Deep Future – Reflection — Middle East Reading (Goldschmidt, in progress)
I’m now deep into A Concise History of the Middle East by Arthur Goldschmidt Jr. and Ibrahim al-Marashi, and I can feel my internal map of the region fundamentally changing.
This book is doing something powerful and unsettling: it’s replacing inherited narratives with geography, timelines, treaties, and lived consequences. Once you see the maps—once you actually track who lived where, when promises were made, and how borders were drawn—it becomes very hard to unsee. What once felt abstract now feels concrete, and that changes everything.
One of the most striking realizations is how culturally diverse the Middle East actually is. I had absorbed—without really questioning it—a vague idea that the region was broadly “Arab.” That’s simply wrong. Persians aren’t Arabs. Turks aren’t Arabs. Kurds aren’t Arabs. Even within Arabic-speaking regions, tribal, sectarian, and historical identities run deep. This feels similar to early misconceptions I once had about Africa, before learning how profoundly different its cultures, languages, and histories really are.
As the book moves into Zionism, the formation of Israel, and the Arab response, I’m struck by how relentlessly documented the story is: letters, treaties, promises, secret agreements, and diplomatic maneuvers layered one atop another. It becomes increasingly difficult to accept the idea that this conflict is simply “ancient hatred” playing out endlessly. The post-1948 reality is something fundamentally different—modern, engineered, and structurally destabilizing.
At the same time, I’m noticing patterns that extend beyond the Middle East. Tribal fragmentation, elite betrayal, and the failure of unified nationalism under pressure aren’t uniquely Arab phenomena. I’ve seen similar dynamics among American Indian tribes, in post-colonial Africa, and elsewhere. These seem less like cultural flaws and more like human responses to domination, manipulation, and constrained choices.
I’m also aware of how radioactive this terrain is socially—especially among church communities where Israel occupies a powerful symbolic and theological place. Many people I respect deeply have been to Israel, or dream of going. I’m not ready—nor willing—to turn these observations into public commentary yet. Right now, this is about understanding, not persuading.
What I do know is this: I’ve underestimated how much my prior thinking was shaped by partial stories and inherited assumptions. This book is forcing a slower, more uncomfortable kind of clarity. And that feels important.
For now, the task is to keep reading carefully, hold conclusions loosely, and let the full historical arc finish revealing itself before deciding what—if anything—belongs outside these private reflections.
I’m now deep into A Concise History of the Middle East by Arthur Goldschmidt Jr. and Ibrahim al-Marashi, and I can feel my internal map of the region fundamentally changing.
This book is doing something powerful and unsettling: it’s replacing inherited narratives with geography, timelines, treaties, and lived consequences. Once you see the maps—once you actually track who lived where, when promises were made, and how borders were drawn—it becomes very hard to unsee. What once felt abstract now feels concrete, and that changes everything.
One of the most striking realizations is how culturally diverse the Middle East actually is. I had absorbed—without really questioning it—a vague idea that the region was broadly “Arab.” That’s simply wrong. Persians aren’t Arabs. Turks aren’t Arabs. Kurds aren’t Arabs. Even within Arabic-speaking regions, tribal, sectarian, and historical identities run deep. This feels similar to early misconceptions I once had about Africa, before learning how profoundly different its cultures, languages, and histories really are.
As the book moves into Zionism, the formation of Israel, and the Arab response, I’m struck by how relentlessly documented the story is: letters, treaties, promises, secret agreements, and diplomatic maneuvers layered one atop another. It becomes increasingly difficult to accept the idea that this conflict is simply “ancient hatred” playing out endlessly. The post-1948 reality is something fundamentally different—modern, engineered, and structurally destabilizing.
At the same time, I’m noticing patterns that extend beyond the Middle East. Tribal fragmentation, elite betrayal, and the failure of unified nationalism under pressure aren’t uniquely Arab phenomena. I’ve seen similar dynamics among American Indian tribes, in post-colonial Africa, and elsewhere. These seem less like cultural flaws and more like human responses to domination, manipulation, and constrained choices.
I’m also aware of how radioactive this terrain is socially—especially among church communities where Israel occupies a powerful symbolic and theological place. Many people I respect deeply have been to Israel, or dream of going. I’m not ready—nor willing—to turn these observations into public commentary yet. Right now, this is about understanding, not persuading.
What I do know is this: I’ve underestimated how much my prior thinking was shaped by partial stories and inherited assumptions. This book is forcing a slower, more uncomfortable kind of clarity. And that feels important.
For now, the task is to keep reading carefully, hold conclusions loosely, and let the full historical arc finish revealing itself before deciding what—if anything—belongs outside these private reflections.