A few days before I was due to leave for my first trip to Israel, war broke out.  There was an exchange of gunfire and the Smart Traveller advice moved to ‘reconsider the need to travel’.  And I did. Since then, I have been to Israel on a few occasions and, a few years ago, I had the wonderful experience of living in Jerusalem for a month.  Based at the Ecce Homo Pilgrim House (owned by the Sion sisters) I was part of a group who spent a month studying Mark’s gospel and travelling throughout this sacred land. 

Initially I wondered how I would ever manage in the Old City – it felt like chaos to me!  I found it hard to understand how to barter with the traders and I struggled to buy the simplest item.  In those early days I was constantly pushed aside by the different pilgrim groups as they travelled the via Dolorosa (the way of the cross) with their large crosses swinging dangerously in the claustrophobically small space.  The noise, the crowds, the tumbling sense of seeming disorder was overwhelming to me.  And although there were pointers to the high level of tension in this socially complex ‘Old City’ I did not feel unsafe.  It was not unusual to see a Hasidic Jew walking through the Arab quarter as the call to prayer was booming through the city.  Or to see a group of Arab teenagers leaning against a wall, smoking, chatting but moving very quickly to action at the sight of a soldier in ‘their’ space. 

After a few days of wandering, I started to see some order in, what had appeared to me, the disorder.  The traders who pulled up the metal shutters each day became familiar and the many market stalls started to take on their individual character.  Each day I would notice a woman guarding her herbs which were spread-out on a large cloth, watching, selling, listening.  This was her livelihood she explained to me one day in snatches of English, her sons had no work, so the family was dependent on her and her herbs.  Such small things, I used to think, to be depending on. 

After a few days, I learned how to slip around the pilgrim groups and to miss the swinging crosses.  I found some landmarks – and I gradually came to understand the complex nature of this small, troubled patch of Israel.  It was humbling to observe so many people wanting to visit so many churches and sacred spaces.  A crush of people queuing each day to bend and touch the holy site at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre: the site where it is thought Jesus was crucified and where it is thought the empty tomb of Jesus is located.  The Jewish faithful swaying in prayer at the Western Wall – a sacred site in the Jewish faith. 

And then came Bethlehem.  With one of my travelling friends, we decided, on one of our free afternoons, to catch a bus to this Palestinian town south of Jerusalem.  It’s a 47-minute bus journey and entrance to the city requires passing through a checkpoint.  At the checkpoint, the bus slowed, and two armed soldiers boarded.  All of us had our passports checked, and the Palestinian women on the bus were escorted out of the bus. 

It was the first time I had seen a machine gun up close – they certainly look more menacing than on the TV!  And it was the first time I had every felt truly fearful.  Anything could have happened at any moment.  The Israeli soldiers, on high alert, could have seen something and acted.  The restless Palestinian men could have decided to antagonise the soldiers.  Someone could have panicked. 

The women were physically searched – standing at the back of the bus in the dust.  Then they got back on to the bus and sat down, the soldiers disembarked, the bus started, and we continued on the short journey. 

Some days later we visited Bethlehem with our study group and spent some time at Bethlehem university.  Under the governance of the Lasallian tradition, the university was founded by the De La Salle brothers in 1973.  It is the first registered university established in the Occupied West Bank territory of Palestine and is the only Catholic university in the Holy Land.  There are over 3,200 Muslim and Christian students, with some students and staff travelling each day from Jerusalem.  The university is committed to working toward a peaceful, free, and vibrant Palestine.  It was inspiring to hear of their hopes and dreams for a better Israel. 

I’ve always had a bit of a romanticised view of the Holy Land.  This land which has birthed the stories of our ancestors expressed in the psalms and the earliest writings of the Old Testament.  The land where Jesus walked, preaching, teaching, and healing.  The land of the Upper Room where the desert dust of the past rises and swirls with the steps of the present.  Where the imprint of the wheels of carriages from Jesus’ time can still be seen in the footstep smoothed paths in the Old City.  The land where the old and the new are inextricably linked. 

As the events of the week have unfolded, memories of my times in Jerusalem have risen.  The senseless tragedy of it all as the shadow of war creeps over us again.  We catch our breath in horror at the brutality and the ripple effect flows to all corners of the world.  Distressing stories about antisemitism in our own peaceful Australian patch.  Distressing stories about the impact of suffering, death and destruction on so many.  And we wonder, will there ever be peace in this holy land? 

So, for the peace of Israel, we pray. 

We grieve for those who have died. 

We pray for the safe return of those who are being held hostage. 

We pray for the healing of all who are injured. 

We hope that mercy will grow in the hearts of all who are fighting.  May they look into each other’s eyes and see their shared humanity.  May their hearts soften. 

We pray that the God who breathed life into the land of the ancient peoples now breathe reconciliation and hope into their hearts of its leaders. 

We pray for all who are suffering. 

And we remember that it was on this land that Jesus lived and loved. 

May the hope of his Spirit rise. 

For the peace of Israel, we pray. 

By Cathy Jenkins

Published: 13 October 2023