O little town
Symon Hill visits the Holy Land
‘My children left for school and when they got home, there was this horrible wall, nine metres high,’ says Arlette. She stands behind the counter of her gift shop on the edge of Bethlehem. Were it not for the number of nativity sets, it could be anywhere in the world. Things look rather different on the outside. Arlette has far fewer customers now that the shop is surrounded on three sides by the ‘separation barrier’, built by Israel’s government between Israeli and Palestinian areas.
Israeli troops started building the wall right next to the shop door. No one would have been able to open it. The diggers, however, discovered a water pipe, and the planned site was moved a few metres away. ‘It was a miracle,’ insists Arlette.
Christian faith
The crucifix on Arlette’s necklace is matched by one behind the counter. Her Christian faith is shared by between twenty and thirty per cent of Bethlehem’s population. ‘I am so proud that I was born here, where Jesus was born,’ she declares.
Visitors leaving Arlette’s shop find the wall towering over them as they travel towards central Bethlehem, separating it from Jerusalem to the north. Round the corner, another shop sells pictures of the separation barrier. ‘Wall tourism’ has become the latest attraction to draw visitors to Bethlehem.
On the Israeli side, the wall is covered by barbed wire and guarded by troops. To many Israelis, the wall represents safety and protection from terrorism. On the Bethlehem side, it is covered with graffiti. A few drawings of Palestinian fighters appear alongside calls to arms.
In this part of the wall, at least, they are easily outnumbered by calls for nonviolent resistance. ‘The spirit of the Palestinian people is stronger than any wall,’ declares a defiant scrawl. Nearby, a picture shows the wall itself falling down to reveal Jerusalem behind.
Arlette’s shop now includes nativity scenes with a difference: they show the three wise men unable to reach Jesus in the stable because the wall is in the way.
The city centre is an hour’s walk away, past local stores, cafes and street sellers offering falafel sandwiches. One coffee shop goes by the name of ‘Stars & Bucks’. It is branded with green and white imagery associated with a similarly named, but better known, business.
Church of the Nativity
Most tourists drive rather than walk down this road, heading straight from Jerusalem to the Church of the Nativity in central Bethlehem. A metal star on the church floor marks the supposed site of Jesus’ birth. Hundreds of pilgrims arrive daily, many kneeling, crossing themselves and kissing the spot on the floor. Others look on more sceptically. Even the tour guide describes the notion that the star marks the spot as ‘tradition’. He explains: ‘He might have been born over here – or over there’.
The church stands on one side of the pedestrianised Manger Square. On the other side is a mosque. Between the two, locals and tourists sit around the tables of variously priced cafes, while gift shops offer cards, mugs and the ever-present nativity sets. One sells a large wind-up crucifix that rotates while playing music.
Bethlehem’s Muslims seem almost as proud of their city’s spiritual heritage as the Christians; Jesus is regarded as a prophet in Islam. ‘We live together with no problem at all,’ says Iyan, a Christian tour guide. Arlette is more cautious. She says: ‘There is some tension between Christian and Muslim’, but most get on fine with each other. Her daughter has Muslim friends. ‘We are trying to live together, all together,’ she explains.
Tourists and pilgrims
Both Christians and Muslims in Bethlehem welcome the influx of tourists and pilgrims. This is not to say that the local Christians are always enthusiastic about the attitudes of Christians from the west.
‘They feel abandoned, the Palestinian Christians,’ says Aziza, a Roman Catholic nun whose community was separated by the wall. Aziza, who lived in Britain for eight years and acquired UK citizenship, appears to be trying to restrain herself when asked about pilgrims. She says that many visit the holy sites and do not notice the suffering. ‘What is happening, what they can do, is not considered,’ she explains, as she urges pilgrims from Britain ‘to see also the face of the people’.
Bethlehem is in ‘Area A’, the part of the West Bank that is under the control of the Palestinian Authority. Unlike East Jerusalem, where Israeli soldiers patrol the streets, Manger Square has only Palestinian police officers strolling around. For some, the imagery of autonomy is skin deep.
Settlements
For tourists, Bethlehem is only a forty-five minute drive from Jerusalem. For most Bethlehem residents, it is an impossible journey. When Anas, a Palestinian car mechanic, worked in Jerusalem, he socialised with his Jewish friends in the evening. Now he never sees them. His work is in Bethlehem, and he has no permit to leave the West Bank.
This Christmas, millions of people around the world will sing of the ‘Little Town of Bethlehem’ and pray for ‘goodwill to all’. On the ground, goodwill is more evident at some times than others. In the shadow of Bethlehem – both literally and metaphorically – lie a string of Israeli settlements, towns built by Israelis on Palestinian land. According to the YMCA, forty per cent of West Bank settlers are in the Bethlehem area.
Many settlers believe they are fulfilling a biblical mandate to reclaim the land for Jews. Israeli society is divided on the issue, with some proudly defending Israel itself while criticising the settler movement. Others distinguish between those settlers they regard as more reasonable and others who assault Palestinians.
Beit Skariya
‘We have, every day, attacks from settlers,’ says Kiffanya, a forty-eight-year-old resident of Beit Skariya, a small village to the south of Bethlehem that is surrounded by settlements. A mixture of wooden, stone and brick buildings house around seventy people. There is a school, a mosque and a hall for meetings. Three families are Christian, the rest are Muslim.
Beit Skariya is unlikely to appear on a tourist itinerary, although tradition has it that Mary, Joseph and Jesus stayed here as they fled from Bethlehem to Egypt to escape Herod’s troops. A small building houses what is believed to be the tomb of the prophet Zechariah, with a Muslim prayer mat in front of it.
‘Many girls have dropped out of school,’ explains Kiffanya. To reach the secondary school, villagers must walk along a road surrounded by settlers. Some throw stones or shout insults. The journey to buy bread in Bethlehem is not an easy one. The villagers look horrified when asked if they could shop at the settlers’ supermarket. Even if they were allowed in, they said, they would refuse to use it. Settlement food, in the eyes of many, is stolen food.
Village council
It is early November and the villagers are packed eagerly into the hall to elect the village council. It represents a turnout of which British local authorities can only dream. Noora Amin Sa’ad, a twenty-three-year-old who has recently become a mother, is hoping to become the youngest woman to be elected to the council. She believes things can change.
‘I wish that my daughter will have a better life here,’ she explains, ‘that she will have basic services – education, health, that they will have public transport.’
Along with many of the villagers, Noora has been working with the local YMCA to develop skills that will help them to address their problems. With Christian Aid’s support, the YMCA have sent trainers in farming skills and basic healthcare. Kiffanya says that the first aid training enabled her to save a man’s life when he collapsed.
Noora emphasises that it is the villagers themselves who decide what they need to learn. Training in law has given them a greater understanding of their rights. Some have learnt basic Hebrew to communicate with settlers and soldiers. Noora says it is all about ‘empowerment’.
Journalists who ask if the presence of soldiers reduces settler violence are met with laughter or sadness. Israeli soldiers are sent to guard the settlements.
‘I was sent once to a settlement,’ explains twenty-seven-year-old Avner Gvaryahu, a former sergeant in the Israeli army. ‘The person who gave me orders, the rules of engagement, wasn’t my officer. It was a settler.’
Avner explains why his experience in the army led him to campaign against the occupation. He says that settlers can ‘arrest Palestinians and tie them up. And this is a citizen, a civilian. He’s not a soldier. He’s a civilian with an agenda.’ He says that ‘even the nicest settlers’ live with ‘this power that is unjust’.
Avner is a member of Breaking the Silence, one of several Israeli groups to campaign against the occupation. They receive funding from Christian Aid. Other Israeli peace activists help Palestinians to nonviolently resist settler attacks.
‘In the beginning, it was really weird for us,’ explains Nawasah, a twenty-nine-year-old Muslim father in Sousiya, another village surrounded by settlements. Next to him is Yehuda Shaul, one of the executive directors of Breaking the Silence. Nawasah says: ‘You have someone like him, with a kippur. Look at him, he looks like a settler!’
They both laugh. ‘For us, everyone who looks like that is a settler,’ adds Nawasah. ‘We don’t distinguish. It’s probably the same for the other side. But we got to know each other.’ He adds, firmly: ‘I believe in what we do together.’
We stay here
There is one question that is constantly being asked of Palestinians who face settler violence or whose life is affected by the wall: ‘Why don’t you leave?’
Nawasah explains that both his father and grandfather were refugees. They each assured their children that they would not have to move again. But they ended up moving just the same. ‘I’m not going to do it to my child,’ he insists. ‘We stay here.’
Noora makes clear that no amount of settler violence will lead her to abandon her village now that residents have been empowered by their training. ‘If we all want to stay here, of course there is hope to live a better life.’
For Arlette, the question is not just hypothetical. She and George applied for visas to move to Australia. They were all set to go, but changed their minds. Looking at the wall, she asks: ‘If I leave here, to whom do I leave this country?’
For more information about Christian Aid’s Christmas Appeal ‘Healing in this Holy Land’ see www.christianaid.org.uk/christmas or phone 020 7523 2493.
You need to login to read subscriber-only content and/or comment on articles.