“Oh little town of Bethlehem…”
Jerusalem on a Saturday- the Sabbath or Shabbat is dead, as people spend time with their families. No restaurants or shops are open from sunset on Friday to sunset on Saturday. I decided to escape and visit Bethlehem for the day.
Bethlehem is situated just inside the West Bank meaning that it is within Palestinian occupied territory. Although most public buses in Jerusalem cease to run on Shabbat, the exception are the buses to the West Bank. I headed to Damascus Gate just outside the Muslim quarter of the old city walls where the Arab bus station is located which services the West Bank.
Due to Israeli law, freedom of movement around Israel is restricted for many Palestinians. Israeli checkpoints control entry and exit through the West Bank borders. In times of conflict the checkpoints are more stringent.
Today Bethlehem is home to a Muslim majority, although there are a handful of Palestinian Christians who still reside here. Those of the Jewish faith are not allowed into the Palestinian Territories in accordance with Israeli law. The roads leading to Bethlehem are lined with signs warning Israeli citizens not to continue onward. I needed to carry my passport to prove my British identity.
The bus passed through a checkpoint, but it wasn’t checked as we entered into Bethlehem. In fact at first I didn’t even realise we had entered Palestinian Territory!
A short walk from the bus stop brought me to reality as I stood face to face with a concrete monstrosity- the infamous separation wall dividing Israel and Palestine. It looks like the walls of a Prison and indeed for some it is just that. As I walked along the wall I was struck by the dramatic physical boundary that defines the ongoing conflict between Palestine and Israel, a barrier of oppression of the Palestinian people.
The wall has since become a status of resistance through art. Banksy a British street artist has painted political messages on the wall, joined by various other graffiti artists. I spent some time reading the messages and feeling the raw emotion as I stood gazing up at the wall, thankful that I could leave.
I was struck by the wall. This concrete divide. How can walling people in ever promote peaceful relations? What sort of solution is it?!
I headed to the walled off hotel opened by Banksy right by the wall itself. The hotel was opened to promote tourism to the West Bank and to raise awareness. It houses a gallery and museum and many of its rooms face the wall.
The hotel felt a little strange, actually it felt utterly bizarre. Which I guess is the point. The workers were dressed up like something from an old British movie. It was just so out of place.
Inside were more staff than customers. I ordered a gin cocktail and sat on a table outside feeling like an imposter. Yet another tourist who comes to snap a few pictures. I drank up and left.
I headed to the market square to hopefully buy some goods to benefit the local economy even just by a few shekels. After all the main economic sector here is tourism- mainly via organised day tours, particularly those coming on religious pilgrimages.
I walked along to the famous Church of the Nativity where it is said to be built on the site where Mary gave birth to Jesus, and en route bought some local chocolates from a shop and some Arabic coffee from a man selling drinks by the roadside. He charged two shekels. I gave him five and told him to keep the change. He refused and instead gave me a sample of all of the drinks he was selling, one a delicious sweet milky concoction which he said was honey.
Some people on the busy street said “welcome” as I passed and asked where I am from. Others barely batted an eyelid- to them I was just another tourist. Visiting for the day and then leaving. Something they can’t do. I wondered what they thought of my freedom- why is it I am allowed to pass in and out of the wall? What did I do to deserve it when they can’t? Why does holding a certain passport give us more or less rights than others? Taking away my freedom is my worst nightmare. I can’t imagine feeling trapped just because of the place I was born.
Visiting the West Bank felt a little like poverty tourism. That I was going just because I could. But I also wanted to show the Palestinian people that they haven’t been forgotten about. That by visiting, by seeing tourists, maybe it is a bit of normality for them. A slight boost to their economy. Also a feeling of solidarity- we aren’t scared.
I also wanted to go out of curiosity- to see what the other side of the border was like. The answer-on the other side there are people. Good people and bad people. People with worries, people with families, people with their own daily lives to focus on. People who are no different to me or to you but have been deemed a threat.
On the way back to Jerusalem the bus stopped at the checkpoint and all Arabs had to get off and show their identification and permits. Two Israeli soldiers climbed on board the bus holding huge guns to check our identity. “Passports out.” They didn’t even glance my way- I was clearly not the prototype they were checking. A man was hauled off this bus and interrogated as we waited. Regardless of the Israeli intention, it felt intimidating.
I returned to Jerusalem with mixed emotions. Overall visiting the West Bank was certainly an experience I will never forget.
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