The last few years have been tough for Bethlehem. The controversial separation barrier constructed by Israel during the Second Intifada makes it difficult to enter and exit, not only for tourists but also for the 30,000 inhabitants of this historic city. Stroll the streets, as I did last week, and you will find the people hopeful for better days yet understandably bitter at the cage they now live in.
There is no shortage of sites to visit in Bethlehem: The Church of the Nativity, where Jesus is said to have been born, the once-bustling Manger Square, and The Milk Grotto are the main attractions for Christians who traditionally visit here at Christmas. But today one of the main attractions is the actual barrier that snakes around the city, made famous by British graffiti artist Banksy, whose fiery creations decorate much of this 30-feet concrete and wire monstrosity. There is even a hotel, The Walled-Off, designed by Banksy and displaying many of his visually provocative artifacts.
Married to an Israeli, I live a mere half-hour drive from Bethlehem. I often pass the city on my way to Jerusalem; the foreboding barrier stretches along the road that circumvents Bethlehem. Last week, I decided to visit.
I was a little nervous. Israelis are forbidden entry into Bethlehem, although in the past I visited numerous times while working as a journalist, using my British passport. This time, I entered Bethlehem via Bet Jala, a small town around the back of Bethlehem, with a Palestinian taxi driver. I took a friend with me for company, and perhaps solidarity. As we drew up outside the Anastas Guest House, the gray walls towering over us were hardly inviting, but, looking up at the 3-storey high building, I saw Claire, a Palestinian Christian whose family has lived in Bethlehem for generations, smiling broadly and waving to us.
The Anastas Guest House is sealed in on three sides by the concrete slabs of the separation barrier. Once, the stone balcony afforded a view of Rachel’s Tomb and the busy Hebron Road that leads into Jerusalem. Today, the house is cordoned off. Even the lemon and olive trees growing in the back of a narrow strip of garden seem stunted—the fruit falls to the ground before ripening and the grapevine no longer curls elegantly around the railings.
After dropping off our bags, we strolled toward Manger Square in late afternoon sunshine. The streets were not full, but now and again we saw groups of pilgrims, both Christian and Muslim, descending buses and entering stores where olive wood ornaments, incense and other souvenirs are sold. We peeped into the basilica, drank mint tea at the Casa Nova Hotel beside a gurgling fountain festooned with pink geranium, and soaked up the atmosphere.
Darkness was fast falling and the church was lit up against the skyline. The church bells rang out into the air, closely followed by the call of the muezzin to prayer. Bethlehem is home to both Christians and Muslims.
On our way back to the guest house, we fell into conversation with Abdo, the manager of St. Joseph Home Hotel, a burly man who was standing outside waiting for a busload of tourists to arrive. “Are you from Italy? France?” he hazarded guesses, lighting a cigarette and laughing. I paused for a moment. “No,” I admitted, “I’m from Israel.” His face broke into a smile. “B’rucha haba’a,” he replied in perfect Hebrew, “Welcome.” He told me he speaks fluent Hebrew from back in the days when Israelis frequented Bethlehem. “I hope more Israelis will visit here in the future,” he continued. There was not much hope in his voice.
That night, I slept fitfully. A floodlight installed by the Israeli military shone all night into our bedroom. Lifting the curtain, I couldn’t tell what time it was. Everything was bathed in a dull yellow glow. There were sounds, too, that disturbed my sleep: the occasional siren, indistinct shouting, the rumbling of vehicles arriving at the Bethlehem checkpoint to take workers to Israel.
The next morning, Claire invited is to have breakfast with her. Over scrambled eggs, homemade za’atar, labaneh cheese and fragrant black coffee, we talked about good neighbors and bad fences. Claire’s son, Daniel, chatted with me later as we waited for the taxi to take us back to Bet Jalla. “What’s it like to wake up every morning to these walls?” I asked him. “I don’t think about it,” he said, a thick textbook in his hand, on his way to university. “I just get on with life and am happy for it.”
The taxi arrived. We shook hands, Claire and I embraced, two neighbors living within half an hour of each other, worlds apart.
Here are a few tips to make the most of your own trip to Bethlehem:
Grab an organized tour into Bethlehem, which will take of entering and exiting Bethlehem. Companies such as Green Olive Tours or Abraham Tours will show you not only the more obvious tourist sites but also Deheishe refugee camp for a real view of what Bethlehem encompasses today.
Once there, walk around. Take your time to talk to the residents. They are friendly, engaging and open.
Check out the graffiti on the walls, including Banksy’s stunning cherubs, a young girl frisking a soldier and Trump looming over the road that leads down to the checkpoint.
Relax over a Mocktail in The Walled-Off Hotel, designed by Banksy. Choose between freshly-squeezed grapefruit, cardamom, lime and rose or apple, ginger, red cabbage and blood orange. Or, enjoy afternoon tea with warm scones and homemade jam while you take in the recreated 1917 colonial atmosphere.
After you’ve visited the Church of the Nativity, go sample falafel at Afteem, just off Manger Square. Whether you ask for it or not, you’ll also receive warm pita bread, tahini and surprisingly spicy pickles.
Just before Christmas, a free concert is held by the wall for residents and tourists alike. This is a wonderful chance to rub shoulders with the locals and to experience the true spirit of Christmas while listening to a heavenly children’s choir which, last year at least, included both Christian and Muslim children.
