Posted on 04/09/2025 7:41:09 AM PDT by Uncle Miltie
It was roughly halfway through the War in Gaza, and shortly before killing of Sinwar, that I found myself in Israel. I went there to “see for myself” as much as I could. I spent three weeks traipsing up and down that small stretch of land (Israel is about the size of Wales): from Acre to Eilat and Jerusalem to Gaza. My time in Israel is its own piece. The Israelis deserve their Ode and that will come in time. Instead, I will focus on a brief episode: my trip to Bethlehem.
I knew that when I returned to Britain, there would be those that would say “Yes, you saw Israel and how wonderful and prosperous it is. You saw what “they” wanted you to see. You didn’t see the suffering and the oppression of the Palestinian people. “They” won’t let you see that.” Such people could have been hypothetically right. Had I only visited Israel, I would have had no way to refute such a claim. Though their claim too has no personal testament other than their compassionate capture, I would have had no experience in which to tackle their heckles. They would remain, self-assuredly right. I told myself “I owed it to the Israelis” to truly see the state of the Palestinians and act as a witness to whatever that reality may be. As with so many of our actions and decisions, we like to dress them up in neat and noble bowties. After three weeks with the Israelis, I felt like I owed them something. They are an incredible people, Truly, and their presentation in the West is so far off the mark, it really does beg the question “Why?” But if I am to be truthful here, I went to see the Palestinians for myself.
Sometimes there is a reckless whisper, a slight suggestion from the abyss of the mind. Where it comes from, I do not know. Most people dismiss such nudges as preposterous proposals; and by the time they’re 40, they have fallen into such docile habit that these spontaneous sparks have all but diminished. At least I think so when I look at 40-year-olds (most of them). Alternatively, there are those that succumb to these wild meanderings at every whim, without restraint. Such people rarely make it to 40, having forfeited their sanity and sometimes their life. The gentle urge to visit “Palestine” was there before I landed in Israel. Whether it was adventurous curiosity or reckless vanity, I do not know.
I feel like I should provide some outline regarding the political situation in Bethlehem and the West Bank for those that are unfamiliar. Brace yourself for simple and tedious exposition.
Bethlehem is within the Palestinian territories of the West Bank and completely controlled by the Palestinian Authority (PA), the government of these territories. The PA itself is a coalition of different political parties often referred to as the Palestinian Liberation Organisation (PLO) with Fatah being the main party in charge of this coalition. The leader of this party is currently Mahmoud Abbas but its founder was the most famous of the Palestinians: Yasser Arafat (or “stinky-breath” Arafat, as Fallaci referred to him as).
The West Bank itself can be generally summarised into 3 types of zones. There are the Israeli settlements. These are communities established by the Jews and funded by the Israeli government to reclaim their land (as they see it). The mention of the settlements in the Western nations is always done as if to besmirch the Israelis; even those that support Israel often recede from defending such a policy. As if the settlements are de facto sins of the Israeli state. I too was in this mindset, not through conscious thought but rather from the habit of only hearing “settlements” as a slur. Which was why I was surprised to find that discussion of the settlements in Israel triggered no instinctive flinch. There is no shame or doubt in the Israelis. They know who they are.
The second type of zone are the mixed zones, comprised of Palestinians and Israelis (mostly Jews) with the Israeli government/IDF overseeing the administration and security. Hebron falls into this category. I do not know the specifics of how these areas are controlled and what the daily life looks like. I imagine there is an evolving policy, and each area will have different regulations depending on the actions of the “community” there.
The final type of zone are the Palestinian territories. These are, as I have already mentioned, autonomous under the PA. It was during the Oslo Accords in the nineties that these territories were marked out and agreed upon. The implicit capital being Ramallah (as the Palestinians still claim Jerusalem as their official capital). Though when you listen to the Israeli and Palestinian narratives, both have completely different accounts of what the Oslo Accords were, what happened, and what was actually agreed. History is a flippant mistress in the hands of the possessed.
Enough exposition, back to the tale…
It was my intention from the beginning to make it to Bethlehem, in part for the pilgrimage to the Church of the Nativity, but primarily to see the state of the Palestinians and hear from their own mouths what they believe. Journalists are spinsters.
However, from everything I had read and heard, it didn’t sound like it would be all too welcoming. The previous Christmas, the Israeli government had ceased all travel to Bethlehem for fear of a terrorist attack (of course the journalists spun it as another example of Israeli oppression against the Christians). Every Israeli Jew I spoke to was shocked and wary when I mentioned my intention. Understandably so, many Jews have been lynched in the Palestinian territories with the most famous case being that of the Ramallah lynching of Vadim Nurzhitz and Yosef Avrahami in 2000.
Two Israelis had accidentally taken a wrong turn in the West Bank and ended up at the Palestinian checkpoint to Ramallah. The Palestinian soldiers detained the two Israelis at the local police station. A crowd of Palestinians (attending a funeral I believe, how quaint) “broke” into the police station and murdered the two Israelis. One eager youth opened the windows upstairs and celebrated his glorious deed with his blood-dripping hands outspread to be photographed for the world - He’s dead now.
Actions like this are not a one off. It’s even dangerous catching a lift from Israeli Arabs as some harbour resentment for the state they live in and will all too happily drop unknowing Jews off in Arab neighbourhoods and let be done with them what will.
There was also the issue of the IDF. I was there doing some voluntary work for them and spent three weeks on military bases where I picked up a lot of “classified” details. I wasn’t sure the Israelis would be too happy letting me waltz into the West Bank, nor would the Palestinians be too happy to hear I had helped the Israeli war effort (by slim margins). Should keep that omitted - “I’m just a Christian tourist making his pilgrimage.”
I decided it was probably best to get a guide. As foolish as I am, I didn’t fancy navigating the Palestinian territories on my own with my pasty Nordic skin, my Arabic catalogue limited to “Salaam”, and a phone full of pictures in IDF regalia. A disaster waiting to happen.
Thankfully, I met an American Christian with a heart of Gold (a true Christian) who recommended some Israeli guide who had contact with the Palestinian Christians in Bethlehem. A friend of a friend of a friend. Very secure. What could go wrong? I messaged the Israeli guide, Jeremiah (Jerry), and asked about heading to Bethlehem and whether he could help sort it out. He was more than happy to, though I should say, I was to have a tour with him round Jerusalem beforehand. I, for my sake to see if he was “trustworthy” and as I realised after, he too for me.
Jerry also mentioned that he could get me to Ramallah, but I felt Bethlehem was risky enough for now. No need to push it. I asked what the situation would be when heading into Bethlehem through the checkpoints and Jerry said he wasn’t sure, but it shouldn’t be a problem. A lot had changed once the war in Gaza began and Palestinians were no longer allowed into Israeli territory unless they had special permits. I asked why he wasn’t sure about the situation entering Bethlehem and he replied that I was the first tourist all year to ask to go. It was Autumn. He hadn’t sent anyone for almost a year. Great.
Finally the episode starts with Jerry driving me out of Jerusalem, on a motorway down south alongside a concrete wall about 20ft tall. The wall being the “evidence” for the concentration camp that the Palestinians are trapped in. What was mental was the realisation of just how close the proximity between the Israelis and the Palestinians actually was. We’d been driving for less than 5 minutes out of Jerusalem’s Old Town and the Palestinian’s were basically on the doorstep. While we were driving, I opened conversation about the wall and asked why it was there. Jerry proceeded to describe the Second Intifada.
The Palestinians in their infinite wisdom had decided that the surest way to guarantee their “liberation” would be to launch an endless onslaught of suicide bombers against Israeli civilians. The brain washed jihadis had set up base in Bethlehem due to their legal jurisdiction over the town and its proximity to Jerusalem. From Bethlehem, the suicide bombers would pack themselves up in the night and make their way across the open plain between Bethlehem and a town called Gilo in Israel. As I’ve said, it’s mental realising the proximity of this sojourn as you can see Bethlehem driving down on the left, the plain beyond the wall, and then Gilo on the right. Can’t be more than an hour stroll. Anyway, the enlightened jihadi would then board one of the morning buses from Gilo into Jerusalem, wait for the bus to fill up for the morning rush, and then detonate. Killing everyone on board and any unfortunate soul happening to walk by. This went on between 2000 and 2005. Five years! Five years of not knowing if the bus you were on would be your last trip. Oh! And the jihadis would also place snipers in the hills on the border, picking off any civilian that happened to be walking out of their home (children included). Lovely people.
Jerry told me that he himself wouldn’t go near a bus during that time; and that if we had had more time in the day, he would’ve shown me some of the plaques dotted throughout Jerusalem in memory of the victims and where they were blown apart. I should also say, that Jerry himself discussed all this without any venom. It was all said: “as matter of fact”, though I could tell it was something he carried close to his heart, unwillingly. One of the reasons I love the Israelis so much. They have every reason to be vengeful and outraged, yet they still maintain their humanity despite it all (or maybe exactly to spite it).
Regardless, Jerry finished his outline of the Second Intifada by discussing a major operation carried out by the IDF throughout the Palestinian territories of the West Bank. They conducted thousands of simultaneous raids across the Jihadi network and extinguished the threat. In Bethlehem specifically, the jihadis took over the Church of the Nativity and claimed “sanctuary” there. The Palestinians presented this to the world as innocent Muslims being sheltered by their Christian counterparts while the IDF threatened to destroy this holy site in their murderous desire (I wouldn’t be surprised if the jihadis had rigged the whole church to blow). Even the Pope piped up calling for restraint on the IDF and an agreement to allow these poor Muslims safe passage to another country. Eventually an agreement was made and the Jihadis were allowed safe exit to neighbouring Islamic states like Jordan and Syria. God bless the Pope.
By the time Jerry finished discussing the second intifada, we had arrived at the “ominous” checkpoint. It was a series of toll booths spread out across the motorway with armed soldiers on each lane. We drove straight on through, barely slowing down and without any bother. Painless.
“So that’s it? We’re in Palestine now?”
“Not exactly. More of a no man’s land.”
In my mind, the borders between Isreal and Palestine were clear cut. In reality, the “borders” were blurry implications, as Jerry went on to demonstrate. We were technically no longer in Israel. The road was the same motorway we were driving on before and the “police” of this part were still IDF soldiers but both Israelis and Palestinians were roaming here. “Here” being a small cluster of roads just off the motorway. As we’re driving down the main road of this cluster, Jerry points out one of the roads turning right. I look down it and there’s nothing special about it. Same buildings, same neighbourhood, seemingly.
“That’s Palestine.” Jerry said.
What?! The mundanity of a street corner acting as the implicit border was jarring to say the least. Jerry continued, “So you can go down there, but it wouldn’t be safe for me as a Jew.”
“Seriously? Even with the IDF soldiers just parked across the way?”
“Oh yeah, they’re not allowed to intervene. I wouldn’t risk it”
“So where are we meeting this Palestinian Christian then if you can’t go in?”
“There’s a neutral spot out of the way on top of that mount. Pretty well sheltered.” Jerry indicated to some hill with radio towers atop. “That’s the meeting point.”
Oh great, we’re heading down some cul-de-sac that looks completely abandoned with blind turns all the way up. Almost a perfect scene for an ambush or a Mexican stand-off. As Seneca said though “We often suffer more in imagination than realty.” There was no ambush or death squad in wait. Just one car patiently waiting at the end. Jerry parked up on the other side of the street and called his contact. He muttered a few things to his contact on the phone and then some middle-aged guy got out of the other car waiting across the way. Jerry gestured for us to do the same and we ventured across the road. There Jerry introduced me to Peter; we shook hands, and Jerry left.
Now that I was closer to Peter, I realised he wasn’t middle-aged, just tired looking. His eyes drooping. He was probably in his late twenties, but life had aged him by another 15 years from a distance. Despite appearances, Peter was more than accommodating. His car was clean without the usual tit-tat people let build up over time. Its only personal touch was a bunch of rosary beads hanging from the rear-view mirror with an icon of the Virgin Mary. We set off from the hill and Peter explained the general itinerary of the “tour”.
First, we drove through the Palestinian checkpoint into Bethlehem. Yet another toll booth on a single-laned street. I half-expected the Palestinian soldier in the booth to come out and ask for ID at least but no. We drove on through. That’s it, I was now in Palestine: anxiety lulling in the background.
As we were driving, I noticed that there were a lot of Israeli number plates on about half the cars. I asked Peter about this, and he explained they were Israeli Arabs. They were free to travel between Israel and the PA territories. Israel because of their citizenship; and Palestine because they were ethnically Arab. Lucky them I guess.
I should say too, in my imagination, I had expected a dire shanty town with the population living in visible squalor. In actual fact, I was shocked to find none of this. The houses were of the same design you would find just across the way in Israel: spacious enough to be classed as a house. There were cars everywhere, a lot of them brand new or well maintained. The people on the streets had Iphones. This did not look like a refugee camp. I asked Peter about this, and he provided some context. The cars were on loans from the banks, the banks being happy to do so or else there’d be no industry. The phones were paid out of their own pocket and Israel provided the network and data for them to use, along with the infrastructure for the water supply and electricity. I wanted to ask what the PA had done for its citizens with its billions-dollar mountain top of donations (more money has been pumped into the Palestinian cause than West Germany received under the Marshall Plan), but I still wasn’t sure exactly who Peter was and where his loyalties lay. All he had been told was that I was a Christian tourist/pilgrim. I didn’t want to ask anything that could potentially trigger some dissension or suspicion. So I carried on as the tourist.
On the drive into Bethlehem, we passed a load of monasteries, all built by different sects; but each one looked completely abandoned. They were. Peter explained that Bethlehem used to be majority Christian. 87% in 1950 and still around 80% in 1990. Today, it was 8%. In 30 years, Bethlehem was no longer Christian. It was Islamic.
Everywhere you looked, women were veiled or had their hair covered at least, none of them without an escort. The shops were the usual Islamic mish mash of kebabs, corner shops and shisha bars. I spotted one pub/bar (styled like a Bavarian tavern) but the whole place was boarded up. Everywhere looked down-trodden with rubbish piling up on the streets without a care from any passer-by. There was a UN garbage truck passing through at one point. Another manipulation of the PA swindling more funds for what they should be doing themselves. When people spoke, all you could hear was the gargling phlegm of Arabic. Almost musical. Bethlehem was indistinguishable from Marrakesh or Islamabad. A shithole.
Truth be told, when passing through, what came to mind was how similar the place looked to Rusholme, Longsight and Cheetham Hill. For those unaware, these are towns in Manchester that are completely Muslim. Sadly, I think this says more about what is happening in Britain than Bethlehem… No, actually it’s the same thing, sadly.
I wanted to ask Peter so many questions. What happened to all those Christians? How do you feel about this? But I barely knew the guy, only 15 minutes, and wasn’t sure I’d get an honest answer if I did. I decided to hold off, for now.
We arrived at the security wall that marked the border between the two states. The Palestinians themselves have built right up to the wall, whereas the Israelis have a field of distance on theirs. Should highlight who really poses a threat if one can live directly under it and the other can’t. On the wall itself, graffiti art has been plastered all along it and to be fair, the quality of art is pretty good. The messages not so much. “We know too well that our freedom is incomplete without the freedom of the Palestinians. - Nelson Mandela” alongside a portrait of Morgan Freeman for some reason. Maybe all black people are the same for whoever the artist was.
There was also a portrait of that Palestinian “journalist” who was killed with the line “live news is still alive.” She certainly isn’t. And not exactly a heavy hitter that line, should probably go back to the drawing board. I did like the pickle rick mural though. Hats off to that one.
One of the more famous pieces is a Banksy piece just off the wall on the side of some hotel or something. Banksy himself owns a hotel here: “The Walled off Hotel” Honestly though, Banksy’s overrated. The piece is a dove with a flak jacket on and an olive branch in its mouth. There are the crosshairs of a scope over the dove’s heart. How moving and succinct!
Banksy is that group of (British) southerners who come from bank of mum and dad at uni and keep banging on about how poor the working class is and how it’s all the tories fault; meanwhile they hit the slopes in the alps during the winter and retire to their holiday home in the Cotswolds for the summer. Grounded and in touch with reality. Genuine people. All his political pieces make your eyes roll over.
So, we carried on towards Manger Square. The centre of Bethlehem and the Church of the Nativity. Even more kebab shops and shisha bars line the road running there. Brimming with culture this place. There was the exception of a knock-off starbucks, “Star & Bucks”; and across the street some Al-Qaeda styled KFC. Seems Islam isn’t wholly immune to American influence. I also noticed that almost every shop I looked into had a Palestinian flag in it and/or a portrait of Yasser Arafat. I asked Peter if Arafat is loved here because of all the icons and he simply says that “They have to” (show the portrait). He said no more, no less. Palestine’s Cult of Personality.
Peter parks the car up on the side of a cliff edge and we ascend some stair to the front of the Church. Outside are two Palestinian soldiers lazing about on some age-old brick. Question: “If Palestinians are comprised of multiple religions and they all get along (only the Israelis are the problem), why is the Holiest Church under guard?”
I’m being far too lenient with their effort at “guarding”. The two of them were giggling like kids over something on their phone. It was only their bedraggled combat uniform, and an AK slung over their soldiers that marked them as having any martial authority. If a mouse wanted that church, it’d have it. They were pathetic to the world until I approached.
As the whitest lad in Bethlehem, I stuck out like a sore thumb and instantly attracted their attention. They got up from their rock and began to advance, smiling through gritted teeth of contempt. They spoke in Arabic, in that fool’s friend tone, to obviously catch me out. I merely gave them that universal nod of greeting. Realising I was a foreigner at this point, their tone changed to one of demand and began pointing at me until Peter stepped in and explained something in Arabic, “He’s a Christian pilgrim from Britain” probably. At this, the false smiles returned. They sat back down. But one of them raised his phone and had the camera directly pointed at me. As I walked, it lenses followed. The soldier, seeing I was seeing him, attempted to conceal his intent by calling his friend to look at the screen as if there was some meme on it. But the awkward tracking angle was all too obvious. “Great! I’m gonna have some company when I leave this church. Best get some prayers in.”
The two holiest churches in the region were the Church of the Nativity (Jesus’ supposed birthplace) and the Church of the Holy Sepulchre (Jesus’ supposed crucifixion and resurrection), possibly the holiest sites to every Christian in the world. I had just visited the Holy Sepulchre earlier that day with Jerry and I’d like to mention it first so one can understand the contrast between the two.
The Holy Sepulchre is old. Seriously old. The Roman Emperor Constantine (yes the one who split the empire) initially founded the site and built the first official church. But since then, it has undergone multiple rebuilds after sieges and extensions for various sects. Apart from its Byzantine architecture on the main chambers, the church has multiple extensions for the various denominations of Christianity with each having its own chapel of sorts: for the Greek Orthodox, Catholics, Russian Orthodox, Armenians, Coptic Egyptians, Protestants… There’s even a chamber for the Syrian Christians off to one side but this is in complete disrepair. There are no Syrian Christians left (or at least no collective organisation in such few numbers). I wonder why… Spoiler alert: Islam.
When you enter, you can see the whole church is constantly under construction to maintain its “majesty”. Though of course, with so much scaffolding, this majesty is obscured. On top of this, the place is heaving with people. All queuing to kiss the idol of Jesus on the cavalry or silently pray in his tomb. Whichever you choose, all sense of spiritually is lost while you queue for your Disney ride and watch as grown men have psychotic breakdowns over a candle. Oh well, at least the building’s beautiful. Maybe I can find God somewhere in there.
In direct contrast to this, the Church of the Nativity was empty. Bar the exception of some Russian orthodox priest and a young woman in her 20s with a little girl running round, the place was silent. Even the pews were nowhere to be seen. If this place held a Sunday service, we’d be kneeling on the floor. The building itself was falling apart. A pitter patter of faded colour remained of what would’ve been glorious frescoes. Cracks ran up and down all over, as if the church had erupted leaving magma scars behind. Somewhere around the middle of the room was a huge dent in the floor with the tiles upturned.
Peter had begun his “tour” and was describing everything I could see and why what was. All the damage I could see had been sustained over the centuries from all the different invasions. The doors themselves into the church were so small and narrow that you had to duck to enter. It was specifically designed like this to make it easier to fight off against sieging soldiers. The exact identity of the invaders were never mentioned.
In fact, everything Peter said sounded as if he was reading from a script. Up to this point, Peter had remained quite taciturn on the drive in. He answered questions and pointed out the “tourist” spots, but he spoke without intention. Or rather direction would be a better word for his manner. It was all said simply and as if one line was to follow another. Without emotion. His sermon in the church laid this bare. We went down behind the altar to the “exact” spot in which Jesus was born. Peter knelt to give the basin a little rub and gestured that I could do the same. I did so out of etiquette but like the Holy Sepulchre, felt nothing. The emptiness of the church was just as jarring as the bustle of the Holy Sepulchre. We left the basement and went out a side door to some courtyard where the Catholic Church had built their own extension to the original building. This church being much more well maintained and clearly European in its style, yet still just as empty as the main building. At least this one had pews though.
We didn’t stay long and left the church through another door from the one we entered. I won’t lie, there was a degree of apprehension regarding the soldiers, but they had disappeared. I was simultaneously relieved and suspicious. This suspicion was only heightened when Peter told me to remain calm if anyone approached me. “Whatever they do, don’t become rude or aggressive: It’ll give them an excuse.” For what?
There was no interrogation on the brief walk over to Manger Square, but the reality of Bethlehem was laid abundantly clear. Across from the ruins of the Nativity was a spick and span mosque. All the signs in Arabic except one on the building to the right. It read “Bethlehem Peace Center”
“What’s that?”
“It’s the prison. The authorities felt that the word prison was a little too “violent” for a place like Bethlehem.”
“Peace Centre. Calling something foul - cute and innocent, sounds a little too Orwellian don’t you think?”
“Orwellian? What does that mean?”
“The book, 1984? The author, George Orwell?”
“Never heard of them.”
“Never mind then. Does the prison see much action? Is it particularly violent round here?”
“Oh no! There are no problems here. Anyone can walk around without being attacked or robbed. The prison is more or less empty.” Peter said this part aloud and followed it up in a quieter tone with “But you can get pulled in for a discussion.”
“A discussion? About what?”
“Oh just if there’s some confusion over paperwork or a civil dispute.” How brief and simple. A deflection? Yeah, possibly Orwellian.
While we’d been talking, some stranger had begun to edge closer over. He had a cart of Christian iconography for sale and was trying to initiate a conversation, blatantly to flog his tat for sale. I smiled and politely shook my head to insinuate “thanks but no thanks.” My mistake. The moment he’d garnered my attention he jumped on it straight away, rushing over enthusiastically and getting a little too close for comfort. In fact so close, he could’ve “hugged” me. I said no again and began to walk away but he quickly ran in front of me to obstruct my exit and continued to push wooden crosses in my face, babbling in broken English. I said no again and gently pushed the man aside (I should emphasise gently, really no cause for concern) but no, I had aggrieved his honour by touching him. Now he was shouting and aggressively demanding I purchase something to make up for my petulance. Pushing closer and closer into my personal space. Now I understood what Peter meant by “excuse”. Maybe he did just want to swindle me out of some money, but I wasn’t going to risk something more. I sternly told him no and shoulder barged past him. He froze in initial shock having not expected any retaliation giving me a short window to speed walk some distance (I wasn’t going to run). After a few seconds I turned back to see if I’d need to turn and stand. The man was baffled at first and fuming thereafter. Now he was shouting loud enough for the whole square to hear, catching glances from passersby. You’re probably wondering where Peter is so I should highlight, this had all happened in the span of seconds. Thankfully though, Peter was very diplomatic about it once it had erupted. He placed himself between me and the man, and very calmly but straightly told him no in prolonged Arabic. There was a bit of back and forth but eventually the man gave way and went off in a mood. Peter apologised for the scene, but I told him no, thank you. It could’ve gone very differently without him.
Peter went on to explain that a lot of the Muslims here would try to take advantage of the Christian tourists/pilgrims by pretending to be Christians themselves. They’d approach the tourists and pretend to be poor Christians to help sell off icons and make a quick quid; or they’d organise tours under a Christian aesthetic to attract more Christians, back before the war had kicked off. Peter also went on to explain the bureaucratic system in place that managed who could be a guide. In order to be a licensed guide, you had to take a history test once a year, this test being established by the Palestinian Authority (their history). You had to pay for this test and if you passed, you’d have your license. This explained why Peter sounded like he was reading a script at times: he was.
Before the war in Gaza, there were still a fair few tourists and pilgrims making it over to Bethlehem. This tourism made up about 80% of the economy in Bethlehem. When the war kicked off, this income completely stopped. For obvious reasons, there weren’t many tourists in Israel at this time, let alone Bethlehem. With 80% of its income cut off, the people in Bethlehem were really struggling, the Christian minority more so than the rest, as Peter would go on to explain. But before that, we had one last stop.
Down the hill and across from the “Peace Center” was an ice cream parlour. We went in and were greeted by two young people, a guy and a girl behind the counter. Peter seemed to know them because he went over and started a seemingly friendly conversation in Arabic. The girl was the first girl I’d seen (besides the two in the church) that wasn’t covered head to toe in black garment. She was wearing jeans and a generic t-shirt. Something you wouldn’t bat an eyelid over just 10 minutes down the road in Israel but here in Bethlehem, it was at odds with the world around it. She caught my eye and smiled without any of that snivelling venom that had accompanied her fellows on the Square. As did the fella beside her. Genuine everyday people.
Once Peter had finished talking to them, he took me out on to some balcony where there was what I can only describe as a golf cart with some oversized glass shield stretching over its front. Peter was looking at me as if I should be impressed. When he realised I wasn’t, he indicated to some plaque and information board detailing how it was the Pope’s cart when he had visited Bethlehem back in 2014. He’d left the cart behind as a “gift.” Such a generous Saint.
Accompanying the information were pictures of his parade with thousands in the crowd. Look everybody! Look how diverse the Palestinian people are! Even the pope can visit here without being attacked (the glass on the cart was bulletproof!) It’s only the Israelis who harbour hate in their hearts and ruin our peaceful relations as a multi-cultural society. Well, I looked at the photos and looked around Bethlehem. I don’t know who those people were photographed in the crowd, but they certainly weren’t in Bethlehem any longer.
So that was it. The tour was over, we got back in the car and headed out of Bethlehem. At this point, I knew there was something foul in the town but Peter hadn’t said anything explicit and I was still wasn’t sure how much freedom I had with my curiosity. I tried to beat around the bush with my questioning. “Do you like it here?” Very smooth Jonah. Nothing strange about asking that out of thin air.
“What do you mean?” Peter’s face rightfully quizzical.
“Is life good here? Is it safe?” Peter was no fool and clocked on immediately.
“Look kid, just ask me straight questions and I’ll give you straight answers.” From the comfortable walls of his car.
“Okay. Would you rather live in this Palestinian state or an Israeli state?”
“Oh! An Israeli state!” There was no hesitation or thought process. I awaited his reasons why but he didn’t say anything for a few seconds and it became clear he wouldn’t unless I asked.
“Why?”
“In Israel, everybody is equal. Jews, Christians, Muslims… Everyone has the same rights, the same government welfare, the same opportunities, we’re all equal in the law. You’ve seen it over there. If you’re a Muslim born there, you get Israeli citizenship and have all the rights and benefits that come with it, even if you are raised to hate the state.”
“You don’t have the same rights here?” I asked this assuming his argument would follow the lines of how Israel discriminates against those of Palestinian status and if he was legally Israeli, this wasn’t the case. No, he had something else to say.
“I’m born here. I have Palestinian citizenship but have very little. The Muslims run everything. The government, the police, the charities… As a Christian, I have no access to welfare from the authority.” I should point out for those unaware, the PA runs a “pay-for-slay” scheme. If you kill a Jew, doesn’t have to be anyone specific like a soldier, just so long as they’re a Jew, you will receive a state pension. If you die in the murder (suicide bomber), you’ll be titled a “martyr”, and your family will receive the pension with honours in the community. Have I already mentioned how lovely the Palestinian people are?
Peter went on “The Muslims own all the businesses. They won’t hire a Christian. The Muslims own all the property. They won’t rent or sell to Christians. The Charities are organised by the Muslims. They just rob the money for themselves. Life here is very difficult financially. And because of the war, all the tourists have stopped. Our only income has been cut off.”
“What about walking the streets? Is it safe for you to walk around unabused?”
“Oh yeah, that’s no problem for me. There’s no violence here in Bethlehem.”
“Even at night?”
Peter could see I was probing, and he nipped my speculation in the bud. “It’s perfectly safe here. None of us are physically attacked.”
“What about Ramallah? Is it safe there too?” I was thinking whether or not I could have gone in the end.
“Yeah, same as here.”
“So it would’ve been safe for me to go?”
“Of course. Do you want to go?”
“I wanted to, but I don’t have the time. Leaving tomorrow. But it genuinely would’ve been safe to go?”
“Yes.”
“Even if I’m Jewish.”
At this, Peter adopted a more serious manner. “Don’t tell anyone that.”
“Oh don’t worry I’m not Jewish-”
“Still, don’t tell anyone or mention it. Some people might not be happy to hear it and will see what they want to see.”
“So if I was Jewish, I couldn’t come here.”
“You can, just don’t tell anyone and you’ll be fine.” He still thought I was partly Jewish.
“But if someone found out, what would happen?”
“You wouldn’t be going home tomorrow.” He left it at that.
There was a brief pause in the conversation as I digested what he had said and tried to figure out what to ask next. We drove on in silence past the same kebab shops and shisha bars littered within the Islamic world. “Do you have any problem with the Israelis? What’s the general attitude towards them?”
“We have no problem with the Israelis. When there isn’t a war. Relations are good and we work together.”
“Who’s we?”
“The Christian community here.”
“But the Muslims? What do they think?”
Peter smiled to himself as if the answer were an inside joke “The Muslims are of a different mind.” Again, no more, no less.
Another brief pause. “You said the population here used to be 80% Christian, what happened to them? Were they killed?”
“No, no, they just left.”
“Why?”
“Life here is very hard. As I have already said. Also, during the Intifada, it was very violent and not safe. Many left. More Muslims came, life became harder, more Christians leave.” The vicious death spiral of Islamisation.
“Where did the Christians go?” As much as I love Israel, I knew they wouldn’t have taken them in for security reasons.
“Mostly to Europe. Some to the US. Life is much safer over there and it pays a lot more than here. Some send money back to their families. Eventually they settle and stay permanently.”
“I thought as Palestinians you couldn’t leave legally. You don’t have documentation.”
“No, we can leave. We have identity documents. It’s like immigrating to any country. There’s a lot of paperwork and different policies, but you can do it.” Puff! There goes the Palestinian bullshit on being stateless refugees with no way to leave.
“Will you ever leave?”
“No. This is my home. I will not give it up.” On this, Peter sounded just like the Palestinians, the Israelis, or any other human being.
We passed the same Palestinian checkpoint we came in from and went back up the radio hill. Jerry was waiting. Him and Peter passed off pleasantries before I said goodbye to Peter and got in the car with Jerry to head back into Israel.
“So how was it?”
“The Palestinians…” I was reluctant to say it out loud because of how obtuse reality sounded. I said it anyway. “They’re just another Islamic State aren’t they?”
“Yes” Though he said it with no joy.
We approached the Israeli checkpoint. Jerry told me to have my passport ready but there was no stopping. They waved us on through. I was shocked at the ease of it until Jerry explained that they had profiled us going in and out via the cameras. Happy days. I’m on the Israeli database now.
“So we’re back in Israel in now?”
“We’re back in Israel.”
I let out a triumphant cheer. Half in jest, half in earnest.
“You know it’s funny you should do that. Before the war, when I used to take group trips to Bethlehem on the coach, everyone would have the same reaction. Clapping and cheering as we made it back into Israel.”
I didn’t have trouble believing it. The truth is that Palestine is not some peace loving multi-cultural society. It’s an Islamic State. Which is great if you’re a taliban twat; but if you’re Jewish, Christian, a woman, gay, apostate, infidel, some other denomination, or just an average Brit looking for a decent pint, then it is literally hell on earth.
It’s time to stop pretending and projecting otherwise.
Oooooo a bit too spicy that ending so I’ll leave you with some afterthoughts. The following Christmas of 2024, Sky News (UK) did a video report on the plight of the Palestinian Christians in Bethlehem (
). As per, the whole report frames the problem for Palestinian Christians as an Israeli occupation. Some “Palestinian Christian” comes on bemoaning the loss of her land to the Israelis. It’s all their fault. Of course, the Palestinian Christians are also praying for the poor Gazans suffering under Israeli genocide. One “theologian” has the audacity to term Jesus as a “Palestinian” and draw parallels of how he too suffered under a “genocide”. Jesus was a Jew in case you didn’t know, and the term Palestine didn’t even exist back then. The land was called Judea. The main piece of “evidence” for an Israeli occupation is the wall erected on the border. The reporter fails to mention the endless slew of suicide bombers sent over during the second intifada. That might help contextualise the necessity of it. At one point the Latin Patriarch of Jerusalem rocks up in a BMW, waving for the cameras, spewing the usual wordly mish mash of peace before heading back to Israel for his worldly comforts. What a hero! There’s also some orthodox Jew seemingly kicking off with the IDF soldiers who go on to detain him. The reporter frames this as a “protest”. The Jews are so despicable that they harass Christians preaching peace.
Throughout the whole piece, I’m waiting for Peter to appear. He never does. Interestingly, if you go back and watch other news channels cover “The Palestinian Christians in Bethlehem”, always accompanied with the phrase “Palestinian”, as if the two were inseparable; you’ll notice that every report is reading the exact same script. Even those from 13 years ago. Occupation. Genocide. Free Palestine. Never at any point do the reports disclose that Bethlehem is controlled by the Palestinian government. There are no Israelis there. Never does it ever discuss the demographics of Bethlehem or if it does, it’s the fault of the Israelis and their violence against Christians. The crimes of the Palestinians are always omitted. No wonder the West is so confused over what’s happening there. Our own media outlets are marching to the beat of rotten and seething drum.
I should make some last remarks and disclaimers. Is what I have written here the definitive article on the Palestinians? No. Of course not. I was only in Bethlehem for a couple of hours. I only spoke seriously with one Christian; I didn’t get the chance to speak openly and seriously with any Muslim there. I only visited Bethlehem, the situation in towns like Hebron and Jericho are radically different (so I’ve heard). I didn’t visit any of the Israeli settlements over there (though I was offered the opportunity, just didn’t have the time). There were women driving cars on their own with no male escort accompanying them within. There was one corner shop with a fridge full of alcoholic bottles and spirits. Most people were unphased by my presence. They had their lives to be getting on with, as is the case in all totalitarian states. But is the Palestinian State Islamic? Yes, obviously so. And for that, it is worth so much less than Israel, in terms of economic opportunity, cultural behaviour and personal freedoms. The Islamic State of Palestine is ethically less than its Western Jewish neighbour. This I can say without a doubt.
He finally leaves Jerusalem in about the 12th paragraph.
He’s a young guy and a newish writer. He’ll probably follow along whatever (ahem) “notes” come his way.
Very interesting. Thanks for posting.
I went there in ‘98.
I don’t need to go back to Bethlehem.
I DO want to go back to Israel!
Interesting. Thanks for posting.
This is very enlightening.
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