Everyone and Everything in Hebron (Just to See part 1)

“So, why are you here?” the soldier asked curiously, not threateningly.
“Oh, just to see,” I said in that gentle voice I had learned to employ when speaking with anyone who is regularly threatened or mocked or bothered—which is everyone in Hebron.

Every single person in and around that old city has been threatened whether ideologically, spiritually, psychologically, or physically. The soldiers in Hebron have been stoned by Palestinian kids and called oppressive for following orders. The international observers and NGO workers in Hebron have endured physical violence and structural opposition to their well-meaning work. The Palestinian elders in Hebron have struggled awkwardly to maintain some level of economic viability even as their ancient home is systematically shut down in the name of security. The settlers in Hebron have been deemed “the crazy ones” for their ideologies, understanding of history, and radical (often violent and illegal) implementation of their ideals. The tourists in Hebron have been nerve-wrecked by warnings from everyone as they pilgrimaged to the burial site of the Matriarchs and Patriarchs of the faith. The school children in Hebron have grown up around literal cages, checkpoints, identification cards and barriers communicating nothing but criminality to their vulnerable minds. The very walls and archways of the place have been spray painted with directives in Hebrew, they crumble in disrepair, or they are stopped up by spiraling barbed wires and cement. Everyone and everything in Hebron feels affronted.

I have developed a new sort of behavior that might be helpful—naiveté, innocence, interest, confusion, and concern. Those things are not threatening. And every bit of it is genuine. I speak with honest wonder in my voice and emulate the kindness I’ve seen demonstrated by the other international Peacemakers here in Hebron.

This is why it made sense when the soldiers would approach me, as they often did, and ask the usual questions: What are you doing? How long are you here? Where are you staying? Where are you from? Why are you here? Our interaction would usually start with their slow approach toward me or a bit of purposeful eye contact. When the soldier was close enough I would say “Shalom” and smile or nod.

Of course, my presence makes things awkward—who ever wants to be watched? And who wants to be watched in the midst of what some might call a national scandal.

Flying Standby

"Life at it's best is a creative synthesis of opposites in fruitful harmony."

-Martin Luther King Jr., Strength to Love-

Tomorrow at this time I should be on a flight to Tel Aviv, Israel.

I'm flying standby. Chicago to Philly, Philly to Tel Aviv.
Let me tell you, flexibility paired with tenacity is a hard combo to beat and there's little better training for those two qualities than flying standby internationally. You see, as a standby flyer I fly last. If nearly anyone else wants to get on the plane before me, they will.

First, I carefully pack every object I need for the next 10 days in one bag—the risk of loosing luggage on standby is exponentially higher than regular flying. The bag is my blue backpack fading to white on it's edges (Thank you, Joe Davis. I carry that bag with me everywhere).

Tomorrow I will stand in a line and check in with my airline before I go through security. I'll keep my only bag with me. At this point I'll find out how very likely (or unlikely) it is that I will board my flight. Regardless of the news about my flight, I'll head for my gate.

I will walk to security; place my plastic bag of liquids, old belt, cell phone, borrowed watch, little shoes, metal hair clip, thrift store scarf, and backpack onto the conveyor belt. I'll stand, with my arms up, in between some big wall-like security screening thing, being careful to place my feet as far apart as the yellow foot-shaped markings on the ground are. Then, as long as I don't get selected for extra security checks, I will re-gather my things and get dressed again (unless I'm late for my flight. In that case I'll shove all my clothes back in my backpack and sprint while awkwardly holding up my pants).

When I arrive at the gate I will assess the situation. If all's calm and the usual scattered looking crowd is sitting patiently (or impatiently) in the divided airport seats, luggage sprawled, kindles blazing, then I breathe gently, check in with the attendants and they'll tell me to take a seat, "You'll be called once we've boarded."

If there's a mass of people gathered around the airline attendant, however, I might feel like crying. "Weather's bad. Our flights were cancelled this morning. Everyone's trying to get on this flight." Remember: standby.

When all looks hopeless for me I try to remember: this is an adventure. Trust. Maybe there's someone on the next flight I'm supposed to talk to. Flying standby has done more to build my faith than nearly anything else.

Tomorrow it's supposed to rain. We're talkin torrential downpour. I've decided to try and get on an earlier flight out of Chicago which means I will spend an extra 6 hours at an airport somewhere (either here or in Philly) but it's worth it. If I can't fit on the 9:40 flight, I'll take the 12:00 flight. If I can't take the 12:00 flight, I'll take the 4:05 one. I can't miss that flight to Israel.

I'm going to Israel. (!)

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Paradoxical virtues are important. We followers of Jesus must be toughminded and tenderhearted, as Martin Luther King said. That means we think well and we love well.

Though those two qualities seem contradictory, they are a perfect combo. One without the other is, in the end, deadly. Taking the complexity of this world's realities seriously will always leave us with mysteries.

I pray that, as I travel, I see more of what God sees. Including the paradoxes.