Israeli Encounters, Martin Buber and You by JoAnn Magnuson

The recent Gulf War began during our Bridges for Peace board meeting in Jerusalem. BFP staff and directors from nine different countries had arrived in Israel just a few days before the war started. It was a time of some tension. Our U.S. group stayed at the low-budget Jerusalem Tower hotel that was also headquarters for a large contingent of women soldiers who were charged with the responsibility for distributing gas masks in the area. The hotel was also occupied by an assortment of Russian immigrants on a field trip and a collection of Tel Avivians who had come to Jerusalem for a few days or weeks to avoid possible scud dangers, recalling that, in the first Gulf War, Saddam lobbed badly-guided missiles at Tel Aviv whenever the mood struck him. Most hotels were virtually empty during this time since tourism was at an all-time low but the Tower, being decidedly low-budget, had a nearly full house consisting of an fascinating assortment of eccentrics – including representatives of that most eccentric of all pro-Israel aficionados, we who describe ourselves as Christian Zionists.

We had great fun trading tall tales with the girl soldiers and the aging Tel Aviv professors. My friend, Anne, who accompanied us from Minnesota, was enjoying her first trip to Israel after years of supporting BFP. It wasn’t exactly your typical first-time tour. The hotel instructions began with:

• Gas masks will be distributed in the lobby tonight at 7:00 P.M.
• The sealed rooms are on the 4th floor.
• When sirens sound take your gas mask and go by stairway to the 4th 11floor. Water containers will be provided in the sealed rooms.
• Carry your gas mask with you at all times!

But Anne is a trooper and she entered into the fun of the adventure without reservation. I suspect she shares my opinion that the camaraderie of shared adventure, spiced with a few drops of authentic danger, is one of life’s greatest unsung pleasures.

We dutifully carried our gas masks in their army issue cardboard boxes with plastic shoulder straps. Our BFP artist, Ron Cantrell, had decorated his box with an amazing reproduction of Edvard Munch's famous painting, “The Scream.” Seemed appropriate.

On our first night in Jerusalem we went across the street to a small makolet to buy water and snacks before bedtime. The weather was wet, windy and bitterly cold this March and that, with the general tension, kept most pedestrians off the streets. As five Americans trooped into his store the young clerk looked at us in amazement and blurted, “How the h-ll you here?” We told him we had been a bit nervous in the U.S. as war approached and thought we’d fly over to Israel where they are better prepared for such things. He shook his head in disbelief and handed us a free bag of pistachios as we retreated into the windy night.

After our board meetings ended and most of the Bridges for Peace workers had gone home, the weather improved and Anne and I decided to go the Galilee. The day we returned to Jerusalem, Wednesday, March 26, was the day the U.S. forces finally moved on Baghdad. There was an almost audible sigh of relief in Israel since many had feared the U.S. would leave the situation unresolved. I was in a hurry and decided to ignore the warnings of the rental car company not to drive the vehicle into Judea and Samaria. We started up to Jerusalem via the Jordan Valley road early in the morning. I stopped to fill my gas tank at a station north of Beit She’an and found a line of Israeli reservists also filling their tanks. Many had been called up in preparation for retaliation from Saddam. I pulled up next to a soldier and tried to pump my own gas. The soldier said, “O yeah, I lived in the U.S. for a while and got used to pumping my own gas too but this guy wants to do it himself. I’ll call him over for you.” Soon a burly, middle-aged Israeli lumbered over toward my car. As he was about to grab the pump, he turned to me and said, “You American?” I said, “Yup, I’m an American.” He stepped back, straightened up, gave me a crisp salute and said, “Today we are all Americans.” I returned the salute and got into my car, wiping away a few tears as I drove up to Jerusalem.

I am thankful to have been in Israel during those worrisome weeks. I have no illusions that my personal presence contributed greatly to the Israeli morale during the war but it felt good to be a small part of the scene. And I’ve been thinking about those encounters of late while re-reading some of Martin Buber’s writings on dialogue and relationships. I will share a quote from Maurice Friedman, one of Buber’s biographers:

Buber had a “full working philosophy” based on what to me is the heart of his philosophy of dialogue, the two statements in I and Thou: ‘All real living is meeting.’ That doesn’t mean that everything in life is meeting, but real in the sense of that which fulfills the humanity that’s possible for you, in your unique way, is meeting.

And the other is that... “When he says about the I-Thou relationship, that by the graciousness of its coming–gracious because you cannot will it–and by the solemn sadness of its going–sad because every meeting with the thou, the you, the other...must again and again turn into an it that has become discontinuous, become an object; “it can again become a thou, but it always turns into an it. But he uses the analogy of the chrysalis and the butterfly. It teaches us to meet others and to hold our ground when we meet them. And I think the important, the essential, word there is ‘teaches.’ “It takes a lifetime to learn how to be able to hold your own ground, to go out to the others, to be open to them without losing your ground. And to hold your ground without shutting others out.”

We live in a very interesting time of history. (Old Chinese curse: May you live in interesting times.) After years of tragic separation, Jews and Christians are finding each other again. There are so many hurdles to cross, so much misunderstanding to repair. The repair work cannot be done without true meeting, without real people on both sides sitting down with each other, listening to each other’s stories, hearing each other’s hearts. We need Christians, leaders and laity, who are prepared to “to go out to others without losing our own ground.”

In recent years many evangelical Christians have discovered their “Jewish roots” - their connections to the land and people of the Bible. A lot of energy has gone into learning to keep Jewish customs and holidays, to “do Jewish.” There are wonderful things to be found in experiencing aspects of Jewish life. But there are also treasures awaiting us if we are willing to put some time and energy into living encounters with our Jewish neighbors in America or wherever we live.

I share my stories of our encounters in Israel not as noble deeds or good examples. Nor do I quote Buber to impress you with my philosophical profundity. But the connection between the stories and Buber’s ideas caught my attention as I thought about “All real living is meeting.”  How much we miss in our hectic lives by avoiding new encounters. How much we can learn if we make space for new friends. If we are willing to listen with our hearts, to speak carefully and thoughtfully, and to sit together in silence at times.

The Spirit is moving all over the world. May we feel the breeze on our faces as we open up to new encounters.