace and peace. 

The Holy Land Institute for the Deaf!

Welcome to my new home!

Although I have only been at the Holy Land Institute for a short while, I can already tell that this is a very special place. God is at work in inspiring ways. Beautiful things are happening here. 

But beauty is often intertwined with pain, and I can also tell that living and working at this school will be very hard. I am nervous about that. Even so, I am thrilled to be here. 

Thus far, I have split my time between assisting the school’s director with administrative work and engaging the children outside of the classroom. I eat meals with them, play with them, supervise non-academic activities, and help out with bed-time. 

The one story that I want to share in this post is a bed-time story, from my first night here. But I need to begin earlier in the day...

The first four signs that I learned after arriving at the Holy Land Institute were “volunteer,” “America,” “replace/exchange,” and “Brent” -- the last one being a sign name for a specific individual and not a universal sign. I learned these four because as Rafael (a young Swiss volunteer who gave me an informal orientation) was introducing me to teachers, administrators, and students, he told them that I was the volunteer from America who was replacing Brent, the school’s previous intern from the Mennonite Central Committee. After a dozen or so introductions, I was confident in my ability to recognize these four signs. But not in much else. 

Over the course of the day, I picked up a few more: “school,” “boy” and “girl,” “good” and “bad,” “same” and “different.” Baby steps. 

Now, fast forward to 8:00 in the evening, when the kids are getting ready for bed. They sleep ten to a room, and there are four rooms filled with little boys, and it is every bit as chaotic as you are imagining. The kind of chaos that Sir James Barrie cherished. The older boys are responsible for putting the younger ones to bed and maintain an admirable semblance of order. 

Rafael and I help out. Or rather, Rafael helps out, and I do my best. The two of us give love to each of the boys before turning off the lights. Hugs, kisses, and (with many of the boys) prayers. Rafael or I face them, one-on-one, and mirror their signs -- the equivalent of a hearing parent repeating each phrase of a hearing child’s prayer. 

As Rafael explains the ritual to me on my first night, I think of how sweet it is. I also think of how much sweeter it would be if I understood what the kids were saying. Given my infantile knowledge of Jordanian Sign Language, it’s really just a game of Follow the Leader, right?

My first leader of the night is Mahmoud.

He sleeps on a top bunk, so as he sits cross-legged on his bed for the prayer, I am looking up at him. He starts praying, and the sincerity of this 2nd grade boy strikes me. His gestures are emphatic, his expressions resolute. We are not playing a game. I begin trying to emulate his heart as I imitate his body. 

Towards the end of the prayer, I catch “bless the volunteer from America who is replacing Brent.”

Here I am, a disciple of 14 years, a good theology student at a good Christian college. And here he is, a 2nd grade boy.

And he is teaching me how to pray. 

More than that. In this moment, he is my priest. He is bringing me before God. And bringing me to God. 

Soon To See Their Hands!

In less than two hours, I leave Amman and move to the Holy Land Institute for the Deaf! Cindy Byler, my MCC supervisor, will drive me to Salt and help me get settled. ...And then, the real adventure begins!

As I mentioned in an earlier post, I’ve been taking a crash course in Arabic for the last three and a half weeks. Finished two days ago. It was a whirlwind, but I thoroughly enjoyed it and look forward to building on the foundation it laid. 

This stack of vocabulary words is the foundation :)

And these are the two wonderful Jordanian Christian women who taught me: Abiir and Shiifa. 

I’ve been able to speak with Jordanians on the street quite a bit since the course began, and it’s thrilling every time. Usually, I’m asking questions about where things are. Sometimes I understand the answers. 

When I wasn’t in class or studying Arabic, I was hanging out with these two gals, Kristy Guertin and Audra Brady. 

Kristy is the other SALT intern in Jordan, and Audra is a fellow Wheaton alum who is studying Arabic in Amman until December. The three of us have explored and relaxed together almost every day over the past three and a half weeks. 

Although I don’t have a picture of her to share, Agnes Chen is a current Wheaton student who is also in Amman until December, and I’ve been able to hang out with her as well. Because she has been here since June and understands Jordanian culture much better than I do, she has gently steered me away from cultural impropriety on several occasions. Many thanks to her for this. 

I just can’t tell you how grateful I am for these three women. Having them here during this time of transition has been an immense blessing. 

I also want to express my gratitude to those who have followed my Spring Break trip posts over the last few weeks. There is so much more that I wanted to share. (Who would’ve thought that learning Arabic would take up so much of my time? Tee hee hee.) Still, I’m glad to have written the little that I’ve written, and I’m glad that you’ve read. Know that I am always receptive to questions and discussion on these matters, whether in person or long-distance. 

Although I'm not planning on writing any more posts specifically about the Spring Break trip, related thoughts and feelings will probably make their way into random posts throughout the year. As will thoughts, feelings, and stories from these last three and a half weeks.  

But the next post, inshaallah (Lord willing), will introduce you to my new life at the Holy Land Institute for the Deaf! 

Until then, grace and peace!

The Other Side of Jerusalem

A Spring Break trip post.

On our group’s first morning in Israel/Palestine, we took a tour of East Jerusalem with ICAHD (Israeli Commission Against Home Demolitions). This impressive non-governmental organization has documented over 25,000 Israeli demolitions of Palestinian buildings in the West Bank since 1967, when the Israeli occupation of the West Bank began. If Palestinian buildings are in the way of a planned construction site, then they are destroyed. Offices, shops, homes. 25,000 of them.  

In urban areas, legal justification for these demolitions usually takes the form of absurd regulations that apply only to Palestinian buildings. For example, in East Jerusalem, Palestinians cannot construct additions or even make significant repairs without first receiving a permit from the Israeli government -- a permit that is almost never granted. Additions and repairs to Palestinian buildings are meticulously monitored, and any addition or repair made without a permit constitutes sufficient grounds to tear down the building. If it is destroyed, and if the Palestinians who reside there are unable to rebuild, then they must move. And if they move, then the land belongs to the Israeli government. Game over.

Especially in East Jerusalem, the stakes are high. As many of you know, Jerusalem is a highly contested area, and the issue of its ownership is one of the biggest roadblocks to a long-term peace resolution. The city is divided: West Jerusalem is part of the internationally recognized nation-state of Israel, and East Jerusalem is part of the West Bank, largely inhabited by Palestinians who are under Israeli occupation. For years, the Israeli government has unequivocally claimed that Jerusalem is and shall be its undivided capital. Most Palestinians, however, want East Jerusalem to be the future capital of a Palestinian state. Hence the roadblock.  

But Israel seems to have found a way around it. Approximately 40% of Israel’s West Bank settlers (200,000 of 500,000) reside in East Jerusalem. A significant presence. While these settlers live quite comfortably, they are surrounded by Palestinian slums. Why are they slums? Because no one can make repairs. Because Israeli civil services, such as garbage pick-up, do not serve them. Because the Israeli government is slowly but surely suffocating East Jerusalem, and if they succeed, perhaps the world will not grieve the carcass of a Palestinian shantytown. Then it can be resuscitated...as a fully Israeli community. And Jerusalem will be undivided. Game over. 

Sorry for the tangent, but this is all very important stuff. I was just describing the legal justification for Israeli demolitions of Palestinian buildings in urban areas, and now I’d like to describe their purported justification in rural areas. 

Basically, the Israeli government makes unreasonable requests for documentation that verifies Palestinian ownership of land. If a Palestinian family cannot present this documentation to the Israeli authorities, then that family has no right to the land they live on. 

Why is this request unreasonable? Because virtually no one has such documentation! We’re talking about rural, largely agrarian communities. Their lifestyle today isn’t all that different from their lifestyle hundreds of years ago -- and many of these families were right there hundreds of years ago. But if they can’t prove it in the precise way that the Israeli government wants them to prove it, then they can be kicked out, just like that. 

This history of demolition and seizure is a longstanding and seemingly impenetrable injustice that ruins lives. 

And yet, stories of hope exist. One such story is the Tent of Nations. 

Towards the middle of the trip, our group had the privilege of visiting a Palestinian Christian community called the Tent of Nations (www.tentofnations.org). Located just outside of Bethlehem, this community is all too familiar with the threat of demolitions. Four Israeli settlements surround it, and the Israeli government wants to link these settlements with roads. Under ordinary circumstances, the government would have kicked them out long ago and begun building. But the circumstances at the Tent of Nations are extraordinary: somehow, residents have managed to hold onto registration papers from 1916, during Ottoman rule! These rare papers prove that these families have a right to live there, and the Israeli government has been forced to honor that right.

Well, sort of. You see, for decades now, the Israeli government has made life as miserable as possible for this small Christian community. They are not allowed to build anything. So, they have renovated caves. They are denied access to running water and electricity. So, international volunteers have set up solar power generators. They have been treated unfairly and are thus tempted to harbor hatred in their hearts. So, they’ve set up a peace center and have adopted the motto “We refuse to be enemies.”

A glimpse of the Kingdom. Praise be to God. 

Christians and Muslims in Aboud

A Spring Break trip post.

The term “Palestinian Christian” puzzles many American Christians. They have assumed that to be Palestinian is to be Muslim. When they learn that Palestinian Christians actually exist, they often assume that there must be only a couple hundred of them, and they were probably converted by American missionaries a few years ago, and they are probably forced to live in hiding for fear of persecution. 

But none of these things are true. We have thousands upon thousands of Palestinian sisters and brothers in Christ, many of whom are members of Christian communities that go back hundreds of years. And while tensions between the two groups should be acknowledged, the fact of the matter is that Palestinian Christians coexist with their Muslim neighbors and have done so for centuries.

In some places, they have even thrived. 

One such place is Aboud. A Palestinian village whose population is 50% Christian, 50% Muslim. 

Our group visited Aboud on our first Sunday in Israel/Palestine. Because the village has three churches (Greek Orthodox, Catholic, and evangelical Church of God), we split up into three smaller groups, each worshipping with one of the congregations. I was assigned to the Church of God group. 

It was a small, quaint church. Around 20 adults and 30 children in attendance. The sanctuary looked like something you might see in any rural location in the States. Even the service structure was familiar.

I can think of only three major differences. First, the worship music was thoroughly Arab. Second, the visiting pastor preached on Matthew 6:16-18, in which Jesus teaches about fasting -- a topic that most pastors in the States avoid. It was a very good sermon, though.

Third, the sermon was preached by a woman.

Well, it was preached by both a woman and a man. The visiting pastor was a male, but because he was preaching to both Arabs and Americans, he did not know which language to speak in. After a minute or two of congregational conversing, it was decided that he would preach in Arabic, and the headmistress of the local Christian school would translate after each sentence. 

She stood directly beside him throughout the service, proclaiming the Gospel in English as boldly as her counterpart did in Arabic. For those of us with egalitarian convictions, it was a beautiful sight. 

After the church services ended, our whole group went to the Greek Orthodox church and talked with its priest. The building was beautiful and ancient. There are several sections of stone from several different eras, and the oldest layer dates back to the Constantinian era!

Like all other Christians with whom we spoke in Aboud, the Greek Orthodox priest absolutely renounces violence, and this renunciation has everything to do with his understanding of what it means to follow Jesus Christ. (From what I’ve observed and heard, this is true of the Palestinian church at large.) The vehemence with which this godly man decries the injustices of the Israeli occupation is paralleled by the vehemence with which he proclaims his (Christ’s) peace ethic. For those of us with pacifist convictions, it was a beautiful word. 

(Many thanks to my friend Hillary Truty, whose pictures keep this blog from putting everyone to sleep.)

While we were visiting the priest, many Christian women in Aboud were preparing a meal for our group. And what a meal it was!

That’s a pizza with half a chicken on it.

Such hospitality is part and parcel of Middle Eastern culture. And not just towards foreigners. Recently, one of the village’s elders, who was also a leader in the Orthodox church, passed away. The whole village attended his funeral, and all of the event’s catering was prepared by the village’s Muslim women. 

For all of us who yearn for reconciliation, it is a beautiful example. 

After the meal, we took a tour of the village. On its main road, we saw this sign:

“Great! Our country is actually doing some good for these people!” We were all very pleased. 

But further down the road, we found this: 

The road continues beyond this obstruction for several hundred yards, lined with countless olive trees -- an invaluable source of income for the village. 

Why was this done? 

Because several hundred yards beyond those several hundred yards, there is an Israeli settlement. A community of Israelis who are living lavishly, who are living outside of the internationally-recognized boundaries of the nation-state of Israel, who are living inside of what most people call Palestinian territory. 

We saw and heard construction equipment. Building and expansion is ongoing, as it is in many settlements. The roadblock exists to minimize Palestinian presence on the surrounding land and to impair the ability of Aboud’s residents to live on it. With such minimization and impairment comes disputability: as the settlement continues to grow, and as Israeli activity (like the creation of roadblocks) continues to damage the livelihood of villagers, Israel will be increasingly capable of contesting Aboud’s right to the land. 

The story isn’t over, of course. Perhaps Aboud will fair well in the future and remain largely unaffected by the Israeli occupation. But the beginning of the story closely resembles the stories of many other Palestinian villages. And most of these stories are Palestinian tragedies.

Let us pray that our sisters and brothers in Christ who live in Aboud experience a happier ending. 

What about the harmony that our group observed between Christians and Muslims in Aboud? This is a rare thing -- to be so supportive of each other, to be visibly united as a community. What is uniting them? 

The same thing that unites Christians and Muslims in those villages whose stories are tragedies. 

They are united by their hatred of the occupation.