Being at the intersection of three groups gives me a unique vantage point.
First, I’m a strong, positive atheist; only a small, single-digit percent of the world’s population identifies as such. I believe in the scientific method rather than supernatural forces and in subjective morality rather than deferring to dogmatic religious morals. My parents are Jewish, but I have been an atheist for as long as I can remember. Am I 100% sure that God doesn’t exist? There’s no absolute certainty, but the probability that there is a God and the Bible stories are based on His words is negligibly minuscule. I therefore see no point in living my life as if there’s a chance I’m missing something.
Second, I was born and raised in Israel, where I spent the first few decades of my life. Sadly, people in my motherland – Jews and Muslims alike – are willing to kill and get killed in the name of a perceived birthright: The right to occupy a piece of land just because your book says God gave it to your ancestors. The right to kill others who don’t subscribe to the views stated in your book. The right to poison the brains of your children so that they, in turn, can claim the same birthrights and commit similar atrocities.
Third, I’m an immigrant. The vast majority of the world’s population is stuck in the country of their birth or even their hometown, unable to pursue better opportunities. Living in the West has been transformational for me, and I acknowledge the privilege of being able to immigrate legally and work gainfully.
Atheism gives me an outsider’s perspective on this religious conflict. I don’t consider myself Jewish, not religiously nor culturally. I’m also not a Zionist, but my Israeli background results in a keen interest in the area and its inhabitants. Living outside of the region affords an external viewpoint. To maintain a clear stance, I avoid getting sucked into social media rabbit holes and make a sincere effort not to fall prey to any influence machine.
Being part of a small minority with strong ties to the region and an external frame of reference doesn’t, in itself, qualify me to write about this topic. However, virtually everyone who covers it is biased in some way. Many claim they are a conduit of God, extolling somebody’s historical or biblical rights or arguing that one side deserves justice while the other should be punished. Even those who pretend to recount historical facts almost always end up expressing their opinions. I’m perhaps no better than they are, but my perspective differs from most of those who opine on the subject. As such, it can hopefully make for an enlightening and meaningful discourse.
I wrote this book because I genuinely care about the region and its people and have empathy for both sides. In addition to having family and friends there, I feel nostalgic toward this part of the world and miss its landscapes and curiosities. It’s such a beautiful area with fascinating natural wonders and a rich history, making it a prime tourist destination. This prospect is hindered by security concerns, which in turn increase the region’s obscurity and conceal its charm from the rest of the world.
It saddens me to see the situation gradually sliding toward greater strife and suffering. Although the second law of thermodynamics does not apply to politics and international relations, the region seems to be abiding by it. Entropy, loosely defined as disorder, constantly increases. As the temperature of the conflict rises, so does the complexity of the borderline between Israeli settlements and Palestinian areas and the estrangement between the two groups.
Amir Canaan.