by Ethan Flad

For a brief moment, I believed that the best way for me to help create peace in the Middle East was to die. In Feb. 2001, a few months into the second Intifada, I visited the Gaza Strip. My Palestinian Christian hosts escorted me around the northern section of this small territory, indicating how much worse things had become since my previous visit in 1996. The heady days of the Oslo Peace Process were long gone – by 2001, the conflict had become much more visible and oppressive.

We walked along the main north-south road that runs through Gaza, and came to a roadblock. Less than 200 meters away there was an illegal Israeli Jewish settlement. The roadblock, and another one about 100 meters down the road, had been built by settlers and Israeli soldiers. They did not want Palestinians to go along that road. This effectively shut down commerce within most of Gaza.

Even worse, it prevented Palestinians from getting medical care. My hosts ran the Ahli Arab Hospital, one of only a couple of hospitals in the region. (This is the Anglican-run facility whose church was bombed by Israel in Jan. 2003.) They pointed out that the roadblocks prevented ambulances from getting to the hospital. An injured or sick patient on the other side of the roadblock had to get out of an ambulance, go down a hill to the beach, go along the beach (carried by a donkey, usually), go back up the hill, and then catch another ambulance to get to the hospital. It seemed inane.

We had been standing about 10 meters from the roadblock, and couldn’t really see the Israeli settlement. I wanted to have a better look, and to try to get a couple of photos with my cheap camera. So as my hosts kept talking about the situation, I walked over to the roadblock. A couple of them shouted at me, "Don’t get too close!" and one yanked me back. "The settlers will shoot you!" They said the settlers would shoot without warning, as they considered anyone on the road to be hostile.

At that moment, I considered going back to the roadblock and crossing it, with the intention of getting shot and, presumably, killed. It was an emotional reaction, but the idea stayed with me for the next several months. I reasoned to myself: Palestinians and Israelis are dying every day, and the rest of the world doesn’t seem to care. Our U.S. government is supporting the Israeli occupation of the Palestinian territories, including the growth of these illegal settlements, and doing little to create a just peace in the region. Perhaps if someone from the U.S. died as an innocent victim, the media and international community would finally take notice. Wouldn’t there be an uproar if I were shot, simply for walking along a road, unarmed, in the "Palestinian-controlled" Gaza Strip? Wouldn’t that lead to a crackdown on Israel, and to a re-engagement of the peace process? Would I become a martyr for peace?

In popular understanding, a martyr is a person who is put to death or endures great suffering on behalf of a religion, belief or principle. The most controversial interpretation of martyrdom nowadays concerns suicide bombers in the Middle East. This phenomenon began less than three years ago, and has become a central topic of debate in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Dozens of suicide bombings have killed hundreds of Israelis, mostly civilians. This February I visited Laniado Hospital in Netanya, Israel. The hospital has treated hundreds of victims of suicide bombings, including the infamous attack at the Park Hotel on Passover Seder 2002, killing 31 Israelis. A suicide bombing in late March 2003 injured almost 40 people in a Netanya café. One of the Israeli doctors that spoke to my group blamed the practice of suicide bombings on Palestinian parents who "train their children to kill Jews."

Now this risk has emerged as a new threat in the war in Iraq. An Iraqi suicide bombing just killed four U.S. soldiers, and Iraqi officials have announced that thousands more Iraqis are prepared to become "martyrs," sacrificing their lives in order to kill their enemies. The Palestinian militant group Islamic Jihad has offered to send hundreds of fighters into Iraq to commit "martyrdom operations" in the struggle against the invading forces.

In the midst of war, this issue of The Witness considers the concept of martyrdom in a range of ways. Palestinian and Jewish perspectives are highlighted, including perspectives on the biblical story of Samson, whom some call the "first suicide bomber." We discuss recent religious martyrs, and speak with Christians who are committed to an ethos of self-sacrifice – in Iraq, Palestine/Israel and elsewhere. And we even look at hip-hop culture in the U.S. – a part of my very soul for the past two decades, as my close friends know – since some people hold that music responsible for encouraging our youths to engage in violent, dangerous lifestyles.

As Christians, we are called to uphold the memory of all who die seeking peace. A few weeks ago, U.S. citizen Rachel Corrie was tragically killed by an Israeli bulldozer just a mile or two from the spot in Gaza where I had approached the roadblock two years ago. Corrie did not seek to die, much less to kill others. She stood with countless Palestinians and Israelis who have been steadfastly committed to resisting the occupation through nonviolent direct action, many of whom have died with little notice. I have come to believe that my potential suicide would have done little to create peace in the Middle East, simply adding one more statistic to an endless death count. But I am emboldened by the witness of these martyrs, and call on all of us to recommit ourselves to choosing nonviolence and life in the midst of war and death.

This issue of The Witness is my first as Editor. My colleague Wes Todd, our new Publisher, and I are honored to take the staff leadership at the Episcopal Church Publishing Company (ECPC) at this critical point in our organization’s history. For more than 85 years ECPC has provided a prophetic Christian perspective on liberation and justice, and we will seek to continue to offer that needed progressive voice. Now, more than ever, we need alternative media like The Witness to provide in-depth analysis on the issues of the day.

We are especially grateful to our former Editor/Publisher, Julie A. Wortman, who faithfully served ECPC for more than 12 years and led our staff for the past four years as Editor. In the footsteps of The Witness’ long legacy of prophetic leaders, including Julie Wortman, Jeanie Wylie-Kellermann, Barbara Harris, Mary Lou Suhor, Bob DeWitt, Bill Spofford, and founder Irving Peake Johnson, we will continue to serve as a "public theology" forum, in print and online, for the church and the world.