October 15, 2022 Rev. Matt Paul
This is my second visit to Bethlehem, my first being in 1989 when I traveled here to visit the Church of the Nativity, and witness the site where Jesus is believed to have been born. I can tell you, much has changed in 33 years. And yet, some things remain the same.
In 1989 there was no dividing/security* wall around Bethlehem, at least not a visible one. My traveling companion and I made it as far as Rachel’s Tomb** on the public bus from Jerusalem before we were told it was the end of the line. From there, the driver told us, we would have to travel by foot. It seemed odd that we could not transfer to another bus, but we took it in stride and went off in the direction the driver gave us.
As we walked the winding streets of Bethlehem, we began to notice how eerily quiet it was. The streets were silent, we later learned, because a general strike had been issued that day, part of the first Palestinian Intifada, or uprising against the Israeli occupation of the West Bank and Gaza Srip, that began in 1989. Businesses throughout the city were closed, and nearly everyone stayed indoors. Our fear factor rose with every step down the deserted streets. The warnings from Israelis in Jerusalem not to travel in the West Bank, replayed over and over in my head. Maybe this was not such a good idea! Just then, a man approached us and inquired about our destination. “I will take you there,” he said, and proceeded to guide us to Manger Square.
Along the way he told us what was going on and why the people were on strike. Looking back, we were either foolish, blessed, or maybe a little of both. The one thing for certain is that this man’s hospitality completely erased any fear we had. I have never forgotten the experience.
Fast forward to today. Rachel’s Tomb, where the bus dropped us off, is now separated from Bethlehem by an enormous wall, the construction of which began in 2002 during the second Intifada. To travel from the tomb to the Church of the Nativity, one must now pass through an Israeli military checkpoint. It is a visible reminder of an invisible barrier I unwittingly passed through in 1989. It is also a sign that the path to peace in the land of Jesus’ birth is every bit as complicated as when he was born during another occupation.
What I didn’t know then was that standing at Rachel’s Tomb, I was literally a stone’s throw from the Aida Refugee Camp, where thousands of displaced Palestinian live, and have lived since they were driven from their homes in 1948. Palestinians call this the Nakba (English: catastrophe). Israelis call this their War of Independence. What began as a ten-acre tent city for families expecting to return to their homes in a matter of days/weeks, is now a town within a city—home to some 6,000 people, 4,000 of whom are under the age of 24. How did I not know this—both then, or until just now?
Today we visited Aida Refugee Camp and heard from a man who was born there. He shared his story about his experience growing up under occupation, leaving for higher education, and returning to his home to help his people through artistic expression, education, and by practicing non-violent resistance. His name is Dr. Abdelfattah Abusrour, founder and executive director of Al Rowwad Cultural and Arts Society. Al Rowwad serves children, youth, and women, “through creative means to achieve and enhance constructive and peaceful ways of self-confidence and self-expression…”
By the way, Aida continues to be administered by the United Nations, and has the dubious distinction of being known as “the most tear gassed place in the world.”*** Case in point: during our visit we passed a little boy kicking an object along the street. When it got away from him, someone in our group gleefully ran up and kicked it back. The object the boy was idly kicking along the street was part of a tear gas canister. No wonder Rachel is weeping.