Palestine and Israel: Come and See

My journey to Palestine and Israel began 20 years ago. A Palestinian Christian, Claudette Habesch, then the Secretary General of Caritas Jerusalem, spoke at a luncheon at our church. She described what life was like for her and other Palestinians who were living under the Israeli occupation—checkpoints, roadblocks, excessive use of military force, imprisonment, land confiscations, home demolitions—and especially its effect on Palestinian children. At the conclusion of her talk, I asked, “What can we do?” “Come and see,” she replied. The next year I joined a Christian Peacemakers Team (now Community Peacemakers) in the West Bank and have returned several times since with a variety of peacemaking organizations and groups.

My most recent visit to Israel and Palestine was also in response to a direct invitation from Christian leaders in Palestine . “We deeply appreciate the prayers offered from afar,” they wrote, “but now, more than ever, we need our Christian sisters and brothers to join us here, to pray with us, to walk with us, and to stand with us in our struggle for justice and peace. Your presence would be a powerful testament to the unity and compassion that Christ taught us”.

In August, I joined a 12-member delegation to Palestine organized by Christians for a Ceasefire and led by the Sabeel  Ecumenical Liberation Theology Center. The goals for our delegation were to offer a protective presence to those under threat of attack, to expose human rights violations, and to strengthen Christian advocacy for justice and peace. 

We visited the village of Bi’lin and met with Iyad Burnat and his family. Since 2005, Iyad has led nonviolent protests against the Israeli confiscation of their land. In 2004, the Israeli government began bulldozing village olive groves to build the separation wall which they claimed was to protect Israeli settlers living in the nearby settlement of Modi’in Illit. The barrier’s route would cut off 60% of Bil’in farmland, and the villagers resisted this seizure of more of their land. Iyad organized the Bil’in Popular Committee Against the Wall and has led weekly demonstrations along with Israeli citizens and international peace activists. “The belief in one’s rights is more important than anything else,” said Iyad. “If I am confident about my rights, nothing will make me despair…When you resist an Israeli soldier by peaceful means, their weapons become irrelevant.”

The story of Bil’in’s resistance is told in the Oscar nominated film, “Five Broken Cameras,” made by Iyad’s brother, Emad Burnat. As the film documents, their nonviolent protests have not been without cost. Iyad and his brother have been imprisoned numerous times. His eldest son was shot by an Israeli sniper and seriously wounded. His two oldest sons have each spent three years in prison and were subject to beatings.

When I first visited Bil’in in 2016, we walked with Iyad toward the wall and the site of the weekly protests. But since October 7 this is no longer advisable—it has become too dangerous. Israeli soldiers have fired on people approaching the wall.

On that first visit to Bi’lin I took a photograph of Iyad’s youngest son holding an empty tear gas canister, which he is using as a vase for flowers. Now 10 years old, he is approaching the age when many Palestinian boys and young men have hostile encounters with Israeli Occupation Forces.

According to Children’s Defense International-Palestine, Israel prosecutes between 500 and 700 Palestinian children in military courts each year. Since 1967, Israel has operated two separate legal systems in the occupied West Bank. Israeli settlers are subject to the same civilian and criminal legal system as other Israeli citizens. Palestinians live under military law, which means that children as young as 12 can be arrested and detained without charge or trial. Three out of four children experience physical violence at the hands of Israeli forces. Between October 7, 2023, and July 31, 2024, Israeli forces and settlers shot and killed 116 Palestinian children in the occupied West Bank, including East Jerusalem.

What is the future for this child? Will he continue his father’s commitment to nonviolent resistance? Will he, too, be subject to arrest and detainment or worse? Must another generation endure the illegal military occupation of their homeland? Will the United States continue to provide political cover and continue to supply Israel with the weapons to maintain the occupation? Or will we find another way?

Umm Jamal is a small West Bank village of Bedouin sheep farmers near Nablus. We had been in Nablus visiting the Church of Jacob’s Well and the Balata refugee camp when we learned that villagers in Umm Jamal were being threatened and beaten by Israeli settlers. Women were sexually harassed and children so traumatized they were vomiting. In desperation, the villagers had decided to abandon the homes where they have lived for more than 30 years. But the settler attacks continued. When we arrived the women and children had already left. Only a few of the men remained to pack up their remaining belongings and equipment.

While we were there, Israeli soldiers stationed nearby drove up in a jeep and advised us to leave because our presence was “provocative.” We responded that rather than provoke settler violence we hoped that our presence might offer the villagers some protection and deter further violence. Over the soldiers’ objection we decided to stay.

Since 1967, Israel has overseen the construction of more than 250 settlements and what the government designates as “outposts” in the West Bank. By now, one in 10 Jewish Israelis—over 700,000 people—are settlers. Billions of dollars have been invested in the construction of an interconnected, permanent Israeli infrastructure on land that is, by international law, Palestinian.

Settlers have been particularly emboldened by far-right Israeli Finance Minister Bezalel Smotrich and National Security Minister Itamar Ben-Gvir, both of whom are settlers themselves and who have pushed to expand settlements in the West Bank since entering government in 2022. Israel has seized more Palestinian land in the occupied West Bank in 2024 than in any previous year.

The sign at the entrance to the Tent of Nations farm reads, “We refuse to be enemies.” The Nassars, a Christian Lutheran Palestinian family, has owned the farm since the early 1900’s, decades prior to the beginning of the Israeli occupation in 1967. Now their land is under threat from both the Israeli government and from neighboring settlers. The Nassars have been in court for years trying to prevent government confiscation of their land.  Armed settlers frequently trespass, claiming, “This all belongs to us. God gave it to us.”

In response, the Nassars have invited internationals to visit and volunteer at the farm. They hold children’s camps and other programs to promote understanding and nonviolence, a testament to their conviction that Arabs and Jews can live together in harmony.

“Our biggest strength is the presence of internationals,” Daoud Nassar said, explaining that the settlers are less likely to intrude or commit violence when they know internationals are watching. “We are only one farm, but we represent hope for the many Palestinians who live in the area. We want to prove that non-violent resistance is the way.”

Amal Nassar told us of a conversation she had with an older woman, a settler originally from the United States, whom she met while walking on a nearby road. “We are neighbors,” Amal said. “Our scriptures tell us to love our neighbors. We should get to know each other.”

“You are not my neighbor. We have no nearby neighbors.”   

“But I am your neighbor,” Amal said. “I live at the farm near here.”

“I thought that was abandoned,” her neighbor replied.  “I see no signs of building.”

“We are denied building permits. And we have to be very careful with water because we are not allowed to dig wells or build cisterns.”

“I don’t believe you. We have plenty of water. We have a swimming pool in our community. “

“If you don’t believe me, then come and see,” Amal said.

Her neighbor replied, “I’m not allowed to visit a Palestinian.”

Indeed it is Israeli government policy to prevent interaction and dialogue between Israeli citizens and Palestinians. The lack of personal interaction leads to fear and allows Israelis to continue to characterize Palestinians as dangerous. During our travels we saw several large bright red warning signs posted in Hebrew, Arabic and English near the entrances to Palestinian land reading: “This road leads to Area ‘A’ under the Palestinian Authority. Entrance to Israeli citizens is forbidden, dangerous to your lives and is against the Israeli law.”

In the city of Hebron, some 700 Israeli settlers live in the center of the Old City surrounded by Palestinians, or what used to be Palestinian homes and shops. Many are now closed and empty. There are numerous barriers and checkpoints in the Old City, many of them permanently staffed by soldiers and equipped with metal detectors and surveillance cameras, as well as facilities for detention and interrogation.

We had come to Hebron to meet with Issa Amro, a Palestinian activist who, because of his commitment to non-violence, has been called the Palestinian Ghandi and a follower of Martin Luther King, Jr.

Following the horrific October 7 attack on southern Israel by Hamas, Israeli soldiers came without warning to Palestinian shops in Hebron and ordered their owners and workers at gunpoint to close shop and stay home. Issa was apprehended by soldiers, handcuffed, and taken to a military base. There he was zip tied to the back of a chair, blindfolded, gagged, and beaten. After 10 hours, they let him go.

The heavy military presence in Hebron has a longer history. In 1929, local Arabs went on a rampage, killing 67 Hebron Jews and destroying Jewish homes and synagogues. More than 400 Jews survived the bloodbath because they were hidden by their Arab neighbors. More recently, in February, 1994, Baruch Goldstein, an Israeli-American settler armed with an automatic rifle, went to the Tomb of the Patriarchs, known to Muslims as the Ibrahimi Mosque, and opened fire, killing 29 Muslim worshipers. In response, rather than evicting the settlers, who were there illegally under international law, Israel expanded its military presence in Hebron, taking control of a large part of the city center. Today there are 2000 soldiers in the city charged with protecting the 700 settlers who live there. What we witnessed during our brief visit—barbed wire, checkpoints, barricaded streets, and closed shops, had their beginnings in those earlier attacks.

We approached one of the checkpoints attempting to get to Issa’s house, but were denied entry. After a 20-minute walk to another checkpoint, we were again turned away. “You can’t go into the Old City,” the soldier said. “The settlers will beat you up.” Then, with the help of a local Palestinian resident, we were led via a back way around the checkpoints to Issa’s house.

Issa has been arrested numerous times, evicted from his home for weeks at a time, shot in both legs, harassed by settlers and tortured by soldiers, yet he remains committed to non-violence. I wondered if he thought he had achieved anything. Is there support for non-violent resistance among Palestinians or are most people either resorting to violence or falling into despair? When both Israel and Hamas seem intent on answering violence with more violence, is there any hope?  

“What is happening in Gaza is making people wake up,” he said. “We were dying in silence. Now the world is becoming aware.”

Fakhri Abu Diab is a leading Palestinian activist and spokesperson for the Silwan neighborhood of East Jerusalem. We met with him amid the piles of broken concrete and rebar of what had once been his home. In February, a group of masked Israeli officers dressed in riot gear with rifles drawn, came to Fakhri’s house and forcibly removed him and his family. Then a municipal bulldozer demolished the entire home, including the part built before Israel occupied East Jerusalem in 1967.

Home demolitions happen frequently in occupied East Jerusalem. The Israeli municipality claims that many Palestinian homes were built without permits, even though the municipality often denies Palestinians permits. Eighty percent of the homes in Silwan and other neighborhoods in East Jerusalem have received eviction notices and thousands of Palestinians have already been dispossessed.

In 2004, the Jerusalem Municipality determined that the neighborhood is culturally and religiously significant because it is thought to be the site where King David established his kingdom around 1000 BCE. Therefore, they ruled, the homes in the neighborhood should be destroyed and the area turned into a national and archaeological park called “The King’s Garden.”

Since the Hamas attack and Israel’s war on Gaza, the government has ramped up home demolitions. There has been a nearly 70 percent increase in demolitions in East Jerusalem, and according to the UN Office for Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (OCHA), so far this year over 1300 structures in the West Bank have been demolished, displacing more than 3000 people—more than in any year since at least 2009.

Fakhri Abu Diab’s family has lived in their house for generations. Before his home was destroyed, 10 people from three generations were living there. Now his children and grandchildren have been scattered. The Israelis are not only demolishing houses, but demolishing families, traditions, and cherished memories. In some neighborhoods as more homes are demolished and Palestinian families are displaced, Israeli settlers take over the property and build new homes.

I asked Abu Diab if Palestinians in Silwan were also experiencing violent attacks from Israeli settlers, like many Palestinians in the villages in the West Bank. “Some,” he replied, “but why should settlers risk violence when the government does it for them?”

Toward the end of our time in the West Bank, we participated in an interfaith service of prayer for peace with Rabbis for Human Rights and a Muslim sheikh near the Gaza border. Rabbi Avi Dabush and his family had been living in a kibbutz in southern Israel when Hamas attacked on October 7. They hid alone in a private shelter for eight hours until the army came and moved them to a community shelter. They then lived in a hotel for four months until moving to Be’er-sheva.

“This was hard,” he said, “very hard. And of course I understand the feelings of revenge, but this is a time to do more for peace for the sake of our children … We—Jews and Arabs—have a great history of flourishing together. I dream of a time when that can be true again.”

“The war in Gaza,” he continued, “is also a war on values. We are in danger of losing our humanity. Our most important struggle right now is over our values. We need your support. We need you to partner with us as we struggle for these values of justice, equality, peace, and human rights. Your presence is a wake-up call to us when many simply want to go to sleep over this terrible situation. It’s important for us that you are here.” 

Our prayer service was interrupted by the sound of loud explosions, probably mortar fire aimed at the nearby city of Khan Younis in southern Gaza. At the sound of a warning siren we were advised to drop to the ground and cover our heads. After a few minutes, we were able to resume our prayers. I reflected that this was probably a fairly common occurrence for those who live or visit the area, yet it was nothing compared to the experience of those who were in Gaza just a few kilometers away.

Later we assembled in a parking area near the Kerem Shalom crossing into Gaza. Kerem Shalom means “vineyard of peace” in Hebrew and we had gathered there to pray and to demonstrate for peace. We read scripture. We sang songs. We held our homemade signs. Meanwhile, scores of semi-trucks loaded with supplies and materiel passed us and entered the military installation at the Gaza border. Soldiers in jeeps drove by, ignoring us. In the vineyard of peace most were at work feeding the grapes of wrath. The machinery of war ground on.

Did our presence make any difference? Perhaps for some. The Bedouins of Umm Jamal were spared further attacks by settlers, at least for now. Issa Amro, Iyad Burnat, Fakhri Abu Diab, Amal Nassar, and Rabbi Avi were able to share their stories and perhaps feel a little less alone. Perhaps some of you reading these words will hear the invitation to “come and see” for yourselves. But we affected no change in either Israeli or U.S policy. Hamas still holds hostages. The violence has now spread to northern Israel and Lebanon. The machinery of war grinds on. We may have little power to cure this warring madness, but even when we cannot cure, we can still care. We can be with those who are living under oppression and the threat of violence. We can walk with them, pray with them, listen to their stories, learn from them, and share their pain, trusting that “suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us.”