Christmas in Bethlehem: by invitation only

Despite being in the middle of the Holy Land, I haven’t quite felt the Christmas spirit this year. Maybe it’s the warm weather or the fact the Christianity really ranks third around here, but it just hasn’t happened. My sweet wife however, was determined to make Christmas happen and decided that we should go to Bethlehem, the apex of this holiday, it being the city of the manger and all. I then got excited at what we might find there – pieces of actual straw upon which Jesus was birthed? Preserved fragments of Jesus’ first dirty diaper? The possibilities were endless.

So we planned to go to Bethlehem, but then Huda, our landlady (see earlier posting), told us she was planning on going to visit her cousin in Haifa when she got her permit. We offered to drive her because it would have taken her hours and hours by bus and checkpoints. Yet on the 24th, Huda still hadn’t received her permit, and was told to check back at the end of the day. So we changed our plans back to Bethlehem and planned to chauffeur Huda the following day. In the meantime however, we had one more thing to do...

Our friend Neta had been arrested by the Israeli authorities and was sitting in jail waiting for her hearing. Neta had just been on the ‘Free Gaza’ boat , which sailed from Cyprus to Gaza, to break the siege and bring in humanitarian aid. She spent 3 days in Gaza, and was arrested at the Erez checkpoint back into Israel for entering Gaza as an Israeli. (1) Prior to leaving Neta had told us she was likely to spend a few days in the slammer, so it was not unexpected. Yet it was her third day of being held, and we didn’t have much information on her situation, so we wanted to see whether we could at least visit her. We didn’t know her exact location, but we started driving in the direction of Gaza and through a few phone calls made an educated guess at which police station might have her. We found the courthouse, but by the time we got there we were surprised to hear she had been released. We tracked down her lawyer and found them at a nearby café, debriefing over cheesecake and cappuccino. She told us about her time in Gaza: no electricity, supplies running low and most importantly, how over 200 people have died this past month because they can’t get cancer treatment (no medicine, no power = no chemotherapy). She also told us how they were chaperoned very closely by Hamas, and at a certain point were told it was ‘time to go’. We then swung by the prison where she picked up her belongings, but couldn’t get her cellphone or money because ‘the lady with the key had finished her shift’. Sigh….this would mean she would have to drive back to Ashkelon the next day. We then drove back to Jerusalem where we dropped her off and continued on to Bethlehem.

Getting into Bethlehem was a bit tricky as the checkpoints prohibit Israeli cars from entering into the city. A helpful taxi driver (and helping himself charged us 100 shekels) showed us a way through Beit Jala and took us right to the center where all the excitement was. We walked around but soon realized that we weren’t going to get close to the church, see the mass or any of the services. We didn’t have tickets for the church, which are apparently free, but must be ordered two months in advance. I was hungry so I bought a falafel and we wandered around the sad display of Christmas lights in the square. Everyone was gathered around the stage where there was a woman on stage rocking out to some bad Spanish pop music. Where were the Christmas carols? the mulled wine and gingerbread? Where was the fantastic display of Christmas lights? I suddenly realized I had envisioned ‘Christmas in Bethlehem’ as ‘Christmas in Heidelberg’.

We stood against the fence as those with tickets formed a huge line waiting to get into the Church of the Nativity. The police meanwhile, had pushed everyone even further back, as though we were a hostile crowd of anarchists. “What is going on?”, we asked. “Abu Mazen is coming!”, he answered. (2) Having had enough, we turned to go but were met with, Max from Costa Rica and David, from New York, gay boys equally disappointed and confused by the night’s events. We chatted briefly and decided we would all go have a Christmas drink but suddenly a procession of singing Italians passed us and Max started running off behind them, waving at us to join. He seemed to think we were on to something special and could slip to the group unnoticed. We carried on up the street with the group, but as Max was being swept into the ‘Grotto of the Milk’ (3), the three of us were immediately stopped by the nun/bouncer who wasn’t fooled by anyone (well, except Max). We stood around for awhile, but got cold and tired waiting so pleaded with a very serious looking young priest that our friend was inside and we would like to join him. He asked us our friend’s name and what he looked like and then hurried off. A minute later Max appeared with the priest, unceremoniously escorted out the gate. He pouted a bit that we had ruined his perfect plan but then soon realized he would have been trapped in there for hours of Latin chanting and god-knows-what else. We went and had our Christmas drink with the boys, discussing our experiences and impressions of Israel and Palestine. It was late and we didn’t want to drive back to Ramallah in the dark but we didn’t think we would find an available hotel room. Max and David gave us the number for the Intercontinental ‘Jacir Palace’ and we got a room without any begging or our prepared jokes of ‘no room at the inn’! What luxury: heat and hot water (4).

The next morning we called Huda to see when we should pick her up for our trip to Haifa. A depressed sounding Huda picked up and told us she didn’t get her permit. We felt terrible. We knew how she had been baking for days and looking forward to seeing her cousin. We said we would drop by her house later for tea. Considering we now didn’t have to rush back to Ramallah we decided to stop in Jerusalem, in the old city, to continue our hunt for Christmas but there was none to be found. The Lutheran church was closed and the Church of the Holy Sepulchre was business as usual. We walked around in the rain, had our very festive lunch of hummous with pine nuts, and made our way back to Ramallah with a kitschy little wooden Nativity set for Huda. Christmas was not to be found in the Holy Land for us this year, or for Huda. Elle is still trying though; she is in the kitchen right now heating up some red wine with oranges and cinnamon. Merry Christmas!

Footnotes

1. Israelis are not allowed into Palestinian controlled areas and Gaza of course is a huge no-no because of the conflict with Hamas and current siege.
2. Abu Mazen is Mahmoud Abbas, leader of Fatah, controlling the Palestinian Authority in the West Bank.
3. The ‘Grotto of the Milk’ is the spot where Mary stopped to breastfeed baby Jesus on their flight to Egypt. I’m not joking.
4. Our apartment is lacking in a few basic amenities. Heating is accomplished through a system of hot water bottles, electric heaters which look like very large open toasters and propane heaters which smell like they might be leaking. Our hot water is powered with solar (which usually works), or, on cloudy days, an ineffectual boiler.