Mediterranean visits stir insights

We continue to carry questions from our sabbatical journey last summer through countries in Africa and Europe along the Mediterranean Sea. Touching the history of Judaism, Christianity and Islam, and meeting current leaders of these faiths, we returned with awe for the beauty and endurance of these faiths rooted in the God of Abraham and Sarah.

We stepped back centuries, visiting churches, mosques and synagogues. We sensed the faith that shaped gatherings in each place. We saw the care of maintaining, restoring and renewing these places of worship and prayer, and we saw communities gather and pilgrims arrive to pray in places big and small.

In all these places, we asked a nagging question: "What difference did it make?" What difference did the practices of prayer and building houses of worship make in how people of different faiths treated and looked out for each other?

This question hit us as we read of pogroms against Jews in Spain in the 1300s and 1400s. It particularly struck us in countries where Nazis seized power and began systematically targeting Jews. What difference did the faith and practices of Christians and Muslims make for Jews?

In Spain, there were centuries of some harmonious coexistence in earlier Christian and later Muslim rule, but suspicion and prejudice took over as Christians fought for control and drove out Jews and Muslims in Ferdinand's and Isabella's Reconquista. The Catholic Church maintained an absolutist approach over the next centuries and in its cooperative relationship with Franco's regime.

Spain has for decades now been in a process of reopening. Both Judaism and Islam find increased welcome, but progress is slow after trust was broken so severely.

Over the centuries, Morocco was a refuge for Jews. When Nazis sought to round up the Jews in Morocco, Sultan Mohammed V refused to identify them, saying, "There are only Moroccans here." This saved 250,000 Jews. There is an enduring grieving sadness there, after most Jews left when Israel was founded. Old Jewish neighborhoods collapsed or remained empty, perhaps signs of grief mixed with resentment and hope.

Greece was another refuge for Jews for centuries. Thessaloniki was known as the "second Jerusalem" with one-third of the city's population Jewish. Many Jews escaping pogroms in Russia found refuge here and in other Greek cities, but as Nazi control and power crept in and took hold, antisemitic propaganda and media campaigns tapped into resentments and fears. As other Greeks looked on, Nazis rounded up 50,000 Jews to be herded to concentration camps. Similar purges happened across northern Greece, including on the island of Korfu that still grieves this loss.

Kastoria was a small town where people sought to defend Jews from Nazi seizures but were unsuccessful. Archbishop Joachim Alexopoulas worked with rabbis and city officials to save 74 percent of the Jewish population of Volos from Nazi seizure. While Greek religious leaders took risks to defend Jewish people, the nagging question hit us as we visited Orthodox churches and joined Christians praying before icons of Christ and the saints. "Did any of this help? Why didn't this prayer life make a difference?"

Albania was a small but bright light during the Nazi era terror. Albania sought to defend everyone, rooted in a cultural core value of besa (protection) embraced and practiced by Muslims and Christians. It is the only country where the Jewish population grew during World War II. Then the communist dictatorship obliterated all houses of worship, religious speech and cemeteries, seeking to wipe out any Christian, Muslim, Jewish or other faith and keep all minds captive to the state. There are few Jews today in Albania.

After the Holocaust, the Jewish people have renewed a practice of recognizing saintly, righteous people—the ḥasidei ummot ha'olam or "righteous among the nations"—who risked their lives and futures to help Jews. Many across different faiths are named for their efforts defending against the Nazis. Others are named from earlier eras in history.

Muslims, Jews and Christians have complex histories, especially in relationship with each other. In the countries we visited, there were—and now are—times and places of harmonious coexistence and intentional cooperation. We celebrate these and hope for more, but there also were—and now are—many times and places of suspicion, prejudice, mistreatment and cruelty. They are agonizing to look at.

Christians and Muslims began their holy seasons of fasting, prayer and reflection—Lent and Ramadan—at the same time this year. We invite both to reflect on: "What difference does our faith make in our relationship with those of the Jewish faith, who are also children of Abraham?"

This is a challenging question, given the ongoing war, death and destruction in Gaza. No nation is without sin or wrongdoing. Mending relationships marred by cruelty and mistrust across centuries is incredibly difficult work and does not happen quickly.

However, we can all make steps where we live now. We can reach out to each other with letters of support and care. We can meet each other over coffee. We can learn more about each other's faith practices and holy days. We can cooperate in support and care for people in need and under threat.

Let our prayers and practices make us more mindful of each other and more ready to step forward to support, care for and defend each other in the name of God.

The Rev. Dr. David Gortner and The Very Rev. Heather VanDeventer - Episcopal priests serving in Coeur d'Alene and Spokane.