We took a city bus to Bethlehem. Feeling very local until we saw actual locals disembark before the armed wall, walk down the side of a hill, to a road without waiting transport. Suddenly we were tourists again; staying on the bus until the corner shop within walking distance of Bethlehem center. Thankful for our American, Dutch, and German passports.
A taxi driver haunted us for a few blocks. Hollering helpful hints we weren’t ready to consider, as we gulped cold water and trudged past a seemingly gated-community - catching glimpses of astonishing views when we happened across an open gate.
The congested roads left little room for my American hips and the people and produce lining the streets reminded me of the Old City without a roof.
Wrapping thin bits of material around our too-bare legs, we stood in awe over the star, marking the spot where once lay a babe in a manager. Overwhelmed with the importance of the place.
And then, parting from the group, we walked about a closing city, in hopes of finding a view. Only to find, instead, a welcoming family – who took us home, fed us Watermelon, Arabic Coffee, and conversation on what it means to be Palestinian.
“The Wall is all they know.”
“We have three days to fill our tanks, then 20 days with no water.”
“My daughter married a man from Jerusalem and lives there with her children. Every year she reapplies for her papers to stay. Every year she doesn’t know if she will have to leave her children and return to this side of the Wall.”
We hiked back through the city at dusk with new friends. Sharing laughter and shawarma. Chatting with olive wood artists and struggling to hold the largest olive wood carved baby Jesus (currently being reviewed by the Guinness book of world records).
And then we saw it.
The Wall.
And suddenly, everything we had just been told felt very real.
We stood, so very small, next to its terrifyingly impressive size. Spray painted messages of hope, anger, satire, and every other emotion besides acceptance adorned this side. And we stood there. Taking pictures. Unsure what one should do in the face of such oppression, fear, and reality.
So we did the only thing we could - traipsed through the check point. Stopping only for a wee joke about a rainbow flag and one’s sexuality.
The beers we drank as we walked the empty streets back toward Jerusalem refreshed more than our thirsty throats, but our soul. Serving as a reminder of the daily freedoms we enjoy. The limitless access within our own, and most other, countries.
It was the consensus that Bethlehem is filled with magic. It holds the place of the world’s most important birth. It’s filled with resilient people that despite all the restrictions forced upon them, still open their homes to strangers. A place where people encourage tourists to spray paint a message on a wall that means more to them then we could ever comprehend. A place where the people most hope for kindness and understanding.
There is magic in those narrow streets. And for a moment, that magic touched us. Assuredly in different ways, but it wiggled its way into all our hearts and changed more than just our perspective. We took that magic back with us. To Jerusalem. To America. Home.
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