Slouching Towards Bethlehem

The border crossing between Bethlehem and Jerusalem is frenetic. Honking horns, soldiers joking with one another, and pedestrians waiting patiently—and not so patiently—to travel through the turnstile. The only thing that is silent is the Wall. While other parts of the Separation Wall/Fence/Barrier are covered in art or graffiti, the part around the checkpoint is grey and partially obstructed by a sign wishing peace to travelers in Hebrew, English, and Arabic.
I traveled to Bethlehem for two days with the group Encounter; we heard lectures from grassroots activists, had discussions with councilwomen in Palestinian villages, toured sites of historical import, and most meaningfully spent the night with a Palestinian family.
The first thing that struck me on my trip to Bethlehem was how close it was to Jerusalem. I have been to Israel over a dozen times, I speak Hebrew fluently and I have friends and family who live all over the state, but it was only recently, at age 23, that I decided to journey to Bethlehem and its neighboring villages. It took fifteen minutes to get from my apartment in Katamon, a neighborhood of Jerusalem, to the checkpoint separating the two cities. In some ways it was like entering another world and I couldn’t help but wonder how often my Israeli friends on Emek Refaim, Israel’s Park Avenue, ever thought about the inhabitants of Bethlehem, almost next door.
The roads surrounding Bethlehem and its adjoining villages are sleek and shiny—a testament to modern engineering. My grandfather, a fervent Zionist, always said that the roads in Israel were a harbinger of the coming Messiah—but to Leila Sansour they are accursed. Sansour, a Bethlehem tour guide, points to the Israeli-only roads that crisscross through her village, as an example of Israel’s land grab. She compares it to the Wall, which she sees as created in order to steal her birthright inch by inch. When questioned as to how she responds to the reason Israel gives for the fence—namely the security of its citizens—she brushes it off. Yet, as someone who was in Israel during the height of the intifada and experienced the palpable fear on the streets, I know that the security aspect cannot be so casually dismissed .
Leila’s anger is echoed by many Bethlehem residents I come across, including Siham. Siham, who lives in Al-Walaje, has seen her house demolished three times. The fate of the residents of Al-Walaje shakes my preconceptions. The village was divided in half when Israel was established in 1948. However in the Six-Day War, Israel’s annexation of East Jerusalem included the rest of Al-Walaje. Now Al-Walaje’s residents have West Bank ID cards, but the land is considered part of Jerusalem. The legal limbo they find themselves in prevents them from building new houses or living on existing ones.
If I were Siham, I would have left a long time ago. But she will not. This is her small victory, what Palestinians call sumad or steadfastness. Unfortunately, I intuitively understand her love of the land. Diaspora Jews have been looking toward Zion for 2,000 years. The psalmist declares “If I forget thee Oh Jerusalem, it is like I have forgotten my right hand.” Unfortunately, Siham’s attachment and mine are over the same hill and bush.
It is because of this that I fear the children the most. I assume they do not understand the nuances, the years of history and to them I am akin to a green uniform and suffering. But Noor, age ten, runs in offering Bamba and chocolate. Playing with Noor, and her friends Maharam, and Rahna reminded me of my time as a Jewish Community Center camp counselor back in Washington DC. By the end of the day I was their ucht, sister.
Spending those two days in Bethlehem left me unsettled if not confused about how to view the State of Israel, how to view my years of Jewish history lessons, and how to understand my own historical narrative in light of their own. Over the course of this year, I have spent a lot of time searching for answers to these questions, and have met with leading professors, politicians, and thinkers to discuss the situation, from a variety of perspectives—cultural, religious, economic and even archeological. It is good to talk to experts but it is just as, if not more, important to understand and experience the lives of people on the receiving end of history. Reading Ha’aretz in my apartment in Jerusalem every morning, I scan for news from Bethlehem, of police raids or protests or crime, and I think of Leila and Noor 15 minutes away.