Monday, March 16, 2009

My leather journal is packed with thoughts and observations, yet this is the first journal entry I’ve made public. The lack of regular computer access made it difficult to contribute. Somehow though, it has been enriching to spend a week disconnected from the world at large. Looking back, I can say that immersion in this country’s history, geography and politics was in fact strengthened by my cutting off everything else.

Today was one of my favorite days. After two days wearing our feet weary on the streets of Jerusalem, we piled back on the bus to travel south into the Judean desert. Verdant rolling hills dotted with Jewish settlements gave way to barren sand hills, speckled with Bedouin camps. Sheep rambled upon ancient herding paths and medjool palms reached to the sky in neat square groves.

We spent the first part of the day at Masada, a ruined fortress perched 1,300 feet high on a flat rock plateau. This UNESCO World Heritage site presented us with hours of history and legend. Masada was set up as a refuge by King Herod between 31 and 37 BCE, and later taken over by Jewish rebels in 66. When the Romans attacked years later, Masada became a place of mass organized suicide—its people preferred death to slavery.

With history pulsing through us and the sun beating down, we continued on to the Dead Sea. One by one we stepped into the water, and despite being full of pita and hummus, allowed our bodies to become like living buoys. Shouts of childlike glee could be heard across the sea in Jordan as played, trying to avoid getting burning drops of water in our mouths and eyes.

We finished the day sitting in a semi-circle just a few meters from the cave where the Dead Sea Scrolls were found years ago. The sun’s light rode slowly away on the faint songs of birds, and we debriefed as a group for the last time in Israel. We were still for a while in God’s presence, and then our voices spoke once more of faith and friendship, past and future, fear and hope, striving and waiting--all of it settling like dust at our feet.

-- Jennifer Ward


Saturday, March 14, 2009

As we were sitting in St. Anne’s Church in Jerusalem, silence was required—except for church hymnals. Our group started to walk downstairs, when I heard singing from another group sitting in the church: “We’ve come this far by faith; leaning on the Lord. Trust in his Holy Word; he’s never failed me yet.”

Chaplain Jennifer happened to be standing next to me and we both began to sing the African American spiritual. It was at that moment that I truly realized how important and essential music was to my faith. As I heard the melody, I couldn’t help but smile and thank the Lord.

Later in the day we visited more sites and reached the first century steps in Gallicantu. Unlike many things in Jerusalem, these steps weren’t built upon and are original. They were also on the path Jesus walked. Several members of the group took off our shoes to walk where Jesus walked and truly feel what it may have been like.

As I walked up and down the steps, with my shoes in my hands, I broke out in song: “We’ve come this far by faith; leaning on the Lord…” I couldn’t get the hymnal out of my head. Walking up the steps at Gallicantu, with that song in my head and heart, I could feel the spirit of Jesus. It was the most spiritual moment of the trip so far…I’m looking forward to more.

--Clarence Cross III


I thought I had this trip already mapped out in my mind but my experiences here have been very different from what I expected them to be. I thought I would be engaging on a completely spiritual journey but I can't help but feel very distracted by everything going on around me. I am hearing and seeing Arabic and Hebrew. I am eating falafel and swarma. I am seeing monks and rabbis. It is a complete sensory overload.

I expected this trip to bring the Bible stories I have read to life. I have visited the location of the Last Supper, the tomb of King David, the place of Jesus' birth and so much more. In addition to meeting those expectations, this trip has been teaching me even more about humanity and hope.

Visiting a Palestinian refugee camp really put a different spin on this trip for me. I think the best way to see God at work and feel his power is to understand the hope that people have in them while they continue to make something out of nothing, which is the slogan for the dance and drama program at the center in the refugee camp. The director of this program was an inspiration to me because he was empowering kids who he said had very little opportunities under the circumstances they were in.

-- Racquel Clarke


Friday March 13, 2009

After spending all day in the West Bank receiving a lecture from a Palestinian pastor about the Israeli/Palestinian conflict and then a visit to a Palestinian refugee camp my heart literally broke.

As an Interfaith Youth Core Fellow, I believed story telling was the answer to the problem. But after hearing yet another story, I cracked. I broke. Today these stories that used to inspire me to advocate and fight for each side began to suffocate me. My heart broke because I finally saw this conflict for what it really is; a messy, bloody, painful, disgusting, heart-breaking, faithful battle. Yesterday I lost my innocence and as a result, lost my belief in a chance for peace. The love I have for my friends who have become my family on both side of the conflict still exists, but my faith is a solution was destroyed. And as an eternal optimist, this lack of faith is a profound and excruciating identity crisis.

-- Nikole Saulsberry


As we’ve traveled to different sites around Israel and now the West Bank, I’ve carried my Bible with me everywhere, looking up the sites before we reach them and reading verses to myself while there.

Today we crossed the boundary into the West Bank to visit Bethlehem, and the Church of the Nativity. Our guide left us at the border and we met another guide across the wall. We entered the Church of the Nativity, which is shared by three church denominations, the Greek Orthodox Church seeming to take up much of the space. As we waited in line to descend a stone staircase to visit the site that marks the place where Mary gave birth to Jesus, a Polish group in front of us started singing Silent Night in their language. AMAZING. It blew my mind and for the first time on this trip I had tears in my eyes. The capstone to this experience, though, was the opportunity to read the story of Christ’s birth from Luke’s gospel.

This was honestly the first time that I have felt powerfully moved by a site we visited, and I think it is the human element—the heartfelt offering of a common hymn—that moved me. What has surprised me most about the trip and what should not surprise me, is that the important part of this trip has not been visiting sites, but instead it has been the dialogue between honest and open people in this group sharing their perspectives and experiences on this trip. Which is great news, because while I cannot bring the Mount of Olives home, my relationships with God and with people do travel.

-- Elizabeth Crosby


Finally! For the first time in my life the Dome of the Rock stood right in front of me. It was a magnificent structure to behold. In the midst of the dark night it glowed and I couldn't divert my eyes from it. I was speechless. To think that after 60 years I, the grandson of a Palestinian refugee, would be standing in front of this sacred structure was unbelievable. My mother was never able to see her land's most important site, neither were her brothers and sisters. My grandfather died in 2002, 34 years after he was expelled, never seeing Jerusalem again. His sons and daughters only knowing Jerusalem through his stories. My mother, who was born in 1972, and her siblings have never touched the sacred soil of this land and neither have any of their sons or grandchildren. Until now.

I was the first of my grandfather's descendants to come back, to return and to see. The image that I grew up with: the golden dome, was always a distant dream. So far away, pictures would be the closest that I would get to seeing it. The image of this mosque was everywhere I grew up. Accompanied by differing verses of the Quran or Hadith promising justice or redemption. My whole life was surrounded by this picture.

There's a prayer that is said during Friday sermons and in taraweeh extensively: "God, grant us a prayer in (your holy mosque at Jerusalem) before death takes us. "I never thought God would make me one of those who he granted the right to pray in His sacred mosque. But here I was, in the sacred sanctuary, atop all of Jerusalem, facing the Dome of the Rock. No words can describe the emotion. To my right was the Al-Aqsa mosque, even more sacred than the dome.

This is our claim to Jerusalem, I thought, this is why we fight for this land. So many have been martyred to keep this in the hands of the Muslims. Images of Caliph Omar, Abdul-Malik and Saladin came to my mind. Men who strived to keep this land sacred. I was ever thankful to the Lord that He brought such men to Jerusalem. Not only as a savior to the Muslims but also to the Jews and Christians. They ruled with justice and kindness which resulted in benefits for all. Inside the Al-Aqsa, I prayed to be like these men and bring peace to Jerusalem. Reminded by the verse, "Pray for the peace of Jerusalem: they shall prosper that love thee," Psalm 122:6, I came out feeling that peace was on it's way from the heavens.

-- Ahmed Al-Salem


At times, I can’t help but think, “Why didn’t I know that before?”

After going through two check points and switching buses (which is mandatory when traveling from Jerusalem to the West Bank), we arrived in Bethlehem, which is part of the infamous West Bank. I’d heard and read so much about this area before—typically in news reports that cited the latest death toll or yet another suicide bomb that was detonated. Never before did I think I would be in this region, seeing it for myself.

What struck me most about this was the disparity between Jerusalem and Bethlehem, two worlds I could never compare until now. We walked through a Palestinian refugee camp, filled with many children of all ages scurrying around, playing in the gravel-laden pathways. This area, where people are forced to live without privacy (stacked on top of one another in tiny cement houses) and with the omnipresent smell of grime and rotten food, should never be tolerated or allowed for human life.

Driving back into Jerusalem felt like a world away from the images and people I’d seen some 20 miles way. It was suddenly white and clean.

Now that I’ve seen all of this with my very own eyes, I’m able to make my own conclusions and formulate my own responses. I feel blessed that I can make these decisions now for myself without any certain perspective telling me what I SHOULD believe. A piece of my innocence may be gone but I might be fine with that if it means that I’m a step closer to understanding more about the world around me.

-- Elizabeth Ferree


Though I was born and raised a Catholic, I rarely think of myself as a Christian. I consider myself as deeply religious, but find the structure of institution to be restricting. In Galilee we visited numerous holy sites, but the ones that most touched me were those most far removed from civilization; I cannot experience the mystery that is the universe when I am surrounded by the crush of modernity. In Nazareth we ascended a mountain to a monument called the Three Faiths Look Out. It was a moment of serendipity; a place reserved for our group, built for our group, though those who made it never heard or thought of us. The clarity one can receive on a high place of the world is staggering. A compelling lecture of the ministry of Jesus was being delivered while the Holy Land lay at my feet, but all I could do was stare out at the world and appreciate and attempt to understand its magnitude, beauty and perfection. I was reminded of how critical it is to be removed, removed from the bustle of modernity, from community, and even from oneself. It is when we move from living with and understanding the small parts of the world, and strive to look as it as a whole, that we can truly find how it is meant to work, and what our place is in it.

-- James Tiedemann


Thursday, March 12, 2009

If I thought hearing the Call to Prayer atop a mountain was moving, words cannot begin to describe the feeling of hearing the Call to Prayer blended with the ring of church bells. While we left the Church of the Annunciation, where Mary received the message that she would give birth to Jesus, I experienced this musical interfaith phenomenon. It was at that moment that I became incredibly thankful for my two years as a music major. The Call to Prayer being a vocal line and the bells being an instrumental line created beautiful harmony and simultaneously beautiful dissonance.

These sounds articulated what I couldn’t put into words. The vocal line of the Call to Prayer is passionate, filled with vibrato and genuine emotion. The church bells, while warm, inviting and beautiful, are majestic and institutional. I expected to be moved by the Church of the Annunciation, but my lack thereof left me jaded. Perhaps this is why I felt more of a connection to the Call to Prayer than I did the churches bells. The harmony I spoke of was a truly melodic harmony. The dissonance I spoke of was a personal dissonance of faith.

-- Nikole Saulsberry


While acknowledging that interfaith dialogue is is an important and critical component in having an understanding of the situation that presents itself in Israel, I have approached this trip through a different discipline and lense. As a student of political science and international relations, I have come to know the history and politics behind the region we now find ourself in. On Wednesday we traveled to Mt. Arbel and I was in complete awe with the scenery that was before me. Looking in one direction I could see the mountains of Jordan. Looking in another I could see the snow covered mountains of Syria and Lebanon. To be in one country while looking at four others is a rare occasion that one hardly experiences. To add to the moment, Israel was staring in the face of a friend, in the case of Jordan, and to those that do not have the most cordial of relations with the Israeli state, in the case of Lebanon and Syria. This was a moment for me when all the things that I have learned about this region came into place, like a puzzle of some sort. It was the realization that this small state lives in a volatile section of the world that continues to be a source of not only political disputes but of religious tension. This trip has provided me with not only an opportunity to expand upon my knowledge of the political and historical complexities that exist but to learn about the importance that interfaith dialogue plays. An understanding of one another's religion allows the building of trust to occur. Such an appreciation of this may prove to be one possible solution in trying to find a lasting and viable resolution to the hostilities that continue to exist today.

-- Garret Pustay


I have had an extreme growing experience on this trip so far. Having been to Israel before and never been to many of the sites we have seen, I feel as though I have been missing out on some of the history that Israel provides us with. I really appreciated the Ancient Synagogue Arbel because it seemed as if it was recently discovered and we just stumbled upon an ancient ruin. Our group particularly enjoyed it because we had just come from sites that could be deemed as tourist sites because of all the groups we were passing from different countries, all sporting backpacks and hats. We posed on top of columns, made our own discoveries (found the arc where the Torah was placed) and took pictures that we will remember for a lifetime. The lookout was beautiful and it felt to be all ours, something we could claim as our own, Three Faiths, One Humanity 2009.

--Emily St. Lifer


I'm writing this from a hotel in the center of bustling Old Jerusalem. Here in the lobby there are two men at the front desk speaking Arabic and listening to Sean Kingston, and to my left "Sex and the City" is playing on TV with Hebrew subtitles. From up on the balcony of my room I heard the Adhan, the Muslim call to prayer, reverberating over city buildings and city noises that didn't match its majestic sound. A member of our group was detained at the airport because of his Arabic name, yet that same student met three good friends in town - a Jew, a Muslim and a Druse - who thought nothing of their differences. This is a place where a church, a mosque and a temple are located on the same block, yet it is home to some of the fiercest political conflicts in the world. It's a place rich in its paradoxes. It's a place where your expectations are turned upside down. I have been surprised by the mixture of faiths and cultures here. Of course there are Arab sections and Jewish sections, churches, mosques and temples, but every street sign is written in Arabic, Hebrew and English. Most can speak each other's language. They all use the same highways. They all love their God, their land and their families.

I've seen something happen to our group in the past few days. Either Israel is transforming us into a similar paradoxical yet cohesive body, or we are simply seeing a reflection of ourselves through our experiences in Israel. Jerusalem is proving to be a place where the culmination of our interfaith dialogue is possible. It's hard to explain in words because it's not really a process that can be replicated like a recipe. It happens naturally, through shared living space and thoughts, and being a little vulnerable.

-- Anna Koulouris


Wednesday, March 11, 2009

Imagine being in the place where miracles happen. That’s what today was for me.

Today, we traveled to Galilee and stayed on the Mount of Beatitudes. I couldn’t believe we would be staying in the place, let alone walking around on the grounds where Jesus gave his famous Sermon on the Mount speech. We then had lunch by the Sea of Galilee, the place where Jesus walked on water, which happens to be my favorite biblical story. We also saw the place where Jesus fed thousands with two fish and five loads of bread. I still can’t believe I was in the place of miracles today.

After dinner we traveled to the town of Tiberius. While walking the streets of Tiberius with Ahmed and Asim, we met three young men: an Israeli Jew, Syrian Druse and Palestinian Muslim. Again, despite the Israeli conflict, I managed to see another piece of hope. We asked the three of them “How were things? How was life in Israel?” They each said “It was fine. Life was great.”

Ahmed, Asim and I were all taken aback. We continued to discuss our encounter back at the hotel, where we thought maybe things were skewed outside of Jerusalem? Or maybe Jerusalem was skewed? Was the media exaggerating the conflict?

So while I couldn’t answer these questions, I decided to wait to make a formal conclusion about the conflict until I visit Jerusalem…tomorrow.

-- Clarence Cross III