A Day in the Life

I haven’t had time to update the blog in a while, given how busy I am I hope that you understand. Here is a snapshot of today:

Today after the 8:30 morning meeting I drove from Jerusalem to Gaza with Erica our Gaza coordinator to pick up several patients for the first time in about two weeks. The border had been closed to medical cases because of a bureaucratic stand-off, the details of which are hardly entertaining blog content. Out of a possible 7 children I was told that 5 had obtained all the necessary permissions, 1 to be taken by ambulance, and 4 to be picked up by yours truly; 2 for follow ups, 1 for heart catheterization, and 1 for urgent surgery. I was also told that some Israeli medical students would be meeting me at the border to tag along in order to make the entire process somehow more complicated. Because the border requires all people going through the border to shut off their cell phones, and because of the hoops everyone must jump through to get out, discerning when and if anyone gets across it is extremely unpredictable. After waiting approximately half an hour we had collected 3 of the 4 patients, but the one left in security was the most urgent case. In order to ensure that the 3 kids that made it out were able to be treated I left for Tel Aviv with just 3 of the 4 children expected to get out, and gave Erica’s cell phone number to one of the taxi drivers who sit at the border in case the 4^th child made it out. I squeezed two of the medical students in the van as well and they provided some welcome company on the road to the hospital. They were both fresh from American and Canada and were very interested to hear about our work. They have been living in Be’er Sheba, one of the primary targets of the Hamas rockets, and frankly I was surprised at the lack of bitterness toward the Gazan people. I thought it was perhaps because they had not lived there long, but they have lived there long enough to suffer a bit of shell shock after this latest war, and joked about how they jump at anything that sounds similar to the incoming rocket warning siren.

For some reason Israelis have become nervous about people from Gaza, possibly because of the daily rockets and bombings, so it’s routine that whenever I pull up in the van to hospital entry security with Gazans security likes to run our papers, check the bags, look at the van, check for nervous eyes, etc. All the guards recognize me at this point and I‘m able to joke with them about giving me a hard time every time I bring anyone to the hospital, a smile goes a long way, and seeing men armed with fully automatic assault rifles is something you get used to; I think it’s possible them knowing I'm from California has granted me a charisma they’re curious about as well. After everything cleared and the guard handed me back all the paperwork I said “thanks” and as I pulled away hung my arm out the window and held out a peace sign, the guard instinctively called back “peace!” as I drove into the lot.

Upon piling out of the elevator at the hospital with all the Gazan’s I was stopped at the entry to the pediatric cardiology department by one of the workers, very unusual… I didn’t find out why until about 15 minutes later, after watching a few people rush in and out. Yesterday, amongst the chaos of my own tasks at the hospital, I witnessed Maureen a 3-year-old from Tanzania having her chest sutures removed (one of the final things done before a patient’s release). I said a quick hello to her mother Sweetie, before I ran off to finish my work for the day. I have had several conversations with Sweetie in the hospital rooms, hallways and outside the ICU, and I’ve always been sure to say hello to bashful little Maureen. Sweetie has been here with her daughter, who has had 3 heart surgeries now, since December through Save a Child’s Heart. I found out that she was a Christian, and gave her my Gideon’s New Testament so she would be have the Scriptures handy in a pocket size to carry with her, and I was able to connect her with a local Christian congregation in Tel Aviv so that she was able to attend a much needed worship service. Today was a different story for Maureen, in the morning she had a temperature so as a precaution she was brought to the hospital to have some tests run. Suddenly, in the middle of being checked Maureen’s breathing and heart stopped. The technician immediately called (not exaggerating) the entire children’s ward staff and doctors and every machine they had to the small check-up room. This was why I was stopped at the entrance to the department, the workers didn’t want the 6 Gazans I had in tow to witness this frenzy going on around the corner. When I got the all clear I brought the Gazan patients into a waiting area and watched machine after machine being wheeled out of the check-up room, followed by Maureen. With 20 or so of the best pediatric doctors and nurses in the world surrounding her she was successfully resuscitated after a few minutes, and as she was wheeled by I was never happier to hear a child cry. It’s unknown whether or not she has suffered brain damage, I’ll get an update the next time I go to this hospital.

After making sure the nurses were ready for the kids and waiting for the panic to settle down it was well past lunch time but after a minute of debating whether or not to get food or wait longer with the patients we received a call from the taxi driver that the 4^th child had made it across, and back we went to Gaza. Thankfully this took place without incident, we picked up the mother and child, welcomed them, strapped them in, and back we went again to Tel Aviv.

Back at the hospital now two of the three patients brought earlier had finished their check-ups and the third was being worked on, which gave us thirty minutes or so to eat lunch. Now 3:30, I was ready to stuff my face with something huge in a hurry, McDonald’s fit the bill. I order a small combo to the tune of 42 sheqels (a little more than 10 US dollars (no that’s not a typo)). After shoving the food down we returned to collect the two families that came for follow up in order to take them home to Gaza only to find the hallway empty. Not knowing where Gazan’s are in a city like Tel Aviv was a big security booboo, but we quickly tracked them down quickly, and I joked with the doctor about her losing my patients. We found them, called out “Yalla” (the Arabic catch all for, “let’s go,” “come here,” “are you ready,” etc), had a bit of a laugh about them eluding us, and piled back into the van.

The sun was setting as I drove in the middle of the Israeli rush hour, now the third time to Gaza today. It’s no surprise that the traffic thins the closer you get to the border, though even the bumper to bumper tedium isn’t so bad if you can just enjoy the beautiful countryside along the way, especially at sunset when the rolling hills turn golden on one side of the highway, and dunes with desert blooms chasing the sun on the other. We made it to the border once again, unloaded our happy little patients and their mothers, shook their hands and made sure they got through the security gate. Our day was finally done and we were prepared to head to Jerusalem when, wouldn’t you know it, I got a knock on my driver’s window…

I let Erica do the talking (she’s fluent in Arabic). This fellow had gotten out of Gaza and was looking for a ride to Jerusalem. While hitchhikers are very common in Israel, Gazan’s getting permission to go to Jerusalem are not at all. We asked him what he was doing, to which he replied he was going for peace talks. Erica and I were very skeptical of the possibility and needed to check him out before unintentionally aiding an international criminal, but sure enough, he produced the paperwork. He was granted a travel visa to be in Israel for more than a month, and was permitted to travel almost everywhere in Israel; both the length of time and the areas he had permission to were shocking to me frankly. He gave us a business card which titles him a Political Commissar under the Palestinian National Authority – The Chairman of Supreme Committee for Negotiation and Peace Process Suppert (sic).

Call me superstitious if you like, but it’s not every day that The Chairman of the Supreme Committee for Negotiation and Peace Process Support of the Palestinian Authority ask for a ride from a random van that so happens to be occupied by two people at the bleeding edge of this work, who also happen to be going exactly where he needs to go, and from the Gaza border no less. So, after being scolded by a frustrated taxi driver for stealing his customer we headed back for Jerusalem.

I stopped to load myself up on some coffee for another long drive at a restaurant and coffee shop about 5 minutes from the border. There are two spins for how you can be surprised at this place, either that such a nice place could exist in such close proximity to the Gaza strip granted the constantly falling rockets, or that such a ravaged place as the Gaza strip could exist in such close proximity to a fine dining restaurant. For the price of a McDonalds meal you can get essentially a 3 course meal, I seriously hope no one in Hamas hears about this place, not that I wouldn’t like them to enjoy it, but because they’d probably want to blow it up. This place is one that gives me that unexpectedly normal feeling, it shouldn’t feel normal there, but it does. You never know what will give you some perspective in this place, in this case it was a restaurant.

We made it back to Jerusalem around 7:30, dropped off our new friend, ate some dinner which was waiting for us, and got to work on things needed to get done around Jerusalem. I imagine we’ll try to make contact with the political commissar sometime during his stay, perhaps have him over for dinner. We can always use more friends on both sides.

The Power of the Good News

Saturday I brought 6 of our Iraqis to church: Arazoo (17) who comes regularly now, Halo (9), Alaa (6) and Um Alaa, and Omed (12) and Um Omed (Halo, Alaa, and Omed are our three latest arrivals for heart surgery from Iraq). The families are each given a Kurdish or Arabic New Testament when they come to stay with us, and they had not seen a Christian worship service before. Outside it was the most extreme weather I’d seen in Israel yet, freezing cold, gusty winds, hail, and claps of thunder that made me wonder what kind of idolatry could provoke God to such a fury. It was perhaps more actually blessing in disguise as Israel has really needed the rain, and each thunder clap made the prayer, the worship, the preaching poignantly emphatic.

Because the nature of Jerusalem Christian churches involve a lot of people coming and going the pastor asks who is here for the first time and they are acknowledged by the congregation. Our visitors received a lot of attention as you can imagine, both because they’re not Christians, but also because of the situation they come out of, the fact that this congregation prays for Shevet Achim and its patients regularly, and because Arazoo who they had prayed for previously had since had her surgery and was doing much better. They were made to feel very at home by one of speakers leading a liturgy who addressed them in Kurdish with “choney boshey” which loosely translates to something like “how are you, good?” to which both mothers jumped up, seemingly very pleased to hear these words, raised their hand and said “choney boshey” in return. They seemed to enjoy the worship though they could not understand it, Halo and Omed enjoyed clapping along to the songs (however out of sync they were), and had a good time participating. They all also participated in all the prayers that were said. Whether it was coincidence, Divine will, or sensitivity towards the Iraqi’s, the guest preacher gave the sermon in Arabic which was then translated to English for the rest of the congregation. Kurdish and Arabic are only related to the same extent that, say, English is to say Spanish, but Um Alaa is fluent in Arabic, and Um Omed like most Kurdish speakers in Iraq can understand some basic Arabic. The speaker talked about a prison ministry that he runs in Israel, talked about how we are all molded uniquely like clay in the hands of a potter and gave some other theological references and general edifications toward an individual’s humanity regardless of circumstance and the need for redemption.

I was very grateful that the mothers were able to understand the sermon but something very unexpected happened following the closing prayer and the small horde that approached the mothers and children to bless them and pray over them. Um Alaa began to weep. I wasn’t sure what had happened, if the stress had overtaken her or what exactly, but the other volunteer with me, Donna, told me shortly following that she was weeping because she had been so touched by the message. At this I was kind of surprised…I didn’t think it was that powerful of a message…sure it was good to hear about the success of this ministry and to hear again how God has made each individual special, etc… I thought maybe Donna was being a little too optimistic that it wasn’t something else, but then I noticed the other mother, while not weeping, was also visibly shaken…

This reminded me of, and strengthened my conscience concerning something I’ve felt over the last few weeks being here and in the course of settling in. The work my coworkers and I are doing by any outsider's standards would be seen as tremendous, incredible, awe inspiring, praiseworthy, etc; but the longer and more feverishly I do it, the harder it is for me to see this. I’ve heard analogies such as "you can't see the forest from the trees", or "you can't grasp the immensity of a sky scraper from inside the ground floor," and I think this fits both with my work at Shevet and my spiritual life to a certain extent. I may be driving kids in and out of Gaza, the West Bank, Jordan, making believers out of Muslims, ministering to the least, being a peacemaker between arch enemies, living humbly so that I can save others, etc. but unless I repeat that to myself, stop and step back and realize that is what I’m doing, I don’t see it when I’m actually in the process of doing it.

In the same way the radical nature of the Gospel is something that I need to be reminded of and refreshed by; not only that, but be truly impressed by the things being accomplished in Jesus name. The speaker was talking about a wonderfully successful prison ministry, to which my response was, “that’s great, another effective prison ministry built on the love of Christ,” but I lacked the enthusiasm of how glorious such an accomplishment is. I know that there are such ministries around the world and perhaps I am jaded by their number rather than overwhelmed by the joy of the enduring and vibrant work of Christ and his Church. I am used to the wonder of God, like the Israelites, like so many Great Revivals, my eyes have adjusted to the brilliant light; I know it's not the right place to be. Witnessing the response of these mothers, I think certainly more appropriate than my own by Kingdom standards, is a welcome reminder to pray for a new, fresh faith that can appreciate all these things, that will in turn encourage and strengthen me as I go about doing the work the Lord has graciously set before me to do in his name. Perhaps when you pray you can petition God to do this for me, so that I can feel newly inspired again and again, by all that he does, and for yourself if you find you are in this same place.

After the service ended the kids ran around the sanctuary taking pictures, smelling the flowers, enjoying being kids. Each of them, and the mothers, received copious blessings and prayers during this time. While I was not there with them, it’s my understanding that some of them, maybe more, went to church again that evening. Please continue to pray for the work God is doing in the lives of these families, physically and spiritually, today especially as I will be taking Halo, Alaa, and Omed in for their open-heart surgeries within the next 48 hours.

Emotional Rollercoasters Are by Far the Most Nauseating

I’ve preserved the drafts of this blog in their original form to better capture these experiences.

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Written Sunday 2-15-09:

Abu Firdaus has been in very poor spirits because of the condition of his daughter who has not been struggling greatly the past week or so. Because of this his demeanor Abu Firdaus had, understandably, become very panicked and frustrated, which is a far cry from the kind and gentle spirit everyone had known him by. In the hopes of alleviating some of the stress, much of which he was putting on himself by being in the hospital, we took him out of the hospital environment he had been living in the last few months and brought him to the Shevet Achim house over the weekend. The outcome could not have been better!

After spending just a few hours in our home Thursday evening he seemed to be doing better; being around other families in similar situations who spoke his language gave him much encouragement, even simply being in a warm comfortable home seemed to make a difference.

Friday the traditional day of prayer in Islam, I took Abu Firdaus to the Old City so that he could spend some much needed time in prayer (see the subsequent excursus on this). The prayers begin at 11am and we left at approximately 10:45 so I knew we were in a rush, however, on the way to the Old City Abu Firdaus kept pointing me toward the Arab market and trying to get me to go there with him. I thought this was curious because I knew we were late for prayer, but he seemed to be very hurriedly tasting some of the greens in the various shops to find the right one, eventually he found what he was looking for: celery. I didn’t know why he was so interested in the greens, and celery of all things, I thought perhaps it had something to do with the prayers…would he be praying so fervently he would need something to sustain him, celery of all things?…would he be making…an offering? After he found it I thought, “certainly we’d better rush to pray,” but he started walking in the opposite direction hurriedly checking out the food stalls once again! When he grabbed a dented can of tomato sauce and started rushing back in the direction of the Shevet Achim house I was completely baffled. Well, as it turns out, Abu Firdaus had had lunch cooking on the stove before we ran out and these were the ingredients he needed to finish the meal. When we visited Abu Firdaus and his daughter in the hospital we talked on a few occasions about his restaurant business back home in Iraq and we often joked that we would love to have him cook for us, and that we would hire him on as our staff cook. He decided to surprise us with that very thing! After some much needed translation through Dorothy, I was told by Abu Firdaus that “of course I would love to go with you to pray, but after lunch!”

After eating a delicious lunch, Abu Firdaus and I finally ventured into the Old City to pray at around noon. I left him at the entrance to the Temple Mount as only Muslims are allowed in most times, and we agreed to meet back at the entrance at 4pm. In the midst of the most dire situation a man can face, his child’s life hanging by a thread, Abu Firdaus emerged with joy visible on his face and embraced me. He later told me after praying, “I am at peace now,” and I believe it, he could hardly keep from smiling on the walk home. On the walk back we enjoyed a sweet from a shop, and I had the pleasure of watching Abu Firdaus do some genuine Arab haggling over some green beans (we got them down to 7 sheqels a kilo). We walked the entire way back through the winding streets of the Old City, up and down the Arab market, and then to the Shevet house arm in arm (which is a feat in itself given the foot traffic).

He had been so uplifted by his day and our loving care to him and Firdaus that he prepared the staff three full dishes for dinner as well!

Abu Firdaus spent the rest of the weekend taking in Jerusalem and getting a much needed break in mind and spirit from the circumstances he is facing. We brought him back to Schneider Children’s Medical Center today a renewed man.

As we learned in a prior visit to him at the hospital, Abu Firdaus has been diligently reading the New Testament each day since he received a Kurdish version from our Jordan coordinator Dirk. He also took interest in one of the Kurdish Bibles we have on our shelves here at Shevet and cracked it open and began to read without hesitation. He showed no signs of hesitance or offense to walk with me arm in arm, even in front of all the Muslims, despite me lugging my enormous and conspicuous Bible to and from the Old City on our outing. Team members have also spoken with him about what it means to pray in the name of Jesus as an intercessor and Abu Firdaus has been moved to take part in this as well for his daughter. Abu Firdaus is a man of great spiritual fervor and sincerity, please pray that the Lord would continue to draw him near and that through these most difficult and painful times where there seems to be no hope and no chance for life, that he would receive the gift of a new life, and hope in the one who freely gives it. Please also continue to pray that God would act in miraculous ways in the life of baby Firdaus, and that the work God is already doing in her now would be only a foretaste of what is to come.

It’s when crazy things like this happen that I know what we are doing is working, and that it really is from above. The notion of a 50 year old Muslim man walking joyfully, literally arm in arm, with a 23 year old Christian through the streets of Jerusalem being joined together with the hope of saving his child’s life…there's something about it.

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Written Wednesday 2-18-09




Firdaus died yesterday. After being stable and on the road to recovery the child took a turn for the worse about one and a half weeks ago which she never recovered from. I know some of the medical details about her condition and operation and the difficulties that had the potential to make her unsavable but I didn’t ask for any further when I heard the news, and I’ll spare you all the details. Almost as difficult for me was the fact that Abu Firdaus was put on a plane last night as well before I had a chance to see him. Yesterday, I drove for 7 hours, and spent 6 hours in Wolfson hospital in Tel Aviv; between two trips to Gaza to pick up and drop off children and 3 trips to Wolfson, and then getting back to Jerusalem, it was all I could muster to reach my bed and collapse when I got home. When I awoke this morning he was already in Amman, Jordan with Firdaus.

I was told by the Shevet staff who went to him after hearing the news that he was on his knees weeping when they arrived, still cradling the small yellow pillow that belonged to Firdaus. They left the hospital with him shortly after. This father that did all that he could for his child, breaking every social, cultural, and religious barrier to save her could now do nothing more than give her just one last kiss before the tiny body bag was zipped over her face.

I have written him the following condolences for Dorothy to read to him in Arabic over the phone:

Abu Firdaus,

I am very sorry I was not able to see you before you left or offer you any comfort in person, I was needed all day to bring children to and from Gaza. I am so sorry for your loss and I know there is little that can make you feel better at this moment. I myself am deeply grieved and mourning for Firdaus as well. I would like you to know that even though you are leaving now, our relationship and your relationship with those who know of you around the world does not end here. It is especially now that we will bring our prayers for you and your family before God so that you may know he has not abandoned or forgotten you. I pray that God would grant you peace that surpasses all understanding and that in the midst of the difficulty and pain, God may use it somehow to draw you nearer than ever before.

With hope and love,

Justin

I know God is not done with Abu Firdaus, he is a better father than many men I know who call themselves good fathers, and practices a purer and more active Christianity than many people I know who so casually call themselves Christians. Perhaps these very events have set that in motion, and I hope it is true that our Father will not end prematurely any good work he begins in us.

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Excursus: Some Uncomfortable Questions

After writing the last section I questioned whether or not it would taint the visceral nature of the blog to include an intellectual excurses on a Christian taking a Muslim to a mosque to pray, lest you think I am not in emotional shambles, or that this grievous event is anything less, but I think it may be helpful to anyone who may have been caught off guard or be apprehensive about it. I don’t mean to provide an answer to every concern, indeed I have my own, but here are just some considerations that most people would not grasp at first thought on the matter.

First, on the idea of different God’s in Christianity and Islam. Etymologically, there can be no argument reasoned from the word “Allah” as this is the standard Arabic word for God, used by Christians and Jews who spoke pre-Islamic Arabic languages like Ancient (Northern) Arabian and Syriac for hundreds of years prior Islam. Today there are at least 30 million Arabic speaking Christians that pray to Allah and have the very same beliefs about Him and Yesua (Jesus) that you and I do. To say that “Allah” is a different god doesn’t make much sense in practical terms. Without the bias against the term “Allah” we would be saying in English “God is a different god from God,” which is linguistically nonsensical. What therefore would be in dispute would be the nature of God in Christianity and Islam, rather than having an entirely different deity on our hand. We have to ask then, do prayers by someone who has different, incomplete, or even heretical beliefs about God not ascend to Him? What percentage of correct belief about God does it take or is it relevant?

With regard to prayer, the issue of Islam’s Mohammed need not come into play much either. Muslims don’t pray to Mohammed, they believe he was a prophet and they do not pray to prophets, they only pray to God. In fact, this is a significant snag that Muslim converts to Christianity face at the onset, as we pray to Jesus (God in flesh). Muslim’s venerate Jesus very highly as a prophet or even higher as a messenger of God (they also regard most Bible characters as prophets as well). This is often surmounted by explaining prayer “in Jesus name” as using Jesus as an intermediary between man and God, that he as our divine peace maker and ransom is the only one through which it is worthy to bring prayers to God, or that because of his special relationship to God Jesus is granted power to appeal God more on our behalf.

It is with this in mind that I have to step back in humility for how Abu Firdaus prayed. This is a man that has been reading the New Testament every day since he has been here, more than I have had time to that’s for certain. It would not surprise me one bit if in fact Abu Firdaus was on the Temple Mount praying in Jesus name for his daughter. This produces more questions for those that haven’t encountered Muslims converts or those in the process. Is it wrong for a Christian to pray 5 times a day at the traditional Muslim times and with the same movements? Is it wrong to pray to God in Jesus name in a mosque? Will a Muslim who tries praying in Jesus name be granted his petition if he has yet to come to faith in Him and is seeking if Jesus has real power? What beliefs must they have about the authority of Koran and Mohammed to be received by Christ?

I believe God is just and merciful, and that he extends the most grace to the little children of faith who have just begun to seek and knock on the door. I did not just see this event as Abu Firdaus going to meet God in prayer and hoping that he would pray in Jesus name. Prayer is where man meets God, where divine pierces mundane, it cannot be the other way around, only God can break this barrier to both receive and answer. I therefore took him there to pray not in the hope that Abu Firdaus would grasp the formula and reality of Christ’s efficacious work and pray accordingly, but that God who has the power to reveal these things to man would encounter Abu Firdaus at this time; that it would be from Heaven down. I don’t know what God revealed in prayer, but if the sense of peace and joy that Abu Firdaus emerged with were from Him, I know that God is indeed at work in this man.