Congregation Shema Yisrael

A Jew’s Search for Hope with Christians and Muslims in the Holy Land
Author: Yossi Klein Halevi
Format: Paperback, 336 pages
Publisher: William Morrow; 1st edition (September 4, 2001)
ISBN-10: 0688169082
ISBN-13: 978-0688169084

Rabbi Judah said, “Abraham…saw Adam and Eve buried there…As he was gazing, an opening to the Garden of Eden opened for him…He saw a light shining in the cave and a single lamp burning. Then Abraham yearned to dwell in that site; his heart and will focused constantly on the cave.” -Zohar 1:127a

I’ve been debating how best to review this book. In reading Halevi’s almost decade old text, I took copious notes, recording on little scraps of paper, any observation or statement I considered important, or that resonated with my own soul (or occasionally ruffled my feathers). From an author’s or publisher’s point of view, the urgency for an almost ten year old book to be reviewed has long since faded, but for me, the message of connection and at least, attempted reconciliation with people, both unlike us, and inseparably bound to us, couldn’t come at a better time. While the message may not be literally timeless, it is a message for those of us awaiting the coming or the return of the Messiah (depending on your point of view), who will bring final unity and peace.

Yossi Klein Halevi is a devout Jew living in Israel, the son of a Holocaust survivor, and a journalist. In the last few moments of the 20th century, he was drawn on a journey to make a connection of faith with his Muslim and Christian brothers and sisters. In a land as religiously and politically dynamic as Israel, that’s not an easy thing to do. Yet, Israel’s religious landscape is explored right along with the author’s internal territory of faith, colored by human perceptions of past and present, in an attempt to cross over almost insurmountable barriers, not the least of which is fear.

It’s a journey that, in my own small way, I took with Halevi, as I read his book. I know we are separated by many barriers, including geography, our own faiths (being Messianic, I’m probably the last person a traditionally religious Jew would want to share faith experiences with), and a decade of time. “Communicating” with the author’s experience requires a time machine. Halevi is still a journalist in Israel today, but the man I’ve read about and have come to know, as least somewhat, is ten years younger. I have no idea how he sees this journey now. I hope he continues to view it favorably and continues to live it out.

The book isn’t a record of interfaith cooperation, and polite lunches and seminars between Jews, Muslims, and Christians in the Holy Land. It’s Halevi’s unreserved effort to connect to both Muslims and Christians at the common joining point of all three faiths, on a personal level. It’s a picture of a Jew in a Mosque in Gaza, praying with a Palestinian Sheykh. It’s a picture of a Jew in a Catholic retreat, praying with nuns on Good Friday. It’s a picture of Noah building, not an ark to isolate himself from the rest of a dying humanity as the first drops of rain fall; but a bridge, linking himself to the rest of the believers of God. Building that bridge comes at a price; sometimes anger, sometimes fear, and sometimes a despair that peace is even possible between peoples of the three faiths, that can trace their lineage back to our father Abraham.

One of the most amazing, and sometimes disturbing, aspects of this book is how “spiritual” it is. I know that sounds strange, but within its pages are reports of angels, miracles, and prophets. Did Sheykh Ibrahim of the West Bank village of Karawa really have a visitation from the Prophet Moses, telling the Sheykh to accept Jews in his home in love? I don’t know, but Halevi records that Jews have flocked to the Sheykh’s Mosque, at least for a time. Watching Halevi cross into Gaza, not once but twice, to pray with Palestinian Muslims as a recognizably religious Jew (who had formerly been assigned guard duty in a Gaza refuge camp) is a miracle in my eyes.

Not too long ago, I reviewed Irshad Manji’s book The Trouble with Islam: A Muslim’s Call for Reform in Her Faith. While some of my articles and reviews on this blog draw comments (positive and otherwise), my review of her book elicited only silence, except for one email that was completely absent of content. Each of us, within our own faith communities, tends to have a fixed set of opinions and ideas about the other major faith groups. Particularly in the “Messianic”, “One Law”, or “Hebrew Roots” movement, we can be very definite about our ideas of the other religions, including all of their individual members. I can only imagine, that it’s not always easy to understand, why I would be interested in such explorations, let alone reporting them to others.

That could be the problem Halevi’s book uncovers for all of us. The book offers a rather dangerous, but enticing invitation. How to take a journey of acceptance of other faiths, at least the individuals belonging to those faiths, without surrendering the convictions of your own? Halevi takes the journey in a direction you might not expect, as he asks both Sheykhs and Monks how they become closer to God. Halevi considered it important to learn from all the children of Abraham, how they connect to God. Do we also have something to learn from the children of Isaac and the children of Ishmael? Messianics understand that the followers of Christ have much to learn from Abraham, Issac, and Jacob, but is there something also to be learned from Ishmael and the followers of Mohammad? Our first reflex is to say, or even scream “NO!”, but a Jew in Israel said “yes” and recorded his experiences for the rest of us.

Even if we don’t say “no”, it isn’t an easy question to answer, because there are many in all three faith groups that say, the only thing an outsider must learn is how to accept the “insider’s” point of view. Christians have no problems telling Jews and Muslims that the only way to God is through Jesus. Muslims believe that all the world must accept Allah, and his greatest Prophet Mohammad, and fully believe that it will happen. Jews don’t seek out converts, but do believe that they are the only chosen people and that non-Jews are only considered righteous (though perhaps lesser) if they follow the Seven Noahide Laws. Each faith group excludes all other perspectives, to the point of not even honoring the other’s right to see God through different eyes.

As I write this article, we are currently in the Ten Days of Teshuvah, between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. This is the time when devout Jews (and we Gentiles who accept the Moadim of God) focus intensely on the aspects of our lives that separate us from our Creator and from other people, and make efforts to return and draw closer to both, before Yom Kippur and the Day of Atonement. What better time is there to accept the challenge of at least looking at those who are unlike us, yet linked to us, with more gentle eyes, and with a more understanding gaze? We don’t have to accept the tenets of Islam, but we can consider that not all Muslims are intent on blowing up buildings and people.

If we could walk inside the depths of the hearts of the devout of these three faiths, what would we see? If we could see into the spirit of just one Muslim, crying out to God on his or her embroidered prayer rug, would we be so quick to condemn? What about looking into the heart of a Christian who longs for Jesus to heal his or her wounds, or the Jew who desperately seeks forgiveness from God, and to be written in His Book of Life? Depending on who you are, you may not understand all three of the people I’m describing, but this is exactly what Yossi Klein Halevi did in writing At the Entrance to the Garden of Eden.

I’m taking out all the little pieces of paper with all of my notes, from the pages of Halevi’s book, now. If I went through them, there’s so much more I could write, but I’d be describing the specific road-markers along the journey, and not the panoramic view I’ve been trying to paint. Halevi, by virtue of him leaving his comfort zone (sometimes to the point of risking injury), invites us to leave our comfort zone. Exploring what it is, from a Jew’s point of view, to be a religious Muslim or Christian isn’t a betrayal of faith. It’s not asking you to abandon your devotion to God, to ask someone else to tell you about their own devotion. If you’re prepared to become “uncomfortable” and enlightened, then pick up a copy of Halevi’s text. I found the one I read at my local library. I’m sure your’s will be no harder to come by.

Blessings.