
The ones who lose in war are always the poor, the young, the civilians caught between powers they did not choose.
I want to write about the Middle East, and I know whatever I say will upset someone. But silence feels like cowardice, so here is my attempt at honesty in impossibly complex territory.
I have walked this land—Israel and Palestine both. I visited during Christmas and Hanukkah season, walking where Jesus walked, praying at the Western Wall, floating in the Dead Sea, feeling the weight of history in every stone. I also visited Abu Dis, Bethany, and Jericho in Palestine, where ancient stories came alive and the resilience of everyday people moved me deeply.
What I found was that the Holy Land is not one story. It is layers upon layers of competing narratives, each rooted in genuine pain, genuine history, genuine claims to belonging. Israelis and Palestinians both love this land. Both have suffered. Both have legitimate grievances that the other side often fails to acknowledge.
I refuse to reduce this conflict to simple binaries of good versus evil. The history is too complicated. The trauma is too generational. The politics are too intertwined with global powers, regional interests, and religious significance that touches billions of hearts worldwide.
What I know for certain is this: every civilian death is a tragedy. Every child who loses a parent, every parent who loses a child, every family torn apart by violence—none of this is acceptable. Not Israeli children. Not Palestinian children. Not Lebanese children caught in crossfire they did not choose.
I think about the Via Dolorosa, the path of suffering that Christ walked. I think about how suffering is not redemptive on its own—it becomes meaningful only when it leads somewhere, when it transforms into something beyond itself. I pray that the suffering of this region leads somewhere.
I do not have political solutions. I have only prayers and questions. How do we hold space for multiple truths? How do we grieve with those who grieve without choosing sides in their grief? How do we advocate for peace without being accused of betraying one side or the other?
If you came here hoping to find validation for your particular political position, I am sorry to disappoint. The Middle East does not allow for simple takes. All I can offer is my honest wrestling with a situation that breaks my heart from every angle—and my prayer that peace, somehow, will prevail.
Stay close to the journey.
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