Mixed Blessings in Bethlehem

I know. This is a very long-winded entry. There was a lot to process post-visit.

The Day as it Unfolded

I have met two Canadian anthropologists staying at the Guest House. Donna researches pilgrims and works at the University of Toronto and Anne researches olive wood/oil and teaches at Trent. They have been exceedingly gracious in inviting me along on some of their adventures, dinners or walks.

Yesterday over breakfast they said they were headed to Bethlehem for the day and would I like to join? “Yuh huh!” I said, what a perfect way to spend my birthday but to head to the town where Jesus was born.

The day was bitter-sweet. It was an eye-opener and it evoked strong emotions which meant when I got back to my apartment, I couldn’t process the day enough to blog about it.

We set off on the bus mid-morning. Bethlehem is about 8km from Jerusalem, and we faced no major traffic. The bus dropped us off at the checkpoint (my first encounter). There was no line up to get into Bethlehem. No tour buses lining the street like at Gethsemane. The Israeli guards barely glanced at my dark blue Canadian passport.

 On the Palestinian side of the checkpoint (the tunnel/walls of which are graffitied with words like “racism” and “stop the genocide”), a line-up of taxis await. We were maybe 7 people coming through and the drivers were like hawks to roadkill. They swarmed around, asking where we wanted to go and shouting prices at us.

Thankfully, Anne speaks Arabic. She negotiated a one-way trip into the city (note, we’re not further than a kilometre or two away from the centre of town) for 40 shekels (about $13). This was still more than we needed to pay. A German couple was having less success and had been quoted 100 shekels, to which Anne advised them to negotiate for 40.

There was considerable confusion and yelling among the driver. Suddenly, we’re no longer going with the driver we negotiated with and we’re getting in a different cab. He immediately starts trying to renegotiate the terms…one way is not in his best interest, we would be better to use him as a tour guide and have him spend the day with us…for say, 250 shekels. Anne politely explains we have plans and we’re meeting people and couldn’t possibly commit to a time when we’d be ready to return…we really only need one-way. His response, as he smacks his head, is that he simply cannot lose the day (giving up his spot in the cab line at the checkpoint for only 40 shekels and potentially passing up a longer day tour). He tells us we “cannot be mad about this…cannot be mad about this” and returns us to the checkpoint. We’d only driven about 1000m.

Surprised, we exit the cab to mayhem at the cab line-up…more shouting, confusion and arm waving in faces (not ours, thankfully). It seemed someone had jumped their spot in line and people were none-to-pleased! Tension here was very high.

We hopped in another cab, the driver of which severely criticized the previous driver for his actions. He let us out in Manger Square.

In this picture, my back is to the Church of the Nativity (built over the grotto where Jesus is said to have been born).

There were very few tourists about. Taxi drivers descend, insisting you need a tour guide and merchants approach with jewellery, beads and rosaries begging you to purchase. Children follow you persistently asking you to buy chicklettes for just a few shekels.

We made a very quick, and incomplete, tour of the Church of the Nativity, descending briefly to the grotto among pushing crowds to view “THE place where Jesus was born” (hear my scepticism).

I say push, I mean it. It is a very small space…a cave (I didn’t stop to take pictures). People are hot and sweaty, tired from waiting in line and trying to squeeze in ahead of you a little bit of an arm at a time. Shouting erupted from one woman who felt the person in front of her took too long to appreciate her moment.

All-in-all, I’d say it was a perfect representation of Christian love and hospitality. Yup.

Interestingly, as we quickly exited the mayhem, we sat quietly and quite alone in the oldest standing church in the country. We even had space to light candles. The other tourists appeared entirely disinterested.

We then spent a lovely hour in Jack Giacaman’s store “Christmas House.” The point of the trip was for Anne to speak with him about his olive wood business as he had just opened a new store.

His pieces were lovely (yes, I purchased). He was a genuine and gracious host, offering us coffee and giving us a tour of his new workshop. I will recommend his store to anyone heading to Bethlehem.

We popped into the Church of St. Catherine, and the Church of the Mother of God (where Mary is said to have hid to escape the soldiers trying to kill the baby boys) both of which were empty. Then travelled to Shepherd’s Field in Beit Sahour (another 5 minute cab ride). The fields are traditionally identified with Ruth the Moabite, daughter-in-law of Naomi, who gleaned in the field of Boaz, Naomi’s kinsmen and as where the shepherds kept watch over their flock by night. Again, we walked the Franciscan grounds in solitary, the one tour bus we passed, boarding and leaving as we arrived.

We ate lunch at a large restaurant next to the Shepherd’s Field. We were one of among four tables in the entire restaurant. The service was splendid and the food delicious. Beer and Hookah/Sheesha (which I can now say I’ve tried and won’t have again) were shared in birthday celebratory manner. The view: overlooked an Israeli settlement and electric fence. I stared at the scene, my heart aching.

After lunch, surprisingly, not a cab in sight (they were obviously all waiting at the checkpoint). A young guy at a coffee shop offered to drive us back to the checkpoint in his early 1980’s car with holes in the door. He refused to ask a price, simply saying “whatever you feel like giving.”

Exiting the cab and entering the gate to the border, passports in hand (again, no lineup), a young boy of about 10 approached each of us in turn asking us to buy his postcards. He started at 10 shekels (about $3) and worked down. Anne and Donna held firm, but remained polite. No, shukrun (no, thank you). When he got to me, I was holding firm, likewise.

We reached the turnstile and it hit me like a brick wall…even if he wanted to follow me further…to continue his plea of “please, lady…just a few shekels to help my family,” he couldn’t. I gave him 2 shekels (not even a $1) and he was grateful.

The Disillusion

I guess I had expected Bethlehem to be bustling with tourists. But tourists often come with Israeli tour guides, who cannot come into the city and who are said to describe it as an unsafe region. The lack of people anywhere except in the grotto prove the effect the conflict is having on the city.

Bethlehem is walled, with tall cement literally encasing homes, with security towers and barbed wire and electric fences and settlers looking down from their hilltop.

The people and their economy are devastated. They are increasingly secluded. They are desperate for whatever business they can conjure and the tension at the cab line-up proves it.

Buildings under construction have been abandoned and left incomplete. Garbage lines the street.

I felt heavy and sad in this town …my eyes forced wider to the effects of the conflict. Seeing is different from reading.

Having been to the city before, Donna said her first visit was just as traumatizing. This time, she was able to see the beauty among the chaos. I am hopeful on my next trip to Bethlehem I too will be able to focus on the beauty.

In the meantime, I will remind myself of: The non-cab driver who refused to actually charge us. The graciousness of Jack as he proudly showed us his store and workshop. Of the company of Anne and Donna, who guided me through such a broken place on my birthday. And of the reminders among ingraciousness, of what it means to be truly hospitable, forgiving, and open to the change we want to see in the world.

It took me nearly 2 hours to write the last blog entry. I did so over fatoush salad, humus, and beer at the Jerusalem Hotel, with cats wandering among feet and a bustling crowd. It was a lovely evening for reflection.