Does Your God Approve of This?

Exceptionalism is tricky, it doesn't solely reside within the realms of the privileged, successful, affluent, or well-connected. It manifests in various guises.

This is an Easter story. I decided to take you on my religious trip with me. No formatting, no research; just plain ol’ heavenly stuff. A little necessary background, first. I hail from probably the most Catholic place on Earth, second only to the Vatican itself. At times, the place I come from tries to be a bigger Pope than the Pope. The city where I was born has a population of less than 200,000, yet it boasts over 20 churches and cathedrals. Given, my family isn’t religious.

My parents were born 5 years after WW2, and their God were the Yugoslav Partisans. They had a good life under the socialist self-governance, a unique brand of socialism developed by their leader who managed to run the European country while famously associating himself with the recently decolonized countries of the so-called Third World.

Tough act to follow.

One of my two nephews is the only member of our family who got christened in the Catholic Church. This decision was influenced (read, bullied) by my mother, who, in her older age, became increasingly fearful of her own shadow and believed a person needs a little extra protection, divine protection in an uncertain, scary world. That, and she couldn’t bully anyone else into it.

He never stepped foot in a Church after his famous christening.

Two years ago, I faced a tough time with gossip, intrigue, and obstruction from some people around me that ended up ruining an opportunity I really wanted. It left me wondering, why do people constantly want a piece of me? Do I invite it? Am I the kind of person who invokes those lowly feelings in people? I was thinking out loud one afternoon over ice cream when my church-going friend said: “Miranda, you should see my priest”. What? How dare you? Don’t you know who my family is? 

These church people! Always trying to lure you in.

But I was worn out, slightly defeated and I thought, what the hell (pun intended), it can’t hurt. Can it hurt? Can we make it painless? We cannot. It turns out, her priest is a celebrity in the holy world and has a 6-month waiting list to see him in the confessional. I’m not joking. Don Petar is a hard-core celeb. Even tourists line up to get a one-on-one with him. Getting into a guest-list club is easier than entering Don Petar’s confessional.

Naturally, I cannot wait for 6 months. She says, “I’ll send him a Facebook message, ask if he can see you sooner”. A celeb priest on Facebook! This is getting good. And I knew Don Petar was going to end up in one of my stories; I felt it was worth the hassle, and here we are. Today is the day. I told her, “Tell him I’m a non-believer”, thinking that would put me at the top of his queue, priest or not, men like a project. A challenge. All men like a project they need to drive, solve, fix, get to where they want it to be.

It worked. Don Petar was baited with she is a non-believer. “Come on Saturday”, he responded. Still, it wasn’t easy. We came to the church at about 2 pm and I saw Don Petar at 10 pm. There were hordes of people waiting. Apparently, many people claim their lives changed after meeting him. I’m still not convinced. In the meantime, I sat through the mass, the collective prayer, and a very moving half-song/half-speech about the devil among us.

My sister called me during the afternoon, while I was in the church, and I couldn’t pick up. “I’ll call you later”. Why, where are you, she asks. Nowhere, I’ll be back at night time, I say. “You’re being weird, where are you?”, she asks. I came to see this church at the … What, she stops me. It’s not a big deal, I’m just seeing this priest … “What is wrong with you”, she interrupts me. Why? If you step foot in the church I won’t let you in my house”, she said jokingly. Or did she? 

My sister is a main upholder of a religion is for dummies trope in our family.

I saw Don Petar at 10 pm. I will never forget the line of people that went in before me. I think we had one exorcism on the schedule; someone went in screaming in such a deep, manly, and, I gotta admit, demonic voice; but a woman came out, completely calm. Maybe it was a tape, a coy to convince non-believers like me, but it all looked way too real. 

My turn finally came up. I walked into Don Petar’s holy office, and the first thing out of my mouth was - “Just so you know, I don’t believe in any of this”. I expected a pushback, or maybe he’d throw me out for disrespecting his boss, or something unexpected, but Don Petar was extremely chill. He told me: “Miranda that’s totally ok, I believe in God and you don’t. But we can both agree there is something out there that we can not explain in words or logic, right?”. I wanted to respond to him - yes, it’s called random circumstance, but I decided to pause my trademark snark during our time together. After all, I waited all day, might as well use this time to at least learn something new, or get writing material.

I can not tell you word for word what he told me, because it was, sorry sis, a kind of an almost religious experience. There was nothing in the air or aura around him, just the way he really, actually understood what I was telling him: a long history of a horde of people around me constantly trying to interfere with my relationships, friendships, job opportunities. It’s always someone plotting some shit around me. I told Don Petar - I want to be the person ruining my opportunities; not the people around me.

Don Petar is a smart man, he has one tone of voice when talking about the dangers of devils around us during a mass, and another tone of voice for a very sober talk with me, in his confessional - explaining the subconscious evil, jealousy, bitterness people feel toward one another and how to shield yourself from it.

At the end, he asked me, “Can I do a prayer for you?”. Respecting I might not want more than just a conversation, and I liked that. Don Petar won me over. I said yes. “Can I put my hand on your forehead?”. Always asking, careful not to overstep, and never once trying to push me into becoming a churchgoer. Her prayer also floored me. He did not use any weird heavenly talk just asked something out there to shield me from unkind thoughts and bad intentions, and, as I asked - to let me be the reason for my downfalls. Not others.

Where do you live? He asks me at the end. In New York. Wow, that’s the loudest place on earth. Are you ok there? I explained to Don Petar a weird synergy between me and New York, how its harshness somehow dances in sync with my need for being at the center of everything, and how its honesty shapes all my disorders into an order. That makes sense, Don Petar says. “There is a Croatian church in New York, and there is the most known Irish Catholic church in New York; I won’t tell you to go there and become a believer, you will feel the need if you want to. A prayer is simple, I can give you a prayer to memorize but honestly, just you siting with yourself at night or any time of day, speaking out things you feel you need to speak out in the world - that is your prayer”.

Don Petar got to me. My sister will say it’s auto-suggestion and I convinced myself I saw a difference in my life after Don Petar, but I did. Whatever initiated it, I felt it, and I started to pray when I felt I needed it, just on my own, saying things into the universe. I finally understood it, it’s basically having a conversation with yourself. When I pass by a Croatian church in New York I go in and talk to myself for a minute or say hi to the lovely young priest there. When I pass by St. Patrick’s, I go on, I light a candle for myself and someone I feel needs it at that moment.

What I realized with my time with Don Petar is that it all boils down to us. Whether we believe in God or not, we're an embodiment of something greater, and it's up to us to define that essence. Will we be a beacon of light for others, or will we succumb to our own shadows and remain stagnant in our shortcomings? Are we ready to acknowledge that we are all interconnected as part of the human race and that nothing we hold dear should take precedence over the well-being of others?

I hadn't thought about Don Petar in quite some time. I do my prayers when I feel the need for it. Since October, I have thought about him often. I ponder what his insights would be regarding the current state of the world. His way with words is so nuanced; I wonder how he would articulate it all and whether his perspective would bring me any clarity.

I thought about Don Petar extensively this Easter weekend. On Good Friday, I published a post on Instagram that said - “Wishing you a blessed Good Friday. Today, your horoscope and your Christian faith tell you to commemorate Jesus’ crucifixion by speaking out on the injustices and today’s crucifying of an entire group of people at the birthplace of your favorite religious leader, because that’s the best possible way to honor him, your religion & your beliefs.”

I’m a half-believer. I dab in it, mostly to provoke religious people toward translating their beliefs into tangible actions, especially now when the world desperately needs it. I'm still finding my way, barely scratching the surface, but those who've held lifelong faith have a remarkable chance to put their teachings into practice in the here and now. What a blessing, isn't it? To be able to honor your faith by embodying its principles and making a difference in the lives of people being bombed to oblivion, today.

At the Easter Mass in Bethlehem yesterday, the Priest said - “Jesus stands in solidarity with all the victims of wars and forced famines, caused by unjust and tyrannical regimes in our world. It is the cry of everyone oppressed by the injustice of humanity, its silence, and its inability to put an end to tyranny and injustice. Today when Gaza screams I’m thirsty, they drop aid from the sky, stained with the blood of innocents.”

My Good Friday post didn’t have many converters; people who have been speaking on the injustices all over the world and most recently in Gaza reacted to it, naturally, as they always do. It did however draw a response from a Croatian (possibly Bosnian?) woman living in Tel Aviv who wrote: “Every normal human being is for life, against death, against evil. In your post, you do not mention the currently elected government of Gaza - Hamas. Being pro-Palestine means condemning Hamas and at least 12 other terrorist organizations. This trend where people like you, who know so little about the history of the area and the current situation, and from a position of privilege and in the name of the trend dare to mercilessly push your "Christian" principles is really scary.”

She also called me, and a few of my followers who came for the jugular after reading this pile of manipulative nonsense - privileged.

Let’s dive in. A person who married an Israeli man, lives in Tel Aviv, sells €167 T-shirts, and calls herself a “spiritual trainer” - calls people who are insisting on speaking out about injustices in Gaza - privileged. A person who drives through the highways of beautiful Tel Aviv with the words all over that video about people of the world not knowing how unsafe she feels. A person, a European, there by marriage, living on stolen land, whose “safety” is achieved by the annihilation of Palestinian people.

As a new, tiny Catholic who maybe won’t cringe at the mention of a religion, who is, with the help of Don Petar - coming to terms with maybe there’s something out there, I’m not ready for the politics of Christianity. I’m not yet on solid legs to examine the marriage of religion and exceptionalism, and I am certainly not inclined to entertain those who use “my Christianity” to justify their racial supremacy or deflect attention from the injustices that perpetuate their privilege.

What I do have time for is examining this exceptionalism. I busted my brain for these past 6 months thinking how a human being could possibly see all this suffering, carnage, death, torture, dehumanization, man-made starvation, medieval, barbaric violence and find ways to justify it enough to support the side inflicting all that pain. And I came up with nothing but exceptionalism. As I was breaking it down for an article, I ran into an interview with George Galloway, where he filled my gaps.

“I honestly can’t understand how anyone can look at the pictures and videos that I’m looking at, and they are presumably looking at - and come to any other conclusion, unless you believe in exceptionalism, unless you believe that some of us are more exceptional than others, some of us are chosen, therefore some of us by definition are not. If you believe that, then you believe that the inferior would have to bow down to the superior, the unexceptional to bowing down to the exceptional.

I’m religiously forbidden to believe such things, as well as politically disinclined to do so. It’s the issue of exceptionalism. This is where my religion and my politics merge. Because I believe that all of us are God’s children, that none of us are exceptional, that none of us are God's chosen people, that we are all God’s chosen people. We need to make the world that is fair and equitable. It won’t happen overnight. But it’s one of the reasons why I oppose mass immigration. The people of Bangladesh shouldn’t have to leave Bangladesh. Bangladesh should be such a beautiful, harmonious, and prosperous place that we might be lucky to move to Bangladesh. That’s the world that I’m fighting for and I ask everyone to join that fight.” 

Exceptionalism is tricky; it doesn't solely reside within the realms of the privileged, successful, affluent, or well-connected. It manifests in various guises. I've witnessed it among friends who come from humble beginnings, yet harbor the belief that their European heritage, Western ideals, and lifestyle choices represent the epitome of what the entire world should emulate. 

One example always puzzled me the most, a Croatian friend living in Europe who constantly drops into my inbox with: “These Muslims annoy me so much, they just cannot assimilate to a Western life in the countries they come to”. Never said one word to me or posted one sentence about millions of people displaced in Gaza, tens of thousands slaughtered, disabled and orphaned children, man-made starvation, genocide unfolding, settlements expanding, land being annexed; all approved by Western civilized nations. But when hundreds of people stormed and shut down the airport in the Russian city of Makhachkala in the predominantly Muslim region of Daghestan after a flight arrived from Israel on October 29, in protest of Israeli brutal bombardment of Gaza, there she was, with her classic: “See, see, see what they do!”, as well as posted a thread of stories about it.

To this day, not a beep on Gaza.

My constant conundrum regarding the state of our world is the absurdity of individuals who criticize mass immigration and express disdain for “those people who aren’t like me” coming to their countries, all the while supporting military “interventions” conducted by their Western nations, which in turn drive these very people to seek refuge elsewhere.

After this weekend’s Instagram battle over my Good Friday post, I attended a Palestine Land Day protest that unexpectedly transformed into an Iftar prayer at sunset in Washington Square Park. Muslims and Arabs led the prayer in a circle, creating a profoundly spiritual atmosphere. Despite the large crowds and the typically loud, chaotic vibe of New York, this gathering was stunningly peaceful and serene. I’ve actually never experienced such a zen in this town, in the 20 + years I have been here.

They call this the most violent religion on Earth? 

Or is it blatant propaganda aimed at stoking hatred toward these communities, justifying future military campaigns in the Middle East where resources will be plundered, governments will be toppled, and countless lives lost in the name of spreading “freedom and democracy”, all to bolster Western geopolitical dominance.

Are you there yet?

After the Land Day march and the Iftar prayer at sunset, I went to Ayat, an East Village Palestinian restaurant where my new Palestinian friend ordered some dishes for me to try. I was by myself, and all the people in the restaurant chatted with each other and assisted me with the food names or ways to eat it.

When I returned home, I sank into my sofa and reached for my phone. The first thing I saw was a video of a boy, perhaps 12 or 13 years old, pushing a few containers of water on a wheelchair after waiting in line for aid, likely for hours. As he rolled, one container slipped and sent him tumbling to the ground. He tried to muster a laugh for a few seconds for the person recording him, before completely breaking down in tears by the roadside.

It's difficult to discern which images from Gaza pierce my heart the most; they're all heartbreaking, each one prompting an urge to tear my skin from my bones. Yet, some scenes utterly devastate me.

Imagine this boy?

The dehumanization, disregard of the whole world, waiting in line, getting the water, some small success while being sleep deprived and starved, someone is taping you on their phone because you need to literally tape your annihilation to prove to the world this is happening to you; and you fall. Ashamed. Starved. Cold. Exhausted. 

What a childhood, and for no reason except a colonialist ideology deciding they wanted your home. For no reason but a spiritual fitness trainer from Tel Aviv deciding her safety depends on your annihilation.

I left my phone for a little bit to pick myself up, and when I got back to it, a few messages were waiting for me from a few very religious friends asking me if I could stop posting about genocide for at least a few days over Easter, clearly understanding what the spiritual leader they are celebrating this weekend was all about.

Before bedtime, I saw a video of a female Israeli soldier rhythmically bulldozing Palestinian dead bodies on the beach, her voice carrying a tune reminiscent of a young woman frolicking in a meadow, plucking flowers. It almost sounded romantic, with no image, until you witnessed the nature of her task.

Actress Rhona Mitra’s sentiment about that captured video reflects mine:

“What is more disturbing than anything is the pure, unfettered whimsical glee the entire IOF possesses. It’s a bloodsport. This is the trademark of a true pathological Narcissist. They get off/high on the demise of their victims. This has now reached addiction level mass murder appetite. It’s not just recreational its compulsive. It’s the most disgusting display of human barbarism.”

I witnessed many people I know disregarding international law when it comes to what’s happening in Gaza. All your rebuttals and explanations do not have a legal standing. How could it, Israel’s war crimes and plausible genocide are being tried at the International Court of Justice. But what I did expect, if the law isn’t what could make you condemn something so horrific; maybe your religion will. What God condones this level of dehumanization, suffering, destruction, starvation, death, and ethnic cleansing of an entire group of people?

Does your God approve of this?

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