TO THE MANGER I WENT
The adventure of the day was a trek into Bethlehem. Fran, Teres and I headed on foot for the West Bank where the town of Bethlehem is located. We were briefed on the footpath that leads from the Tantur property toward the Israeli check-point. A fifteen minute walk later we were standing before the grotesque security wall that the Israeli government has built believing it will provide them with the security desired by the Israeli citizens. The concrete wall stands six meters tall. It is cold and gray even when the sun shines upon its surface.
I walked to the pedestrian entrance of the Israeli check-point where I produced my passport and was waved through to the Palestinian side of the wall. Not much fanfare. A mere glance by an armed Israeli soldier no older than my youngest son. A short walk later we entered the town of Bethlehem where we were greeted by taxi drivers anxious to give the three of us a ride into the heart of the town or to the Church of the Nativity, the birthplace of Jesus Christ. We had already determined to walk the distance and so we set off and left behind us several drivers more than willing to hire themselves out to us.
This is the Muslim part of Bethehem and the shops were mostly closed due to the special feast days. The streets were quiet. Yet, there was a steady buzz of taxis up and down the thoroughfare. Again the drivers attracted our attention with a gentle "beep" of the car horn. One stopped to joke with us about our long walk ahead of us. We persisted. We wound our way through narrow streets. Some streets were literally curb to curb with discarded plastic bottles, papers and most anything that is easy to throw to the ground. Other streets were immaculate and well groomed. The occasional open dayway displayed interesting and colourful courtyards and staircases beyond, disappearing to who knows where?
An hour after we set out on foot we turned onto a lively stone street full of shops and merchants and holiday revellors. Live chickens, animals cleaned and hanging in windows, bright fruit greeted us. It sounded like Christmas. In fact the, Greeks just finished their Christmas celebrations and the Armenians will celebrate their Christmas on January 19th. So Christmas is in the air. It is chilly and from time to time I pull up my waterproof hood as a light "Scotch mist" persists. The street opened onto manger square located next to the Church of the Nativity. This ancient church is built over the site thought to be the birthplace of Jesus. As we enter it is apparent we are the only three "tourists" in the church. At the front beneath the large altar are stairs leading us to the grotto below which became the safe haven for the holy family 2000 years ago. A rough cave or stable is where the family is said to have found refuge from the night and the cold and provided by the inn keeper. There, a small altar where candles burn mark the location of the holy birth. Nearby is the wall of the cave where the baby was laid in a manger.
I stand back and I watch. A few tourists parade in. They are in awe. They are from Poland. Their guide explains a few details and they move on after singing a hymn in Polish. Slowly I move forward and kneel before the altar. I reach out my hand and touch the fourteen point star that marks the sacred spot. I thank God for coming to earth and living amongst us and showing us a way forward. It is a special moment for me.... sacred, holy, silent. A couple, a husband and wife appear, and they both kneel in unison. She weeps and crosses herself as she rises. Her faith is deep and she, too, has been touched.
It has been a powerful morning. And not just for me. Slowly pilgrims are returning to the Holy Land once again. This is why they come. To touch and to see and to be nurtured. To smell the oil lamps and incence and hear the sounds of fellow believers walking these holy steps.
Outside again, I visit the Centre For Peace in Bethlehem which was occupied along with the Church for 38 days in 2002 by Palestinians seeking refuge from the threats of the Israeli Defense Forces.
For a negotiated price of 15 sheckels I hired a driver to return us to the border crossing on the Hebron Road. I negotiated my way through the check-point where my passport was examined. An Israeli soldier stood on a cat-walk over head holding a machine gun. An anonymous voice told me to proceed through the steel turnstyle. An Arab family was closely scrutinized electronically. This is every day life. From there we made our way on foot back to Tantur, perched on a hill just inside the walled state of Israel.
I walked to the pedestrian entrance of the Israeli check-point where I produced my passport and was waved through to the Palestinian side of the wall. Not much fanfare. A mere glance by an armed Israeli soldier no older than my youngest son. A short walk later we entered the town of Bethlehem where we were greeted by taxi drivers anxious to give the three of us a ride into the heart of the town or to the Church of the Nativity, the birthplace of Jesus Christ. We had already determined to walk the distance and so we set off and left behind us several drivers more than willing to hire themselves out to us.
This is the Muslim part of Bethehem and the shops were mostly closed due to the special feast days. The streets were quiet. Yet, there was a steady buzz of taxis up and down the thoroughfare. Again the drivers attracted our attention with a gentle "beep" of the car horn. One stopped to joke with us about our long walk ahead of us. We persisted. We wound our way through narrow streets. Some streets were literally curb to curb with discarded plastic bottles, papers and most anything that is easy to throw to the ground. Other streets were immaculate and well groomed. The occasional open dayway displayed interesting and colourful courtyards and staircases beyond, disappearing to who knows where?
An hour after we set out on foot we turned onto a lively stone street full of shops and merchants and holiday revellors. Live chickens, animals cleaned and hanging in windows, bright fruit greeted us. It sounded like Christmas. In fact the, Greeks just finished their Christmas celebrations and the Armenians will celebrate their Christmas on January 19th. So Christmas is in the air. It is chilly and from time to time I pull up my waterproof hood as a light "Scotch mist" persists. The street opened onto manger square located next to the Church of the Nativity. This ancient church is built over the site thought to be the birthplace of Jesus. As we enter it is apparent we are the only three "tourists" in the church. At the front beneath the large altar are stairs leading us to the grotto below which became the safe haven for the holy family 2000 years ago. A rough cave or stable is where the family is said to have found refuge from the night and the cold and provided by the inn keeper. There, a small altar where candles burn mark the location of the holy birth. Nearby is the wall of the cave where the baby was laid in a manger.
I stand back and I watch. A few tourists parade in. They are in awe. They are from Poland. Their guide explains a few details and they move on after singing a hymn in Polish. Slowly I move forward and kneel before the altar. I reach out my hand and touch the fourteen point star that marks the sacred spot. I thank God for coming to earth and living amongst us and showing us a way forward. It is a special moment for me.... sacred, holy, silent. A couple, a husband and wife appear, and they both kneel in unison. She weeps and crosses herself as she rises. Her faith is deep and she, too, has been touched.
It has been a powerful morning. And not just for me. Slowly pilgrims are returning to the Holy Land once again. This is why they come. To touch and to see and to be nurtured. To smell the oil lamps and incence and hear the sounds of fellow believers walking these holy steps.
Outside again, I visit the Centre For Peace in Bethlehem which was occupied along with the Church for 38 days in 2002 by Palestinians seeking refuge from the threats of the Israeli Defense Forces.
For a negotiated price of 15 sheckels I hired a driver to return us to the border crossing on the Hebron Road. I negotiated my way through the check-point where my passport was examined. An Israeli soldier stood on a cat-walk over head holding a machine gun. An anonymous voice told me to proceed through the steel turnstyle. An Arab family was closely scrutinized electronically. This is every day life. From there we made our way on foot back to Tantur, perched on a hill just inside the walled state of Israel.
posted by Philip | 6:52 a.m.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home