Christmas Under Occupation: The Holidays in Palestine
Part I
27 December 2000
Perhaps the most enjoyable part of the holiday season in
the Holy Land is that it never seems to end.
From the onset of Advent on 3 December to the Armenian Orthodox Christmas
on 19 January, Christians of all denominations find reasons to celebrate a time
of peace, hope, and family. The
very traditional Jewish eight-day holiday of Hanukah arrived in late December,
and all over Israel Menorahs were lit as families came together.
The Muslim holy month of Ramadan, a time of reconciliation and spiritual
renewal, overlapped this year with the holidays of its fellow monotheistic
faiths. Throw in a new millennium
and one would imagine that there would be no place greater to experience the
holidays than the Holy Lands of Israel and Palestine.
But this year in Palestine the festivities were sadly
resigned due to the ongoing situation. Hardly
a Christmas light adorned the streets of partly Christian towns such as
Bethlehem, Ramallah, Birzeit, and Beit Jala. Few families decorated Christmas trees in their homes.
Across the Green Line some of the evening streets of West Jerusalem
glowed with colored lights for the season of Hanukah, but even the Israelis
seemed to contribute very little spirit to what was in most places in the world
a time of celebration.
For me, the Holiday season began with the conclusion of the
fall semester on 23 December. On the morning of Christmas Eve, a group of us set
out from Birzeit and Ramallah to make the trek to Bethlehem where we would quite
appropriately attend Christmas Mass in the Church of the Nativity.
The sky was clear and blue as five of us international students, along
with two Palestinian Christians Yousif and Ahmad, caught a service taxi van from
Ramallah to Jerusalem.
The two checkpoints between Ramallah and the Holy City were
difficult as usual, and our driver took all of the customary dirt side roads to
circumvent any confrontation with Israeli soldiers. Upon arrival at the Damascus Gate of the Old City, we flagged
down another van to take us to Bethlehem. Though
the English Edition of the Ha'aretz Israeli Newspaper rang loudly that the road
to Bethlehem would be open, we soon found the opposite to be the practical
truth. At no extra charge, our
driver detoured around the obstacle, albeit in a time-consuming fashion.
Nearby the entrance to Bethlehem is a road connecting Jerusalem to the
settlement of Gilo and on to several others.
Along this road and through a tunnel, there is an unmarked dirt road onto
which the driver turned, and thereon he twisted his way through the alleys of a
small village until he arrived on the streets of Beit Jala, which borders
Bethlehem on the opposite side from Jerusalem.
The afternoon sky, while still sunny, began to drop a hint
of rain on us as we ascended a hill past Bethlehem University to Manger Square
in front of the Church of the Nativity. Last
year many thousands of tourists and pilgrims stood here to watch the procession
of His Beatitude, the Latin Patriarch, culminate its journey from Jerusalem to
the site believed to stand on the spot where Jesus was born two millennia ago.
On this day a crowd of perhaps three hundred braved the rain and the
Intifada to watch the event. There
was a one-hour service in St. Catherine’s Church adjoining the old stone
Nativity sanctuary, after which the crowd dispersed in the now torrential rain
until the Midnight Mass.
Meeting up with several more international students, the
group of us spent the afternoon and evening hopping from café to café, staying
dry and warm and well fed. At about
ten we headed back to the church to attend the standing room only traditional
Christmas Eve Mass. We found a spot
not far from the altar and soon the heat of several hundred, perhaps a thousand,
gatherers warmed our chilled bodies. We
stood for more than three hours through a multi-lingual service, and yes, Yassir
Arafat did attend (though the frail Palestinian leader arrived late, left early,
and was allowed a comfortable chair to ease his body and relieve some of the
visible signs of his Parkinson’s disease).
At half past one o’clock the rain was still falling and
the ten of us headed to a nearby parking garage where we had arranged, before
the Mass, to meet a service taxi van to take the ten of us home to Birzeit.
At the scheduled time of 1:45, there was no van.
Nor did it appear in the subsequent half hour.
Growing desperate, we begged the kindness of a group of Catholic Italian
pilgrims with a heated, half full tourist bus.
Showing a true spirit of Christmas, the boisterous pilgrims were happy to
let us on and give us a complimentary ride to Jerusalem where we might find
another taxi. As we boarded, they
greeted us with glad Italian tidings and wishes for a happy new year.
But as welcome as the first eight of us were, Yousif and Ahmad were not
so fortunate. Apologetically but
firmly, the tour guide expressed her wariness about taking Palestinians through
the checkpoint, as the tour bus was granted an exception to pass through the
soldier’s station on the road to Jerusalem.
Realistically, she might be liable if the IDF troops caught us, but we
were understandably upset. Yousif
begged us not to give up our warm seats, as the two of them found a group of
friends from Ramallah who had arranged for a taxi to pick them up at 4:00.
So we parted with our friends, passed through the checkpoint unmolested,
and were cordially dropped off in front of the Damascus Gate of the Old City.
There we found a taxi to Birzeit at less than half the quoted fare of the
absent-minded Bethlehem service. As
I lay down in my bed the clock beeped four o’clock and I hoped the Christmas
miracle that got us home was now visiting Yousif and Ahmad.
I can’t recall a Christmas morning on which I awoke just a few moments before it became Christmas afternoon. My flatmate Ben and I spent the bulk of the day cooking our contribution to the big feast planned at the home of our friend Ingie. Just before sunset we set out for her home, passing on the street a number of Palestinian children showing off their Christmas presents as their parents called them home to dinner. With hugs and smiles we greeted each other – the dozen or so of us students who stayed in Birzeit for the holidays. We sang a few carols as the blessed food made its way in great quantities to the kitchen table. Joined by a few Palestinians, including Trinity Math Professor Saber Elaydi and his niece Rula, we partook of a great meal and a time of special holiday fellowship. Yousif arrived after dinner with his family to let us know that he and Ahmad made it home from Bethlehem without incident. Late into the night we sat in Ingie’s living room, telling Christmas stories of our pasts and singing carols as fast as Ben could learn to play them on his guitar. Christmas went on as long as we could make it last, as though none of us wanted to lose the spirit of camaraderie and perseverance we’d found in a such a holiday in Palestine.