Touring Jordan: A Quaker Perspective

I want to thank my readers for following my travels through Jordan these past few weeks. The trip with the Associated Church Press Tour brought up a lot of questions and provided space for some deep searching and listening. I hope that I will be able to continue researching some of the topics that arose in Jordan and share with you those thoughts in a future.

I am now back at Earlham School of Religion finishing my thesis, my travels will continue in May in attendance of the International Ecumenical Peace Convocation. If you would like to follow my adventures and contemplations during that period visit my personal blog: rachelstacy.blogspot.com.

Thanks again for your support and attention during this journey. I wish everyone blessings on their own path!

I admit, as a young professional concerned about the impact of ecological destruction on communities, localism is extremely attractive to me. I support urban gardens, farmers markets, local business, and community development.

So when I was in Jordan, I was fascinated when we ate at farm-to-table restaurants and shopped in stores that only sold Jordanian goods.  The presence of women’s co-ops, local artists, and community run organizations made me feel at home. I could live in Jordan and still engage in activities that were in accordance with my values.  Right?!

With the support of Friends Journal, I spent many hours interviewing peace organizations around Amman. One of these organizations, which I came across accidentally on the web (and turned out was connected with several Quakers with whom I am friends), the Women’s Federation for World Peace, offered me another perspective on localism, and leads me to question, "Who does localism benefit? Who really are your neighbors?"

Focus Interview: Fusayo Irikura, Women’s Federation for World Peace

While localism is gaining attention in Jordan, who is considered local is another issue. The public face of Jordan will tell you that Jordan is welcoming of all refugees and open to the world. While its borders may have been open in the past, the borders to Palestine and to Iraq are now closed. With numbers encroaching upon 50 percent of the Jordanian population, Palestinian refugees have been afforded substantial rights by the government; Iraqi refugees, whom are much fewer in population, are another matter. 

The Iraqis living in Jordan are the hidden neighbor. Two waves of emigration mark the development of the Iraqi population in Jordan, the first in 1991 as a result of the 2^nd Gulf War, and the second in 2003 right before the U.S. invasion of Iraq. Today, Iraqi refugees in Jordan make up 18–35 percent of the population, a number difficult to ascertain because of the high number of the unrecognized.

The political realities for the Iraqi-Jordanian population are stark. Most refugees who have been able to gain international resettlement have, and most of those who are left behind cannot leave Jordan or gain legal refugee status. The most common reason for this prohibition is that the husband/father of the family was in the past involved in the Iraqi military. Therefore the family cannot return to Iraq because of security issues, cannot leave because of resettlement restrictions, and cannot gain legal status because of Jordanian security concerns.

Families therefore are stuck. In Jordan, if you do not have legal status, you cannot legally go to school, hold a job, or have access to public services such as hospitals. Poverty is passed on through the family to the children who grow up with little hope of a better future.

In 1994, Fusayo Irikura came from Japan to Jordan as the representative of the Women’s Federation for World Peace. The purpose of her work in 1994 changed drastically in 2006 when it became apparent that the situation of the Iraqi refugees was going to be long-term and very difficult. Initially Fusayo created a football (soccer) league to give the refugee children an alternative to violence and gang behavior. There are now five teams who receive weekly physical training, trauma healing, and leadership training.

Her work with the football teams transformed into an entire system of refugee support. Fusayo, working out of a small apartment in a refugee neighborhood in Amman, has established relationships with USAID, the Jordanian government, the United Nations, and wealthy Iraqi families. She coordinates English classes, the distribution of foreign aid, and takes in youth who have been separated from their families through the resettlement process. There are now schools that educate refugee children and hospitals that offer pro-bono services.

The most rewarding and frustrating part of Fusayo’s work is the resettlement cases. She remarked that “at this point, most of the people who can be resettled have been resettled. Those who are left have little hope.” When cases do successfully go through the resettlement process there is much celebration. However the process to achieve success is more often disheartening.

Families are discovering that after years of poverty and the little hope available to their children, the “sins of the father” cannot dictate the future of the family. Therefore, loving couples are seeking divorce so that the women and children of the family may successfully seek resettlement outside of Jordan. The fathers and husbands who are left behind often return to Iraq to suffer the consequences of their past and the families are never again reunited.

I listened to Fusayo’s stories while sitting in her small apartment. Two young Iraqi boys worked and lived with her, as well as another older woman. They shared their stories of violence and tragedy and of their present situation. The boys told me of their hopes to go to school in the U.S., one in San Francisco and one in Chicago.

Some of you readers may know that I am participating in a Christian Peacemaker Team delegation to Iraq in October. I’ve been researching the Kurdish north and I have been in contact now with several nonviolence organizations in the area. Through my clearness process for my trip I discovered a deep leading to work with the world’s hidden neighbors. My meeting with Fusayo confirmed once again that which lays heavy on my heart.

After that meeting, I wrote a letter to a dear friend who had worked with Iraqis and cried my way through sending it. As I settled in to worship, a different understanding of localism emerged: with the world concentrating on the localism movement—in terms of urban gardens and local goods—what is the Quaker role now? My leading is to engage with those who many wish weren’t their neighbors. Who lives next to you?

Lent is associated with the fourth-century Christians who followed Jesus' example and went into the desert for a period of prayer and fasting as a way of getting into closer touch with God. The desert is a place where we encounter the Truth and the Truth encounters us. Desert spirituality means much more than getting out of the noise of the city into the silence of the wilderness. In the desert, life is reduced to the utter simplicity of "What Is." On the desert, there is no name for God other than "I exist." There is no place for  diversions, distractions, luxuries, or trivia. When Friends speak of "simplicity," they are recalling this desert experience. (Anthony Manosous)

“Then Moses went up from the plains of Moab to Mount Nebo, to the top of Pisgah, which is opposite of Jericho. . . And the Lord said to him, 'This is the land of which I swore to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob, I will give it to your offspring. I have let you see it with your eyes, but you shall not go over there.'” (Deuteronomy 34:1, 4)

Last Tuesday my group traveled up to Mount Nebo where, as legends tells it, Moses and the Hebrews saw the Promised Land for the first time. Continuing my thought process from my last post, I’ve been wrestling with the idea of a "promised land," and with the phrase “Living into the Kin-dom of Heaven, here on Earth.” As I stood up on top of Mt. Nebo and looked over Palestine and Israel all I could think of was the suffering of both the Palestinians and the Israeli’s locked in endless conflict. Is this really the Promised Land? Did God promise that this land would run red from the blood of intolerance, religious extremism, and economic oppression? Or was the Promised Land a place of harmony and cooperation?

Perhaps my linking of the Promised Land with the Kin-dom of Heaven is incorrect. Yet how many other times in history has someone stood up on a mountain, looked over the land, named it the new Eden and declared ownership? It’s a habit of humanity. We even teach this practice to our children through movies like the Lion King, when Mustafa shows Simba the breadth of their kingdom. By envisioning the Kin-dom of Heaven on Earth, the realization of the Promised Land or the new Eden, are we by default subjecting others to oppression?

While I do not know what the Promised Land looks like, I believe that it is within each of us. The Promised Land is not separated from us or others by border crossings, checkpoints, or gated entrances. It is open to all and we are challenged to live into it; to make our experience of the world a reflection of it. When Moses stood up on top of Mt. Nebo and was shown the Promised Land, perhaps it was God’s way of telling the Israelites that not only their physical searching but also their spiritual searching was over. Rather than representing a land to be conquered, perhaps God was simply saying that it was time for suffering to be over. Unfortunately that was one message humanity just didn’t get right, so we built up walls and started fighting.

Focus Interview: Madlein Bu Amreih, Alternatives to Violence Project (AVP)

I grew up going to AVP workshops and hearing about the work of AVP through my meeting and during Quaker functions. When I went to East Africa in 2005, I discovered that AVP was prevalent among African Quakers and highly respected across the African continent. Thus from this standpoint, I developed an assumption that the Alternative to Violence Projects were universally well received. Who wouldn’t want to train communities to peacefully solve their problems? Alternatives to Violence Project not only offers a space for individuals to process experiences and heal from violence, but AVP also trains people to develop community.

Such an assumption is extremely American. In parts of the Middle East, AVP is not welcomed. Madlein Bu Amreih, the lead facilitator of the AVP Jordan, expressed frustration that few organizations would support AVP workshops and few people would participate. In another interview, one of the Seeds of Peace participants I talked to said that she can't identify as a participant of a nonviolent training program because it would threaten her professional opportunities. Additionally, this AVP interview was of great interest to the Jordanian Tourism Board. One of the official leaders wanted to sit in on the interview but forgot to come at the last minute. None of my other interviews were of interest to the JTB.

Is developing community a bad thing?

In another interview, I learned that part of the success of Egypt’s revolution was that the mass numbers of young protestors were not divided by tribal loyalty. In Jordan, where at least 50 percent of the population is Palestinian and the rest of the Jordanians make up several different tribal groups, organizing among any group, particularly young people is near impossible.

While government discouragement of the training and organization of nonviolent and communication skills that could move beyond these divisions is not outright, when facilitators of AVP request space or present their work, often people are afraid they will lose their jobs in the government if they participate. AVP in Jordan (which is not run by Jordanians) has difficulty finding support and participants for their workshops. Yet these workshops are incredibly necessary in society.

Madlein spoke with me about the dreams and challenges of the projects. She works for several NGO’s who support her work and these groups finance 5–6 workshops a year. While she was trained by international facilitators, Madlein has been a forerunner in the transfer of leadership to Jordanian nationals.

AVP in Jordan began with Iraqi refugees who had experienced grave violence in their travel across the border. AVP also exists in Iraq but is similar in size to the Jordanian chapter. Madlein remarked that most people are ignorant about AVP. “People think that AVP will promote violence but AVP is teaching people strategies to control themselves, to become nonviolent and to live peacefully.” When asked about the lasting effects of the trainings and workshops, Madlein replied “You can feel [the effect] more than you can talk about it.”

Madlein is 25 years old, the same age as me. She dreams that over the course of her lifetime AVP will become as famous in the Middle East as it is throughout Africa for the promotion of nonviolence. She hopes that she can develop the program into something that is sustained by the Jordanian people and seen as an asset (rather than a threat) for society.

When we were parting, Madlein and I learned each other’s age and laughed at our similarities. Standing face to face, our differences were more apparent to the world; she wore a hijab and I looked very western. When we embraced in saying goodbye, Madlein said, “Now, we are sisters. We will work together soon.” Yes, Madlein, I stand in solidarity with you in support of alternatives to violence in this world. In our lifetime, perhaps we will see a world where nonviolence is revered more than violence.

I walked into my friend’s guest house in London and admired the artwork on the walls. My British friends were hosting me during the planning meetings of the World Gathering of Young Friends. They were young adults like myself and rented a modest flat from someone in their meeting. Looking around the room where I would be staying I noticed a series of three pictures artistically framed in series. At first glance the red rock canyon and beautiful architecture seemed familiar. With closer inspection I exclaimed, “Isn’t that from the Indiana Jones movie? Where was that photo taken?” Laughing, my friend explained, “It’s Petra, in Jordan. I went with an elder from my meeting last month. It’s beautiful.”

Six years later, I find myself walking through the grand canyon of the ancient city of Petra with the Associated Church Press tour. We entered the expanse and walked down to the treasure. I was struck by the genius of the ancient people who built elaborate water catchment systems and used the natural edifices for protection. From the outside, Petra looks like a series of uninhabited, unapproachable mountains. Inside, the canyon walls are riddled with caves, tombs, and ancient temples. Much of Petra has not been excavated. There is much mystery awaiting historians and archeologists.

The people of Petra have an interesting story. In 1985, Petra was declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site and the inhabitants of Petra were relocated to a modern city a few kilometers away. These relocated people, the Bedul tribe, are still the only people allowed to sell or work inside Petra. The city where they now live was built specifically for them in the 1980s thus forcibly ending their cave dwelling days.

The stories of the Bedul raise may questions for me. While the development of the tourism business in and around Petra has dramatically improved the economy of the area, a way of living has been lost. Who are we, the privileged, to say how someone should live? Yet the development of schools, sewage, and health care has improved these people’s standard of living. Craft co-operatives have supported the empowerment of women and the international attention of Petra provides new opportunities to future Bedul generations.

Development? Is that our goal? What does the kingdom of heaven here on Earth look like? Do I have a right to paint that picture at the demise of other peoples' culture?

The United States of America believes that democracy is the best governmental structure (or at least something like it). As a U.S. citizen, I do think that the voices of the people should be heard and those voices should make decisions that benefit society and the world. As a Quaker, I believe that the living Spirit speaks in the decision-making processes and, to quote Margaret Mead, “a small group of committed citizens can change the world.”

Yet the questions continue to haunt me. Is the promotion of human rights and higher standards of living more important than cultural preservation? A loud voice inside me says yes! But, I respond, if that is our goal, to provide a better life for others, how different are we from colonialists?

Petra has become the pride of many Jordanians and the main reason that internationals come to visit. In 2001, Petra was named No. two on the new list of the Seven Wonders of the World. The Petra National Trust is beginning to teach tourists and locals about the importance of environmental awareness. One of the members of the Jordan Tourism Board North America who was leading my trip told me a story about this campaign to teach people about the impact of trash on the lives of the people living at the site:

There are many children selling trinkets in Petra. They should be in school but their parents make them work instead. These are the children of the Bedul and Petra is their Petra. One day I (the leader of my trip) gathered a group of children around me and said, “I’ll buy one thing from each of you if you help me pick up trash for 30 minutes.” As the word spread, soon 15 children gathered around and joyously cleaned up the area. When they were finished, I bought one thing (at one dinar) from each of the children and told them, “This is your home; you have the responsibility to keep it clean and to keep yourselves safe!”

My leader had grown up in Jordan; her mother is American and her father is Jordanian. Her mother is the only American on the board of the Petra National Trust and has recently published a children’s book (in English and in Arabic) about a goat in Petra who gets sick from eating trash.  The book is touching and just one of the many projects going on to improve the standards of Petra for both the Bedul people and the visitors.

The towering canyon loomed over me as I walked out of Petra. So many people just come to see the Treasury and miss the wealth of other sites. The canyon holds much more than just caves, tombs, and temples; it is a library of stories. Whether they are exotic stories like the New Zealand women who married a Bedouin and the young American who moved with her mother to live with the Beduls or the common stories of the donkey boys, everyone’s voice is imprinted in the spirit of Petra, logged in a catalogue perhaps longer than time.

I’m behind on my entries in part because of a night in the wilds of Jordan. After traveling all day my group lumbered into the wilderness to the Feynan EcoLodge. While for the rest of the trip the Associated Church Press tour and the Travel with Spirit film crew have been housed in places like the Marriott and the Movenpick, the Feynan EcoLodge was a hidden gem of the trip. Fenyan describes itself:

Hailed as one of the top 50 ecolodges in the world by National Geographic Adventure Magazine, the solar powered Feynan Ecolodge offers the most developed eco-experience in Jordan; an experience made possible by a unique partnership between EcoHotels and the Royal Society for the Conservation of Nature, a Jordanian NGO devoted to the protection of the Kingdom’s finest natural landscapes.

As a Quaker a couple of questions crossed my mind in analysis of this experience: Is the EcoLodge actually environmentally sustainable? What is the impact of the lodge on the local people?

My questions about sustainability and the local people were answered in several ways. Our bus drove up to the visitor center where four pickup trucks and their local drivers waited. We loaded our belongings and ourselves into the trucks and drove 25 minutes into the dark. This is the only way that visitors can access the lodge, thus reducing the impact of vehicles on the area. The local drivers are members of Bedouin tribes who live around the lodge.

We drove into the darkness until we could see the faint lights of the lodge ahead. The Lodge does not have electricity (except a single light bulb in the bathroom) and uses candles at night. These candles are made by a women’s cooperative that the lodge started down the street. We arrived at the EcoLodge to find hundred’s of candles illuminating our path. These candles lit the hallways, our rooms, and our dinner table. 

Dinner was wonderful. We had a variety of choices along a buffet that were all unique. Of the restaurants that my group has visited over this trip, the menus have been fairly similar. The food at Fenyan was traditional and made from local ingredients. The director of the lodge explained to us the lodge’s system of composting and recycling and urged us to try each of the new dishes. He also explained that the flat bread that we ate was made by a local woman up the road. If we wanted to go visit her the next morning we were welcome to. I leapt at the chance! 

After dinner we were invited to have tea at a local family’s tent. I wondered about the impact of tourism on the lives of the local Bedouins and about the possibility of cultural appropriation. While I’m sure that some tourists come away from the experience with their Bedouin rugs and their pictures and flaunt their experiences, in actuality the local people are enthusiastic about sharing their culture with outsiders.

We sat around a fire and had tea with the men of the family. They answered many of our questions about Bedouin culture and on the impact of the lodge on their lives. The Jordanian government is pushing Bedouin tribes to settle down so that they can receive governmental services such as health care and education. The lodge has been instrumental in providing not only jobs during this cultural shift but the lodge has also attempted to provide a system of services that respects the Bedouin culture. Most of the families around the lodge still move around, but now only twice a year. In the winter they nestle their tents in the lowlands away from the winds and in the summer they move to the highlands where it is cooler.

While we were having tea with the men, I found the opportunity to speak with the Managing Director of the Feynan, Nabil Tarazi. To my surprise, Nabil is a graduate of the Ramallah Friends School in Palestine. While on one hand it seemed incredible that out here in the middle of nowhere I would run into a graduate of a Quaker school, on the other hand with regards of the environmentalism of the lodge it makes complete sense.

When the group motioned to leave, I asked Nabil if I could visit with the women. Up to this point the women had been in the adjoining room and I had only heard the giggles and cries of the children. Myself and another member of the press tour stayed behind and sat with the women of the family. The children practiced their English with us and I got to speak with one of the women about the region’s education. While language was a barrier, I learned that the lodge is providing teaching training to the teachers at the local school and many of the women are finding employment there. The relationship between the lodge and the local people appears symbiotic; one couldn’t exist without the other. Walking back from the tents the stars glittered above me and I sent a silent thanks out to the universe for this place.

Six years ago I was moved to tears at the telling of the story of Elijah and the still, small voice (1 Kings 19:9–18). Deeply immersed in the Spirit, Deborah Saunders spoke at the 2005 World Gathering of Young Friends in Lancaster, England, and in telling the story of Elijah linked the Quaker practice of waiting worship with prophetic witness. While Elijah had been a prominent character in my First-day school education, Deborah’s portrayal of him as a flawed, carnal human listening and speaking to God called each of the us present to walk into God’s presence and surrender. What are you doing here Rachel?

Which was the exact question I was asking myself today.

The press tour and film crew traveled to the East Bank of the Jordan River.  The area known as Bethany-Beyond-the-Jordan consists of several biblical excavations including Elijah’s hill and Jesus’ baptismal spot. The wilderness is preserved and protected by the National Jordanian Park. While some construction is occurring on the site, a great deal of effort is being put into preserving the wetlands and wildlife.

The beginning of our tour brought us to Elijah’s hill.  This is the site where people think Elijah was taken up to heaven (2 Kings 2:1–12). Excavations of wells and baptismal pools dotted the hill and the remains of a church stood around the cave’s entrance. The waters of the approaching spring had made the landscape green and the wind blew through the rushes singing the songs of the wilds. I craved a moment to sit, and in solidarity with Elijah, worship; I craved a moment to listen to the still, small voice within me, within the beauty of the landscape, and within the memory of a prophetic witness.

Unfortunately the ways of the Religious Society of Friends are peculiar to many and my craving for waiting worship was overshadowed by the group’s excitement to get to Jesus’ baptismal site.  We moved on away from Elijah’s hill and drove closer to the Jordan River. The baptismal site can be found nestled in a forest of wetland scrub and whirling locust. A short walk took us through a wild area that was similar to the wilderness of John the Baptist. During my moments when I was surrounded by the exquisite beauty of the Jordan Valley, I greatly envied him.

I found it interesting that the place where John the Baptist probably baptized Jesus is at least a quarter of a mile from where the Jordan River snakes through the grassy marshes of the valley. This change in route is mostly due to severe climate changes and earthquakes over the last two centuries. For pilgrims who want to baptize in the river, they must walk about ten minutes to an access point on the river’s bank. I found the actual baptismal site rather uninteresting but my visit to the living river was another story.

Several members of my group wanted to enter the Jordan’s waters. Two members of the film crew baptized each other while most everyone else played around in the shallows. I took this time to sit in worship and also to contemplate the day’s events so far.

What are you doing here Rachel?

I’ve been raised to defend the Quaker stance on baptism. John the Baptist declared, “I baptize you with water for repentance but he who is coming after . . . will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and with fire” (Matthew 3:11). From this passage (and similar ones in Mark 1:8, Luke 3:16, John 1:33) Quakers have taken the stance that water baptism is unnecessary. Rather, the spiritual experiences of being baptized by the fire of the Holy Spirit is central to each journey in faith. My friend Karla Moran has been exploring the Quaker theology of baptism on her blog and she brings up some very interesting questions for the contemporary discussion.

Rather than go into much of the theology here, I’ll conclude my story by saying that I did find a way to satisfy my craving for worship; I settled into the waiting silence by the River Jordan. While my friends and colleagues were splashing around in the beauty of nature, I was splashing around in the stream of the Spirit (as described more fully by William Taber in the Pendle Hill Pamphlet Four Doors to Meeting for Worship). Perhaps the shift in the Jordan river’s route over time is like continual revelation; God’s work is dynamic and living. Surrendering to the call in worship, I passed through the fire by the River Jordan and came out the other side crying.

Walking through the front gates of the Holy Land Institute for the Deaf, we were immediately surrounded by children. The complex was built around a central courtyard, which at the time of our arrival was full of children. The normal sounds of laughter and chatter emanated from the different bunches. For foreigners such as ourselves, who spoke little to no Arabic, the sounds of the playground could be mistaken for some other spoken language that our ears were just not tuned to understand. A closer look revealed the movement of children’s hands jabbering away in Jordanian Sign Language. 

“Unlike most people who do nothing when they talk, when these students speak they are creating movement and with movement comes action,” explained Brother Andrew, the Director of the Institute. His words struck me as prophetic today as we toured the Institute. What movement do we make with our words? What actions do we make with our movements?

Brother Andrew gave us a tour of the facilities that over the last 40 years has developed into a collection of seven different educational and research departments. The Institute, sponsored by the Diocese of Jerusalem and the Jordanian Royal family, is a unique institution in the Middle East, where students who are deaf and deafblind receive education and rehabilitation. In addition to what people in the U.S. would consider special education, religious education is also offered—Islam for the Muslim students and Christianity for the Christian students.

We played with many of the 150 students who live there, train in vocational work, and teach each other about special education. The hopes and smiles of these children, many whom would be otherwise rejected by society, were heartwarming.  

Focus Interview: Brent Stutzman, Mennonite Central Committee (MCC)—Serving and Learning Together (SALT) Program.

Yesterday I was fortunate enough to visit with Cindy and Daryl Byler, the MCC office staff for Iraq, Iran, Jordan, and Palestine. The Bylers graciously welcomed me into their office and spoke with me at length about MCC’s programs in the Middle East. While I hope to touch on specific pieces of their work in later entries, Cindy and Daryl shared with me a bit about two programs that allow young people to volunteer for 11 months (renewable up to two years): International Volunteer Exchange (IVE) and Serving and Learning Together (SALT).

IVE sponsors the volunteer placement of young Jordanian women in places of service throughout the U.S. and Canada. SALT sponsors the volunteer placement of young men and women from the U.S. in places of service throughout the world. I’m more familiar with the SALT program because a friend of mine from Earlham served in South America for two years as a community music teacher.

The Bylers told me there were four SALT volunteers presently in the Middle East and today when my group arrived at the Holy Land Institute for the Deaf, Brent Stutzman from Hutchinson, Kans., was already there. A little over a year ago, Brent answered a MCC volunteer advertisement. He had recently graduated from Bethel College and was exploring post-graduate options. The SALT program resonated with him so he applied. But the position for which he applied was nothing like the work he ended up doing.

Brent began his service at the Institute with an assignment working with deafblind students. The Institute has eight deafblind students and may be the only school in the Middle East that provides education and services for the deafblind. Upon arrival, Brent expected to work teaching English, helping out with administrative duties, and doing some manual labor. Instead, without knowledge of sign language or Arabic, Brent was asked to assist in deafblind education by being a one-on-one teacher for one of the deafblind students. Brent was introduced to Mohammed and 11 months later, the two of them are inseparable.

Brent has spent a considerable amount of time learning Jordanian sign language and Arabic. “I just have to stay one step ahead of Mohammed,” he remarked. Brent communicates with Mohammed by taking his hands and signing while Mohammed feels the language. The two of them laugh, argue, and engage deeply in learning. Mohammed has developed enough language skills to communicate intelligibly with the other deaf students but, “I hog most of his time,” joked Brent. 

When asked what he was thinking of doing after his two-year SALT term limit was up, Brent replied that he was investigating graduate programs in deafblind education: “American deafblind education has been in development for almost a century while Jordanian deafblind education is barely ten years old,” Brent explained.  As a graduate of biology, Brent never expected to find his life pointing in this direction and expects the last year of his SALT program to be as transformational as the last. 

Focus Interview: Royal Institute for Inter-faith Studies

Director Kamel Abu Jaber greeted me with a warm smile when I entered his office today. “So you’re with the Quakers?” he enthusiastically asked. “That’s good,” he stated after I had explained my credentials. “I was at Earlham last summer. It is a very good place. I hope to return some day. You know, I was educated by Quakers.”

“Here? In Jordan?” I asked in disbelief.  

“Yes. Yes. At the Bishop School here in Amman. A Quaker from Philadelphia, James Sutton, started the school in the 1920s.”

When I began to prepare to visit Jordan, the first things I did was to go look for Quakers. I knew Friends had a legacy in Palestine and in Lebanon but I couldn’t find anything about Jordan. Even in my brief research tonight on the Bishop School, I can’t find the story. Perhaps it’s a treasure hunt for another day!

The Royal Institute for Inter-faith Studies (RIIFS) is of particular interest to me because of my graduate research in Inter-religious dialogue. I had not heard back from RIIFS regarding my request to visit, so early Sunday morning (a working day in the Islamic world), I easily navigated the streets of Amman and knocked on their door. When the secretary learned my name she started to laugh! “I just sent you an email!” she exclaimed. And like magic, I appeared.

A little about RIIFS from their literature:

Established in 1994 in Amman, Jordan, under the patronage of HRH Prince El Hassan bin Talal, the Royal Institute for Inter-Faith Studies (RIIFS) provides a venue for the interdisciplinary study of religion and religious issues, particularly as they relate to Arab and Islamic society, with special concentration on Christianity in the Arab world. In addition, the RIIFS provides a focus for rational discussion of all matters directly or indirectly relating to religion and religious diversity, regionally, and globally. For this purpose, it maintains relations with similarly concerned academic institutions in different parts of the world.

During my visit, I spoke with several of the staff. RIIFS is mainly a publisher of inter-religious articles and books. However, in response to recent changes in the Middle East, RIIFS is beginning to engage in community-based activities that promote unity and the understanding of diversity. RIIFS works closely with the Anna Lindh Foundation and is planning a gathering in May that brings together 500 young people (ages 15–30) for a day of art, theater, lecture, and storytelling. The purpose of the gathering is to address some of the hot issues of Middle East youth including unemployment and trauma healing.

RIIFS is also beginning a study on the role of the media on religious minorities. The influence of the media on society is another hot topic and it is being addressed by many groups including Al Jazeera in reflection on Egypt’s Jasmine Revolution. I found it encouraging to see RIIFS responding to the events of the last few months; there is movement towards change.

Director Kamel Abu Jaber also spoke passionately about his vision to create an institute for comparative religious study. Consistent with the other new initiatives of RIIFS that focus on youth, this envisioned institute would provide young teachers and preachers of Christianity and Islam education about each other. While RIIFS continues to support the present work of HRH Prince El Hassan bin Talal in international inter-faith dialogue, there appears to also be a movement towards addressing the future leaders of the world. Abu Jabar remarked as I left his office, “Perhaps once you have your PhD, the institute will be established and you can come and teach here.” Insh’Allah my friend, God willing.

I arrived in the Amman airport yesterday to discover that the Associated Church Press press tour was going to include for the week a film crew from a Christian TV show Travel with Spirit. Each of our groups consists of five people; there are ten of us in total. The other journalists in the press tour include two Canadian freelance writers; a journalist from CBS news; and Trish Edwards-Konic, Quaker pastor and previous editor of Quaker Life.

Of the ten of us (the press tour and the film crew) there are an equal number of men and women. The entire film crew is from Southern California while the journalists are from all over. I appear to be the most progressive of the lot, but that remains to be seen.

Our day’s itinerary was simple. In the morning we visited the ruins of Umm Qais and in the afternoon we visited the city of Jerash. While the Roman and Ottoman stones shone beautifully in the bright spring sun it was the view of the Sea of Galilee from the top of Umm Qais that attracted my interest. Looking past the Golan Heights (Syrian territory occupied by Israel) the Sea of Galilee displayed its breathtaking sparkle. Directly across the water from my vantage point was the city of Tiberius. Almost exactly two months ago, like a magic mirror, I had stood on the shore by Tiberius looking back upon Jordan.

The city of Jerash was also magnificent. It is one of the best preserved Roman ruins in the world. The complex is immense and the amphitheater is almost completely preserved. The press tour spent some time watching the film crew as they interviewed local musicians. Unbeknownst to me, the bagpipe of Scotland originated in Jordan. Two Jordanian musicians played for us in the amphitheater where the acoustics were most likely as spectacular as they had been 2,000 years ago.

Between the two cities of Umm Qais and Jerash runs the river of Jacob. This is the river by which Jacob is said to have wrestled with the angel who named him Israel (Gen. 32:22–32). I have often used this story as a metaphor to explain challenges in my own life. Seeing the river snake through the steep valley was serene and thought-provoking.

In reflection of my day, I find that once again the story of Jacob and the angel serves as a metaphor for my life, because, like Jacob, I wrestled with my faith today between the two cities of Umm Qais and Jerash. At the very end of our mid-day meal, before receiving our receipt and leaving the restaurant, one of the film crew abruptly asked me (in front of everyone), “So Rachel, what’s a Quaker?”

It’s a question with which I am familiar. I have been asked that question hundreds of times over the course of my life. Over the years I have developed better and better answers but at that moment I wished that I had 12–24 hours (like Jacob) rather than 5 minutes to wrestle with that question.

Even an additional ten minutes would have allowed me to cover my normal slate of Quaker talking points: Christian history, sacraments, different worship styles, testimonies, pacifism, continual revelation, and realized eschatology. But how do you explain Quakerism in five minutes? What do I leave out? Of course, in addition to the time crunch, Trish Edwards-Konic was sitting next to me. We represent very different persuasions of Friends. She just shook her head and let me try my best.

Prefacing my explanation with saying that it would take a bit more time to explain Quakerism in full and that Trish and I come from very different communities, I engaged fully in the challenge. I didn’t get very far before the questions started, and soon we were in the parking lot racing through the differences between Friends, Christian denominations, and faith communities in general. While the conversation remained friendly, I felt unexpectedly defensive.

Back on the bus (the press tour and the film crew have different vehicles) my mind spun from the experience. Given five minutes, how would you explain Quakerism? Could you do so and still feel like you walked away with integrity? I’m not sure I passed the litmus test set before me. In some ways I feel like I did my faith community a disservice. I feel acutely frustrated at both the limitations placed on my voice and my inability to simply describe my faith. My pride is humbled from this experience and I feel a bit like Jacob, limping away from his bout with faith.