LETTER FROM BETHLEHEM (34)

Toine van Teeffelen

August 23, 2002

Our cousin had delayed her wedding a couple of times because of the curfews but it was finally announced for last Saturday. That week, curfews were reimposed by and large after four or six o’clock in the afternoon, so the risk was reasonable. (Sometimes wedding announcements in papers give different options; for instance, “If the curfew ends at 18:00 the wedding party will be at 15:00, if the curfew ends at 14:00, the party will be at 12:00”). Due to an unexpected full curfew on Friday, I didn’t have time to cut my hair and received a friendly scolding of a neighbour. Outward appearances at social occasions are important here. Jara was bridesmaid and walked in front of the couple, with her long hair set up as if she was older, in a wide bridal dress and with a flower wreath on her hair. She looked serious, glancing aside to see whether Mary approved of her slow strides. I sat in the church with Tamer in my arms, just back from a brief visit to Holland together with Jara to see my mother who was ill. Since the groom was Armenian and the bride Roman-Catholic, the service was held in the Catholic St Catherine Church but led by Armenian priests, one of them wearing the characteristic triangular hat, a walking church as it were. Fuad told me that it was in fact the first time that this happened. Not long ago, believers were practically excommunicated by the different denominations when marrying a partner from another Christian denomination. Was it the intensive cooperation and the good relations between the religious denominations during the siege of the Nativity Church that had paved the way for this?

After the mass, we went to a restaurant and watched the party where the bride and groom were joyfully lifted up under the sound of ulelele trills and where everything was as it should be. While looking for Jara, who for a moment seemed to be lost, I saw the visitors, many of them smiling but also many barely able to mask their weariness after the months of unpredictable curfew. I myself feel that it is easy to forget about being tired when you continue working but when you relax, your true feelings come up. The wedding was also somehow an act of defiance against the regime of abnormality. Our neighbour said that it now was an accomplishment to have a normal wedding done.

The next day Mary called me in Jerusalem and asked me to buy the Arabic newspaper. A surprise would await me at the last page. There turned out to be a beautiful photo of Jara standing in front of the couple, taken by a photographer of Reuters. Mary had seen him following Jara and picturing her from all corners. The chosen picture showed her while she was moving her arm to throw white flowers out of a basket. She was looking upwards, almost heavenly, a direction emphasized by the photographer’s angle from below upwards - he must have made himself small. In the background, under the church entrance with the star of Bethlehem above it, the couple and family members were standing in half a circle while silently watching Jara. The photo appeared both in Al-Quds and Al-Ayyaam. In Palestine and the Arab world you often see charming photos of babies and children in newspapers, even in teenager’s magazines. In Al-Ayyaam, the photo stood in contrast to several other photos which showed killings and destruction that happened the day before, such as a photo of a large hole in a bombed house with a lone child’s doll in the middle of the rubble. As proud parents we immediately sent our photo to friends and family. Somehow, we were uplifted. Looking at it, Mary said that perhaps we could still make it to stay in Bethlehem.

The photo’s message was somehow optimistic. That weddings are still possible, or, less truefully, that Bethlehem is returning to normal. This past week, there was a welcome change. In what is called a ‘Bethlehem-Gaza first’ deal, the Israeli army moved out of Bethlehem town. You can now see strolling – not hurrying - people on the street during the sunset hours when the weather cools down. It is a view that we completely lost during the past months. I was struck seeing Bethlehem University students relaxingly talking with each other, taking their time. For a change, they did not need to rush finishing their things before curfew was reimposed. As if a community is coming out of its cage, or coffins (the main metaphors used by people here to describe their own situation are those of animals, prisoners, or simply dead or sleeping bodies). But at the same time there is deep scepticism about the withdrawal. At the university cafetaria and teacher rooms, nobody believes that the agreement will hold. The tanks still surround Bethlehem, and can come in any moment. After all the dashed hopes, everybody is guarded against renewed frustration. And traveling is still enormously complex, both locally and internationally. We ourselves, like many others, had to cancel a holiday abroad because getting a permit to the airport depends very much on finding the right Palestinian and Israeli contact persons. We did not succeed in this, while traveling through the Allenby bridge to Jordan is nowadays so tiring, even with the special and expensive “VIP service,” that we did not want our mother in law to go through all that. Others, like Suzy, had to cancel holidays because the university delayed its academic year. She had to give make-up lessons during July. And of course, the majority in Bethlehem and Palestine can financially not afford to take a holiday abroad.

* * *

I wake up in the early morning. The muezzin caller in ‘Azza camp is barely able to keep the melody. His voice breaks, as if his spirit breaks. He, too, seems tired. Sometimes he helps Mary bringing her back home by car when she buys vegetables and fruits at Jibrin’s shop at the other side of the camp. During the curfews he abbreviated the prayers, I imagine because he was concerned that the army would catch him going in and out of the house. He must have acquired the habit of quickly climbing up and down the stairs of the slender mosque minaret. The tanks used to pass by the camp regularly.

* * *

While going up the university street, I watch Jara running on the pavement next to a galloping horse on the street. Mary and I may be tried and tired yet she doesn’t give in.