It's a beautiful Sabbath morning.
The church parking lot is full.
People stream into the Adventist church, clutching their Bibles with one hand, and the outstretched hands of fellow members with the other. Platitudes are exchanged.
“Good morning.”
“Happy Sabbath.”
“How is your mother doing?”
As the main service begins, the elder in the red dress steps up to the pulpit. She adjusts the height of the microphone. She reads out some informational highlights from this week's bulletin.
She reminds everyone that there'll be a potluck that afternoon in the downstairs hall, and not to forget their dishes and pots afterwards thank you very much.
In the rows before her sit families, the old and young. Children are colouring in their colouring books. Fathers in suits yawn, mothers scroll through the event calendar on their phones.
Then the elder leads the congregation in an opening prayer.
As all heads bow, she prays:
“And, Heavenly Father, we ask for peace in the Middle West. That the atrocities and violence in Germany will swiftly come to an end. Please let the Jews and the Nazis find peaceful solutions, that this horrible fighting may cease.
"We know you are a God of peace, and you call your followers to love peace too. And so we ask that your Spirit will move the hearts of the Jews in Auschwitz to have a change of heart; that they will quietly stroll into the gas chambers instead of fighting the concentration camp guards. We ask that all the Nazi hostages will be returned safely home. We ask that this war will end.
"We are so tired of seeing horrible images on our televisions every night - it is so tiring. We are so overwhelmed by all this nasty fighting. Please let this complicated conflict come to an end, that the Nazis and Jews may live together in harmony in Auschwitz. Amen.”
“Amen,” parrot the congregation.
The children in the pews keep colouring in their Disney's Frozen colouring books.
They don't know that the company has donated $2 million to Hitler to keep slaughtering Jews. But at least Elsa's sparkly dress is pretty.
The congregation stands to sing a hymn about God loving the little children. All the children of the world. Even the black and red ones.
The church's Senior choir perform a vibrato-heavy rendition of the hymn: "Marching to Berlin".
We’re marching to Berlin,
Beautiful, beautiful, Berlin:
We’re marching upward to Berlin,
The beautiful city of God.
Then the pastor gets up to preach a sermon. He's in fine form today.
His sermon is about the story of the courageous, exemplary young David. David, who slung a stone at the giant oppressing his people. David, the king chosen by God. The pastor says we too must be brave like David. That God stands with "the little guy", even against all odds, even against giants.
The congregation "Amens" loudly.
After the service, the church members stream into the downstairs hall for potluck. A crowd-favourite among the dishes turns out to be the Challah bread and matzah balls, made by sister Karen.
Karen learned how to make these dishes from German friends after her “Tour of The Holy Land” trip to Berlin last spring.
“That trip really changed my life!” she beams.
“To think that I could walk on the same Berlin roads Jesus walked on. And could stand at Brandenburg gate where he was crucified... it made the stories in The Bible really come alive.”
Everyone nods.
“Of course,” she adds, “there were a lot of checkpoints and military presence. But seeing those brave young Nazis in uniform made me feel safer, albeit sad. Although I'm a pacifist, and I don't condone the Nazis having mandatory military service for all citizens, the Germans really are in an impossible situation, being surrounded on all sides by enemies.
"Germany is constantly under threat from the Jews and other nations like Poland and Czechoslovakia, and groups like these Romani peoples, and Jehovah's Witnesses. The Nazis are just trying to survive! So they have to take those measures to defend themselves against those terrorists. I mean, don't get me wrong – I'm not a racist or an anti-semite or anything like that."
"Of course not. Of course not," everyone chimes in assuringly.
"I just think the Nazis have a right to defend themselves," says Karen.
“Did you see any terrorist Jews while you were in Berlin?” asks brother Earl eagerly, balancing his plate on his knee.
“Only one,” replied Karen. “A 6-year old Jewish terrorist was throwing stones at a German tank which was about to flatten his home. His pregnant mother was screaming like a madwoman (but you know what these dramatic Jews are like). Thankfully they neutralised him and we could continue our tour without further drama.”
Everyone sighs with relief. “Thank God you were kept safe. God must have sent his angels to watch over you.”
Everyone nods and smiles.
They eat more matzah balls.
The end.
Author's Note: This fictional piece was written to demonstrate the absurdity of the Adventist rationalising of the 75+ year Israeli occupation of Palestine, and the genocide Israelis are inflicting on the Palestinian people. Till this day, the Adventist organisation continues to either be completely silent about the Gaza Holocaust and what is taking place in the Gaza concentration camp, or else accepts and spreads a "both-sidesing" argument disguised as pacifism and a call for peace.
I called this piece "fictional", but the words being spoken by the characters herein reflect a large swathe of the things expressed by Adventists about Palestine. I simply replaced Zionists with Nazis, Gaza concentration camp with Auschwitz, Jerusalem with Berlin, Palestinians with Jews, humous with challah bread, etc.
Why is such a comparison even needed to wake people up? This is not in the least a false equivalency, and yet this fictional scenario would rouse more people to responses of anger, disgust, empathy, and just action than the Palestinian genocide. Why is that? What does that infer? What warning signs should this set off in our heads? Who are you in this narrative?
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