Including the Nonreligious in Interfaith Conversations

Hello, friends.

I was on a panel this week!

My school this year is pretty neat. It is an interfaith graduate school, and I'll be leaving the year with a Certificate in Islamic Studies and Christian-Muslim Relations. It has some amazing classes (I know things about the Qur'an now! Like specific passages!), we have folks across a part of the spectrum of religious practice (Christians, Muslims, Jews), and we have people from all over the world (Saudi Arabia! Haiti! India! A zillion others!)--truly quite the diversity.

One tiny thing about my school, though: not a lot of Jews. So even more than in some other contexts in which I've found myself, I am called upon here to speak to the "Jewish" perspective quite a bit. I do my best to intentionally represent the diversity of viewpoints in Judaism; I've been fortunate to have meaningful experiences with a number of different Jewish groups so I have a bit of a range of experience, but I also make sure to represent my own personal place on that vast Jewish spectrum.

One lovely thing then to happen this week was that I was invited to sit on a panel last night. The topic of focus was, "Including the Nonreligious in Interfaith Conversations." The topic is not one with which I have particular expertise, but I was very humbled to be asked to join.*

I tried so hard to look normal up there, and still their photo catches me with my legs in weird positions. Of course.

If anyone is interested, they have posted a video of the event here. (The panel is a tad long, so you can see me talking, if that's your main goal, at these times: 20:37, 46:42, and answering audience questions at: 1:10:53, 1:15:18, 1:22:17) I always welcome comments or critiques if there are things I could have done better--there is always something more to learn and ways to improve.

The tl;dr version of my opinions on the panel: interfaith dialogue is a misnomer. For me, it's about increasing understanding and respect among people--all people, religious or not. But even though it is not a perfect descriptor, the word "interfaith" is still a powerful word--not because of the "faith" half of it, but because of the "inter" part; dialogue between communities, across lines of difference. Fostering those incredible conversations, that "inter" half--that is its power.

Now go out and love one another.

<3,
Allyson
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*In the photo above from left to right, there is Fr. Carl Chudy (the Catholic priest organizer, who focuses his work on religious-non-religious dialogue), Tom Krattenmaker (a columnist to USA Today and author of Confessions of a Secular Jesus Follower), Kathleen Green (Executive Director of the Yale Humanist Community), Bilal Ansari (Assistant Director, Davis Center, Williams College; for a time he was also Dean of Students at Zaytuna College, the first accredited Muslim undergrad college in the U.S. out in Berkeley, which started in 2008), and me.

The Palestinian-Israeli Conflict and Understanding

Hello, friends.

Have you ever felt the need to pick up and leave your life? I mean, to literally move to another place, another country, another continent, and start over? I’ve felt that urge approximately every six months since I was a teenager, and I have been fortunate to get to follow that urge many times over the years. 

I felt something like that urge when I decided to move abroad in 2016. For a variety of factors, I decided that the right next step for me would be to attend a yeshiva—a place of Jewish learning—in Israel. Many of you know this part of the story—in September 2016, I packed what I could fit into two big suitcases, and headed off to Jerusalem for a year of learning. And I went over there knowing nothing about the conflict/Conflict I was walking into.

Well, not “nothing.” I am Jewish, and had heard one side of the Israeli-Palestinian Conflict for years. Going to Hebrew School, attending synagogue, all these things had given me a pretty one-sided view of things. 

But a few months before this, I had also met Palestinians for the first time, and became close enough with some of them to have very regular contact. So I knew a bit more than I had before, but I also knew enough from all my years as an active Jewish individual that Israel was not my focus in life, that the “Conflict” as it is called was not my purpose for being, nor my fight to fight. I chose other causes, focused on other issues (#interfaithallthetime), and tried to put aside the fighting I knew was such a focus for so many Jews and others around the world. I was (and in some ways, still am) glad to be a Jew in the Diaspora, living outside of Israel, focused on being the best Jew and best person I could be here in the West, with minimal interaction with Israel.

Now, I started this post talking about that tickle to move somewhere else, to try something new. By 2016, I had already done this three times previously—moved abroad, alone. And each time had brought its own challenges. Learning about new cultures, sometimes new languages, trying to fit in while still standing out in my own way—but it had to be an intentional act, a willingness to learn. So while I was moving over to Israel to learn about my religion, I was also going there to learn about the humans in this place, the people who were suffering so much every single day on both sides as a result of the Conflict.

I just didn’t expect to have to learn so much so fast. I’d like to share a story from my first two weeks in Israel. 

I arrived in Jerusalem in early September, and started school a day or two later. The first day of school we were greeted with great warmth and welcome, and we were told that our first Shabbaton—a weekend trip over Shabbat—would be held in just two weeks, and we all needed to put down a small deposit right away if we wanted to go. This would be our first time to bond as a community, a lot of our teachers would be joining, we would go and learn together at a retreat center, and start off our year of learning together in a meaningful way. Of course we all gave our money right away.

I didn’t think much more about it until a few days later, when I was speaking with someone from the West Bank. He asked where we were going for our trip the following weekend, and when I told him the name of the place, he paused, then said, “...you do know that’s across the Green Line, right?”

Now, for those of you who are not in the know about the whole Palestinian Israel conflict, the Green Line is an armistice line from 1949. It is a fictional line, not an obvious thing, that today is accepted by many folks as the potential borders of an independent Palestinian state on one side, and an independent Israeli state on the other. Jews who intentionally go across it for specific purposes—a Jewish Shabbaton like this, for example—are seen as in some way laying Jewish claim to the whole land. 

(You may have heard the term “Settlers” before—this a term given to Jewish people who not only cross that line into potential Palestinian territory, but actually build their homes and communities across this Green Line, usually in an attempt to show that Jews should be able to live everywhere in the land. I had learned very soon before heading to Israel that many of my teachers did, indeed, live across the Green Line, which meant in the broadest of terms that we would disagree about our politics a great deal.)

But here I was, one week into my year in Israel, finding out that I was supposed to be traveling in just a few days on an important trip with my new Jewish community, to a place that had I realized ahead of time was where it was, I would not have agreed to visit. To put it mildly, it was quite the introduction to my year in Israel and Palestine. I was frustrated mainly because I came into this year knowing I had so much to learn, yet I was forced to make this decision so quickly and before any real learning had taken place.

And I was torn. I had been taken into this yeshiva specifically as a Conflict Resolution Fellow—brought in to learn and teach about how we handle conflict and disagreements between people. Missing our first trip and community-building would set me back significantly in my attempts to build trust with my peers. But going to this place would also go against my moral understanding of how we could best forge a peaceful solution between Israel and the Palestinians. I was alone, in a foreign country, with strangers, forced to make a moral decision this huge about an issue I knew little about, almost immediately. I had no idea what decision to make.

So I did what I always do when I am stuck: I asked questions, of basically everybody. I set up meetings with different teachers—including one who lived across the Green Line and one who purposely does not. I had calls with a Palestinian friend. I spoke with family and friends back home. I had four days to decide if I would even go on this trip, and I filled all of my time just trying to learn more.

During this process, two of my new classmates had also figured out that we were going to be traveling across the Green Line (until that point, it had not yet been formally announced in school, even as we were causing a small ruckus among the faculty and staff by making it an issue), and they expressed similar concerns to me about where the kibbutz was located. The three of us decided that this was a time when we could step up and turn this whole issue into a time of learning. The school blessedly gave us the space to hold a session on the Conflict during the Shabbaton.* So we formed what I called to myself, “the Rebel Group.” We met outside a small café on a street near our house late at night, very French-Revolution-Les-Mis-esque, and we planned our session. Even with all of this, I was undecided until the very last minute about whether I would go on this trip.

In the end, I went, and I am so glad I did because the session we led that weekend was incredibly meaningful. The first part involved a lecture by someone who could give the historic facts of the Conflict as impartially as possible, especially regarding the inception of the Green Line and its meaning today. For the second part, we broke up into smaller groups of maybe twelve people to give everyone the chance to share how they felt about being where we were. 

The outcomes of these conversations were less important than the fact that everybody—those on the right, those on the left; those who lived across the Green Line and those who actively opposed those who did—were able to come together and talk, even if only for a short time. We were brought together by our love of Judaism and our care and concern for this tiny strip of land that is Israel and Palestine, and came into this conversation with what felt like a very refreshing honesty all around. Since we did this on Shabbat we could not take photos, but I felt very moved by having this opportunity to at least open the year of learning with a conversation. The conversation, the engagement, the makhloket lashem shemayim (disagreement for the sake of heaven)—that was what stuck with me the most.

So I return to the way I began—that itch to move somewhere, to start over, it absolutely must be accompanied by a genuine willingness to grow, to learn. I want to share a favorite quote that really speaks to me from Mormon thinker Stephen Covey: “Seek first to understand, then to be understood.” (My emphasis.) If we expect others to listen to us and our opinions, we must first be willing to offer others that same level of respect by listening to them. Some of the most meaningful relationships I had had in my life to this point have come from my willingness to listen to those with whom I disagree. Sometimes this willingness to engage can lead to the most incredible discoveries—about others, and about ourselves.

Now go out and love one another.

<3,

Allyson 

---

Please note: This post came came out of an exercise we did this year at my school on public speaking. I presented this orally to my classmates in a practice session in the fall, and have edited it here to share it with you.

*We came to understand that our yeshiva did not intend to avoid the issue of the trip's location altogether. There was an oversight during initial discussions of the trip with the students, due to the unfortunate circumstance of one of the faculty being out sick on the exact day they presented the trip to us. I give much credit to the way our yeshiva handled it all when we raised the issue.

Packing Medical Supplies for Syria

Hello, friends!

In addition to studying interfaith (all the time), living interfaith (all the time), and talking about interfaith (more than all the time), I also work for a multifaith coalition of organizations helping Syrians who are suffering so much as a result of the crisis over there.

I was pleased to organize a volunteer event yesterday just north of New York City through work to bring folks together from different religious and non-religious groups to pack medical supplies for Syrians. We will be sending a huge container of these supplies into southern Syria (through Israel, with the help of the IDF) the first week of January. Participants in yesterday's event came from Catholic, Jewish, Jewish-Muslim, Protestant, Quaker, and Sikh organizations, a high school program in the Bronx seeking to break the cycle of poverty in their neighborhood through charitable service and learning, and more.

A great summary of the event was posted by local news media (...I even get to talk in the video):  http://westchester.news12.com/story/36973833/volunteers-pack-medical-supplies-for-syrian-refugees#.WiL7ui7KhWc.facebook

Let's all go out and love one another.

<3,

Allyson

The Latest Interfaith Happenings

Hello, friends.

The news has been depressing, I think that is one thing we can all agree on right now. So much pain, so much fear, so much hate. The best way I know how to cope is to take action--to keep moving forward toward this goal of interfaith dialogue and harmony. In that theme, I wanted to share some of my personal interfaith updates:   

1. I have moved--but this time, I am staying stateside.

I was very blessed to have been accepted into a program on international peacemaking, and so I am studying interfaith in the U.S. this year! I moved in early September, and I am quite pleased. It is an incredible opportunity, and involves taking a number of graduate classes at an interfaith seminary, supplemental programming on relevant topics (public speaking, mediation, etc.), hooking up with a local faith congregation in our tradition (still working on that one), and more. At the end of the year, I should be receiving a Graduate Certificate in Islamic Studies (isn't that cool?!). I joke that Rome was my Christian year, Jerusalem my Jewish year, and this is my Islam year.

2. My program has nine people in it from around the world (aside from four from the U.S., we have one person each from South Africa, Haiti, India, Greece, and Lebanon). Two of us are Jewish, one is Muslim, and the other five are Christian (from a variety of denominations). Our school at large--meaning from outside our specific peacemaking program--has a lot of Christian students, a number of Muslim students, and potentially no other Jewish students this year except me and the other fellow in our program. The school is structured with classes mainly at 4 p.m. and later, so that many people taking these classes work full-time and are completing a Master's degree or some other degree after they finish work.

3. I live with two lovely women--one Christian, one Muslim. Can you imagine a more perfect scenario?! I love getting to live out my interfaith dreams every day. Because my Muslim housemate is from the Middle East, I suspect that the Israeli-Palestinian conflict will come up more than once this year...a perpetual topic in my life, understandably, though sadly. But obviously more important is the fact that we've only lived together a month but we are literally working through a TV show together--now that's commitment. The Gospel of Matthew and debates over Rory and Dean, anyone?

4. I decided to host a Rosh Hashanah dinner* for the cohort this past month, to help us grow as a group, and to introduce everyone to a Jewish holiday. While everyone is taking a dialogue class and learning about Judaism (something I was excused from, given my past studies in the field), a lived experience usually proves invaluable in terms of forming long-term memories and encouraging understanding. Many of the people in our little group of nine have had limited previous experience with Judaism, so I was particularly happy to have everyone over.

Aside from seeing the genuine interest in Jewish customs and the fellowship we were able to build together, the degree to which my roommates helped me host (without me even asking) was so amazing. Everyone thanked all of us housemates when they left that night. Three people from different faith groups cooking Rosh Hashanah dinner? Now that is the kind of interfaith I am talking about.

5. This afternoon, our cohort got together in our house to discuss a chapel service we will be running next month. It is a short service, just something that takes place for a half-hour on a Monday morning, but we had an incredibly productive meeting. We decided on the theme of Gratitude for Diversity, playing on Thanksgiving next month as well as the diversity we have at our school and the world at large. We plan to introduce teachings/texts/prayers from the Abrahamic faiths on the theme of gratitude during the service. This first meeting went extremely smoothly, and I am only hoping that the entire process could somehow go as well.

6. In addition to studying interfaith, I am also working for the organization I was with before my time in Jerusalem--the Multifaith Alliance, a coalition of faith groups helping Syrian refugees. I am so excited to be developing their multifaith strategy over the course of this year--whenever I'm not up late reading the Gospel of Luke, of course (see: homework I am in the middle of right now).

7. I was extremely fortunate and excited to find out recently that I received another Russell Berrie Alumni grant. Just like the one that sponsored the Jerusalem interfaith tour I ran back in May, this grant is to fund a project I designed myself and applied for over the summer. However, I was a tad more ambitious with my project proposal for this one (to the tune of receiving three times the amount of funding this time around...) so I would appreciate any good thoughts/prayers/meditations to guide the project as I start that journey.

8. An important ending note and prayer: With the world seemingly facing insurmountable challenges, as we all feel intense fear and sadness as we encounter senseless violence and horrifying natural disasters, I pray that we do not give up.

I pray that we do not give up on the fact that this can, and will, get better. I pray that we do not give up on the fact that there are more good than bad people out there. And most of all I pray that we do not give up on the fact that every single one of us can make a difference every day, if we only find the courage to take up the call.

Now go out and love one another.

<3,
Allyson
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*The Rosh Hashanah dinner was sponsored by a neat group called Moishe House Without Walls. They fund young Jews to host a wide variety of events--even if you end up being the only Jew there (yay interfaith)! Check them out.

An Interfaith Tour of Jerusalem

Hello, friends.

Take young Jews living in Jerusalem for a semester or more, studying Judaism on a deep level every day. Offer them the opportunity to take a tour of the Old City, but one focused only on Christianity and Islam--not about Judaism at all. How many will take you up on the offer?

Apparently, more than the number of spots available for a walking tour through the narrow cobblestoned streets of the Old City.

Last month, I was so excited to organize an interfaith tour for students of my yeshiva. It was funded by a grant from the Russell Berrie Foundation (the group that sent me to Rome), and was part of the ACWAY network (the group that sent me to Morocco). My thinking when applying for the grant had been that my peers would be so heavily entrenched in their Jewish learning at our school that many might not find the opportunity to push beyond and learn about the other religious narratives in that land. I felt that it would be wrong for these future Jewish leaders to have spent a year in Israel, and not be able to at least basically speak to the importance of the country and Jerusalem specifically to Christianity and Islam. So I wanted to at least offer that opportunity.

Our group, with the Dome of the Rock in the background

And it turned out amazingly, which was due only in very small part to me and instead in very large part to the interest and deep engagement of those who participated. I was amazed by the excitement of those who chose to come, and the fact that we even had to turn a few people away because of the high interest. I already knew my peers at Pardes were intelligent and analytical, but seeing the dedication these individuals showed to learning about other religious groups during our tour was an amazing thing to see.

Also, the way weekends work in Israel is that they were Friday-Saturday--but for many of my peers, they were observing Shabbat from Friday evening-Saturday night. So our only "free" part of the weekend for something like this would be a Friday morning, since the rest of the days we were in class. These lovely folks gave up their brief free time to come learn about other religions. So much happiness! I was quite excited that morning, I'm sure they can all attest to 8 a.m. Allyson bouncing around the Old City with a huge grin on my face and a ton of energy.

Fr. Russ McDougall speaking to our group

We had a fantastic, upbeat tour guide to lead us, we learned about the theological backgrounds of Christianity and Islam, we spoke with a Catholic priest and with a Muslim professor, we visited the Church of the Holy Sepulchre and saw Al-Aqsa Mosque from above, we talked about these religious communities in the land, and we had lunch (yum). As I knew I would be reporting on the tour to the Foundation, I asked participants to complete a pre- and post-tour survey, and the response was overwhelmingly positive in terms of participants feeling they learned a great deal in our few hours together. A poster I made about the tour was also displayed at the G20 Interfaith Summit in Berlin this month, even though I was unfortunately not able to make it over for that meeting myself. The following week at school, even people who had not been able to attend were asking about the tour--people at Pardes were really committed to the vision of learning about other faiths. It was a great cap to my year in the Middle East!

Please note Allyson in Middle-East-appropriate attire in the hot sun. Hot. So hot.

I have now left Jerusalem, and am starting on new adventures already...and surprise, interfaith has already started factoring in. Exciting times ahead!

Now, go out and love one another.

<3,
Allyson

Standing Up Against Islamophobia

Hello, friends.

Islamophobia. Generally defined as fear or hatred and prejudice against Muslims. Something we have all heard about, especially as more and more terrorist attacks are committed around the world by those claiming to belong to the religion of Islam. The pain of those lost in Manchester, in London, in Egypt...all over the world at this point...lies heavy in so many hearts.

I understand that fear comes up as a result of these attacks. Up until last week, I lived in a place where only 13 years ago, Palestinian terrorists were using violence very often as a way to attack average civilians in their daily lives (like when a bus was blown up by a suicide bomber from the West Bank on Emek Refaim, a main street near my Jerusalem apartment where I would go often for a delicious brunch with one of my friends). I cannot imagine the fear of living every day watching for such violence--and more and more often, my friends and family in the West sense that they need to live in a state of constant fear like those who are from more generally "turbulent" areas such as the Middle East.

But what we need to be careful about is letting this fear of radical terrorists--people using the name of Islam to excuse their radically violent and immoral actions--from turning us into hateful people. Not every woman in a hijab is someone to be feared, and in fact most aren't. Not every one stopping in the middle of their day to pray the five daily Muslim prayers is someone who should cause you to dislike them. Most people fasting for Ramadan this month may be hungry (or hangry), but not violent. Many people even refuse to refer to the "Islamic State" aka ISIS, instead calling it "Daesh" since they do not consider its members Muslim at all because of their terrible actions. Caution on our part is understandable, fear is understandable--hatred is not.

Someone recently told me that she does not act prejudiced against Muslim folks when she sees them. I explained that we can go beyond that--and I shared that I try to go out of my way to smile at folks who are distinguishable as Muslim (okay, I smile at a lot of people, smiling is my favorite, but I particularly try harder when I notice someone in a hijab, for example). Almost instantaneously, exposing her deep fear, she asked, "But what if you are smiling at a terrorist?"

The thing is, the likelihood is that the person at whom I am smiling is not a radical terrorist. The likelihood is far greater that they face abuse every day for the acts of a few horrible people--that they face unfriendliness and suspicion in their daily encounters at the supermarket, on the bus, at school, for practicing a religion that some people have perverted for their own purposes. I would rather go out of my way to be extra nice to those people so that they see at least one friendly face in their day. And if I smile at someone who turns out to be a horrible person, so be it--I will not let the few violent extremists change who I am.

And neither did three heroes in Oregon last month. On May 26, a hate-filled man on a train in Portland started yelling prejudiced epithets at two young women (one, a Muslim in a hijab, and her friend who was not Muslim). Three men stepped forward in defense of the young women. The terrible attacker then stabbed the three men; two died from their injuries, and the third man was hospitalized.

To me, these men are the epitome of heroism. They stood up for others, knowing that they would gain nothing for themselves. Yes, it is terrifying the price they paid for defending others. Even in less-extreme situations, standing up to hateful people is challenging and scary and nerve-wracking at best. But it is imperative that we do so if we want to fight against the rising tide of hatred around the world. Just as some amazing non-Jews stood up for us during the Shoah, I too will stand up for others. I look to Ricky John Best (53), Taliesin Myrddin Namkai Meche (23) [the two men who died], as well as Micah David-Cole Fletcher (21) as my modern-day heroes. You can read more from Micah about the situation here.

We absolutely must stand up to those who would take our world and twist it into something I for sure would not want: a homogeneous place, with everyone practicing the same religion, believing the same things, doing the same actions. No. I refuse to accept this as my reality. We thrive in the diversity--in challenging one another with our ideas and thoughts, and--yes--differing religious beliefs. This is beauty. But to do that, we need to finally, finally figure out how to respect those differences, and not see them as threatening our own way of life. Yes, there are horrible people claiming to be Muslim and killing people in horrific ways, just as many have used other religions now and throughout history to excuse their own despicable actions. Nothing excuses that, and being scared is understandable. But many, many Muslims just want what I pray for so often--peace and love. I refuse to give up as long as they are still out there. If we let the actions of a few make us into hateful people, the terrorists have already won.

So stand up. Believe in the good. I will leave us with a quote from the young woman whose diary helped us learn so many truths about the world, even though she died so tragically young in the Shoah: 

In spite of everything I still believe that people are really good at heart. I simply can’t build up my hopes on a foundation consisting of confusion, misery, and death. I see the world gradually being turned into a wilderness, I hear the ever approaching thunder, which will destroy us too, I can feel the sufferings of millions and yet, if I look up into the heavens, I think that it will all come right, that this cruelty too will end, and that peace and tranquility will return again. --Anne Frank

 
Now go out and love one another, and together, we can make sure that the approaching thunder will not destroy us this time around.

<3,
Allyson

At the Separation Wall

Hello, friends.

Two weeks ago, my Conflict Resolution class took a tour of East Jerusalem with MEJDI Tours, an organization that runs dual-narrative tours--with both an Israeli and a Palestinian guide participating. I have been on a tour of East Jerusalem before, but not to the exact places we went on this trip. Without delving too much into the complicated politics of this land (and for those who know the language subtleties: while my language choices are deliberate, I am not trying to focus on them but instead convey my experience simply, so please forgive some of it), I wanted to share an important moment I had.

I have seen the wall that Israel has built--referred to by some as the Security Fence*, by others as the Separation** Wall--that generally divides the West Bank from Israel proper, and was erected in response to the violence carried out by certain Palestinians during the Second Intifada more than a decade ago (it's not even done being built yet, to my knowledge, and there are many sections without any barrier).

I have seen the wall from a bus on my way to visit people in Ramallah. I have seen it on my way to see the Church of the Nativity*** in Bethlehem. I have seen it driving to visit Jewish settlements across the Green Line. I have seen it represented in films--one, depicting a fictional love story of two Palestinians physically separated from a few streets over when the wall was erected; another, a dramatic rendition of a fictional terrorist suicide bombing at a checkpoint. I have seen it just during trips within Israel itself. So I have seen the wall for sure--but I had never gotten to touch it with my own hands.

A painting of Yasser Arafat on a section of the wall I saw many times when visiting Ramallah this year

I like to experience things by emotionally feeling a place--sitting quietly for a while, breathing in the essence, physically touching something there. At one point on this most recent tour I took, we exited the bus to stand right across the street from a section of the wall. I had always wondered--could I touch the wall? Were guards watching? Would I be shot for getting too close? But when I asked, the guides said that I could definitely cross the small street and touch the wall. So on that sunny day in East Jerusalem (a part of the city inhabited by many Palestinians, facing poverty and other hardships, with generally fewer services and rights than the Jewish residents of the same city), in sight of the minaret of a mosque (located on the other side of the wall), I walked ten feet away from the group of Jewish students from my yeshiva towards the towering cement structure in front of me.

The section of the wall we visited: 

Minaret on the right side in the background, paint covering what was likely anti-occupation graffiti in the foreground

And I got to touch the Separation Wall for the first time. On that beautiful day in May, aware of my privilege to visit either side of the wall freely as an American Jew, I finally got the chance to touch the symbol of so much pain and suffering for the people living in this land--the people on both sides. I got to physically touch the thing that causes challenges for the Palestinian people forced to deal with the wall and its realities so often, those who cannot get permits to work, or to attend school, or to visit loved ones. The thing that so many Jews feel so tormented over on a very deep, existential level. I physically felt the pain.

Then, as I pressed my palms against the wall, I closed my eyes, and I prayed.

It may not have been a specifically interfaith moment, but it was a deep moment of feeling the suffering that conflict can cause. Many of you know about the issues surrounding liberal Jews being barred from praying in our own way at the Kotel. Perhaps you will then understand that while I expected my most spiritual experience of a wall in the Middle East to be at the Western Wall, a place which for most of my life I considered the holiest place**** in the world for Jews, instead--on a little side street in East Jerusalem, standing in front of a wall built by the Jewish state to in some way separate them from their Palestinian neighbors--I felt a much deeper sense of connection and prayer than I ever have at the Kotel.

An observant teacher of mine who has taught me so much about Judaism and the Torah this year also happens to be a Jewish settler. She lives across the Green Line, in an area known as Gush Etzion. Despite what might be considered unbreachable differences in opinion (her Orthodoxy versus my Reform, her more Right-Wing politics versus my more Left-Wing views on the subject of Israel and Palestine), she and I have discussed these and many other topics in great depth during our time together this year, and have formed a moving and close relationship in the process. She looked at me recently, and with a deep understanding on her face, she so acutely described my exact emotions on the Israeli-Palestinian Conflict: "Allyson, you are concerned with the human suffering on all sides."

Exactly--and that's what I prayed for so loudly in my heart at the wall that day:

I pray that this wall that I am touching should fall. Not so that security is breached, but in a time when we can all love each other and end this suffering. I feel the pain on all sides in my heart--the pain the Palestinians feel at being held behind the wall, the pain the Israeli population and Jews feel at having erected such a structure when we ourselves have known the intense pain of separation and oppression. May all of this suffering--and all the suffering around the world--end swiftly.

Now go out and let's figure out a way to truly love one another.


<3,
Allyson
---
Sorry for the many notes; I feel I need to add in some historic/political background, but I wanted to keep the main post focused on the suffering and the prayer as much as I could. But here are some notes:
 
*It is apparently mostly a fence as opposed to a wall. But there are definitely sections where it is a large concrete wall, topped with barbed wire.

**Current estimates say that tens of thousands of Palestinians avoid the wall on a regular basis, generally in order to get to higher-paid construction and other jobs in Israel than those they could find in the West Bank. So there are (relatively) easy ways around it for anyone trying to avoid the intense and complicated permit system West Bank Palestinians have to deal with to come into Israel if they really want to do so. (One NYT article on the topic here.) Thus, critics of the barrier suggest that it is not really for security, but instead is part of a racist/land-grab situation. This is somewhat of an interfaith topic, but even more than that, its about human groups that have not yet managed to figure out true peace in this supposed Holy Land.

***Traditionally considered to mark the location of Jesus' birthplace.

****For those interested in the specifics of architecture, the Western Wall was the retaining wall for a hill known as Har HaBayit, or the "Temple Mount," on which the Jewish Temple once stood (the second one was destroyed in the year 70 CE. So long ago, it's insane!). So the Kotel is not actually the wall of a holy building but a supportive structure for the mound on which a Jewish holy building stood thousands of years ago. But given current politics/reality, Jews cannot visit/some would consider themselves religiously prohibited from visiting the location on top of the "Mountain" where the Temple once stood. Some Jews thus treat the Kotel as very holy, a spiritual focus. But the situation on Har HaBayit/Haram al-Sharif is a topic for another day.