
About the author: Rev. Catherine Tobey is a PhD student in theological ethics at the University of Aberdeen. Drawing on Karl Barth’s theology, her research centers children as the dynamic, interpretive key to understanding and witnessing to the Kingdom of God. She is a minister in the Presbyterian Church (USA) and a resident at Tall Timber Ranch, a camp and retreat center in Leavenworth, WA.
“We see that death has power, terrifying and painful power.” Karl Barth spoke these words at his twenty-year-old son’s funeral. He went on to ask, “But what are we, what can we do, what do we know, of what use are all our questions, our contemplations, and desires in the face of the great, inexorable mystery of death?”1
Being at the funeral of a young person is exactly how Rev. Addie Domske described her recent trip to Palestine.2 There was no reminiscing about old times and no opportunity to laugh, there was only mourning. This reality is unbearable, especially as the death toll of Palestinian children continues to rise, already reaching 13,000.
Addie was part of a solidarity delegation of 35 Christian leaders who visited Israel and Palestine at the invitation of local leaders. As part of the Israel/Palestine Mission Network (IPMN) of the Presbyterian Church (USA), they witnessed the destruction of homes, wasted humanitarian resources, the threat of gunfire at the border, and much more.
Haunted by nightmares and grinding their teeth, they embodied this devastation—which is a normal response to genocide, at least it should be.
Back home, it is easy to feel overwhelmed and helpless. Sure, we can vote, contact our representatives, and read reliable news sources.3 And we should! But, when crisis strikes, I wonder what it looks like to be a Christian in academia. Whether we do our best biblical studies in a quiet library or around a cafeteria table, it is a strange thing to be a student, professor, or administrator when the world is crumbling.4 How do our theological curiosities further faithful thinking in classrooms, churches, and neighborhoods? What can we say or do that might attune Christians to the needs of communities both near and far? How can we ensure our classrooms are safe spaces to grapple with current events, personal bias, and systemic injustice?
You might find yourself thinking the Palestinian genocide is important but irrelevant to you and your work. If so, I challenge you to sit with the idea of “scholasticide.” This term, coined in 2009 by Karma Nabulsi, refers to “the systematic destruction of Palestinian education within the context of Israel’s decades-long settler colonization and occupation.” This includes, for example, the destruction of more than 350 educational institutions in Palestine in the last six months … including every single university. But that is not it.
According to Chandni Desai, Israel’s “long record of targeted attacks on Palestinian institutions that produce knowledge and culture … includes targeting and assassinating Palestinian intellectuals, cultural producers and political figures.” Did you know nearly 100 Palestinian university professors have been killed since October? This is in addition to those who have been injured, incarcerated, and harrassed.
Can you put yourself in the shoes of a fellow scholar whose institution has been demolished, whose life has been threatened and peers have already been targeted and killed? I am not sure I would be strong enough to carry on, but the resilience of Palestinians is incredible. Indeed, despite the devastation Palestinians have encountered for decades, they are one of the highest educated populations in the world.
Sometimes when I get overwhelmed by the greatness of death, my mind wanders to how things might play out in another universe. Take Star Wars, for example. As you think about your work as an academic, would you be a part of the Rebellion or the Empire? What about in this universe?5 Palestinians are not fictional characters in a galaxy far, far away. They are bound to us, as fellow students and scholars, within a universal cohort of academics bigger than any student colloquium, professional membership, or international conference. As our colleagues endure a genocide, and a scholasticide, what are we to do?
Let us look to liberation theologians, like Palestinian pastor Mitri Raheb. When meeting with the IPMN delegation, he offered the idea of a theology after Gaza. How can we ensure our hermeneutics, theology, and preaching are sufficient moving forward from this devastation? How does it move us to action as God’s Church? At minimum, we should revisit the impact of settler-colonialism on the lives of indigenous peoples who loved the land we call home.6
Let us hold our institutions to a higher standard. This includes calling for divestments from companies that financially benefit from the occupation. It means writing letters and making statements in support of a permanent ceasefire. It looks like ensuring special programs and course offerings are relevant to current events, if only to prepare pastors and scholars to navigate them better than we were prepared.7 It also means, as Addie suggested, assessing the institutional “muscle memory,” since in their efforts to avoid anti-semitism, their gut reaction to support the State of Israel is misguided.
Let us embrace the truth that these things concern us, both as Christians and academics. Anything else is a lie, including the idea we are helpless to confront a crisis of this magnitude. There are so many ways we can get involved in advocating for our peers in Palestine. It starts with the terms we use,8 books we read,9 papers we co-author,10 and research trips we take.11 Besides, will the Holy Spirit not intercede with the creativity, urgency, and persistence we need?
We may feel overwhelmed. But we need to remember, per Addie, “whenever we realize the oppression is bigger and bigger and bigger, we can also remember our liberation movements are bigger and bigger and bigger, the more we realize our liberation is tied up in one another.”12
We may be tired. But Addie encourages us to use our energy to run towards difficult things, not away from them. Isn’t that how we encourage our kids to grow? Addie put it this way: "We ask our kids to engage in conflict, not avoid it. We need to model the things we are teaching; we need to say sorry, to make different choices.”
We may endure isolation. But we are not alone. February marked Addie’s fifth trip to Palestine. In awe of her energy in a deeply depressing situation, I asked how she is doing it. She responded, “The thing that is keeping me alive and vibrant right now is that I am in relationship with other people who are just as angry as I am.” She went on, “We totally have the power to mobilize our communities and engage in this; it hurts us by avoiding it; it grows something bad in us when we don’t address these things because it disconnects us from humanity.”13
The alternative, I suppose, is that we let death’s power prevail. If this is unsatisfying, as it is clearly inconsistent with the Good News of Easter, what are we to do? I wonder if the answer lies in the privilege we hold as part of the academy. Perhaps it is time to use it for the sake of those whose educational pillars (and educational futures) are being destroyed.
To be honest, I am not sure what else it is good for.
Michael D. Bush, ed., This Incomplete One: Words Occasioned by the Death of a Young Person (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2006), 18–9.
The quotations that follow come from a personal interview on March 5, 2024.
Keep calling for a ceasefire and staying informed by reading news from The Electronic Intifada, Mondeweiss, Aljazeera, IMEU, Democracy Now!, and Middle East Eye.
Librarians may be especially interested in https://librarianswithpalestine.org/
There is no neutral; this was a key part of Addie’s seminary formation. We may prefer to play pretend, as if theology can be faithful in a vacuum or as if we could leave our experiences, history, or culture at the door. But Addie put it this way: “There’s no such thing as pure exegesis. We always do eisegesis; we already are doing racist, zionist, homophobic theology.” The real question is what comes next.
Addie put it this way: “How dare we talk about Palestine and not talk about land back movements in the US? We taught Israel how to do it.” The article on scholasticide also mentions this: “Scholasticide is not an event. It’s part of a colonial continuum of attacking and destroying a people’s educational life, knowledge systems and plundering material culture and cultural heritage. The targeted killing of the educated class is intended to make it difficult for Palestinians to restore the political and socio-economic conditions needed to survive and rebuild Gaza…It has also been applied to Indigenous Peoples in Canada, the United States and elsewhere. This logic drives a settler population to replace Indigenous peoples in their aim to establish a new society.”
When is the last time there was a discussion of Zionism at your institution? What beliefs have been let to fester among students and faculty, without critical engagement?
Do we describe Bethlehem as being in Palestine or Israel? Do we distinguish between the State of Israel and Ancient Israel? Do we reference this as a conflict that implies a balance of power? Or do we admit this is an occupation, complete with legal rights and responsibilities that are nowhere to be found?
If you’re not sure where to start, here are some suggestions: Mitri Raheb, Decolonizing Palestine: The Land, The People, The Bible (Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 2023) and Edward Said, Orientalism (London: Penguin Classics, 2003).
Have you considered participating in an academic boycott? Take a look at https://usacbi.org/, https://bdsmovement.net/academic-boycott, and https://librarianswithpalestine.org/. In addition, follow @teachingpalestine on Instagram.
Learn about Palestinian Liberation Theology (https://sabeel.org/, https://www.fosna.org/) and get in touch with Mitri Raheb about organizing a future trip with students.
Check out Scholars Against the War on Palestine to forge the way forward.
Based in the USA? Join Christians for a Free Palestine! to meet people in your region.
This is really good. Thanks for this incisive and challenging piece!