Photograph Source: Rob Pierson – CC BY 2.0

It is because you are Palestinian.” That was the rationale used by organizers of a major Christian mission conference in Ireland to explain why they were considering withdrawing their invitation for me to speak at their conference. Their concern was not due to any controversial things I had said or done. …Their hesitancy for me to participate in the conference simply had to do with who I am and where I come from. I was at fault because I am Palestinian.

–Munther Isaac, introduction to The Other Side of the Wall

On October 9, 2026, I led a book discussion on the campus where I had taught for 42 years. To launch the discussion, segments of what follows were read, along with a PowerPoint presentation of art and graffiti exhibited on Israel’s wall of apartheid.

Some 15 years back, an academic administrator told me (in writing and in person) the following: “You say controversial things.” If advocating for and writing for state, national, and international publications about human rights, injustice, dispossession, Palestine, and the tragic plight of her destitute children is controversial, then I wear this charge as a badge of honor.

Now in its 80th year, the Palestine/Israel conflict is the longest and most controversial U.S. foreign policy blunder.

In 1997, Nelson Mandela called the dispossession of Palestinians the most moral issue of his time. “We know too well that our freedom is incomplete without the freedom of the Palestinians,” said Mandela.

To honor his memory, Palestinian artists have painted scores of Mandela portraits on the same wall of Apartheid around which Munther Isaac, the author of the acclaimed The Other Side of the Wall, builds his personal narrative and his experiences as a Lutheran priest and university dean living under oppressive Israeli occupation.

On the Palestinian side of the Israeli-built wall of Apartheid, the 25-foot-high concrete slabs have become canvases documenting Israeli brutality and apartheid, hence becoming the largest and longest open-air museum in the world. The painfully telling images are a cri de coeur begging an apathetic world to unshackle the manacles of oppression and injustice.

In many ways Munther Isaac and I share similar life experiences. 31 years my junior, Munther was born in Beit Sahour, Palestine, the locale where, according to Mathew’s account of Jesus’ birth, some 2,000 years ago an angel and “a multitude of the Heavenly host” appeared to the shepherds. Today, the illegal Israeli Yatziv settlement is encroaching on Beit Sahour, fragmenting families, farmlands, schools, medical sites, and the community.

With tacit support from the likes of Trump, Stephen Miller and Mike Huckabee, the Netanyahu government, akin to a ravenous anaconda, has been peristaltically gobbling up what’s left of Palestine.

I was born in Jerusalem, Palestine; my family lived at #9 Reuven Street some eight miles west of Beit Sahour, and barely a block off the historic Jerusalem/Bethlehem Road.

Tanas Halaby house in Upper Bakaa, built around turn of last century.

This is an image of my grandfather’s house, one of the first houses built in Upper Bakka, a burgeoning southwestern Jerusalem Palestinian suburb within walking distance of Jerusalem. Recognizing the value of the unique historic features of this Palestinian architectural gem, its new Israeli owners have decided to preserve its facade and add a third story. And in a sense, my grandfather’s house is a testimonial metaphor writ large for history books. No matter how hard Israel and its many Christian Zionist apologists and sympathizers around the world, and especially the U.S., attempt to wipe Palestine and Palestinians off the map, like my grandfather’s house, the inner core of Israel is Palestinian, and will always remain so.
Munther holds an Oxford PhD; he is a theologian and is Pastor of the Lutheran Christian Church in Bethlehem, Palestine; he is the academic dean of Bethlehem Bible College; he directs the Christ at the Check Point conferences.

Munther and I also share the following: we are Palestinian Christian Arabs; we were both raised in the Orthodox church; our family cars were confiscated by Israeli authorities; we experienced humiliation, legislated racism, apartheid, and dispossession by the Israel government; the academy is an integral part of our lives; we are both considered demographic threats to Israel; advocating for Palestinian statehood and human rights is embedded in our DNA; we’re likely to be accused of being terrorists or terrorist sympathizers; we both have two sons. Because of his leadership in the Christ at the Check Point conferences, Israel has barred him from entering Jerusalem.

Even though my wife and I were part of a fifteen-member fact-finding delegation (American Coalition for Middle East Dialogue – all U.S. citizens), upon entering Palestine in 1988 (through the Allenby Bridge crossing) and due to my Palestinian descent, I was ushered into a 6×7 ft cubicle and strip-searched by an Israeli officer. When finished, the officer took a can of sanitizer off the shelf, sprayed his hands, pulled out paper towels from a dispenser, wiped his hands dry, wadded the damp towels, and threw them in a waste basket. Because Palestinians don’t exist, there was no eye contact whatsoever. This experience triggered childhood memories of life under Israeli occupation. 27 years after leaving my native Palestine, the haunting phrase Aravi Meluhlah (parasitic Arab), a xenophobic epithet barked by Israeli officials at Palestinians, reared its ugly face,........

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