Palestine--Almost There and Back

I decided to go to Palestine. I e-mailed a bunch of people and told them to pray for me--that I wouldn't have visa problems. But more importantly, to feel like I wasn't going alone--that my friends would be with me in their prayers as I finally made my spiritual pilgrimage. As most of you know . . . why am I here in the Middle East? Why do I study Arabic? Because I've always wanted to be in the place where Jesus lived and walked.

I told everyone not to tell my mom. So I didn't tell my family. I knew she would freak out. I decided she could hear about it all when I got back. But it bothered me. I don't lie to my mom. I did once when I was little. I remember the whole incident. And I honestly don't think I ever did it again.

And then it would require lying at the border. I was going to work with a Palestinian refugee camp, but of course I would have to NOT say that to the Israeli soldiers. Instead, I would just be a clueless American, Christian pilgrim.

So what made me think I could actually go, considering I don't have a second passport? Well, I called the U.S. embassy in Amman from Beirut. I explained to the woman that I don't have a second passport and that I have Lebanese residence and a job here. She told me to check in to the embassy and that they would give me the piece of paper for the Israelis to stamp. She said this was normal procedure and happens all the time and there shouldn't be a problem. So with that conversation, I felt I had the green light.

I prayed about it, and felt fine. And seven hours later, I was in Amman. By the time I got to the U.S. embassy to check in and get the piece of paper, the office was closed. It was 1 in the afternoon. I'd have to come back at 9 the next morning. I was pissed. I didn't know anyone in Amman, and I'd have to stay in a budget hotel by myself.

So as I was bumbing around Amman, I met a Jordanian/Palestinian girl (more than half of the Jordanians are Palestinians.) She showed me around and had me spend the night at her house. She was so excited that I was interested in Islam, of course, trying to convert me the whole time. She took me to a clothes shop where they gave me a long black cloack and a headscarf. (See the picture below.) I walked around the rest of the day looking like a Jordanian. . . .How did this happen!?!?

And then she gave me a bunch of reading materials about how to pray, and about God.

Her neighbor asked if I would be going to Gaza because her daughter is there. She hasn't seen her in 5 years. I thought Jordanians could go to Israel because they are officially at peace. (Unlike Lebanon, Syria, and other Arab countries--which is why I CAN'T have an Israeli stamp in my passport.) But Jordanian-Palestinians have to get a visa, and Israel isn't giving them out. So many Palestinians can't visit their relatives.

And then it just hit me. I'll say it was the Holy Spirit. Many of my friends e-mailed me back saying that they would pray that the Holy Spirit would guide me, and that's what happened. I just said, "No. Khalas. I can't do this."

I thought I could straddle the fence and pretend that I'm just a Christian pilgrim. But I'm not. Not that I want to pick sides. But doesn't God? Doesn't he always pick the side of the oppressed? I'm not Arab. But somehow I'm identifying more and more.

Israel isn't for me. At least not now. I can't pretend to be a clueless, American Christian pilgrim. I had all this Muslim, Arabic stuff in my bag. I had left all that stuff at home because I figured the Israeli soldiers would search me during the hours-long interrogation when I tell them I don't want them to stamp my passport. But I inevitably picked up the stuff along the way.

It was like being on Mt. Nebo all over again. I was an hour from the bridge. And I couldn't go. I have a blue passport. Of course, I'm not a Palestinian living in Jordan or Lebanon. I'm not my Lebanese Christian friends who want to make the pilgrimage. But yet, I felt like I couldn't go. I was so close, but I couldn't enter.

I have very mixed feelings about the whole thing.