Brother Andrew

Light Force - extract from Chapter 2

Not a Mindless Terrorist

Gaza, June 9,2001

Gaza City was a dreary city. In every direction, one could see gray cinderblock buildings, most without any architectural embellishments. Half a million people were crammed into apartments, and the only way for most families to expand was to build upwards, by adding another floor. But extreme poverty, caused, by nearly 70 percent unemployment, showed in the skeletons of unfinished floors atop many homes.

Apart from the main thoroughfares, many of the streets consisted of packed dirt. Donkey carts and speeding taxis kicked up a film of dust that covered one's shoes wherever he walked. There were virtually no parks, few trees, and no playgrounds. Kids, barefoot or wearing worn our sneakers played in the streets. Occasionally one saw a small rusty ferris wheel on a side road. Usually an older brother or uncle turned it by hand as two and sometimes more children filled each of the three wooden seats on the rickety structure.

For years, many residents had called the Gaza Strip the world's largest prison. Since the start of the second intifada1 in September 2000 virtually no one was allowed to leave. The Mama House, an old stately mansion, provided a refreshing retreat from the dust, poverty, and bitterness of the population. A gentle evening breeze blew off the Mediterranean Sea, just a few blocks to the West, rustling the branches of palm trees inside the walled compound. Narrow dirt paths wound through a garden filled with blooming flowers. A woodpecker tapped loudly near the top of one of the trees, then flew over us with a berry in its mouth. Besides our little team, there was only one other group staying at the stately hotel-a crew from British Broadcasting Corporation. Their armored plated jeep, painted in blue and white and dearly identifying itself as belonging to the Press, was parked in the driveway.

A huge, ancient locust tree provided shade over the patio where we waited to meet with Abdul, a representative of Islamic Jihad. He arrived precisely at 7:00 and walked briskly up the brick driveway wearing a plain white caftan and sandals with no socks. His gray hair was thinning on top. Much of his bristly beard was white, and deep wrinkles framed the eyes on his dark, olive-skinned face. As we shook hands those eyes stared intently into mine as though trying to peer into my soul. I introduced him to my friends: Al, a writer from America, and a pastor from Bethlehem who served as our interpreter.

"Thank you for coming," I said as we sat on the plastic patio chairs. Abdul nodded to indicate I should quickly state my intentions. "I want to arrange a meeting with your boss," referring to Sheikh Abdullah Shami, the leader of Islamic Jihad in Gaza. I mentioned a mutual friend who had connections with Hamas. "I have gotten to know several of the leaders of Hamas and we have talked openly about Islam and Christianity. I was hoping that I might establish a similar dialogue with Islamic Jihad."

"Who do you know in Hamas?" Abdul asked.

"I have met with Sheikh Yassin (the founder and spiritual leader of Hamas), Dr. Abdulaziz Rantisi, Mahmoud Zahar, and many others."

"What do you wish to discuss?" His piercing gaze was unrelenting.

"I represent Christians in Holland and the West. I want to have an exchange of perspectives on faith-Islam and Christianity. I would also like to know his thoughts about the Palestinian situation and about the future for peace."

Abdul thought for a moment, then reached into his caftan and pulled out a cell phone. He speed dialed a number and talked for a couple of minutes.

While we waited I thought about the risk I was taking. I realized that Islamic Jihad, like Hamas, was a sworn enemy of Israel. I was well aware of the terrible acts for which they claimed responsibility. More than once I'd been accused of being anti-Israel because I had befriended her terrorist enemies. My defense was simple: "The best way I can help Israel is by leading her enemies to Jesus Christ." My purpose was to introduce them to the Prince of Peace, the only One who could cure the rage in their hearts.

But how could they possibly meet Jesus Christ if someone in whom He dwells didn't go to them? Perhaps through my actions I could, in some small way, bridge the gaping chasm between Israel and the Palestinians, and between Christians and Muslims.

So would the leader of Islamic Jihad meet with me? Abdul flipped his phone shut and announced, "He will see you tomorrow afternoon. I will pick you up at 3:00."

"Thank you. May my two friends come as well?"

"Of course." Abdul seemed to visibly relax, his official duties fulfilled. He leaned back, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, removed one and tapped it on the table between us as he said, "Now I would like to ask you some questions."

"What sort of questions?" I asked.

''About Christianity and the Bible," he replied. "I have spent 19 years in prison. I was first arrested in 1971. I was freed in 1985 as pan of a prisoner exchange. I was arrested again in 1988, and several more times since. When you spend that much time in prison, you have a lot of time to think."

I wondered, was Abdul imprisoned for terrorist activities? Or was he kept in administrative detention, as I knew thousands of Palestinians were? Regardless, prisoners indeed had little to do physically. They could allow their hatred to fester and grow. Or, they could use their time more productively. Abdul leaned forward to say, "You talk about the future of peace. The solution is Islam! I reached that conclusion in prison." He leaned back, lit his cigarette, and added, "I read the Bible in prison. I also read the Quran and that's when I decided to become a Muslim."

"You were not a Muslim already?"

"Culturally, I was a Muslim. Not intellectually. However, I have questions about the Bible and Christianity and maybe you can answer them."

I opened my hands on the table and invited him to ask whatever he wished.

He didn't ask anything at first, but rather launched into a passionate speech. "Most people don't understand Islamic Jihad. We're not at all how the media represent us. What we're dealing with is a lot like what Jesus faced." I must have registered surprise because he quickly added. "That's right. We revere Jesus. He was a great prophet. But the Jews didn't listen to him. Jesus symbolized for us our struggles. When I read the Injil* I identified with Jesus. My problem is with the Old Testament. For example, in the book of Joshua, how could God order the Jews to go into Jericho and kill every living person, including women and children and all the animals? And yet we are condemned if one of our people, fighting for our land that was taken from us, kills a few civilians. Can you explain to me the difference?"

My friends and I were surprised by the intensity of Abdul's words. More calmly than I felt, I tried to answer his question. "You have to understand the context," I explained, choosing my words carefully. "The people living in the land then were idol worshipers who practiced child sacrifice among their many wicked acts. God gave them 400 years to change their ways. When they didn't, being God He had the right to wipe them out and replace them with the people of His choosing."

"But that is not the situation today," Abdul said. "We are not pagans. "

"You are correct that this is not the same situation. The orders God gave Joshua were unique."

Abdul crushed the remainder of his cigarette and lit another. "Maybe you can explain this to me. Why do the Christian Zionists support Israel so strongly? I would like to understand."

"You ask me hard questions!" I laughed and for the first time Abdul smiled for an instant. "Let me first say that not all Christians are Zionists. There are two factors at work for many Christians. One is guilt." Here I briefly explained how, for the most part, the church in the West didn't rise up and protest the killing of Jews during the Holocaust. "Many Christians believed that it was necessary to give the Jews a place of their own so that they would no longer be at the mercy of a ruthless tyrant like Hitler.

"The second explanation concerns theology. There are many Christians who believe that God is preparing the world for the end times, and that the nation of Israel is the fulfillment of many prophecies. They conclude that if they don't support Israel, they are resisting God's plans."

"I have heard that in the book of Zechariah the last two chapters are being fulfilled today. Do you believe that?"

I had to laugh again. Obviously, Abdul had read the Minor Prophets. "Now you ask me to explain one of the toughest passages in the Bible. Those chapters are indeed about the last days. We believe that Jesus will rule over all the earth, as it says in Zechariah 14:9. I don't need to remind you that Muslims believe this as wel1. But whether the present state of Israel is referenced in these verses, well, Christians do not agree on that."

Abdul considered my words. For a moment, I almost felt I was in a Bible study with an eager but intense university student. This man's interest in the Bible seemed genuine. Finally, he said, "I do not believe the prophet is talking about this Israe1." Then added a twist. "If I believed the Old Testament, then I'd be a settler." I was surprised by the passion of his statement. He stood, preparing to leave. "You know all we want is peace!"

I stood with him and asked, "Do you really believe the ways of Islamic Jihad will produce peace?"

Abdul shrugged. "lnshallah. With help from Allah." It was a typical Arab response, invoking the name of God when he didn't really want to answer the question.

I let it pass, saying, "I have a gift for you," as I pulled a book out of my satchel. "I do believe there is hope for real peace. But it is not found in terrorist methods. Real peace is found through the person of Jesus whom you so admire. I'd like you to have this book." I handed him a copy of my book, Gods Smuggler, in Arabic, saying, "This will tell you more about me and what I do. It may also help you to better understand Christianity."

He accepted the book with a curt nod, saying, "I will read it."

Then he quickly walked away.

My American colleague, AI, and the Palestinian pastor sat in stunned silence. Finally, AI commented that he was amazed at the man's openness.

"Why?" I asked.

"He's a thinker. He seems to be genuinely searching."

"You are surprised that he is a human being like you and me?

Perhaps it is easier to think of him as a mindless terrorist. That will do nothing to help solve the problems of the Middle East."

Later as I lay on my bed, a ceiling fan trying listlessly to move the hot and humid air in my stuffy room, I thought about how Ai's response was typical of many Western Christians. The news media rarely put a face on Islamic fundamentalist groups in Gaza and West Bank. Therefore few people stopped to think that these men, like people everywhere, had families, dreams and fears. Abdul was married, and he'd told us that he had seven young children. I could imagine him at home, sitting on his sofa with a toddler snuggled up to him on each side. This wasn't how most of us chose to think of a senior member of Islamic Jihad. But I wondered how many others were struggling to figure out the meaning of life. If Christians didn't help them, where would they get answers? For many, their only source was Islam.

I thought about my calling in life, how God had reached out and touched me as an angry, frustrated young soldier laid up in a hospital. How had I reached this point of interacting with some of the most feared Islamic organizations in the world? It certainly had been a strange and unexpected journey. Unable to sleep, my mind drifted back more than 30 years, to my first trip to the Holy Land.