The first time I watched a house fall in Bethlehem, I felt as if Advent itself had been interrupted.
A brand-new bulldozer pressed calmly through the stone walls while the winter sun rested low over the Judean hills. It felt surreal to stand only minutes from the shepherds’ field where angels once announced peace on earth.
The family who lived in the home stood under blankets, holding a few rescued belongings. A Christian friend beside me whispered a prayer in Arabic. The prayer shook in the cold morning air. Bethlehem did not feel like the place where Christ entered the world. It felt like a place still waiting for God.
Palestine is not a metaphor. It is soil, breath, heartbreak and memory. Yet many treat it as a stage for their own emotions.
Jack Nassar
Shane Lakatos
Some support Israel out of fear or anger toward Palestinians or Arabs or Muslims or anyone who unsettles their sense of security. Others claim to stand with Palestine while carrying hostility toward Jews and hiding it behind political slogans. Both positions turn living people into symbols. Both betray us.
I once received an email from an American pastor who said he was praying for Gaza. His tone was kind, sincere and compassionate. At the bottom of the message, he attached a receipt for a donation to a group expanding Israeli settlements. He explained that our suffering comes mainly from Islamic extremism and that American Christians must defend us. He believed he understood us without asking a single question.
This is a familiar kind of love. A love that speaks generously and listens rarely.
Yet many Americans approach our story with honesty. I have met evangelicals, conservatives and moderates who watched what happened in Gaza and felt something inside them shift. They listened to Palestinian Christians who speak of justice with trembling voices but unwavering faith. Their solidarity does not come from political identity. It comes from conscience.
The illusion of solidarity
Something complex lives inside certain corners of the American conversation. A blend of political nationalism, Christian Zionism and cultural anxiety has turned the Holy Land into an extension of domestic battles. For some, Palestine becomes material for their personal narrative rather than a community with wounded families.
Some of the “America First” politicians and media personalities are among those who speak about Israel and Palestine with fiery conviction while viewing the conflict mainly through the lens of American strength. In some MAGA circles, criticism of Israeli policy appears only when it clashes with national interests, not moral conviction. When attention shifts back to domestic issues, Palestinian suffering fades from their concerns. We become a talking point, not a people.
“It understood that assistance demanding silence is not charity.”
On the other end, prominent Christian Zionist leaders within the American church speak warmly of peace while supporting policies that erase our communities.
Public figures such as John Hagee, Franklin Graham, Ted Cruz and Mike Johnson defend actions that displace Christians and Muslims alike. Homes collapse, farmland is confiscated and churches lose land, yet these leaders claim such actions fulfill divine promises. Scripture becomes a political instrument rather than a call to mercy.
I know of a Palestinian church that was offered significant financial aid from a well-known Christian Zionist ministry. The condition was silence on occupation. The church refused. It understood that assistance demanding silence is not charity. It is pressure dressed in religious language.
The misuse of our suffering extends beyond religious circles. Certain extremist groups in the United States, rooted in racism or nationalist superiority, use Palestinian tragedy as a tool to attack American Jews or elevate themselves. They pretend to stand with us, yet they twist our pain into ammunition. They turn our story into their costume. It is yet another betrayal.
Israel pulls down a Palestinian home (Photo: BBC screencap)
Jewish Zionism and political Islam
This distortion of faith is not limited to Christianity. Many Jewish thinkers, theologians, rabbis, activists and ordinary citizens reject the idea that Judaism can be used to justify domination and occupation.
They inherit a tradition shaped by prophets who challenged kings, protected strangers and defended widows. They know when political power treats land as more valuable than human life, it drifts away from the moral soul of Judaism. They remind the world that criticizing government policy is not hostility toward Jewish identity. It is a commitment to ethical responsibility.
A parallel struggle exists among Muslims. Political Islam, especially movements influenced by the Muslim Brotherhood, has shaped Palestinian society in ways that divide rather than liberate.
Hamas began with the language of resistance but developed structures that silence disagreement and limit leadership to narrow religious criteria. This weakened Palestinian unity and sidelined Christians, secular voices and Muslim reformers who believe liberation must include everyone.
A Muslim friend in Gaza once told me she was removed from a youth leadership initiative because she was not considered religious enough. Her voice carried a grief that felt familiar. She said she felt trapped between occupation from above and restriction from within.
Many Palestinians understand this double pressure.
“When religion ties itself tightly to nationalism, the heart of that religion begins to shrink.”
Elsewhere, Hindu nationalism in India has transformed spiritual heritage into a political weapon. Teachings that once encouraged compassion now sometimes serve exclusion. When religion ties itself tightly to nationalism, the heart of that religion begins to shrink. The divine becomes overshadowed by control.
Across these movements, a single thread emerges. They invoke God’s name while seeking power. They defend ideology at the expense of life. And whenever religion becomes a weapon, its holiness fades.
Faith beyond ideology
Palestinian Christians have endured many rulers. We have lived under Islamic caliphates, Crusaders, Ottoman authority, the British Mandate and now Israeli occupation.
Every empire came believing it carried a holy mission. Every empire believed it was chosen. Yet we remain. We remain not as relics but as witnesses. Our presence testifies that faith can survive even when power closes in on every side.
Christ taught that real faith is known by its fruits. The fruits of religious nationalism are always fear, exclusion, violence and humiliation. The fruits of true faith are mercy, justice, love and peace. These fruits require courage. They demand a heart willing to love someone who may never love you back. They insist on refusing to use scripture as a weapon.
“The fruits of religious nationalism are always fear, exclusion, violence and humiliation.”
We cannot embrace a Christianity that blesses destruction and calls it prophecy. Nor can we accept expressions of Islam, Judaism, Buddhism or Hinduism that justify cruelty in the name of political benefit. A faith that harms the vulnerable is not faith. It is an imitation of faith.
The light that remains
Hope in Palestine often feels like a candle shivering in the wind. Some days it flickers. Some days it nearly goes out. But it rises again.
It rises in families who rebuild their homes and businesses with exhausted hands.
It rises in mothers who pray through sleepless nights.
It rises in Christian, Muslim and Samaritan neighbors who share sweets during their holidays.
It rises in young people who continue to dream of a future they have never seen.
Christmas began with a family searching for shelter. It began with a child born under threat. It began with a quiet light in a world of darkness. The story of the gospel reminds us that redemption often begins unnoticed. It begins in a stable. It begins in a cave. It begins in hearts that refuse despair.
The Holy Land has heard many sermons but has seen far less mercy. It has received many promises but tasted little justice. Even so, love has not died here.
Justice has not been buried. A small flame still glows in Gaza. And I believe the star over Bethlehem will shine again. Not as decoration and not as a symbol for tourism. It will shine as witness that truth cannot be silenced forever and that the birth of Christ still speaks hope into wounded landscapes.
Shane Lakatos is co-founder and outreach director of social services for the Arab Community (SSFAC) in Toledo, Ohio.
Jack Nassar is a Palestinian Christian based in Ramallah. He holds a master of arts degree in political communications from Goldsmiths, University of London, and brings professional expertise across multiple sectors, driving positive change.