I looked at the boxes piled high in the lobby of the Jerusalem hotel and wondered to myself if, in fact, we could sneak all of it across both Israeli and Palestinian checkpoints along a ½ stretch of “no man’s land” into the Gaza Strip. We would be sneaking “gifts” into an area few Christians would dare go. The plan was to go to our hotel rooms, empty out our suitcases, and then bring them to the lobby. 

Cloistered and hushed in the center of the hotel we transferred bibles, Muslim testimonial tracts and some educational textbooks into our luggage. My suitcase was one of the largest and the last to be packed.   As usual when God is involved, the books fit perfectly into the dozen or so suitcases that would be carried by my fellow workers.

I was part of a “tour group” to the Holy Land during the current intifada, which began in October 2000.  This intifada, which literally means, “the shaking off” has been particularly deadly for both sides.  Our real purpose in coming to the Holy Land was to encourage the remnant population of Christians that are still living there. These Christians are mostly forgotten and voiceless among the strident voices belonging to both the Arab Muslim and Jewish majorities.

It was now Saturday in Jerusalem and our “tour” bus arrived at 8 am.  We all dragged our bags to the entryway.  In the entry, we met Max, stout Egyptian with a broad perpetual smile.  Max would be our “guide” for the day.  He also ran the only Bible Store in Gaza City and this store was the destination for our trip.

It was announced that anyone could back out now if he or she wanted.  After all this was strictly a voluntary mission.  No one batted an eyelash as we all opted to go.  We were by now a cohesive bunch of believers.  And off we went to Gaza City. An hour and a half later, we exited the bus and inhaled the hot and humid air near Gaza.  Hitching up our suitcases it must have looked like a scene from a twenty-mule team borax commercial of the 1950’s.

Advancing to the Israeli checkpoint a knot formed in my gut.  Was this crazy or what?  What would the Israeli’s think of this odd caravan of Americans entering a war zone?  As it turned out, other than wearing out passports out with various stamps and inspections, they were mostly indifferent.  The last parting words from an Israeli soldier at the gate were, “Palestinian’s don’t like Americans. I am not sure why you would want to go in there.”  By now we, all knew better.

A quarter of a mile ahead stood the Palestinian checkpoint into the Gaza Strip.  At the checkpoint the contrast from the Israeli side was like going into Mexico from San Diego—it was obvious that there was not a lot of extra money laying around for a fancy welcome center.  Yet at the checkpoint, we were welcomed by smiling faces in front of a conspicuously displayed poster of Yassar Arafat.  One guard practically begged us to take his picture.

The mood was sunny—what a change from the Israeli side.  I guessed that they did not get many visitors.  The soldiers and taxi drivers all devout Muslims showed little concern for the contents in our luggage.  Had they opened it all up, we would have likely been expelled and our luggage confiscated.  Besides, the taxi drivers likely had not had a paying fare in quite some time

We watched as the drivers piled all the pieces of luggage on top of the taxicabs and signaled us to get in.  I think we got fifteen people and hundreds of pounds of precious contraband into and onto two taxicabs.  We began an incredible journey into an Arab jungle.

The center of Gaza City was engorged with people all apparently going about whatever business was at hand.  I had already found out that their Arab counterparts in the West Bank were friendly and quite outgoing. I would soon find the same engaging social fabric in Gaza.  Yet if you looked carefully and watched their eyes closely you could almost see the heavy emotional burden they were carrying—a decade’s long burden of hopelessness.  

We arrived at the Bible Store in Gaza so quickly that I was almost disappointed to have to leave the taxi—the ride had been mesmerizing.  We had not lost a scrap of luggage.  God had protected everything.  There to greet us were several individuals that I would soon learn were Arab Christian evangelists living in a sea of Muslims.  Inside the small shop, the air was clean and fresh.  Along the walls were Bibles in many languages and translations.  Also on the shelves were Christian books and audio/video materials, mostly in Arabic.  The empty space between books was also quite noticeable.  I could only hope that our trip would help fill those spaces.

After depositing our luggage full of “gifts” in the main downstairs room, we climbed the stairs to the second story to be ‘debriefed’ and welcomed by the six evangelists.  Max was simply beaming as he introduced us to these men of God. 

Soon we were introduced to a young man that had been a secret Muslim convert.  I will call him Omar.  Possessing a Ph.D. in English, Omar related his story.  Muslim converts are at best shunned by their friends and family.  At worst they are beaten, and tortured for their newfound faith.  From a Muslim point of view, conversion to Christianity is a profound and public shame to the family and community.  Unlike the individualized and “me first” orientation found in the West, in the Arabic culture your personal identity is defined by the collective family and communities where you live. 

Once his community had learned of his conversion everything changed for him. Omar had betrayed an entire culture.  At one point, he had almost been beaten to death by “acquaintances” but somehow survived.  Omar’s face still is marked with the brutality of this beating.    

 One by one, the Palestinian evangelists told their stories about their particular ministries within Gaza.  Among them was David an American trained pastor of a local congregation. Only married for one year, he had not seen his wife for over four months.  She had been illogically detained in the West Bank where her family lives and was now not allowed to cross the few miles of desert to be united with her Christian husband in Gaza.  He asked for our prayers to be united with his new wife.  Many of us cringed, as we knew that we would be freely reunited with our spouses over 5000 miles away in just a very short time.

Many Palestinians are educated in Europe and the United States.  Americans have stereotyped Palestinians as for the most part bloodthirsty Arab suicide bombers.  As horrific as that is, the vast majority of Arab and Christian Palestinians are peace-loving citizens caught in cross hairs of two extremist groups on both side of the Middle East quagmire.  

Soon we were escorted through towns to a luncheon date on the Mediterranean Sea.  After a wonderful sea-breezed luncheon featuring seafood and other tasty and ample portions of Palestinian cuisine, we were taken on a tour to view the scene of the most recent war destruction.  

The residents of Gaza are only too happy to show any foreigner with eyes and ears some of the sites of what they consider war atrocities.  Soon we were abruptly transformed from our lunch satiety to the realization that we were now possibly in the line of fire.  Although most war initiatives by the Israeli government occur at night, it could not be predicted.  Regardless of the present danger, we bounced out of the vans and picked our way through the debris of various homes belonging to some of the more wealthy Arabs in the area who had unfortunately built their homes along the Mediterranean seacoast in full view of Israeli warships. Two nights previously, the warships had bombarded a large Gaza Police station and unbelievably a large Gaza elementary school building.  We visited these sites as well, which were devastated beyond any kind of foreseeable repair. 

Numb from what we had just witnessed, relief came as we were given the opportunity to attend the early evening service at David’s church in downtown Gaza City.  As we entered, the gates to the small plot of ground that surrounded the church you could almost see and feel Technicolor changes in the minds and spirit of the people walking into the service.  Fear and uncertainty were set aside to worship the true God of Israel. At least fifty attended including a few dozen Muslims who most assuredly came in complete secrecy. The service was filled with music and drama.  As visitors, we were given the privilege to participate.  I had dragged my recently purchased guitar along for the ride and with several from our group, we raised our voices in song for what is that now far away congregation.  A greater privilege was never offered to an itinerant group of American Christians.  We were sad to have to leave the service early in order to keep our rendezvous with the bus driver on the other side of the Israeli checkpoint.

Packing our now empty luggage into the van-taxis we bid goodbye to our new found friends at the Bible Store in Gaza and as we left we all felt the satisfaction of a good days work in the Lord.

-Author anonymous-

END 

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