Prayers4Peace: A Sanctuary on the Seam: Tantur Amid War and Weariness
By: Nizar Halloun
Climbing the grounds of Tantur reveals olive-tree terraces that descend toward the desert beyond the eastern wall. Among nearby holy places, such as the cave of Jesus’ birth, the garden where He sweated blood, and the roads where He shook the dust from His feet, Tantur feels like a sanctuary in its own right. It stands on the seam between Jerusalem and Bethlehem. In the midst of ongoing bloodshed, its mission as an “Oasis for encountering sacred people, places, and traditions” is more necessary than ever. Now, with a ceasefire in place, there is a measure of relief mingled with sadness and a deep uncertainty about what comes next.
The current reality did not begin two years ago, and it is not simply a dispute between opposing narratives. Nor is it merely a complicated problem. It is the outcome of choices made by those in power, choices that too often avoid solutions and turn away from hope. Uncertainty has become the prevailing sentiment. Over the last two years it has tightened its grip on Palestinians’ daily lives, whether Muslim or Christian, both in the Palestinian Territories and among Palestinians with Israeli citizenship. Israelis have not been immune to it either. History seems to loop without learning; fear and uncertainty have been instrumentalized in major political and military campaigns for years.
The impact runs deep: family routines reshaped, incomes lost, freedom of movement and expression curtailed, and, above all, the freedom to remain in the place of one’s birth and ancestors eroded. The unprecedented atrocities and the countless lives lost, continuing in Gaza, across the remaining Palestinian Territories, and within Israel, as well as beyond its borders, have shaken confidence in the very notions of human rights and international law. Hundreds of families have chosen to leave, especially from the Palestinian Territories, adding to the many thousands who have emigrated since the Ottoman period. The wars of 1948 and after dramatically accelerated these departures. Each conflict has brought another wave of people seeking more stable lives for their children and for themselves.
September and October are holy months in the Jewish calendar. The alleys leading to the Western Wall bustle as authorities prepare to manage the crowds. By contrast, those of the Christian Quarter, and at its heart the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, are largely empty in the absence of pilgrims. Vendors sit on short wooden stools outside their shops, facing the closed shutters of neighboring stalls. Some open anyway, crafting a semblance of routine; passersby may find them playing tawla (backgammon) and greeting the rare visitor while news murmurs from a radio in the background. Public polls inside Israel show little optimism and point to further entrenchment of current political tendencies. At Damascus Gate, the few hajjat (a respectful honorific for older women, literally a woman who has performed the Hajj) who sell homegrown produce are seldom seen in the Old City market; new barriers have kept them from bringing their goods. The souq has lost some of the animated breath these women bring from surrounding villages.
Tantur’s housekeepers and cooks wake early to come to work. Leaving their homes in Bethlehem and in the neighboring towns of Beit Sahour and Beit Jala, they cross checkpoints without knowing whether they will be granted passage at this gate, at another, or at all. Yet they remain hopeful that the day will somehow work out, despite closures, intensified restrictions across the Palestinian Territories, and the near-daily appearance of new barriers on roads leading to Palestinian towns and villages, now hemmed in by new settlements and the expansion of older ones.
Programs have been planned, and guides and lecturers scheduled, for perspective-building initiatives at the Tantur Ecumenical Institute, yet events on the ground have forced cancellations. In recent months, daily life was punctuated by sirens. Even with the ceasefire, tension and pressure remain high. The Institute’s small team, while keeping preparations alive, has shifted attention to active ecumenical work in Jerusalem through various initiatives, online projects, and in-person talks.
The violence only deepens our commitment to a vision of peace rooted in justice. The Ecumenical Institute is one of several institutions and organizations, on both the Palestinian and Israeli sides, working to address injustices through peaceful pathways: above all, encounter, dialogue, and true recognition of each person’s human dignity, equality, and basic rights.
Fear, which sits at the heart of it all, has sown mistrust and given hatred free passage among communities. Hope and resilience feel like daily uphill climbs. When life bottoms out and we stand powerless, forced to watch evil unfold, what remains is the hope God gives: “we glory in tribulations also: knowing that tribulation worketh patience … and hope maketh not ashamed” (Romans 5:3–5). This is not naïve optimism but a God-given certainty that will not fail. Even when our hands can do nothing, we can still be faithful witnesses, and we can pray; in doing so we keep turning toward God. We choose not to lean into fear or succumb to it, but to stand in a hope that steadies us in God’s presence and keeps us from collapsing until mercy has the final word.
Join us in Prayer:
O God,
grant us hearts that guard our common humanity;
open our eyes to see Your image in each person, even amid conflict and harm;
give us wisdom and courage when brutality confronts us;
and when we cannot act, keep us faithful in prayer and steadfast in witness,
standing alongside all who suffer. Amen.
About the author:
Nizar Halloun is Program Director at the Tantur Ecumenical Institute in Jerusalem. He has worked in journalism, tourism, and program development across the Holy Land. A native of the region, he writes from the intersection of faith, culture, and lived reality in a city both wounded and holy.