Kim Gentes

Thomas Cahill has developed an extended series of books sweeping across the development of Western civilization and religion. In this series, entitled “the Hinges of History”, is a book called “Desire of the Everlasting Hills”. It is focused specifically on the history, background, life and influence of Jesus of Nazareth. Cahill’s perceptive storytelling is one of the most compelling aspects of this book, and he combines it with an obviously studied background in history (and religion) to produce an imaginative retelling of the story of Christianity’s central figure.

The author begins on the slopes of the Roman hill of Janiculum. He explores the idea that hills, and people who traverse them, have stories that can carry us into antiquity and back again, teaching us as we journey.  He uses this device to engage the reader into the story of the cultures in which Jesus was born,  most specifically, the Greeks, Jews and Romans.  In taking the time to explore the cultural backdrop for the world in which Jesus will appear, Cahill explores Alexander the Great, and the Greek conquest and influence which Alexander attended upon the ancient world. He moves, eventually, to the history of the Jews during the millennium before Christ, detailing the Maccabean revolution and its impact in the Jewish mindset and territory. What Cahill does better than any other (that I’ve read) is tie together thoughts from various streams of history and connect the dots for the reader. At times, his efforts seem speculative, bordering on pure fiction to create “history”. But it is from this approach that we get some of his best thoughts- thoughts that are really great questions more than grand statements.

For example, he talks of both Jewish and Greek voices that long for a messianic figure to come to bring hope. This quote is poignant Cahill theorizing:

"Despite the remarkable affinity of these lines with Isaiah’s prophecy of the Peaceable Kingdom, Virgil knew nothing of Isaiah or any of the Jewish holy books. How, then, explain the striking similarity of images—the response of nature, the favor of God that rests upon the child, the “gift of divine life” (ille deum vitam accipiet), even the seeming allusion to a virgin birth? One may chalk it all up to coincidence. Or one may say that, beneath the surface differences of each culture—whether of cynical Romans, theoretical Greeks, fantasizing Jews, cyclical Orientals, or post-Christian Occidentals—there beats in human hearts a hope beyond all hoping, the hope of the hopeless, the hope of those who would disclaim any such longing, the hope of those who like the two tramps in Waiting for Godot seem to be waiting in vain, a hope—not for an emperor, not for an Exalted One—but for a Just One."[1]

Desire of the Everlasting Hills does this type of historical rendition at many turns. The point isn’t that I don’t agree with Cahill. I actually do. I do believe that history and cultures were waiting for a messiah and that it was ingrained in our nature to desire him. But that belief, at least for me, comes from a belief in the Messiah himself. Cahill goes from saying “one may chalk it all up to coincidence” to saying “beneath the surface.. of each culture” is a desire for a messiah. I think his theorizing on such points is wonderful, but he sometimes make the points as though they are fact. This is where I think much of the difficulty comes with taking his books seriously as history.

In any case, the book explores one of the most thoughtful understandings and interpretations of Jesus life, words and ministry. And though it might chafe against “historical” rigor at times, it is Cahill’s speculative nature that gives his story about Jesus such vibrancy as to seem thrilling and alive. He seems to see both the minutia of how the street may have smelled while in the same paragraph understanding the grand themes of Jesus ministry. Here is an example that I found brilliant:

The division points to Jesus’s two audiences: the powerless, who need to be reminded that God loves them and will see to their ultimate triumph, and the powerful, who need to be goaded by the example of those who have abandoned their comfort for the sake of others. The purpose of the Gospel is to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable.[2]

The recognition of Jesus focus (in the beatitudes) to teach both the powerless and the powerful is beautiful. He restates this theme multiple times in the early section of the book:

JESUS KEEPS TWO AUDIENCES clearly in view: the poor and miserable; and those who, because they are neither poor nor miserable, have a religious obligation to stand in solidarity with those at the bottom of the sociopsychological heap.[3]

Cahill’s respect for the Jews is abundantly clear in this book, as he uses it as the precipice from which he believes Jesus extends his influence into civilization:

Western values of individual destiny, hope for the future, and justice for all began in the world of the Jews, the inventors of the West.[4]

There is far too much excellent content in Desire of the Everlasting Hills to summarize in this short report. Again, the authors insights into so much of the life and context of Jesus world is fascinating, informing and (it seems to me) tethered in some way to an underlying affinity or even belief in Christ and the message he brought. I have just three more things that stood out strongly in my reading of this book.

Reflecting back to my earlier concern that Cahill adds a layer of personal storytelling to his narrative of history, this particularly concerned me when he says of a section of the Gospel of John:

This entire passage sounds like the Synoptics and could easily be slipped into Luke’s Gospel at 21:38, where it would make a perfect fit. It was, in fact, excised from Luke, after which it floated around the Christian churches without a proper home, till some scribe squeezed it into a manuscript of John, where he thought it might best belong.[5]

There is strong evidence that Cahill’s view is correct, but again, his approach to simply stating this as fact without a hint of any other possibility lends an air of presumption to his attitude about history, at least from this readers perspective[6]. Be that as it may, his most powerful points in the book, dwarf such concerns. One major point he uncovers is the counter-narrative that Jesus brings (embedded within the monotheistic foundation of the Jews) to the world of the Greeks and Romans (and all other peoples to that point in history), where he says:

To understand the ancient Greeks and Romans we must be alert to the great gap that separates their views, and those of most people throughout history, from the opinions of our own time. They knew nothing of ideas such as would later be spoken in the Sermon on the Mount, and they would have regarded them as absurd if they had[7]

I won’t cite details for the brilliant point of Cahill’s where he explains that Jesus message was so powerful, that at tepid points of possible obliteration of the Christian faith, great followers of Jesus have self-sacrificed (in the manner of their Christ) to renew and endure the legacy (and community) of Jesus and his message.  At its close, Desire of the Everlasting Hills concludes with a blaze of glory, making an assertion that most people will be hard pressed to deny after the wonderful volume that has just been read. All of Cahill’s style, wit, and perceptive genius come to a head in his penultimate statement:

...whether we are Jew or Christian, believer or atheist, the figure of Jesus—as final Jewish prophet, as innocent and redeeming victim, as ideal human being—is threaded through our society and folded into our imagination in such a way that it cannot be excised. He is the mysterious ingredient that laces everything we taste, the standard by which all moral actions are finally judged.[8]

 Amazon Book Link: http://amzn.to/ynjhk3

Review by Kim Gentes

[1] Cahill, Thomas, “Desire of the Everlasting Hills: The World Before and After Jesus (Hinges of History)”. (New York, NY: Anchor Books 1999)., Kindle Edition, Location 960

[2] Ibid., Location 1154

[3] Ibid., Location 1242

[4] Ibid., Location 4500

[5] Ibid., Location 4121

[6] More than just my perspective, I contact 3 different scholars/bible teachers and asked them about Cahill’s statement. All agreed that it is reasonably sure that the “pericopae adulterae” was not originally in the John text, though theories on its origination and author were just that- theories. One scholar notes, “I do not think that most scholars have any idea where it came from. It is not unjohannine in style, but it is clearly not original in after John 7:52, for it breaks up a story. I would say that it is a story that God only knows where it came from, and which two groups of folk inserted in two different places.” (Dr. Peter H. Davids/2012). In other words- God only knows, not Cahill.

[7] Ibid., Location 4527

[8] Ibid., Location 4684

“The Gifts of the Jews” is the second book in the “the Hinges of History” series from Thomas Cahill. In many ways this book should probably be considered the first book, since it forms as its base the chronological beginnings for much of the other materials that come later in the series. The point of the book is simply to explore the narrative of the origins of Hebrew people, how the nation of Israel was formed and developed, and how that led to some of the most important philosophical, spiritual and intellectual advances across the globe and across history. Author Thomas Cahill is as unashamed of his admiration for the Jews and their narrative as he is about pointing to their faults and inconsistencies that he believes he finds in the story.  The Gifts of the Jews presents both and in doing so lends credibility to both his thesis and his manner of presenting it.

The author begins with the literal origins of civilization, exploring and articulating from ancient times how the Fertile Crescent of Mesopotamia progressed from the cradle of life to the launchpad for innovation and avarice. He shows how the original cities came into being in Sumer, examines one of the first written stories, “The Epic of Gilgamesh”, and details with imaginative freedom the temples, cult and ritual of the ancient Sumarians. In doing this, he creates the backdrop for the world in which appeared the nomadic Semitics, whom Cahill eventually identifies as the people from which Abraham (though he uses the technical translation of Avraham in his writing) comes.  Having set the stage well, The Gifts of the Jews begins with the story of Abraham, his family and the unique gift of faith that he represents. The author’s knowledge of world history helps to give us pointers on the many “firsts” that the Jews give us, including faith:

This God gives and takes beyond human reasoning or justification. Because his motives are not interpretable and his thoughts and actions are not foreseeable, anything—and everything—is possible. Many new things have already come into being as a result of this relationship, but faith most of all, which prior to Avraham had no place in religious feeling and imagination. Because all is possible, faith is possible, even necessary.[1]

From that point on, Cahill attributes the Jews with not only introducing the notion of faith, but time, individuality and even the concept of history itself:

Since time is no longer cyclical but one-way and irreversible, personal history is now possible and an individual life can have value.[2]

and

But the God of Avraham, Yitzhak, and Yaakov—no longer your typical ancient divinity, no longer the archetypal gesturer—is a real personality who has intervened in real history, changing its course and robbing it of predictability.[3]

finally:

The Israelites, by becoming the first people to live—psychologically—in real time, also became the first people to value the New and to welcome Surprise. In doing this, they radically subverted all other ancient worldviews[4]

Like all his books in this series, Cahill’s pithy writing is combined with an authentic ability to mine some meta-narrative truths. This one is a great example of such discovery:

Like Avraham, he never doubts the information of his senses—that this is really happening—only God’s lack of realism...[5]

I find this a particularly poignant note of the authors. Cahill is absolutely hit the nail on the head here, as anyone who has tried to follow YHWH knows. God seems to have a juxtaposed sense of “reasonableness” in almost anyone he calls to live with Him in relationship.  From Abraham to Joseph to David to the prophets to the disciples. Nothing significant is done by someone who is just “doing what makes sense”. While not other-worldly, YHWH asks men and women to dare to do things beyond themselves, knowing his spirit will be needed to actually do anything in “reality”. This point has never been made strong enough in the biblical teaching I’ve received or given. It is not as naive as heroism, but rather an unlinking of the desire to stay safe by trusting God fully. Sometimes in utter fear and trembling, but still obedient, knowing it the right thing to do, despite the serious threats to the contrary.

Cahill goes on to give the entire narrative (less than more) of the people of Israel, right up until the final exile of Judah and eventual restoration through the edict of Persian King Cyrus in 538 BC. In his retelling, the author points to the Jews as the originators of justice both personal and societal, through the introduction of the 10 Commandments[6]. He also acclaims Jews for being the inventors of leisure, or rest  from work, saying “No ancient society before the Jews had a day of rest.”[7] Cahill points to the story of David and the example of his triumph over Goliath as the ultimate story of hope for the weak and powerless. Speaking of David’s speech before slaying Goliath, he says:

This is a wonderful speech—and a wonderful moment in the history of Israel and of the human race—a resounding assertion that God is on the side of the small and powerless, not the high and mighty. This is a confrontation that has fixed itself permanently in human imagination; and who could count how many supposedly hopeless causes it has given strength and comfort to?[8]

Before retiring to the greatness of this book and author, I must lodge at least one essential objection. Cahill builds such a good rhythm between Hebrew scripture, historical context and plain good thinking that we can become anaesthetised to some of his flat out erroneous statements.  I will point out just one place in which he runs his ship into a gigantic rock of presumption and contradiction.

But even without resorting to modern scientific methodology or noticing what an inconsistent palimpsest the Hebrew Bible can be, we must reject certain parts of the Bible as unworthy of a God we would be willing to believe in. We read, for instance, in the Book of Joshua that God commanded the Israelites to put all Canaanites, even children, to the sword; and in the Psalms the poet regularly urges God to effect the brutal destruction of all the poet’s enemies. Though the people who wrote such words may have believed they were inspired by God, we cannot. ... But it remains true that there is no way of attributing mass carnage and vindictive slaughter to a God worth believing in. Even the fiercest believer among us must, I think, admit that these operations were the work of human beings who had wrongly convinced themselves that God was on their side.[9]

Cahill does not ask us to look at historical evidence, textual evidence or even possible modern scholarship that might put some source in question. No, instead, here he asks us to set aside the content of the text simply because he can’t believe in a God who would do such things. This is a tragic misstep for the author because he doesn’t make this kind of aberration of logic on such a major point in any other place in the book. While I can understand (and sympathise) with Cahill’s point (as can most people), we simply can’t accept our moral compass to be the judge of God’s judgments and character.  And, in fact, this goes against Cahill’s primary source of Hebrew distinction amongst all the other nations of the world - the “Voice”.  One of the author’s main thesis points is that the “Voice” that Avram follows is the great distinguishing source of reality that leads Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, the patriarchs and all Israel into the discoveries and truths that Cahill lauds.  If the “Voice” that declared the Decalogue is the voice we must listen to, then the same voice cannot be ignored if he commands Abraham to sacrifice his son on the altar.  We can look in hindsight and parlay our thoughts and justifications against these actions which we find painful and in-congruent, but ultimately leaving out these truths (and they are truths spoken by the same voice) means we leave out the Mystery of the Voice, which history has shown us is as important as any knowing of the same Voice, perhaps even more so. If the Voice is God, then we surely are not, and we must not, drown out his words with our murmurings and justifications of a “God we’d like”. Cahill fails on his attempt to make YHWH into the God “he’d like”, and a sound review of his book would be remiss if this point was not brought up.

That said, with this book, as with the others in this series, there is so many poignant points we can scarcely give even the most important a mention. But towering over all of them are the twin points of individualism (including personal choice as a way of transforming the present and future) and the requirement of all people to gain a sense of conscience and justice, which must eventually lead to freedom. I will allow quotes from Cahill himself to summarize his book most aptly:

The Jews gave us the Outside and the Inside—our outlook and our inner life. We can hardly get up in the morning or cross the street without being Jewish. We dream Jewish dreams and hope Jewish hopes. Most of our best words, in fact—new, adventure, surprise; unique, individual, person, vocation; time, history, future; freedom, progress, spirit; faith, hope, justice—are the gifts of the Jews.[10]

and

Nor can we imagine the great liberation movements of modern history without reference to the Bible. Without the Bible we would never have known... Democracy, in contrast, grows directly out of the Israelite vision of individuals, subjects of value because they are images of God, each with a unique and personal destiny. There is no way that it could ever have been “self-evident that all men are created equal” without the intervention of the Jews.[11]

Amazon Book & Kindle Book Link : http://amzn.to/yQlCBr

Review by Kim Gentes

[1] Cahill, Thomas, “The Gifts of the Jews: How a Tribe of Desert Nomads Changed the Way Everyone Thinks and Feels (Hinges of History)”. (New York, NY: Random House 1998)., Kindle Edition, Page 93

[2] Ibid., Page 95

[3] Ibid., Page 98

[4] Ibid., Page 128

[5] Ibid., Page 107

[6] Ibid., Page 146, 156

[7] Ibid., Page 144

[8] Ibid., Page 180

[9] Ibid., Page 245-246

[10] Ibid., Page 240

[11] Ibid., Page 248

“From Beirut to Jerusalem” is the thoughtful memoirs of a Jewish-American journalist based in the Middle East during the 70’s and 80’s. Thomas Friedman was The New York Times bureau chief for five years in Beirut and similarly served as the Israel bureau chief based in Jerusalem, after his term in Lebanon. Friedman writes with the inquisitive mind of a reporter, but the analytical prowess of a seasoned diplomat. What I loved most about this book is the insightful concepts that Friedman mines from his experiences in the Middle East, all the while embedding the reader in the personal narrative of his life in the conflict-ridden countries in which he worked and lived.

For example, after the reader learns about Friedman’s first weeks in Beirut and even the bombing of his own apartment building, the author has the presence of mind to draw out a poignant moment in the lives of a common citizen:

“In the United States if you die in a car accident, at least your name gets mentioned on television,” Hana remarked. “Here they don’t even mention your name anymore. They just say, ‘Thirty people died.’ Well, what thirty people? They don’t even bother to give their names. At least say their names. I want to feel that I was something more than a body when I die.”[1]

But Friedman isn’t just reminiscing about the incidentals of common hardships (valuable as that is), he is learning the under-girding truths of the society in which these things are occurring, and synthesizing those ideas into concepts that matter at the macro level:

What made reporting so difficult from Beirut was the fact that there was no center—not politically, not physically; since there was no functioning unified government, there was no authoritative body which reporters could use to check out news stories and no authoritative version of reality to either accept or refute; it was a city without “officials.”[2]

It is this dual gifting that makes the entire book both readable and insightful. Friedman does a good job at nuancing the opinions of the book with broader opinions of the people involved in the meta-stories. You hear about the close, personal work and friend relationships he has with Lebanese, Syrian, Jewish, and Palestinian individuals whose own stories (both tragic and hopeful) color the pages of this book. He tries to give you fair vantage points of all the people he meets- even when they are people he is being threatened by! For example:

Most of the PLO officials and guerrillas with whom I dealt regularly knew I was Jewish and simply did not care; they related to me as the New York Times correspondent, period, and always lived up to their claims to be “anti-Zionist” and not “anti-Jewish.”[3]

Friedman is aware that the world in which he is working is fraught with misunderstanding or indifference- or sometimes both. It is that misunderstand that ultimately leads to conflict and death. The book repeats this cycle, even as Friedman makes his personal journey from the US to Beirut, to Jerusalem and back to the US.  The book is clear that there is a price for not paying attention to others, and not addressing the real issues, as he says powerfully:

The similarity between Israel and Lebanon is rooted in the fact that since the late 1960s both nations have been forced to answer anew the most fundamental question: What kind of state do we want to have—with what boundaries, what system of power sharing, and what values?

...both the Lebanese people and the Israeli people have failed to resolve their differences on these fundamental questions, and have each become politically paralyzed as a result...

Whereas in Lebanon the Cabinet was ineffectual because it represented no one, in Israel the Cabinet was ineffectual because it represented everyone. In Lebanon they called the paralysis “anarchy” and in Israel they called it “national unity,” but the net effect was the same: political gridlock.[4]

The author doesn’t simply cover the details of Lebanon and Israel. He also explores the connections with important middle east entities, both as they impact his host countries and as their own stories restate the tragic narrative of violence in the region. He describes the tragic story of the city of Hama, Syria, whose uprising against its government and brutal ruler President Hafez Assad led to its obliteration, along with tens of thousands of its citizens. Friedman also explores the regime of Saddam Hussein, in Iraq, and its terrible use of force to repress uprisings against its authoritarian government. He even provides a brief historical and contextual lesson for the entire region by describing the Ottoman empire, its end and dissection after World War I, and how the creation of modern Middle East countries forced tribes, languages and religions to be grouped in countries that were artificial constructions of  the British and French powers (which is arguably considered one of the reasons for much internal strife within those countries, even to this day). The book explores the PLO and its self-aggrandizing leader Yasir Arafat, with character and historical descriptions as well. So much is covered in this books 526 pages, it is impossible to summarize it here. Additional highlights include the Israeli invasion of Lebanon, the US Marine’s peace keeping mission in Beirut, the Palestinian intifada (uprising), the details of Egypt/Israel’s war and eventual treaty, and much more.

Friedman does not allow his own heritage as a Jewish American to slight his integrity as a reporter. One of the clearest examples of this is his clarity of understanding with the desire of his Jewish compatriots to establish their homeland in the ancient land of Palestine- connected once again to the cities, locations and historical places that have profound meaning to the Jewish heritage. But he isn’t taken up in either Zionist or anti-Jewish extremes. He sees how easily the oppressed nature of the Jewish psyche can turn from being the historical oppressed to the vengeful oppressors:

As I watched these young Jewish terrorists in their yarmulkes and long beards walking around the courtroom, I could not help but be struck by their self-confidence and self-righteousness. The way they strutted about, chatting with their wives, chomping on green apples, and almost literally turning up their noses at the judge, was galling. I had seen the same arrogance among members of Hizbullah, the Party of God, in Beirut. These were simply the Jewish version.[5]

As the book rounds the corners of Friedman’s experience, the author doesn’t fail to speak of the powerful impact of the American superpower on all the nations of the middle east. Friedman fairly criticises and compliments the pertinent aspects of US policy, leadership and communications.  Like he does with all the parties involved, the author mines the nuggets that we rarely think about but, in fact, reflect the pertinent meta-narratives that could make a significant difference.

Israeli political theorist Yaron Ezrahi always liked to tell me that the most important thing an American friend can offer Arabs and Israelis is American optimism—exactly the kind of innocent can-do optimism that the Marines brought to Beirut. The Marines’ almost childlike belief that every problem has a solution, that people will respond to reason, and that the future can triumph over the past is a wonderful thing, Yaron would remind me. It is a trait which Americans should never be ashamed of.[6]

Friedman gets to specifics, speaking about Israeli Prime Ministers, PLO leader Arafat (and others), and even US diplomats.  My favorite section of the book is actually after the final chapter. In the epilogue, Friedman drills down to succinct, explicit steps that could be helpful for addressing the conflict of the Palestinian and Jewish /Arab conflict. His insights here are most thoughtful, although now perhaps more hopeful than the post-9/11 world might concede (his book is written in 1996, before the WTC and 9/11 attacks). Still, I believe it is the optimism that Friedman points to (in his quote about Americans) that can lead his other points to fruition. This is an expansive, engaging, personal, yet grandly comprehensive book. Very well done and worth reading.

Amazon Book Link: http://amzn.to/zp20ra

Review by Kim Gentes

[1] Friedman, Thomas L, “From Beirut to Jerusalem”. (New York, NY: Anchor Books/Doubleday 1996)., Kindle Edition, Page 29

[2] Ibid., Page 50

[3] Ibid., Page 57

[4] Ibid., Page 252, 253

[5] Ibid., Page 306

[6] Ibid., Page 499

Elias Chacour is a Melkite Palestinian priest living in Galilee. He is a central figure in reconciliations efforts to draw an end to the persecution and expulsion of Arabs from the Jewish country of Israel.  The territory occupied by Israel following the establishment of the state (after World War II), created a polarized ethnic feud, perpetrated by Zionist Jews (claims Chacour) that have resulted in the persecution of Palestinians.  In his book “We Belong to the Land”, Chacour outlines his struggles as a priest and local leader in a the community of Ibillin. In that small community, Chacour fights to build unity amongst different people groups, religions and ages. His efforts include building a unified inter-faith group, constructing and managing a secondary school and high school, and eventually a college. The struggles Chacour outlines, explore the racist and discriminatory efforts of Jewish establishment officials to minimize the rights and opportunities of Palestenians in an effort to force them to leave the country (allowing the Jews to have a completely Zionized state).

Unlike his other book, Blood Brothers, Chacour focuses this book on details of injustice, his programs and building efforts, his organization and leadership across Galilee, Israel and around the world. Much of the book includes his philosophical and rhetorical foundation for his opposition to Jewish radicalism within the occupied territories where Palestinians once thrived. Chacour is a brilliantly practical man, with wit wisdom and far reaching appeal. He intuits things that others only come to understand through years of deep thinking and research. For example, he speaks eloquently about the value of human beings:

"The true icon is your neighbor", I explained to my companions on Mount Tabor, "the human being who has been created with the image and with the likeness of God..."[1]

We Belong to the Land especially follows the details of corruption not only with the the Zionist corners of the Israeli government, but scandalous and complicit efforts of Chacour’s own overseer, the local Bishop of his church’s diocese in which he is serving. In fact, corruption of values across the church and even “western” society is brought largely into focus by Chacour’s damning indictments of the “Christian” supported US government’s efforts to support and sustain Israel’s policies.

Much of what Chacour elucidates he does so as we follow the story of his building of his local school in the community of Ibillin.  The seemingly simple matter of securing a building permit becomes the plot device which allows us to explore the broader injustices to both Ibillin and the Palestinian people.  But Chacour is careful not to become the very thing he despises, which is common a trend. Instead of hating the Jewish people who have repressed the Palestinians in the country, he constantly calls for a fellowship of love in which both people’s can live in harmony within the land. His most articulate arguments become prayers of commonality that we can all join in. He says,

Human worth, human qualities, are much more important than Jewish, Palestinian, or American nationalism, peoplehood, or land. Sometimes it seems to me that Zionism pushes the Jews to Zionize themselves rather than humanize themselves.[2]

His thesis in the book centers around his belief that the thousands of years of living in the land have united the Palestinians with the essence of what it is to be an agrarian people.

Mobile Western people have difficulty comprehending the significance of the land for Palestinians. We belong to the land. We identify with the land, which has been treasured, cultivated, and nurtured by countless generations of ancestors.[3]

The examples and clarity of Chacour’s convictions become crystal clear. He is intent on peaceful freedom for Palestinians within the national borders of Israel. But for all his brilliant practicality, Chacour takes his altruism and misapplies it at least once, when he says,

God does not kill, my friends. God does not kill the Ba’al priests on Mount Carmel, or the inhabitants of the ancient city of Jericho. God does not kill in Nazi concentration camps, or in Palestinian refuge camps, or on any field of battle.[4]

It is obvious to many that Elias Chacour reflects the best of a heart of justice found in our world today. Yet, we cannot, even in our desire for justice, pretend to know more than God. God, in fact, is more just than us, and more loving than us. But He did kill, not just people in the Old Testament (uncountable peoples of all the inhabited the land of Canaan that were wiped out as Israel settled and conquered the region, including both of the instances of Ba’al preists and Jericho inhabitants that Chacour blatantly denies God is responsible for, though the text clearly indicates He is), but people in the New (Ananias and Sapphira, plus the multitudes of opposition to Jesus righteous judgments in John’s Revelation). While we have a hard time reconciling those actions to our comprehension of a loving God, we cannot dismiss God’s actions of these final earthly judgements of death as though they didn’t happen or he didn’t mean it. He did, and He is still God.  Misstating these facts to shape God into your vision of justice does not do God, himself, any justice.

The other (more dangerous) issue to me on the above quote is that Chacour combines things that God clearly does instigate (Jericho and Mt. Carmel) with things that man (or perhaps Satan himself) have deeply inspired and carried out (Nazi Germany, Palestinian refuge camps). One cannot attribute all evil actions to God, unless one decides to make man faultless of his own predilections, choices and sinfilled actions. Of course, there is the grand question "why do bad things happen to good people" and why is there suffering and hurt. The short answer is - sin. But there are rife volumes and lives spent on the topic, so I won't pretend to sort that all out here. But munging God's clear actions and man's sinful ones in a single list of activity (as though they belong together) is a terribly grievous error, for which I cannot let go without mention.

My confidence in his writing flags when I see that he never actually deals head on with the specific claims of moderate Zionist Jews who believe they are following an edict from God to reclaim the land granted to Abraham (and therefor, Israel) by Yahweh. I am convinced that he is a man of integrity, and certainly not afraid of confrontation and working against the norm, so it surprises me that he never broaches the subject from the Jewish point of view, even if to discredit the weak points of their argument.  Second, he takes the broad tact that all Christians (and especially all American Christians) are somehow in rabid support of Jewish Zionism. Again, he washes his hands of details and accuses the US of global blood guilt without taking on specifics and details from which a more reasonable (balanced) response could be given to his condemnations. It feels a little like he deals so beautifully with the story of the Palestinians that he doesn’t want to address the 800lb gorilla issue in the room- the contrary story which lives along side him every day- the Jewish Israeli claim to the land of Canaan, promised to them through the Old Testament scriptures.

I feel quite guilty having brought up what I think are short comings of his fine book, since one feels ultimately humbled and speechless in light of such a great witness of Christ’s love and reconciliation. I am very glad to be wrong on all my points, and would feel better about it. For me, the things I have said negatively don’t deter from his great accomplishments or his stature as a preeminent leader of peace in our generation. It is hard not to love the heart, desires and unbelievable work ethic of Elias Chacour. The accomplishments he has made in the midst of being a nearly singular voice within a tragic situation is remarkable.  He has much to teach the world about the true nature of reconciliation and its practical outworking.  I would love to meet him.

Amazon Book Link: http://amzn.to/w5PTZ2

Review by Kim Gentes

[1]Chacour, Elias & Jensen, Mary “We Belong to the Land”.  (Notre Dame, IN: Notre Dame University Press 2001), Pg. 46

[2]Ibid., Pg. 69

[3]Ibid., Pg. 80

[4]Ibid., Pg. 163

"Blood Brothers" is the first book from Palestinian Israeli Elias Chacour.  Elias is a Christian priest and community leader in Galilee, Israel.  He lives and serves his community of Palestinian Christians in a village of Muslim, Druze and Christian villagers.  This book is the personal story of his youth, the expulsion of him and his family from his home village of  Biram, his training as a Melkite priest, and his eventual work in the ministry of bringing hope to a broken and terrified group of alienated Arabs in Jewish Israel.  Unlike his other book We Belong to the Land, Chacour focuses more poignantly in Blood Brothers on his personal and family life. Most profoundly, he explores the character of his father who serves as an arch-type for both God and the image of what good men can be. Elias Chacour treasures and follows this image into a lifetime of seeking reconciliation, hope and love for the Palestinian people of the village of Ibillin.

One such powerful example is his father’s statement about Jews and Palestinians, which he declared before the full extent of persecution would begin for the Palestinians:

“But How do we know the soldiers won’t harm us?” Rudah pressed him.

Father smiled, and all the tension seemed to relax. “Because,” he said, “the Jews and Palestinians are brothers-blood brothers. We share the same father, Abraham, and the same God. We must never forget that. Now we get rid of the gun.”[1]

This image turns out to be misinformed, though hopeful premonition to the tragedy that would ensure. After taking over the land of Palestine, the Jews of Israel began to programmatically terrorise the people of the rural villages such as Biram. Demolishing their homes and farms and confiscating the land became the program of the Zionist Jews. Even thought Chacour’s father has his land taken from him and his home destroyed, his connection to the land and its plants shows a level of care foreign to us.

I could scarcely believe it! His life's work had just been torn from his hands. His land and trees-the only earthly possessions he had to pass on to his children-were sold to a stranger. And still Father would not curse or allow himself to be angry. I puzzled at his words to us. Inner peace. Maybe Father could find this strength in such circumstances. I doubted that I could....

Father's other response to the sale of his land was more of a wonder to me. In a few weeks we heard that the new owner of our property wanted to hire several men to come each day and dress the fig trees, tending them right through till harvest. Immediately, Father went to apply for the job, taking my three oldest brothers with him. They were hired and granted special work passes, the only way they could enter our own property.[2]

Elias portrays his father with such magnanimous character that he seems barely real to our western sensibilities and callousness. The story of Blood Brothers is much deeper than just Elias Chacour’s life, it is a story of the non-violent Palestinians who are persecuted as evil by Israeli government programs meant to lodge them from hope and from land within the Galilee communities. Chacour is not just a concerned priest, he is a thoughtful change agent and leader. Speaking about the inversion of the Jews from persecuted to the persecutors he says :

Now I determined to find out how a peaceful movement that had begun with a seemingly good purpose-to end the persecution of the Jewish people-had become such a destructive, oppressive force. Along with that determination, I was driven by a respect for history that Father had planted in me. Did the seeds of our future hope lie buried in our past, as he had so often said?[3]

Elias is brilliant to turn to the teaching of his father to recall the thought that history can teach us and, perhaps if heard, can lead us back together. Blood Brothers tries to convince the reader that Zionist Israel is the major obstacle to reconciliation with the Palestinians, though he is against violence of all sort, including from the Palestinian people. He outright rejects the military efforts of the PLO and looks instead for a reconciled Israel in which Jews and Arabs can live together.

Amazon Book Link: http://amzn.to/wMi0KA 

Review by Kim Gentes

[1]Chacour & Hazard “Blood Brothers”.  (Grand Rapids, MI: Chosen Books 1984), Kindle Location 325

[2] Ibid., Location 613

[3] Ibid., Location 1158