December 25th – Christmas Day. Nothing much happened in the Holy Land, except an uneventful march for peace in the Palestinian village of Beit Sahour.
Beit Sahur is a small town (13,000 inhabitants) about 5 kilometers south of Jerusalem, just past its more famous neighbor, the city of Bethlehem – both in areas occupied by Israel. But Beit Sahur has its own claims to fame. First, this is where town residents staged a courageous and long-lasting tax strike against Israel in defiance of the Israeli occupation (and paid a high price in the loss of valuable property as a result). More recently, Beit Sahur was in the news when Abdullah Salah, a young local, was shot by Israeli soldiers near the university where he was studying. Beit Sahur is also noteworthy because it is home to the Palestinian side of the Palestinian-Israeli organization Rapprochement, a group that for nine years has organized dialogues for peace. It is Rapprochement that organizes the annual Christmas march for peace in Beit Sahur, a Christian town.
We were a busload of Israelis who arrived in the ebbing afternoon sun, and were met by Beit Sahur residents now filling up the street at the entrance to town. There were some awkward moments with nothing more to say to each other than Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukka until the boys’ bagpipe band broke into its marching wail and the girls’ drum corps struck a smart tattoo. Unlit torches were passed out, and when one finally ignited, we all passed around the fire to each other in what felt like an ancient fire-sharing ritual.
The procession fell into place behind the band, and the Palestinians led with hand-made signs that read “Freedom of Worship in Holy Places” and “We also love Jerusalem”. The reference is to the fact that Palestinians who live outside Jerusalem in occupied areas are not allowed access to either the Temple Mount, holy to Muslims, or the Holy Sepulcher, holy to Christians, both in Jerusalem.
The long procession wound through the town and finally reached the Orthodox church. We were several thousand by then, most of the town and visitors, and we crammed into the outdoor courtyard of the church where we listened to words of greetings and peace, sipped a delicious bitter coffee, and ate traditional baklava, sweetening the words of the more long-winded speakers. By then it was nightfall and the small children were high in their parents’ arms, sticky faces in sweet dreamland upon broad shoulders.
The formal part of the evening over, the Israelis and Palestinians now boarded cars and the bus and drove to Bethlehem. About a kilometer from the Israeli army checkpoint at the border of the city, we began another procession, more spontaneous, this one moving slowly and solemnly toward the symbol of this conflict, the barricade. As we walked we linked arms, on my left to a young man from Bethlehem who had fallen in with the group, on my right to another Israeli woman, and she to a man from Beit Sahour. We walked silently, with dignity, blocking the traffic that followed behind us, intent on reaching the blockade, this creation of governments to keep people separated from each other and to keep themselves in power.
When we reached the blockade, the Israeli soldiers warned us not to advance. A spokesperson from Rapprochement declared in loud and simple words, “We are here to protest the closure that prevents Palestinians from entering Jerusalem. We will stand here for five minutes to express our protest and then we will leave.”
We stood for a minute and then someone started to sing “We Shall Overcome” in English. We sang every verse, including some that were created spontaneously, such as “We shall pray in Jerusalem”.
Then the Palestinians sang their anthem, and some rabbis in our group lit a Chanukah menorah and sang the Jewish prayers. The candles kept going out in the wind, but there were enough torches around to keep relighting them. Finally, someone said quietly “We want peace”, and it was taken up like a chant by everyone present, in a quiet, sustained refrain.
When five minutes had turned into thirty, we finally turned around and headed back to the buses. We felt elated by the events. It was dark and cold by then, and we were quite mixed up with each other and happy that we had done this together. “We want peace!” shouted someone at a car that was unclogging itself from the unforeseen jam. “We want pita!” shouted a young Palestinian youth, who looked as if he had already gone long enough without supper. We all laughed. “We want pizza!” he said, encouraged, and then everyone took up the call: “We want pita! We want pizza!” the shouts went round, and the laughter rang out in the cold night. And then a small voice said, “We want pee-pee,” which was almost too funny given the circumstances. And there were variations on those themes all the way back to the bus.
It was a fine way to spend Christmas and Hanukka. And Ramadan starts today. I hope you can join us next year.
