The Shraideh Family

Since 2010, I’ve had a variety of experiences in the West Bank. My first forays were as a tourist, parachuting into one or two holy sites before decamping to Jerusalem. During my 2012 sabbatical, I was a short-term resident where I muddled through life in Bethlehem in an attempt to experience and understand Palestinian culture with the obvious constraint of being a non-Arabic speaking American. My current plans for visiting my beloved Palestine include leading periodic pilgrimages which affords me the opportunity to extend my time there for a week or two. Although my residential status seems to often change, one thing remains consistent: the generous hospitality of the Palestinian people.

Suliman and Hilda Shraideh

This past March, I was in the Holy Land for a full month, attending a conference, leading a pilgrimage, and lingering for a week's vacation. During my time off, I ventured to the northern part of the West Bank where the Shraideh family warmly welcomed me. On a couple of occasions, I had briefly met Hilda and Sulieman when passing through Nablus with a pilgrimage group. Their home is situated on an unusually beautiful piece of property in the heart of this thriving city. Olive and fruit trees dot the property along with beehives, herb gardens, and a handful of cats. How could I decline the invitation to relax amid such beauty and eat from the produce of their land? With assurances that I wasn’t imposing on them, I headed off to Nablus to soak in a bit of love from this Palestinian family.

fresh bread right out of the oven

bread baking in the oven

The next few days were filled with all sorts of fun and family. A trip to the age-old souq introduced me to the wonders of freshly baked pita bread. No surprise that the bread sells out as fast as it is baked. What fascinated me was watching Hilda check the quality of the bread as it came out of the oven. If it was not the perfect texture, it went back in to bake for a few more moments. This was artisan baking AND buying at its best!

It was wonderful to see Nablus through the eyes of locals. Ihab, Hilda and Sulieman’s oldest son, gave me wonderful tour of the city. Starting with the older section of the Christian neighborhood of Rafidiya, I saw the remains of the Shraideh's former family home on property that has been theirs for hundreds of years. How typical that their house was next to both the church and the village olive press. We then wandered through the ancient alleyways of Nablus, walking under its antique arches as we explored its abandoned gardens and gates. Transported to another time and place, the "modern" spice markets and Turkish baths were a contiguous link to these remnants of the past.

Old City Nablus

Cooking and eating are a big part of Palestinian hospitality. What I love about Palestine is that all the food is local and seasonal. At the Shraideh home, it also means the herbs and produce are harvested moments before being prepared and cooked! Hilda is an extraordinary chef who, as far as I’m concerned, should have her own cooking show on TV. And while she taught me how to cook a few Palestinian favorites, the tradition I’ve brought home with me is stopping for tea in the afternoon. The Palestinian innovation is adding a bit of sage (along with a touch of sugar) to Lipton tea. You should try it sometime. It is wonderful.

Sahar and Ihab Shraideh with their children 
Noor, Sulieman,  and baby Jad
on Easter Sunday

While I loved seeing the sites and enjoyed the great food, the memories I will cherish most involve the children. Like many Palestinian families, the Shraideh home includes many generations. Ihab’s young son and daughter were my treasured playmates. I enjoyed their kisses and hugs before bedtime and loved seeing them in the morning. It seems that kids find ways to communicate even when a common language isn’t shared. At first, Sulieman and Noor were shy around me but they soon forgot to be self-conscious and began to play. My I-Phone camera became a fun way for us to share experiences. It is astonishing how fast they master the technology. And I so enjoyed being with their mother and the new baby, Jad. Sahar is wise woman who I am eager to get to know better on future trips.



Hilda and Sulieman represent the heart and soul of Palestine to me. They opened their home and welcomed me like family. I'm sure many of you who follow my blog have realized that they are also the parents of my good friend and treasured tour guide, Iyad. Like father, like son. I am so grateful to and for the entire Shraideh family for their kindness and friendship. 

Before leaving the country, I found myself back in Bethlehem for a day of meetings. At one, a prominent Palestinian church leader asked me where I had been on vacation.  When I told him that I had been in Nablus, he looked at me incredulously and then burst out laughing. He told me he had never heard of an American vacationing there. What a tragedy! Let me go on the record and encourage all my American friends - go to Nablus! It is amazing! And if you can, visit the Shraideh family of Rafidiya. You could not ask for more generous and wonderful people! When you are there, give them a hug and tell them Debbie says hi!

Warning! Danger Ahead!

Labels are shortcuts that help us analyze, categorize, and instruct. When shopping at the grocery store, labels help the consumer determine the nutritional content of a product, position its placement on the food pyramid, and may even issue a warning of one kind or another.

Labels also serve as shortcuts to identify groups. We use them to sift and sort out commonalities and assumptions - some for good and some, far less so. We categorize people by gender, ethnic origin, nationality, religion, economic status, and the list goes on and on. In a place like Berkeley, we argue endlessly over the dangers of such labeling since stigmatizing and stereotyping are rampant when tagging others this way. This is particularly true when the people doing the labeling are in power over those being classified.

As you might imagine, here in Israel/Palestine, such conscriptions reinforce the long-held views that one group holds about the other. In this conflict, the way another group labels you is almost always the complete opposite of how you might perceive yourself.

When I moved here for my sabbatical, I intentionally decided against living a tourist lifestyle. Tourists are often coddled and shielded from the realities of life here. Most visitors parachute into the West Bank for no more than a few hours to see the holy sites in Bethlehem. And many pilgrims don't even to that. They are afraid to cross the border. Why? In part, because most have been told that it is not safe. 

One choice I made was to lease a car and drive myself. People told me I was crazy but how could I experience Palestine if I was always in a taxi? 

When I first arrived, I wanted to see as much of Palestine as I could.  Flexing my fledgling driving wings, I immediately got out and drove on the open road - first to Ramallah, then to Jericho, and finally, a Sunday drive somewhere south. You know, I really have no idea all the places I went that first weekend.

It was a challenge trying to figure out the traffic, the cultural rules (it is expected that you will honk), and the various road signs.  Out of the city and in the more rural areas, I began to notice tri-lingual signs like these leading to all the Arab villages:  

Given my naiveté, I was a bit freaked out when I saw them. What would happen to me if I accidently drove into one of these villages with my Israeli-plated car? Given that I can’t speak Arabic, would I be mistaken for an Israeli? Alone and a woman, could I be hurt in some way? So I drove past them as quickly as I could, praying that my car would never break down in such an area. I secretly vowed that I would never tell my family that I had been foolishly driving around without an escort!

It didn’t take too long for me to figure out how utterly unfounded these fears had been. Quite the opposite. Palestinian hospitality is generous and embracing. If I had wandered into one of these villages, they would have found someone who spoke English, invited me to dinner, and I would have dozens of new best friend.  Never have I had anything but the warmest welcome while wandering around the West Bank.

So why the warning signs? 

I had always assumed these signs were placed by the Palestinian Authority, the message being, “Israelis keep out or else!” After all, these signs are on Palestinian land and mark the entrance to areas under Palestinian governance and military control, the well-established “Area A.”  But this is not the case. What I discovered just this past week iz that it is the Israeli government who puts up these signs. For what reason? Apparently this reinforces the Israeli stereotype that Palestinians are hostile and threatening.  These signs serve as a warnings that entrance into any Palestinian town is dangerous to non-Palestinians - something that I know to be blatantly untrue!

So imagine my amusement when some Israeli and Palestinian women decided to create their own form of non-violent protest, choosing instead to place a different kind of label on those entrance markers. They covered these defamatory signs with ones that more readily reflects Palestinian hospitality.

I really like the last line:  "Refuse to be enemies."

Now that's the kind of label I think even Jesus would like.

Mar Saba

Sometimes you have to travel around the world to meet one of your neighbors. And sometimes it’s the only way to see your friends.

with Jes Steinberg at Mar Saba

When I was on Sabbatical here in Palestine, several people told me about a teacher from the East Bay who had moved to Jerusalem to teach English. After a few scheduling fits and starts, Jes and I finally met and bonded over a bacon-laden meal. We get together whenever I’m back in Israel. My crazy schedule prevented me from seeing her when she was briefly back in the Bay last summer.

My first order of business when I arrived a few weeks ago was to dial up old friends and plan an adventure or two. Jes claimed that first weekend and so in the early quiet of Saturday Sabbath, we headed off to the wilderness. 

Our first stop was the Mar Saba Monastery east of Bethlehem. We wove our way through the mountainous terrain until we were perched on the edge of a vast canyon, the monastery clinging to the cliff below us. Away from the hum of civilization, the stillness is quite a contrast. It is difficult to put into words the beauty, the spaciousness, the desolation of this place. Chatting ceases, inner voices go silent, and the soul begins to expand.  

Mar Saba in the Judean Wilderness

Soon you notice details. You are drawn to the sound of water and suddenly spy the wadi steam below. The birds soar overhead landing on the crosses gracing the tops of the monastery chapels. Across the canyon, there is an ancient and worn path cut into the rock. You follow its trail and realize that you are looking at the entrance to caves where you presume monks live.

path to monk's cave

I wish I could say the Monastery echoed these sensibilities but I will never know what the inside looks like. Jes and I were forbidden entrance. Only for men, oblates with ovaries have never been welcome. So we created our own holy space opening ourselves to the sacred from other sources. The glory of God’s creation was our chapel and the temple for our prayers.

I’ve been in the Judean wilderness on many occasions and have always had the same reaction. 

Awe. 

Every time, though, I have been with colleagues, family, pilgrims or friends. I’ve never been alone, truly alone in this vast, rugged landscape. I think it would scare me to feel so unprotected and vulnerable. Would God seem as present if I were unprepared, anxious and alone? 

I don’t know the answer and I’m not quite ready to volunteer for a solo trek into the Judean Wilderness. I do know that on this particular day, sharing this experience with a good friend was God’s gift. Conceivably that’s why the ancient pilgrims traveled in groups as they camped and climbed their way through these desolate mountains up to the holy city. It was safer to travel in packs and the songs they sang as they ascended bolstered the spirit. We can weather challenging terrain when we have companions on the journey.

Sometimes I have to travel around the world to remember this.

Those who trust in God

are like Zion Mountain;

Nothing can move it, 

a rock-solid mountain

you can always depend on.

Mountains encircle Jerusalem, 

and God encircles his people-

always has and always will.

Psalm 125:1-2

Sacrament

My soul has been in bad shape these past few months. I've felt dried up and shriveled deep within and I’ve wondered if I could find my way back into some semblance of joy. I’ve been through drought and wilderness before but this season has been particularly difficult and prolonged. What happens when pastors lead from such deficit? Who are their confessors? Who carries them along the scarred and sacred path when they have lost their way?

I came to the Holy Land to lead two trips and have a bit of vacation time. The small band of disciples who attended the Christ at the Checkpoint with me had little need of my pastoral guidance or care. In many ways, these folks took the lead on setting up meetings, networking, and debriefing the various sessions. When discussing the Palestinian/Israeli conflict, I can pretty much run on autopilot. I know the issues well, the emotions the occupation evokes, and many of the Palestinian church leaders are acquaintances and friends. Even so, the Christ at the Checkpoint conference was intense and allowed little time for reflection and rest. As soon as it was over, I rushed to Tel Aviv to meet my Filipino pilgrimage group with limited emotional, physical and spiritual reserves.

How was I going to lead a pilgrimage when I was so desperately thirsty for spiritual renewal myself? As with all my groups, our first gathering was an orientation to the questions to be asked during our sacred time together.

1)    What are your longings?

2)    What do you need to surrender?

3)    How is God present to you?

How would I answer these questions? If musing on these questions proved to be too difficult, I wondered how does one survive when the spiritual domain is a desperate, desolate desert?

Answer?  Find shade.

After a few days, my physical exhaustion began to lift. Eight hours of sleep can really be a gift. The quiet of our morning meditations helped gratitude seep into dry and cracked ground. Soon the silence, the sites and scripture coalesced into a life-giving trickle.

The gnarled and twisted soul was healing but would I find my pastoral heart?

In Capernaum, the celebration of communion, the canonization of bread and cup, left me hungry for more. In Cana, the group renewal of marriage vows reminded me of my own matrimonial losses. The grief lingered as our group entered the West Bank. A lovely conversation in Sebastia reminded me that I have not lost my pastoral sensibilities. At Jacob’s Well I remembered that God chooses women who struggle to lead. But it was at the baptismal site at the Jordan River that something broke open and apart. Somehow pouring that muddy water over the heads of my eager pilgrims helped me hear God’s ancient affirmation, “You are my beloved in whom I am well pleased.”

Baptism has always been more about God’s commitment to us. God is the one who promises and calls. Nothing about my effort, my brokenness, or my circumstance can change God’s binding grace and love.  

I am God's beloved  . . . also broken . . . and given as a blessing.

By the way, did I mention that the spot on the Jordan River where John baptized is located in the middle of the wilderness?

The Land of 12,000 Guides

It may surprise you but one of the most obvious things about the Holy Land are the busses. Tourists spill out of these bug-eyed monstrosities by the tens of hundreds, even tens of thousands. As a pilgrimage leader, one of the first things I do when I get to a site is count the number of busses. This tells me whether the site will be crowded or not. Given the All-American pastime of always trying to be in the shortest line, arriving at a holy place with only a handful of busses can be a delight.

Along with all those busses come tour guides. They are everywhere – well at least everywhere where I seem to be. With their groups, large and small, they explain, protect, and herd their people from one destination to another. These modern day shepherds can winsomely and efficiently coax even the most leisurely and picture-taking tourist to keep up.

To be an effective tour guide, you have to have an outgoing personality, one who likes people and can make a connection quickly. The best guides immediately size up their groups and modify and manage expectations and programs on the spot. In many ways, they know how to give the people what they want but the great ones also want to give them something more. The “more” depends on the guide. For religious tours like mine, the guides bring alive the ancient biblical text and culture. For other groups, the agenda may be more political. Putting a fair and human face to this conflict is no small feat. Very rarely do people leave this place unchanged. And this rebirth is often because of these tourist midwives.

This got me thinking about my role as a pastor. I could learn a lot from these tour guides. Although much of what they do is provide information, the essence of their work is relational. They are with their people daily, face to face. They know each person by name and, by the end of the journey, they know their sensibilities and shortcomings. And even though the guides lead the trip, the agenda is not theirs. They take a group of ruthless individuals and shape an experience of the sacred into a life changing experience.

Sounds like good pastoring to me.

I know a guy

Knowing someone in this part of the world has always been part of this culture. It is the currency that undergirds all transactions. Going to the butcher is a relational endeavor. You go to the shop of the family your family has known for generations. Need to rent a car? Someone will “know a guy” who you can trust to give you a good deal. Even when buying something as straight forward as purchasing a SIM card for your phone, the connection will be through a friend.

Today, it was not lost on me what a difference it makes to have someone in the know when you are visiting, of all places, a holy church.

woman at the well

The Church of Photini in Nablus is one of my favorites in the West Bank. This is the location of Jesus’ encounter with the Samaritan woman at the well. As one of the first evangelists, she tells others about her conversation with Jesus and many in her village come to faith in Christ. This is astonishing not only because the woman may have had a rather damaged reputation but also because the Samaritans were enemies of the Jews – two very valid reasons for her fellow villagers to reject not only her testimony but to doubt the credibility of the One who was offering living water.

When you walk into the church, the first things you notice are the stunning icons that beautify the walls. The colors are vibrant, engaging, and you want to lose yourself in each and every one of them. Unlike so many Orthodox churches that sport only one female figure - the Virgin Mary – this church is filled with images of women throughout. It is like a who’s who of biblical women. There are stained glass windows of the Rachel and Deborah, among others, as well as multiple icons of the woman at the well. What a delightful and meaningful reminder that God has always chosen women to serve in extraordinary ways.

Abuna Justinus

Father Justinus is the Orthodox priest who has served this church since 1980. He may not be a man of many words but he is a man of extraordinary vision and talent. He was appointed to serve here following the tragic death in 1979 of the previous priest, St. Philoumenos, who was murdered while defending the church against Jewish fanatics who wanted to claim it for Israel. Long before Jesus’ time, Genesis records that Abraham's grandson, Jacob, dug this well making this site holy to the Jews. When Father Justinus arrived, he realized something beautiful needed to be created on this spot. Amid the crumbling structure that surrounded the ancient well, he rebuilt the magnificent church, painted all the icons that adorn the walls, and created the mosaics that cover the floors and walkways.

So what does this have to do with “knowing a guy?” In the past 18 months, I have been to the church many times. I first saw it with my dear pastor colleagues while on sabbatical. I visited here often with friends from Jerusalem. I took my kids to see it when they were here at Christmas time. I’ve added this stop to my pilgrimage programs. And last week, I brought our small band from First Pres who were here for the Christ at the Checkpoint conference. Every time I enter the church, I have tried to speak to Father Justinus to thank him for what he has done in the church. Most of the time, he either hides out in workshop or quietly ignores me.

one of the many images of biblical women

So today, just 10 days after I was last here, I arrived at the church with my pilgrimage group from the Philippines. This time, I had Iyad, my dear friend and tour guide, with me. To my surprise, the Father greeted me like an old friend, even made a joke about how tall I am. You see, Iyad has known this priest since he was a little boy. The affection that they share is as obvious as it is endearing. So Father Justinus warmly welcomed us and off we went down to the well where we sipped the living water from the very same well where Jesus offered living water. Usually forbidden, the good Father allowed us to take photos. And on the way out, he told another joke about short and tall people. Laughing and smiling, he was clearly enjoying the conversation. It was a delightful connection.

Knowing someone, or better yet, being known by someone is one of the gifts we give to one another. But the greatest gift is when we are known and, despite our shortcomings, we are loved. The woman at the well experienced this kind of love from Jesus. Transformed, she enlarged the circle by vouching for our Lord until others experienced that love as well. Because she knew, or more accurately was known by someone, her story invites people to embrace Jesus even to this day.

Today, at that same well, I touched one aspect of that fragile and loving circle. All this was possible because, after all, “I know a guy.”

with Iyad at Jacob's Well