Winding through the outskirts of Jerusalem, the road to Bethlehem passes modern neighborhoods packed with concrete apartment buildings and flat-roofed houses. A relentless desert sun accentuates their angular shapes. Gnarly olive trees, tobacco and grapevines grow on limestone-rimmed terraces climbing from the valley to nearby hilltops. Despite the arid climate, they thrive. All appears tidy, prosperous, well-maintained — and safe.
At the border isolating Palestinian Bethlehem from Israel, the serene setting surrenders to tension. The tour bus inches forward as guards question passengers in the cars ahead. Then the driver activates the hydraulic door, breaking the seal of our cocoon-like shelter. After a brief exchange, the guard waves us through. Apparently, tour buses face mere formalities. Bethlehem residents who wish to exit the city, however, can only do so with an Israeli work permit. And they must leave their vehicles at the border.
The first view of Bethlehem's streets clashes with the idyllic image I envision when singing the Christmas carol "O' Little Town of Bethlehem." Dilapidated buildings line the entrance into the city. Crumbling plaster, dangling shutters and shattered windows cry for repair.
Before scaling the hills to the town center, our bus stops at Good Shepherd's Store. Body-slicing concertina wire tops the parking lot's tall cyclone fence. Is this barrier designed to keep out thieves or terrorist attacks on tourists? Inside, wall-to-wall counters and shelves display delicately carved, olive wood nativity scenes and Christmas ornaments.
Encountering Christian Arab sales clerks takes me by surprise. It only makes sense, of course, that Christians sell Christian items. But the endless barrage of news reports about unrest between Israelis and Palestinians — generally categorized as Jews and Muslims — has left me numb to the fact that Christians also live in this land of Jesus' birth. In fact, about 20 percent of the area's Arab population is Christian.
Although the store's polished pieces are expensive, their Bethlehem origin makes them hard to resist. I purchase an exquisite, olive wood angel.
Shopping done, we reboard the motor coach to see the city's main attraction, the nativity site. With each upward curve of the serpentine street, the condition of shops and houses improves. The route opens onto Manger Square, an asphalt field throbbing with tour buses, street vendors and travelers from throughout the world.
Visitors stream into the dark, cavernous interior of the Church of the Nativity. With stone block walls and crenellated roof, the huge structure resembles a medieval castle and comprises three churches — Armenian Orthodox, Greek Orthodox and Roman Catholic.
The wood ceiling of the Greek Orthodox nave soars to a point. Walls bear designs of flowers, pomegranates and grapes. Scarcely discernible, faded paintings of the apostles grace the pillars. Open, hinged doors framed in the wooden floor reveal lovely Constantinian mosaics underneath.
For most visitors, this voluminous nave is merely a passageway hastily noted en route to Jesus' birthplace — a cave. All these years I have envisioned Joseph, Mary and baby Jesus in a hay-lined, wood stable filled with lowing cattle. I can't remember ever seeing a nativity scene in a rock setting. In this land of honeycombed limestone hills, though, inhabitants for centuries used grottos for living quarters, storage and pens. So, instead of a wooden structure, the stable in which Christ was born may have indeed been a cave.
As early as the third century AD, this site was designated Jesus' birthplace. Emperor Constantine built a basilica with its altar centered over the grotto in the early 4th century. About 200 years later, Emperor Justinian erected the current basilica over the ruins of the earlier one.
Stone steps lead into the nativity site. Shaped like the Star of Bethlehem, an opening in the floor marks the site where Mary gave birth to Jesus. Visitors cram the entrance. While some peer in for a quick glimpse, most of them patiently wait for a private moment in the room.
The grotto's ambiance shifts from sacred to touristy, depending on the individuals inside. One minute, a smiling woman poses like a beauty queen in front of the star-shaped opening for the photo she'll show folks back home. The next minute, a believer prayerfully kneels on the stone floor and holds a religious relic over the aperture to be blessed. Whether tourist or pilgrim, visitors recognize the birthplace's historic significance.
As I approach the nativity site, my religious upbringing pulses through my veins, filling me with awe and reverence. I kneel on the cold marble slab. As I hold my delicate, olive wood angel over the star-shaped opening, I find myself praying for peace in this tumultuous world. This solemn moment bathes me with hope. Then I rise and squeeze through the crowded doorway.
A passage leads from the Greek Orthodox nave into St. Catherine's, the Roman Catholic section of the church, where a priest is conducting a mass. The cream walls and burnished pews gleam. On Christmas Eve, hundreds fill this sanctuary to celebrate midnight mass. Outside, thousands of pilgrims bearing lit candles brighten Manger Square.
A covered, colonnaded walkway that borders a peaceful courtyard leads from St. Catherine's sanctuary to a street exit. The buzz of activity outside the Church of the Nativity's hallowed walls jars me. Postcard and trinket vendors swarm over tourists as they pour in and out of exhaust-spewing buses. Loud speakers blare chants from the Mosque of Omar. Wearing bright red berets, armed Palestinian soldiers patrol the plaza.
As the motor coach crosses the border into Jerusalem, I glance backwards at the hilltop city studded with Muslim minarets and Christian steeples. From this distance, the view of Bethlehem belies reality: "O' little town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie."
FOR MORE INFORMATION:
For general information, call the Israel Government Tourist Office's toll-free number, 1-888-77-ISRAEL, write to 800 Second Avenue, 16th Floor, New York, NY 10017, or visit www.goisrael.com.
