Bethlehem – Shabbat Shalom!

(Entering Bethlehem.)

I decided to go to the West Bank on the Shabbat. After reading from right to left for a few days (well, pretending to), I wanted to see the other side where they read backwards. Of course, I was also a bit anxious about going into the Occupied Territories. I wasn’t allowed to drive my Israeli rental car with a yellow license plate into the West Bank, where cars have white license plates. The Arab taxi driver had agreed the night before to bring me to Bethlehem and to show me around. Because we had had a great conversation over who the boss is at home in a lesbian couple, I was sure we would have a great time together.

(Bethlehem.)

(Tourists swarming like bees at the Church of the Nativity.)

According to the stories, Jesus was born here in some sort of natural cave on top of which Christians built a church later on. I set out in the sweltering heat to catch a glimpse of it. Tourists were buzzing like a swarm of bees around a sticky beehive or a big colorful flower. While they were looking for the queen bee – or the spot in the cave were Jesus supposedly was born – I begged the guide to take me out of this hot and humid hive.  I was much more intrigued by the logistical challenges that Jesus and his parents must have encountered back in their day. How did people live in these days? Did they sometimes get stuck in the caves when they wandered off too far? How did they light the place? Where did they get water? And how effective was the ox or donkey as a central heating system?

What struck me as well is that Israeli citizens need a special permit if they want to visit Bethlehem because it is in Zone A of the Occupied Territories. I, for the simple reason that I was born in little Belgium, got to go where I wanted. And my visit couldn’t have been timed better. The day before my visit, UNESCO had given the Church of the Nativity and its pilgrimage route world heritage status and Bethlehem was partying. So I gladly accepted the Arabic coffee to celebrate with the locals. It didn’t really matter that it was coffee that you actually have to chew and that gets stuck in your teeth.

(To be continued! Going to Israel was like reading an amazing book. Near the end, you start reading more slowly because you don’t want it to end. That’s the reason I am finishing the next blog post about the kibbutz very slowly – because I don’t want it to end.)


Adding a link to an excellent New York Times feature on the challenges in defining an Israeli-Palestinian border.