I meet Ata Manasreh, a colleague in guiding and a friend. He tells that a few days ago he wrote down a tragic human story at our Institute, after an appeal from ours to collect stories from his village. Later I read it on the email. “Three days ago in the village of Husan next to my village, Wadi Fouqin [to the south-west of Bethlehem], a young boy of 15 was going with his father to the fields early in the morning around 6:30. They were planning how to spend the day working together. Because it was Ramadan, the father asked his son Shadi to join him instead of going to school that day…. They had to cross one of the settler bypass roads near the village to reach the field. Suddenly, a huge black van rushed across the road towards the boy running him down.  The van continued on a few metres, turned around and ran back over the boy's still body killing him instantly while his father watched helplessly in horror and disbelief. …. I can still see the miserable father falling unconscious and being carried away from his son's body during the funeral. It is another version of the story of the young Mohammed Al-Dura in Gaza all over again….”  Mohammed al-Dura was killed while trying to find shelter in the arms of his father, and has become a symbol of the vulnerability of Palestinians in general. Ata concludes that wherever you are and whoever you are, you may be exposed to the violence of settlers and soldiers. 

Reflecting upon this later, I sense that there is more truth in this than I only recently would have wanted to admit. I used to think that the fact of living in the “little town of Bethlehem” created a kind of symbolic shield against the shootings and bombings, a shield which the people of Beit Jala and Beit Sahour lacked. Yet, during these last weeks bullets fall down everywhere in Bethlehem. Our neighbours, who live just five meters behind our house, got bullets in their kitchen which is located on one of the upper floors and therefore exposed to shootings from Rachel’s Tomb. We ourselves, living on the first floor, stay outside the fire range. That may be our luck, but who knows? While I am writing, there is again heavy fire close by, apparently in response to the killing of the man from Dheisha.

Finding shelter, or organizing shelter in case of emergency, is a topic discussed everywhere. Mary tells that Bethlehem University has issued instructions how to act in case of bombings. Many people have moved to family members who live at a safer place. The photographer Edy Mickael, with whom I work in various project activities, now sleeps together with his family in his one-room small workshop. Near his house, from the roofs along the Hebron-Jerusalem road, Tanzim (Fatah youth) are shooting at Rachel’s Tomb – a largely ineffective show of force since the Israelis stay there well protected behind walls. 

Otherwise, daily life is governed by the “total blockade” imposed by the Israeli government on all Palestinian areas in the West Bank and Gaza. As a result, the economy is at a standstill. People’s income is at an all-time low. Standing in front of his house, Salpi’s father, who performs medical tests, explains to me that people now save upon every budget item, even on regular blood examinations. Mary’s uncle, who is municipal secretary of Bethlehem, did not receive his salary of last month. He thinks that it is quite possible that in the near future essential municipal services, such as the collection of garbage, cannot be paid anymore. After the passing away of my father in law, my family decided to give away to needy families half of the money allocated for hospitality at the mourning occasions. The other day I meet Firas, who works as a tour operator in Jerusalem, quietly reading the morning paper. He says that for many tour groups even East-Jerusalem is off bounds. The owner of the Grand Hotel in Bethlehem, whom I happen to know from the guiding course which we shared, tells that he may go to Tunisia for taking special tourism courses. “The best what one can do, is going to Holland, for anybody!” he tells me. Our Institute does not provide its regular language courses anymore since people cannot pay. Many students from the Hebron area who study at Bethlehem University have dropped out, due to traveling problems and inability to pay the fees. Mary, who takes care of the book acquisition at the University,  shows me a paper from the book importer saying that all books that arrive in Israel with destiny Bethlehem are kept at a depot in Tel Aviv. Also no book transport is possible across the Allenby bridge between Jordan and the West Bank. Among the few who have still enough work to do is Ramzi Hodali, the designer. It is the season for calendars and agendas. Time goes on.

Within the family we discuss the siege of the Palestinian areas. It is somehow very disconcerting to know that one is, in every facet of life, completely dependent upon others who primarily wish to control you. As a tab which can be gradually closed off, the closure or siege is an instrument which can be used minimally, with people being waved through at checkpoints, or almost maximally, as now, or with every imaginable shade in between – such as people getting permission to be in Jerusalem for this or that hour in such-and-so area. The siege in which the Palestinians live is not like the classic Roman army siege, a simple total closure with nothing going in or out. The tab is allowed to drip, but sparingly. Israeli newspaper reports wrote a few weeks ago that fuel was not allowed to come in, but electricity and water were still allowed, like food and medicines – as if favors were granted. Yesterday, Haaretz mentioned that settlers pleaded with the Israeli government to withdraw licenses for private cars owned by Palestinians in the occupied territories. I suppose that a devious mind could easily come up with many other more or less subtle but no less inhuman means of pressuring. The knowledge that some people are pondering the pros and cons of electricity cuts and shutting the lights in Palestinian houses is unsettling.

The problems of the siege are not just economical. Norma, Mary’s sister, mentions that most people stay inside their houses during days and evenings, and that the traditional practice of visiting each other, under normal conditions very common among Palestinians, is now on the decline. As many people are not used to reading books or practicing a hobby, they sit doing nothing. More seriously, on the social level people seem to lack orientation and leadership. During the mourning period of my father in law, visitors complained about the disorganized behavior of some Tanzim, who hide among the population, thus exposing the people to shootings. People also complain about the mutually contradicting statements of the national leadership, and the lack of insight in which direction the Al-Aqsa Intifada is heading. It is generally felt that there is no way of simply going back to the status quo ante, because that would mean that all the sacrifices and deaths were made for nothing. However, at the same time people do not see light at the end of the political tunnel in front of them. 

Unsurprisingly, there is an upsurge of interest in astrology, with some practitioners indicating on which day there will be a “disaster” or which month will be relatively secure. But many people, especially youth, also simply avoid talking politics (“Let’s not talk about ‘the situation’, please!”) , or speculate about political conspiracies or the coming of a magical solution as a result of a sudden peace deal. Or one chooses for the uncomfortable certainty that “things always go worse for the Palestinians.” My own persistent insecurity which I share with Karishma at the Institute is the expiration of our work permits. In this case, the responsible cause is quite mundane, a seemingly never-ending strike at the Israeli Ministry of Interior. One would almost forget that normal political life goes on, too. These days, I start eating more chocolates and drinking more coffee.

The annual calendar of exams, festivities and celebrations is perhaps the only source of orientation and reassurance. The Palestinian youth are now working hard on their December exams, except at some private schools such as Talitha Kumi, where the administration asked teachers to conduct brief exams during classes instead of holding the regular exams. Under present conditions regular exams would not give a valid outcome since many students in Beit Jala are now unable to concentrate well. 

At home, we have a belated Sint Nicholas evening with Jara, after the three-day mourning period for my father in law had finished. Jara is a bit afraid seeing me with a plastic St Nicholas mask on my face. On street, she is now all the time singing Dutch St Nicholas songs, with passers by looking perplexed. 

And, of course, Christmas is coming. Normally it would have been on the mind of everyone here, especially during this Jubilee year. The Bethlehem municipality announced the canceling of all except the most basic and sober celebrations. There was one suggestion to decorate the Christmas tree on Manger Square not with Christmas balls but with bullets. However, that was felt not to be in harmony with people’s expectations of the feast. 

In search of an alternative Christmas event, our Institute has taken the initiative to ask the international Pax Christi movement to send peace prayers to Bethlehem by email. A symbolic way of overcoming the siege and opening a spiritual bond across borders and closure. The international secretariat in Brussels now actively appeals to all members worldwide. On Friday December 22, the Freres School will host a Holy Mass in the presence of Patriarch Michel Sabbah, who is international president of Pax Christi. During the Mass some of the prayers, in different languages, will be pronounced by Palestinian students. Afterwards, the participants will join an Iftar, the Moslem meal that breaks the fast during Ramadan. The Freres School organizes such a meal occasionally to foster the school community bond. Christian and Moslem families share the food together. In fact, some Moslem eating customs have been taken over by Christian families. At my family in law, we presently eat the “katayef” which is typical for Ramadan meals– delicious pancakes filled with cheese or walnuts.

On Sunday I join a demonstration in Bethlehem organized by churches of all denominations. With more than 1500 people around, young and old, the marchers show solidarity with those whose houses were damaged or destroyed in Beit Jala and Beit Sahour. The demonstration follows a route along the different churches in downtown Bethlehem, each of which tolls the bells when the marchers pass by. (Later on I tell Shireen, whose mother is Syriac, that I found the bells of the Syriac Church on Madbasseh Street the most beautiful). The night is litted with torches. It is a pleasure to walk with the demonstrators along the little streets and staircases that are normally so empty. At Manger Square we wait until the prayers of the nearby Mosque of Omar have stopped. Placards carried in front of the demonstration call for “Justice for the Land of Peace,” and for “The Light of Right, not the Fire of Might.” 

One of the organizers of the demonstration is Mitri Raheb, reverend at the local Lutheran Church and one of the initiators of a “Palestinian Theology of Liberation.” Once he wrote in his book “I am a Palestinian Christian” that some twelve years ago, during the first Intifada, it happened that the following sentence was spray-painted on the wall of the Lutheran School in Bethlehem: “Excuse us, dear Christ, unfortunately we cannot celebrate your birthday this year, for we are an occupied people whose children are denied life!” The slogan seems to apply today as well. Raheb tells about the difficulty of organizing the demonstration since people now tend not to leave their homes during the night, and also since many feel that demonstrating does not make any difference. The celebration is emphatically Christian-Moslem, with representatives of the National Islamic Emergency Committee announcing their support. Among the speakers is the blind Sheikh Fararjeh, a regular guest at local TV programs. He lost his 21-year son a few weeks ago during the disturbances. Now he sings a prayer from the Koran Sura “The Light” that sounds quite haunting in the still of the night. Another speaker tells that the demonstration is intended to “break the silence, so that the light of the resurrection of Jesus can shine again in Jerusalem.” The Choir of the Lutheran Church sings an adapted version of “The Little Town of Bethlehem,” rephrased to express present-day suffering and the need for hope. Meanwhile, little children beg the demonstrators to buy chewing gum. I see now more of them than usual. The meeting ends with rain pouring down.

Jara, too, feels somewhat lost now Abou Hannah passed away. Usually when she leaves the living room of my family in law, she gives a kiss to everybody. This time she kisses the air at the place where Abou Hannah used to sit, saying: “Sido, sido, I want to cry because you don’t hear me. I am angry at you that you are traveling so far away.”