Many American Christians may see Mike Huckabee’s appointment as U.S. ambassador to Israel as a victory for their pro-Israel beliefs—perhaps even a fulfillment of biblical prophecy.
But as a Palestinian Christian, I urge you to pause and reflect: What does this moment truly mean for the faith we proclaim? For the justice and compassion Christ taught us? And, most urgently, for the lives of those of us who, like me, call this Holy Land home?
Political agendas disguised as Christian compassion
Too often, American Christian support for Israel seems to prioritize political loyalty over Christ’s compassion.
Leaders champion an unwavering defense of Israel, frequently overlooking its policies of occupation, apartheid and systemic oppression—all under the guise of “security” or “self-defense.” These policies favor one group, often at the expense of another, denying basic rights and protections to those who share this land.
What about the millions of Palestinians—many of them Christians—who also call this sacred land home? What about their pain, their stolen futures and their fading hope to live free of fear and humiliation? Their security? Their right to self-defense?
Consider the Kisiya family, Palestinian Christians from Beit Jala, near Bethlehem. For generations, they carefully tended their olive groves, a legacy passed down through the centuries. But one day, without warning, their land was seized to make way for an illegal Israeli settlement, built to house Zionist immigrants, perhaps even from Brooklyn or New York.
Overnight, the Kisiya family became strangers on their own soil, reduced to helpless spectators watching others reap what they had sown.
Every morning, the Kisiya family walks past their ancestral land. They cannot touch it, cultivate it or even set foot on it. What was once a symbol of their heritage and security is now a silent reminder of their dispossession.
To an outsider, it might seem like just a plot of land, but for the Kisiya family, it was their sanctuary, a connection to their ancestors and a promise to their children. Imagine the pain of standing on the edge of what is rightfully yours, knowing it has been taken from you—not just in property, but in identity, in history, in faith.
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When faith becomes a weapon
Huckabee’s staunch defense of Israeli policies doesn’t just stop at support. It veers into justifying actions that many—including Jewish, Israeli, American, churches and human rights advocates—condemn as apartheid. These policies sustain a cycle of land theft, military occupation and unrelenting violence that has been entrenched for decades.
Take, for example, the Nasir family—another deeply rooted Christian family in the Christian town of Birzeit, near Ramallah in West Bank. For years, they were pillars of the community, helping to found Birzeit University.
One night, Israeli soldiers stormed their home. The stillness of their quiet evening was shattered by the sound of splintering doors, the sharp orders of soldiers and the sight of weapons in their faces.
In the chaos, 23-year-old Layan, barely awake, was dragged from her bed. Her cries were drowned out by the noise, and she was taken—kidnapped. Her family has not heard from her since.
Days stretch into months, and each day her family faces a new torment of unanswered questions: Where is she? Is she safe? Will she ever come home? The Nasirs’ home, once a sanctuary of learning and love, is now haunted by her absence.
Can we, as Christians, truly accept this?
Are we to be peacemakers only for those deemed “worthy” by political or racial standards, or are we to open our hearts to all who suffer, as Christ commanded? We may not agree on every issue, especially when it comes to politics, but surely, we can grieve together, mourn the loss of innocent lives, and commit ourselves to the work of true peace and justice.
This isn’t just about politics. It’s about people. It’s about the father forced to explain to his children why soldiers stormed their home. It’s about the mother silently mourning the disappearance of her daughter while trying to hold the family together.
It’s about the children of Gaza sifting through the rubble of their homes, searching for fragments of the lives they once knew. This is the human cost—the real, unmeasurable grief of families torn apart, homes destroyed, futures stolen.
The real human cost
When American Christians rally behind political figures like Huckabee without reckoning with the human cost, they risk betraying the very heart of the gospel. Jesus’s words in Matthew 25:40—“Whatever you did for the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me”—call us to a higher standard of love and mercy.
As Christians, supporting Israel should not mean disregarding the dignity, safety and humanity of others. Palestinian Christians, Samaritans, Muslims and others who share this land too often are silenced in the name of political loyalty.
Lorenzo Vargas, a communications expert, wisely said, “Nothing about us without us.”
We, Palestinian Christians, have lived in this land for millennia. Yet, in discussions about our future, our voices often are dismissed, and our struggles are minimized or ignored.
Misusing Scripture to justify oppression
It is painful to witness Scripture twisted to justify policies that cause harm. For Palestinians, the loss is more than physical. It is spiritual and emotional. It is a slow erasure of presence, hope and the right to dream of a better future.
Every family forced to leave their home, every church watching its congregation shrink as members are killed or flee, and every child growing up under the shadow of violence feels the profound and personal weight of this loss.
A call to action: Listen, reflect and act
The Bible tells us to “speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves” (Proverbs 31:8). This isn’t a call for convenience; it’s a call for courage. As Christians, supporting Israel should not mean turning a blind eye to the humanity and the suffering of Palestinians.
To my fellow believers, I say: Look beyond politics. Listen to the voices of those who are silenced. Palestinian Christians are not relics of history. We are living testimonies of faith, endurance and hope. We may be few, but our story is integral to the broader Christian witness.
When history remembers us, will it see the teachings of Christ in our actions? Or will it see a faith compromised by politics?
The choice is ours. Let us choose wisely.
Jack Nassar is a Christian in Ramallah, Palestine, who strives to foster positive change in the public, private, nonprofit and academic realms. The views expressed in this opinion article are those of the author.
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