A trip through the wall
If Mary and Joseph tried to get into Bethlehem this Christmas, so her baby could be born there, they might have problems.
Only a short drive out from Jerusalem, getting in and out of the town where the story of Jesus began now requires going through something like Checkpoint Charlie when Berlin was divided by a wall.
Bethlehem is divided from Israel by a similar wall, part of what will be more than 700 kilometres long when it is completed.
It's officially known as the Israeli West Bank Barrier. It is, to say the least, controversial. Certainly, while we in the Kilcullen group had no serious difficulty getting in and out -- though we had to change buses and tour guides to do so -- it was intimidating and depressing.
The Israelis say they need the barrier to keep out suicide bombers and other terrorist activities. They say that since the construction began in the early part of this decade the incidences of such attacks have been substantially reduced.
On the other hand, the wall -- visible from many vantage points snaking its way up and down the hills around Jerusalem -- in some parts displaces Palestinians from their traditional working lands, and also makes it difficult for many of them to travel into Israel for work. There are also claims that Israel has used the barrier to solidify the position of settlers on disputed lands.
I don't live there. And we as a group were rushing in and rushing out. Privileged to be able to do so. In the few hours we spent in the town, I was conscious of more hardship than had been apparent across the wall in Israel. But the people were friendly. Very. More so than on the side from where we'd come, where the sense is something like success against siege. That kind of thing, unfortunately, can and does breed arrogance.
A ten-day marathon around holy places doesn't qualify me to judge the true political or social situation. But the Bethlehem visit left me uncomfortable. If I was a Palestinian on the wrong side of that wall, I figure I'd feel an awful lot worse.
The Bethlehem experience was mixed. The appellations of 'Manger Street' and 'Manger Square' in front of the church on the holy site seemed a bit exploitative. And every few steps from where we had lunch in the restaurant across the square were running the gauntlet of souvenir sellers. But what's the difference between a fully-funded gift shop and the individual entrepreneur trying to make a buck or two? People have to live, and living requires money.
The church on the place where Jesus is supposed to have been born dates from 600 AD. It's said to be the only Christian church of its time in the Holy Land that wasn't destroyed by the Persians, and it is built on a church raised previously 200 years before that. There's a Greek Orthodox crypt, and an Armenian church alongside.
Confused? Yep, but think of the employment the whole thing has provided.
Consider too what Fr Murphy said during the mass celebrated there for the Kilcullen group. "We remember the greatest event in human history, the coming of Christ ... to bring meaning to our life." That's really why pilgrims travel, not for the subsequent architecture.
We queued to touch the place where the Saviour reputedly was born, under an altar of course, and to look at the manger, behind glass, where he spent his first hours.
Leaving Bethlehem there was a mandatory stop at a gift shop which, we had been told repeatedly on the bus since we'd boarded, 'helps the Christians in Bethlehem'. A rapidly diminishing and very minority Christian population in the town where Christ arrived on Earth.
The presentations there were slick enough to be usable on a TV shopping channel. And the assistants were dressed and skilled enough to possibly have been trained in Macys of New York. We bought, to 'help the people of Bethlehem', at a level well beyond what we'd done so far on the trip.
Then we left Palestine. Not as quick or easily as we'd got in. There was a long wait as buses and cars were processed through. There were the Israeli soldiers coming aboard with automatic weapons, making sure we weren't carrying Palestinians. There was looking back at the wall, now floodlit in the quick Mediterranean darkness.
And I thought, the only difficulty in Kilcullen is the winter wind as I cross the bridge.
The Accidental Pilgrim
[NOTE: This piece is a little late, but concludes my holy sites contributions related the Kilcullen Parish Pilgrimage to the Holy Land last month. A reunion gathering for those who participated is scheduled for 7 December in Kilcullen Parish Centre.]
