humanity, yours or mine?

I hate waiting in line. At least, I hate waiting in the longer line. You know what I mean. If there are multiple lines at the grocery store, I expend a great deal of mental energy figuring out which one is faster. Then I carefully scruntinize the progress of the lines to confirm that I've made the right decision. I do this when I'm trying to figure out the fastest way around traffic, when debating which fastrak lane to take at the Bay Bridge, or when timing my arrival to an appointment. No surprise that waiting at the various checkpoints getting in or out of the West Bank is not something I enjoy.

waiting in line at the Bethlehem checkpoint

Checkpoints are aggravating for a number of reasons. The most glaring is what it represents to people on the both sides of that very tall wall. For the Israelis, it is an assurance of safety. After all, this is the ultimate gated community. Only those who have been vetted with the proper credentials are allowed in. For the Palestinians, on the other hand, it is a formidable restriction of movement and a regular reminder that they live in the world's largest open-air prison, an incarceration based solely on ethnicity and driven by politics. From my perspective, the wall and the checkpoints cannot protect Israel because it can never reform the restrained. Quite the opposite. The wall reinforces the Palestinians' status as a despised group in the eyes of the Israelis. The checkpoints themselves strip hardworking, regular people of their dignity and freedom. Ironically, the checkpoints are only for the "lucky" ones who have special permits to enter into Israel for work. Most Palestinians don't have the privilege of navigating through a checkpoint. They simply are not allowed to leave. History reminds us that treating people as "less than" will always backfire more explosively back onto you. 

Another reason is that they are very inefficient. The Bethlehem checkpoint into Jerusalem is approached by a narrow road through a residential area. Only one car can go through the checkpoint at a time. When the line is short, it can take 5-10 minutes to get through the check point. If the line is long, count on 30-45 minutes.    

When it is your turn, every person in the car must show their IDs to the young, armed 19 year old IDF soldiers. If your papers are all in order and the inside of the car and trunk is cleared, you are then waived through. Even if you have all the proper documentation, the soldiers often make the Palestinian passengers get out of the car and go through the "walking" checkpoint, an exercise that can take hours depending on the time of day.  All the while, their companion who is driving is now free to breeze through. 

This is a sample of some of the paperwork 
a Palestinian must carry to navigate 
through the check point. Each document 
involves an elaborate application process. 
Should you be able to secure a job in Israel, 
you still must be granted a valid valid work 
permit. This young man doesn't have one 
so he is not able to leave the West Bank.

I'm sure some you are scratching your heads. Palestinians can't drive through a checkpoint? You see, only Arabs with Israeli citizenship, people with passports from other countries, or those with diplomatic status are allowed to drive through the checkpoints. Even the cars themselves indicate who is in and who is out. Cars with yellow Israeli plates are allowed access while cars with the white West Bank license plates are not allowed in Israel. So even if a West Banker has been given special permission to enter Israel, he or she cannot own, rent, or drive a car there. So my friends who have permission to work in Israel drive to the checkpoint, walk through an elaborate screening/security system, and then take Israeli taxis or buses to where they need to go. Imagine the cost and hassle if you had to travel a significant distance on a regular basis. Clearing this walking checkpoint can take up to 2-3 hours when crowds of people are heading to work in the morning. So while I find the checkpoint unjust, annoying and inefficient, my American passport and the Israeli plates on my rental car enable me to drive on both sides of the wall, moving between Israel and the West Bank with relative freedom. 

Today, the line was particularly long, 25+ cars. Silly me, I forgot to bring a book to read. So with little to do but wait, I jumped on my iphone and looked up "checkpoint etiquette." After 2 months of navigating this darn thing, I still haven't figured out all of the unwritten rules. The night before, I had driven through and noticed that people turned off their headlights when "on deck" before the IDF screening. Since I have never turned off my headlights when waiting, I was now curious to confirm whether or not I had been unintentionally rude. I also had a vague recollection that photographing the security process was a no, no but was that really true? One time the soldiers made me wait for 10 minutes for no apparent reason before signaling me to approach. Had I violated another unwritten rule? Unfortunately, I didn't find the answer to my questions but I did read quite a bit about how people relate to others at the checkpoints.

Understandably, one writer thought that the Israeli soliders didn't deserve to be treated civilly and lectured her children when they waived to those stationed there. Cooperative behavior is expected but nothing more. One blogger acknowledged the humanity of the soldiers but found it difficult to ease the experience of anyone enforcing such unjust security measures. Another wrote about the defeated sense of hopelessness he felt going through the checkpoint. The history of being routinely denigrated meant that he was  incapable of making eye contact with the soldiers.

This got me thinking about my own response to the soldiers at the checkpoint. While in no way on par with the Palestinian experience, I have had a glimpse of the futility and frustration of being suspiciously scrutinized. But even that has become routine. There is a dance that has to be done and I know my part - even if I don't like it. I do consider the humanity of the soldiers and try to be somewhat friendly to them, as friendly as you can be when someone who has an automatic weapon slung over their bullet-proof vest has power over you! It is a way for me to assert my humanity, a small declaration that no matter how this system chooses to treat me, I will rise above it. I would rather lean towards love than choose to indifference or hate.

Is this what Jesus means when he speaks of loving the neighbor, forgiving the one who has betrayed you, and helping the dreaded Samaritan when you encounter his suffering? Is this the basis of Jesus' underlying charge to give an extra coat, walk another mile, and to turn the other cheek? I think this is part of it. When we don't allow someone or something else to define our worth, we are correctly affirming God's vision of us as treasured and precious. Each of us is God's exquisite creation, a limited edition of one that carries the divine signature of authenticity and inestimable value. Experiencing and then claiming our own significance empowers us to recognize and respond to the import of another.

But I think Jesus expects more of us than just caring for an enemy for self-affirming reasons. Jesus vividly demonstrates this in the parable of the unforgiving servant in Matthew 18. When we have truly experienced grace, we are expected to extend transformative forgiveness to others. You will note that the king in this story still demands a reckoning. In other words, he acknowledges and accounts for the wrongdoing and the betrayal. That seems to be the easy part. But the king goes on and expresses a greater love when he chooses to erase the huge debt. Deep love and forgiveness are not simply sentimental but emerge out of the demand for justice, a righteousness that only God can grant. And when we understand and experience being loved and cherished after such transparent talk about our sin, we are enabled to generously grant grace-filled love to those who are hurting us.

Yohanna Katanacho, one of my Palestinian friends and a biblical scholar from Bethlehem Bible College, writes about a confrontation with IDF soldiers who, at that time, were operating under the orders of "shoot first, ask questions later." A man in his early twenties and recently reborn in Christ, he was leaving his church in the Old City of Jerusalem late at night when a trio of soldiers at the Damascus Gate signaled to him. As he approached them, he was aware of how vulnerable he was. Concern turned to terror when these young teenage soldiers suddenly pointed their machine guns at his head. He writes,

"I looked at them and raised my hand to my chest. 'I have a heart, here, that loves you,' I told them. For a moment, the three soldiers stared at me, shocked. I was shocked too! Slowly, they lowered their guns and we began to talk together. After twenty minutes, one soldier told me, 'I wish that all Palestinians were like you.' 'No", I replied. 'I wish that you were like me.'"

Yohanna understood that love is not about pretending that injustice does not exist. Rather it is knowing that injustice is not the only thing that exists. With God, there is something greater. When given room to flourish, grace and love acknowledge such injustice and then transcend and transform it.

He goes on to write:

"Opposition served as a reminder to me that I needed to decide daily whether or not I would choose to love. Sin distorts your mind and you can easily revert to the ways of human nature and respond with hate when treated badly. But really, our "love muscles" grow stronger as we obey God, and after some time we become more patient. We have more strength to love. Our hearts grow bigger, and we learn how to involve prayer in our love." 

This encourages me to keep exercising my love muscles while I wait at the checkpoints. Integrating not only love but prayer will help me embrace grace as a lifestyle and not cheapen it by wearing it like a fashion accessory. And I will join Yohanna in the hope that all of us, soldier and detainee alike, can be changed by this greater reality.


If you are interested in reading Dr. Yohanna Katanacho's book, The Land of Christ:  A Palestinian Cry, it is available through the Bethlehem Bible College web site.