V.S. Naipaul: saw the evangelical train a'coming Evangelical influence in the Unites states is not a secret. Intellectuals like Naipaul identified its ascent in the mid 80's. Of the four living presidents, two are avowedly evangelical. The public sphere is full of leading evangelical personalities, both on the left and right. Evangelical books are some of the biggest sellers in American publishing. Evangelicals have so thoroughly dominated the US that they have now set themselves up for a worldwide expansion and are exporting churches and the myth of intelligent design with considerable gusto (even to Muslims).

Just last week, pastor Rick Warren of California, author of the Purpose Driven Life, and head of the 22,000 strong Saddlebrook Church, held a conversation about religion and values with the two presidential candidates. The event was covered by every major news station. Among pundits and bloggers it was critiqued and evaluated as if it was a proper presidential debate. Barack Obama and John McCain talked about Jesus Christ and abortion and homosexuality; partly in neutral terms, and partly within the context of Christian theology.

Rick Warren, Barack Obama, and John McCain: seek a purpose driven life through jesus We are religiously permissive in the United States and over the last decade the general view has been to let religious people bring religion into the public sphere. For example, Bush introduced the Faith Based Initiative in 2000 without much opposition and Obama recently suggested that he'd be willing to continue it albeit with a overhaul (probably since most of the money in the Bush initiative behaved very racially), and was again met with little opposition.

Having said that, it seems that the days of such permissiveness towards bringing religion into the public sphere might be coming to an end. The Rick Warren debate, in other words, might be a farewell party for American Christianity in the political sphere. To substantiate this assertion I direct your attention to the Pew Forum which recently concluded a survey about Americans' views about religion in politics.

Thomas Jefferson: once said something about keeping religion and government separate It shows that in 1996, 43% of Americans felt that Churches should stay out of politics; today, that number is at 52% and its trending upward. In other words, the more religion gets introduced into the public sphere, the more Americans want it out (the survey notes that conservatives are the ones most changing their views about this, now at levels similar to moderates and liberals).

It seems that religious Americans are remembering again Jefferson's idea that the wall of separation between religion and state exists in order to protect religion. What happens when religion stuffs itself into the political sphere too long? You may want to ask a theocratic state like Iran. Only 1.4% of the population attends the Friday prayer in the Islamic Oligarchy. (This number is actually lower than the Church attendance number in those purportedly hedonistic European nations).

Recently, a group of Evangelical Christian leaders let loose an Evangelical Manifesto upon the world (short summary here). By attempting to save Evangelical Christianity from the political and religious excesses that threaten believers and non-believers alike, the authors point to possible way forward for Muslims living in western countries, attempting to be good liberal democratic citizens and maintain their faith at the same time.

"Insistently moderate" as Alan Jacobs calls it, the Manifesto abjures a sound-biteAmerican Muslims: American, as well as Muslim discussion of Christianity and criticizes the whole spectrum of the Evangelical movement from right to left, including its own authors. And it extends beyond its own tribe, asking secular humanists and new atheists and liberals of all stripes if they are satisfied with the relationship that society and religion currently have, and taking a pox-on-both-thy-houses approach to "French style secularism" as well as "Islamist violence."

Evangelicals must not, the authors contend, become "useful idiots" to any political party --- no doubt a reference to Republican operatives like Karl who call Evangelicals "loons" behind their backs --- and they must not try to coerce or force other people to believe in their way. They must not try and depict themselves as the apex of truth. They must not be fundamentalist (yes, the manifesto uses the f-word), must help the poor, the under-trodden and needy. Over and again, the document condemns the "dangerous" alliance between church and state, denying that Christianity deserves special treatment because it's the majority faith, contending instead that "no one faith should be normative."

What's more the emotional and argumentative crux of the Manifesto --- the claim that "Contrary to widespread misunderstanding today, we Evangelicals should be defined theologically, and not politically, socially, or culturally" --- draws a necessary and important distinction between religious and other kinds of identities that should be instructive to people of all faiths, and to western Muslims in particular.

Is there such a thing as a "Muslim vote" or "Muslim politics"? And if there isn't should Muslims try and vote as "bloc"? Or should there be Muslims for Ron Paul, Muslims for Obama, Muslims for George Galloway, Muslims for Ken Livingstone, and Muslims for Joe Lieberman? Should mosques endorse candidates? Should our national organizations pander to politicians? Should there be "Muslim" PACs or "Muslim" foreign policy initiatives?

The Manifesto says "no," loudly. Muslims should define themselves theologically and not politically, socially, or culturally. They should see that their primary relationship to Islam isn't utilitarian but salvific, and that "Muslim" identity isn't a fulcrum with which to advance certain ends in the public sphere, but simply a pact with God, whose rewards are identity reaped in the next life.

Many Muslims will be quick to retort that given the current climate --- where they are under attack not just from fundamentalists among them but Islamophobes of every stripe --- taking such an apolitical approach to being Muslim is virtually impossible. Every day, Muslims are asked to condemn bombings, and address beheadings, and talk about foreign wars against their co-religionists. How, then, can anyone suggest that when Muslims talk about Islam, they should focus on the afterlife? Even if we wanted to, Muslims will say, other people wouldn't let us!

The Evangelical Manifesto has an ingenious response to this problem, interpreting it as a "cost of discipleship":

Unlike some other religious believers, we do not see insults and attacks on our faith as offensive and blasphemous in a manner to be defended by law, but as part of the cost of our discipleship that we are to bear without complaint or victim-playing.

In other words, when Muslims are put in a position where others are speaking for them --- and putting them into political and social and cultural categories --- it will be up to them to resist the temptation of accepting these categories. They, as the Manifesto suggests for Evangelicals, will have to say:

[W]e insist that we ourselves, and not scholars, the press, or public opinion, have the right to say who we understand ourselves to be. We are who we say we are, and we resist all attempts to explain us in terms of our --- true motives and our --- real agenda.

By taking this approach to political debates, even debates about Islam, Muslims could at last enter the debate not as Muslims, but as Americans. Or, say, as Philadelphians. Or as lawyers.

Perhaps precisely because Evangelicals have had the experience of acquiring massive political power and squandering it, they are singularly qualified to provide a lesson to American Muslims, who have virtually no power as a religious community. When religion becomes inextricably tied to partisan politics, it can be bought and sold like stocks, simultaneously cheapening the faith and corrupting the secular principles of liberal government. Addressed to every faith community in the US, the Evangelical Manifesto is a warning American Muslims should heed. To be accepted as full members of a liberal polity, they have to be prepared to accept that their profession of faith is just one feature of their identities among many, and not the one that should dictate their engagement with politics.

Welcome to Arkansas: The entrance to the play Over seven million people have seen the Great Passion Play of Eureka Springs, Arkansas, since its opening in 1969. The play was founded by a Midwestern preacher and politician, Gerald L.K. Smith, whose thrice-failed bid for president promised “the preservation of our Christian faith against the threat of Jew Communism.” It has been re-written several times since Smith’s death in 1976, and I wanted to see if it still reflected its anti-Semitic roots—not only was Smith an avowed foe of “Christ-hating Jews,” but Passion Plays as a genre have a troubled history dating back to the Middle Ages. The most interesting way to see the show, I decided, was from the inside. So I volunteered as an extra.

While researching Rapture Ready, my exploration of Christian pop culture, I planned always to identify myself and my intentions honestly. But The Great Passion Play has had some bad experience with the media so I decided, just this once, to go incognito… and just avoid any outright lies. I called the 800 number and asked if there were any openings.

The man who answered seemed disappointed that I hadn’t seen the show. “We usually ask people to be familiar with the play first.”

“I understand,” I said, seeing my opportunity slip away. “but I was really hoping to do this.” And then I heard myself say, “It’s something I felt called to do.”

“Do you have your own sandals?” he asked.

“You the fella from New York?” A man wearing a security badge gripped my hand and led me through a gate into first century Jerusalem. The effect of the set, which stretched the length of two football fields, was stunning: Sand and grit swirled around a dense row of buildings. Jars of clay rested alongside a stone well. It was as if an entire street had been lifted out of time and plopped down at the base of an Arkansas hill.

The guard pointed me backstage to a small, bunker-like dressing room crowded with men and women in period dress sipping Diet Cokes. The room’s matron sized me up for a costume — a pile of rough, earth-toned linen and rope – and introduced me to a big man with a warm, snaggletoothed smile. “My name’s Danny,” he said.

People get ready: Radosh's book“I’m Daniel.”

“Well how about that!”

I liked Danny immediately. He explained that as an extra, my job would be to enhance the illusion of a bustling city, carrying props and making appropriate gesticulations in crowd scenes. I would not have any lines, but then, nobody would, really. All the dialogue in The Great Passion Play is pre-recorded and played through loudspeakers at the front of the seats. Actors lip-synch their dialogue with broad gestures. The audience, 20 feet above the set and at least 400 feet from where most of the action takes place, is too far away to actually hear anything, so Danny could talk me through scenes as we do them. “Some nights I play King Herod,” he said wistfully as I belted my mantle. “Tonight I’m just a traveler, so you can be my assistant or something.”

“OK, your attention please, everybody.” The matron came out from behind her counter. “A few quick announcements. We’re a small group again tonight, so when Jesus comes out, please do not all run over to him. We need to keep the stage populated. If you feel the need to go to Jesus, at least try not to bunch up.” She went on to an issue that was apparently related to the reduced number of volunteer actors. “The office has made an important decision about next season. Starting in the spring, we’ll have Monday nights off too. Now let’s pray.”

A few minutes later I was outside, waiting with Danny at the dark end of an alley for our cue. “We’ll follow the sheep,” said Danny. A couple of giggly children in shepherd costumes slapped each other playfully.

The music began. The kids chased a dozen sheep onto the set and we set off after them. Around us, women fetched water from the well, priests climbed the temple steps, and everyone made way for a man leading a camel. I followed Danny confidently through this chaos to the far side of the stage, where we stepped into the semi-darkness and stopped again. My first scene was over.

While we waited offstage again, a spotlight came up on a palace, where the Sanhedrin, the council of Jewish priests, was holding an urgent discussion.

“What are we to do? This man does many miracles.” The priests waved their arms for attention as their lines played through the loudspeakers.

“If we do not intervene, all men will believe in him!” Considering that the dialogue needed to be recorded only once, you’d think it would have been done by professional actors. This did not seem to be the case.

In the next scene, Danny and I stepped out through a stone arch and were confronted by two teenage centurions in red cloaks and crested helmets. “Halt!” boomed a voice over the loudspeaker. The unamplified soldiers pawed at our satchels. “What do you got in there, drugs?” one asked. We ambled over toward Herod’s palace where we pantomimed a sales pitch for earthenware pots until the king and queen threw oversized wooden shekels at us. “I want a receipt,” the queen joked.

The greatest story ever acted out via loudspeaker: The stage at the Great Passion Play The main action, of course, was taking place elsewhere. But it was difficult to hear the speakers from where we were, so I had very little idea what was going on until Jesus rode in on an ass and everybody ran over to him, just as we had been instructed not to do.

He began grasping outstretched hands like a politician working a rope line. “Did you touch him?” Danny asked me. From his gestures, I gathered this was meant to be in character.

"I couldn’t get close enough.”

Danny nodded. “He’s our best Jesus. We’ve got three, but he’s the one who really looks the part.” The crowd dispersed as Jesus began healing lepers. “That’s a good role,” Danny continued. “He gets a lot of lines.”

As the action moved back to the temple we stayed off to the side, populating the stage. Danny asked me, “So, do you go to church up there in New York?”

“Uh… Yeah, sure.” It’s not exactly a lie, I told myself. We just call it “synagogue.”

“What kind?”

“Nondenominational.” OK, that was a lie, but at least it would end this line of questioning.

“Church of Christ?”

Fuck. I mentally riffled through the books I’d been reading about evangelicalism. If he asked, does it mean he’s Church of Christ? “No… Uh…” Danny smiled kindly waiting for me to go on. And then, just at that moment, Jesus saved me. Not in his usual manner, but by causing a distraction — kicking over tables on the temple steps.

Hey, that lamp-thing in the corner looks familiar: The Sanhedrin, via the Great Passion Play website By my next scene, the tide had turned against Jesus. “Shake your fist or something,” Danny advised. Jesus was paraded past us in chains, and it fell to Danny’s character to turn to a neighbor and deliver the line that would express our growing antipathy toward this false prophet. Raising his arms, Danny caught a buddy’s eye. “I just realized,” he mock shouted, as the loudspeaker blared his actual dialogue. “With the new schedule, not working Monday nights, we’re going to get to see every single NFL game!”

Off stage again, Danny and I watched a guilt-ridden Judas hurl his blood money to the floor. “He’s a pilot for Wal-Mart,” Danny said. “Whenever one of the executives wants to fly somewhere, he’s the guy that takes them. He makes good money doing that.”

“Well he’s making good money here tonight.”

Perhaps for the best, Danny missed my lame thirty-pieces-of-silver joke. “Nah, not so much,” he replied. “He makes maybe twenty, thirty dollars a night. The Christ figures, they make a hundred and twenty.”

“Why do you do it?” I asked.

“Ministry,” he said quickly and earnestly. We looked back at the stage. “And put a little extra money in my pocket,” he added. “Plus we get free tickets to all the shows in Branson.”

Danny stood. “Big scene coming up,” he told me. We navigated toward the alley where we would make our next entrance, avoiding the audience’s sight lines. Along the way, we passed three women in their early 20s gossiping happily. “These girls are from Texas,” Danny said as we stopped to say hello. “Daniel here is from New York.”

“New York?” gasped one, laughing. “Get a rope!” From her hasty, “Only joking” I gathered that she was indeed proposing a lynching, and that she thought this was something to joke about. Much later, a non-New Yorker informed me that she was probably parroting a catch phrase from a regional salsa commercial. That might have made a difference.

A palace in Jerusalem, two thousand years ago. Outside, a crowd has gathered. Pontius Pilate steps forward as his soldiers drag a beaten Jesus behind him. “As you can all see, this poor man has been punished severely,” he tells the onlookers. “Therefore it is my desire, in expression of the goodness of Rome, to release him.”

The crowd explodes. “No! No! He must be crucified!”

“But why? Clearly this man has done nothing to deserve death. Therefore, I propose to let him off with a flogging.” Two soldiers tie Jesus to a post and begin lashing him as the crowd screams for blood. When it is over, Pilate stands above him. “Behold your king. He has been flogged, beaten, ridiculed, spit upon. What more can you want?” “He must be crucified!” The crowd shrieks as one. “Crucify him! Still, the compassionate Pilate can not believe his ears. “Crucify him?” “Crucify him!” Pilate calls for a bowl of water. “My hands are clean of this innocent man’s blood. I ask you one last and final time, what would you have me do with him?” “Crucify him!”

Another Great Passion Play attraction: Christ of the Ozarks I don’t know how this scene played in the audience. No doubt the hammy acting, the stiff dialogue, the church-pageant costumes and cornball music all worked mightily against any emotional engagement. But as I stood in the jostling crowd on that dusty set, some strange alchemy took place. There were spectators out there somewhere, but all I could see was inky darkness. The sky, far from any city, was black and dizzy with stars, exactly as it must have been two thousand years ago. All around me, dozens of presumably well-meaning Christians were representing themselves as Jews and acting out a scene that for centuries has been used to justify hatred and oppression.

Not only was I feeling sick about being along for the ride, but I started to have this mad hallucination that I had fallen into some eternal retelling of this story — that I was back at the actual moment of Jesus’s ordeal; or rather, at the moment when whatever in fact happened on that day was first re-experienced as a story of persecution by a Jewish mob. I was under the gaze not merely of a few hundred contemporary Americans but of all past and future generations. I was at a lynchpin of history, and I had choice: be complicit in this grotesque distortion of events — or try to change it.

“Maybe we should reconsider this!” I shouted desperately. “Maybe a flogging is enough!”

Danny laughed. He hadn’t heard that one before. The audience couldn’t hear me, of course, but they could see me. The rest of the cast shouted and shook their fists. From behind me, four Jews emerged with masks over their faces and cudgels in their hands, pushing through the crowd to get in a few more shots at the fallen Jesus.

I waved my arms for them to stop. I turned away, burying my face in my hands. I exaggerated every movement so that even from 400 feet away the audience might see something that they had never witnessed before, never considered: a compassionate Jew who was not willing to accept Jesus as the messiah, but who didn’t want him tortured to death either.

The jeering crowd followed Jesus offstage as he dragged his heavy cross and set off up the hillside to Golgotha of the Ozarks, and I genuinely felt like I’d failed. Danny put a hand out to stop me. “It’s pretty steep up there, and we don’t have insurance for volunteers.”

Watching the end of the drama unfold, I felt glum. My silly gestures hadn’t made the Passion play any less offensive, and as for dispelling the stereotype of cunning, manipulative Jews — I fiddled with the digital recorder I’d hidden in my pocket and tried to count the lies and half-truths that had brought me here. I imagined the look of disappointment on Danny’s face.

But I don’t think I deserved to be lynched.

Excerpted from Rapture Ready! by Daniel Radosh, published by Scribner.

It’s funny that Jon just posted about prayer, because I’ve been thinking about it, too. You know those people who are constantly saying, “I’ll pray for you,” in an overly reassuring tone, as if telling you that is going to make things all better? I detest those people. I hate the way they seem to be showing off, and implying that their prayers are going to be effective. I particularly hate the people who say they’ll pray for me (or anyone else) and what’s implied is that they’re praying I’ll see the light and either become super frum, or become Christian (depends on who’s making the comment). That kind of thing turns my stomach.
If I Have Tefillin Barbie On My Side: God HAS to listen, right?
Even though I’m big on davening, and I lay tefillin and frequently attend morning minyan and just generally try to put in some heavy face time with God, I rarely pray for anything in particular. I like that the liturgy does lots of the work for me (it mentions wanting sustenance, peace, the end of the diaspora, knowledge, redemption, good weather, good friends and tons of other useful things) but I also feel pretty strongly that if I really want to be better with money, or get a good grade on a paper, or a boyfriend or a new shower radio those things are all my responsibility. I am happy to have God cover the things I don’t think I have any/much control over (like peace, the end of the diaspora, good weather etc). Meanwhile, it’s up to me to take care of my finances, and work hard in school, and even flirt with boys and head to Radioshack, so I don’t waste God’s time asking for assistance with that kind of thing.

But since my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer and has this humongo surgery coming up, whenever I talk about it with people they always give me the “I’ll pray for you” (actually, more often it’s “I’ll pray for your mother” or “I’ll pray for your mother and your whole family”) line and even though it still kind of makes me cringe, I really do appreciate it. I’ve even solicited it from people I know who pray a lot.
Does It Work?: Probably not
Part of me feels really hypocritical. I think it’s kind of icky when people say this, but then when my mom’s in any kind of peril I’m all for it? I want to roll my eyes at myself here. On the other hand, I am crazy about my mom, and when it comes to this surgery I want my bases not just covered, I want them fucking laminated. Upholstered, even. Maybe prayer has a serious impact on God and/or the world, maybe it doesn’t, but just in case, if my mom is in danger let’s be on the safe side, right? Certainly I wouldn’t be opposed to God performing miracles in the operating room. Cancer? What cancer?

In Hebrew, the word for praying (lehitpalel) is reflexive. It really means to judge yourself, not to request something of God. But if prayer is more about inward reflection than crying out to God, what’s the point of praying for someone else? You can’t do someone else’s inward reflections for them, and even if your own prayer makes you better/stronger/somehow more successful, how does that help the person in need?

I don’t actually think it helps on any concrete or even spiritual level. Instead, I think the reason it’s good to say to a sick person that you’ll pray for them is exactly the same reason that I’m annoyed by Christian triumphalists who tell me they’ll pray for me. The prayer is not the point at all. Instead, the idea is just to let the person know that you care, and that you wish you had some way of making things better. It’s condescending and obnoxious when someone does it in regards to your whole faith or lifestyle, but when it’s directed towards a specific thing that you, too, wish was different, well that’s a different story.

But I still can’t see myself ever saying, “I’ll pray for you.” Blech.

Easy pickins at the Christians United for Israel Tour:

As this week's guest blogger, I will now take it upon myself to answer the question, "Why am I here?"

Not "here," like "on earth," in which case the answer would, I fear, be sadly free of altruistic purpose and meaning-gathering.

I mean, like, on Jewcy.

I would like to begin answering this question by posting this image of me strangling Jewcy editor Michael Weiss in 1998.

(This was part of a poorly-produced humorous video sketch conceived by the staff of our campus humor magazine. I believe it was a parody of Jerry Bruckheimer films).

So, we've covered the "personal connection" angle. If you're wondering, I totally didn't sleep with your editor (more on my sex life later).

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The Jewish community has been energetic lately in disciplining Jews who say the wrong thing about Israel. In January, the American Jewish Committee branded Jewish leftwing Israel critics as inciters of antisemitism. Meanwhile, when the Jewish anti-Zionists of Neturei Karta sent representatives to meet with Iran’s notorious president, Jews of all persuasions howled in outrage at the ultra-Orthodox eccentrics. Then there is Alan Dershowitz, with his tireless crusade against anti-Israel professor Norman Finkelstein. And so it goes. I’m taking a bit of a risk, then, in admitting here that—precisely because I’m an Orthodox Jew—I am not a Zionist. This is the first time I’ve said this publicly, and it may surprise readers familiar with my books or other writing. I call the Jewish community to a more traditional understanding of Judaism, and I remind Jews not to take for ...

This is said in complete earnest:

One of the first things I noticed about him was that he was genuinely interested in you as a person. He wanted to know how you were and would ask if there was anything he could pray for on your behalf. Second thing was that you always had to watch out for his SUV. Dr. Falwell, who always went around freely without security, still drove his own vehicle and would pretend to go after students. His humor was always there.

I want to call everyone’s attention to a recent JTA editorial by Edgar M. Bronfman on the need for changes in the synagogue. When I saw the title, “Synagogues must experiment to remain vital in Jewish life,” I got all excited because I, like many of us out there, get bored sitting in shul for hours and end up showing up at 10 to cut into the drudgery.

But reading on a little bit, I got confused by some of his suggestions:

In the world of Orthodoxy, why wouldn’t a rabbi experiment with some forms of gender equality? Even within the limitations of Orthodox Jewish law, why wouldn’t a rabbi try to propose that instead of a minyan of 10 men, there should be one of 10 men and 10 women?

 

Um, excuse me? Has he been in any Orthodox shul outside of New York recently?  In my shul, we have a minyan signup sheet because attendance is so low, and still on most days the only names on the sheet are those of the rabbi and the cantor. If we can’t get 10 people to show up, what makes Mr. Bronfman think we can get 20?

He goes on with another suggestion, and here’s where I really get steamed up:

Why wouldn’t a rabbi in a Reform congregation experiment with dispensing of the Torah reading as it is done now, ask the congregants to read the parshah before the service begins, and then have a discussion involving any congregant who wants to be involved? Perhaps the same rabbi would refrain from giving a sermon to allow time to thoroughly discuss the Torah reading.

Come on now. Get rid of Torah reading altogether, but only possibly get rid of the sermon? And, based on his later observations that people don’t want to spend that much time in shul, how many people does he think are actually going to read the parshah at home? A discussion with one congregant isn’t a service, it’s a tutorial.

I agree we need to change, but these types of changes lead to one thing, which even Mr. Bronfman hints at in his editorial.

The Evangelical churches burgeoning across the country prove that if done properly, congregational life can be meaningful and relevant to the lives of people and a source of communal identification. 

I’ve never attended an Evangelical service, but from what I’ve heard, they basically consist of singing some Gospels and listening to the preacher. If we eliminate the davening and torah reading from shul, we’re eliminating some of the very things that separate us from the other religions. If we sell Judaism to young people by saying, ‘our services are just like the Church’s,’ then soon the only reason they’ll have to choose shul over church is a preference for sleeping in on Sundays.

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As indicated by this article in today's Jerusalem Post, the verdict is not out on whether Jews (both in and outside of Israel) should embrace the Evangelical community's growing support for Israel. But with the fairly recent establishment of Knesset's Christian Allies Caucus, a cross-party parliamentary caucus that works with Christian friends of Israel all over the world, even the State of Israel itself is, for better or worse, warming up to the possibility that Jews and Israel could benefit from the support of a group as large and loud as the Evangelicals.Looking For an Apocalypse Now: John Hagee's wildly successful fundraising efforts.

The increasingly influential parliamentary lobby, which is made up of 12 Knesset members from seven political parties across the political spectrum, has come to epitomize Israel's newfound interest in garnering the support of the Christian world, especially the largely pro-Israel Evangelicals.

In some ways it's simply an issue of whether or not the ends justify the means. Do we overlook Evangelicals' literalist readings of the bible that see Jews and Israel as tools to usher in Armageddon in order to benefit from their support in the meantime? Should we close our eyes to their tenacious tendency to want to proselytize others? I'm just not sure what the answer is.

[Likud MK Gilad] Erdan said an alliance between Jews and Christians was absolutely critical in the war against Islamic extremism.

"If there is a chance to overcome the forces of Islamic extremism, it is by making them see that they have no chance of success, through an increasingly flourishing relationship between Christians and Jews," he said.

With the Evangelicals," continues Erdan, "we have common, shared Bible-based beliefs, and there is no need to convince them at the core." Right -- many shared beliefs, except when it comes to that whole thing about the Messiah. But that's neither here nor there.Waiting For Armageddon: It Will Happen Right About Here

Of course, it's impossible to have this conversation without referring to John Hagee (who recently said that the Jews are to blame for the Holocaust), an influential evangelical leader from Texas who founded the national lobbying group "Christians United for Israel."

Hagee's fundraising events have, to date, raised more than $10 million for charitable causes in Israel. Now, this can't be a bad thing, right? According to an article in The Forward:

The funds sometimes flow directly into the coffers of the Jewish federations. This past summer, when philanthropic efforts were focused on raising wartime aid for Israel’s embattled northern region, $1 million of the money raised in San Antonio was donated to the Jewish Federation of Greater Houston for the Israel Emergency Campaign.

Another $3 million went to an orphanage in the Galilee, and $1 million was donated to Nefesh B’Nefesh, an Israeli not-for-profit organization that helps Jews settle in Israel. Hagee and his wife, Diana, were recognized by the national body of federations, United Jewish Communities, as “honorary chairs” of the $350 million emergency campaign.

I think this is awesome. Charity is charity, right? But one wonders what the trade-off here will be -- not to mention the creepy presence of Jerry Falwell on the board of Hagee's organization.

Critics complain that Hagee’s hawkish, biblically based views on Israel do not serve the Jewish state, and that his conservative domestic agenda — including opposition to gay marriage, abortion and immigration — is squarely at odds with the liberal views of most American Jews.

“I don’t like that they would not like to see Israel trade land for peace, because in my view that’s a very important formula,” said Rabbi Jonathan Biatch of Temple Beth El in Madison, Wis. “The real bottom line is the fact that this organization would like to exacerbate tensions in the Middle East so it will lead to Armageddon.”

And, on a final note . . .

“To get in bed with the hard Christian right on Israel is a dangerous path,” said Daniel Sokatch, executive director of the Los Angeles-based Progressive Jewish Alliance. “This is a hard-driving, extremely smart and successful movement to essentially recast the U.S. as a Christian nation, and if Jews don’t think that empowering that group in American foreign policy isn’t part and parcel of empowering that group on domestic policy, they’re wrong.”

Jewcy confidant Jeff Sharlet has a terrific article in this month's Rolling Stone about BattleCry, Ron Luce's off-campus crusade for Christ. As Jeff describes it in his email:

The story's about a fundamentalist youth crusade called "Battlecry," the most militant of its type I've encountered in seven years of reporting on religious conservatism. For most kids it's a three day rock concert, but for 6,000, it's a year or more of training at BattleCry's "Honor Academy." Their parents think they're getting "character education," and in a way, they are: they pay nearly $8,000 a year to spend at least 31 hours a week cold calling churches to sell tickets to BattleCry's stadium events or recruiting "missionaries" as young as 12 over the phone. The rest of the time is spent studying "purity" and "growth," often in classes without books, and learning that secular media makers -- you -- are "culture terrorists," no different than Al Qaeda.

Of course, the kids are all right. They just need a little context. Outside media is generally forbidden at the Honor Academy, but a lot of their parents are worried about their kids. Which is where my activist angle comes in. My guess is that even most conservative Christians will be distressed if they find out what their kids are really doing. There have been a few media stories about BattleCry, but they rarely go beyond the spectacle of the mass rallies. So, if you're interested, spread the word. Steal the story. Take my quotes. Don't worry about crediting it. Or report a new story. There's a lot more to be found out -- Rolling Stone's fact checkers started unearthing some strange financial business, but it was too late to include. Meanwhile, these kids just need somebody to clue them in that there's more to life than cold showers and cold calling.

Unfortunately, Rolling Stone's only posted a small excerpt of the piece on its website. But given Jeff's closing cri de coeur (and the fact that he sent along a PDF), I'm sure he'd appreciate your giving it a read. Click here.

Also, here's a YouTube video of some of BattleCry's propaganda. Note the high production quality. I think my favorite bit in Jeff's article is where he describe the former producer of VH1's Behind the Music who's now working with Luce:

He's not afraid of secular media, because he doesn't think it's really all that secular. "Think about Behind the Music," he says. "What's the story, every time? Rise, fall, redemption."

Remember that the next time you see the face of Leif Garrett in your danish.

Chris HedgesAre Christian fundamentalists who believe only in the separation of church and heaven worthy of the term "fascist"? According to Chris Hedges, they are. But more than that, they're analogous to the Nazis in 1933, poised with as much lethal determination to rise to power through democratic means. Right? Not quite:

There are problems with this analogy. First, democracy in America is much stronger than it was in Weimar Germany in 1933. Nor is the Christian right as widespread or powerful as Hedges suggests. Among conservative Christians who are working class or lower class, "a dramatic majority" voted for Bill Clinton for president — that's the finding of sociologists Andrew Greeley and Michael Hout in their recent book "The Truth About Conservative Christians." A 2004 survey for "Religion & Ethics NewsWeekly" on PBS found that a majority of evangelicals have an unfavorable view of Falwell and that a significant minority of them are more concerned about jobs and the economy than about abortion and gay marriage. And it isn't as if conservative Christians are the only obstacle to gay marriage: Yes, 85% of white evangelicals oppose gay marriage, but in the general population the figure is 61%. In fact, the differences between today's Christian right and the movements led by Adolf Hitler and Benito Mussolini are greater than the similarities. Hitler was more pagan than Christian. Street violence was a key tactic of Mussolini's Brownshirts; the Christian right has focused on nonviolent demonstrations outside U.S. abortion clinics and on changing laws at the ballot box. And there's a big difference between supporting laws against gay marriage and putting gays in concentration camps.

And unlike in Weimar Germany, there are no Communists in America declaring the evangelical movement the last gasp of bourgeois capitalism that must first "run its course" before the revolution comes. Here, talk of the impending threat of the Dobson Brigade is as loud as talk of the impending threat of Hitler was muted when he methodically ground his way to electoral victory in the Reichstag. Also, there was no palpable "thumping" of National Socialism until Dresden.

Those who fail to study history are doomed to use it as a caricature for fashionable political purposes.

Writing in Time a few months ago, Andrew Sullivan coined the term “Christianism” to describe the archconservative evangelical wing of the Republican Party. Sullivan distinguished Christianists, who traffic in a malign fusion of scripture and public policy, from Christians, who follow the teachings of the Gospels but respect the separation of church and state. As the non-violent ideological twin of Islamism, Christianism has been endlessly dissected in polemical new books, like Sullivan's own The Conservative Soul and David Kuo's

Prime real estateIt's not news that evangelical Christians are supportive of Israel, but it's worth a conversation. A continuation from yesterday...

On some level, faith is an ingredient for why we have Israel. Our faith. Why a Jewish homeland in, say, Poland, or the Poconos, wouldn't mean as much. Even though there's a Jewish history in each of those places.

But do we really want to be playing with evangelicals who differ from us on every political and cultural front except the issue of Israel? Racists and homophobes? (not all, of course... but many. Trust me, I live in Georgia)

I mean, they are supportive of the Zionist agenda, because in order for Jesus to come back, there have to be Jews in Israel. So that things can get even uglier there... just check out their bible:

And when ye shall see Jerusalem compassed with armies, then know that the desolation thereof is nigh. Then let them which are in Judaea flee to the mountains; and let them which are in the midst of it depart out; and let not them that are in the countries enter thereinto. For these be the days of vengeance, that all things which are written may be fulfilled. But woe unto them that are with child, and to them that give suck, in those days! for there shall be great distress in the land, and wrath upon this people. And they shall fall by the edge of the sword, and shall be led away captive into all nations: and Jerusalem shall be trodden down of the Gentiles, until the times of the Gentiles be fulfilled (Luke 21:20-24).

But then, too, once Jesus is back... I'm pretty sure all those same evangelicals will get lifted up to heaven, and we'll all go burn in hell. So the Jews in Israel will get a big Fuck You before the Rapture, and the rest of us will get a big Fuck You after the Rapture. Hellfires and all that. Our heathen souls will burn.

This site is pretty clear on the subject:

In order for most of today’s Christians to escape physical death, two-thirds of the Jews in Israel must perish, soon. This is the grim prophetic trade-off that fundamentalists rarely discuss publicly, but which is the central motivation in the movement’s support for Israel. It should be clear why they believe that Israel must be defended at all costs by the West. If Israel were militarily removed from history prior to the Rapture, then the strongest case for Christians’ imminent escape from death would have to be abandoned. This would mean the indefinite delay of the Rapture. The fundamentalist movement thrives on the doctrine of the imminent Rapture, not the indefinitely postponed Rapture.

Now, I'm not telling you all Christians hate Jews. Far from it. I know some pretty incredible activists and theologians. But when Christians are too supportive of AIPAC? Well, it's never a good thing, not deep down.

I don't know about how we'll be judged in heaven, but on earth, we're judged by the company we keep.

For a reason.

Since the Jesus freaks of the ‘60s, Christianity has seen its share of churchly types who just want to be down. So this Salon article by Lauren Sandler (NB: you might have to sit through an ad) about a fundamentalist hipster church in Seattle seems kind of like old news -- until you start looking at the details. Pastor Mark Driscoll preaches about Snoop Dogg to a congregation of boho types with permanent body art. But his message is deeply old-fashioned: men should be in charge, women should be judged entirely on the fertility of their wombs, and everybody should work as hard as they can to make more Christian babies.

In a way, Driscoll and his flock are pretty savvy about the relationship between their hipster lifestyles and their fundamentalist beliefs. They get that "counterculture" signifiers like tattoos don't actually run counter to any prevailing culture, while following Jesus to the letter genuinely does. But what’s so mind-boggling to me about this scene—I mean, other than the incredibly depressing way that it treats women—is their failure to recognize that they’re using the exact same “tattoos=revolution” fallacy to define their church.

Sandler writes: "The way Driscoll sees it, America has been marketed to so constantly and shamelessly that it has produced a generation of jaded cynics desperate for what feels real. It is his edgy Jesus, he says, who best reaches a searching crowd."

So basically, these hipsters are sick of being sold a bill of goods. They’re fed up with MTV telling them that Fall-Out Boy is edgy, with Mountain Dew telling them that Yellow Dye #47 is edgy, with edginess being defined by shelling out $60 for an artist-designed t-shirt. But that Jesus guy? Totally edgy. If he lived today, he’d, like, play bass and wear eye make-up.