Our Man in Tel-Aviv, Sylvain Ubersfeld, is moving back to France.  This is his last column from Israel.  Here, a visit to Bethlehem, and a matter of compassion and common decency.

Bethlehem is a medium-size Arab town located just on the border with Jerusalem.  The translation of the city’s name, both in Arabic and Hebrew (the two languages are very similar) literally means "The House of the Bread." - Sylvain

That particular day, I was indeed looking for Jesus. I can already anticipate your first reaction – the man has gone crazy, he’s been hit by the Jerusalem syndrome (*), poor man, pretty soon he will become a missionary, one of these devout Christian spending his days threatening people here and there about the Judgment to come on the "last day" and asking for repentance in the name of the Lord while walking in leather sandals in the neighborhood of the Holy City.

You couldn't be more wrong.  I was indeed simply looking for the church of Nativity… in Bethlehem.

Why would one come to Israel unless one is Jewish and wants to get in touch with the land of one’s ancestry, either in a deluxe hotel at four hundred dollars per night or in a backpacker’s place (price unknown, but there could be some surprises, as Israelis believe that all the holders of a American passport are all related, even if remotely, to the Rockefeller family, not so say to the Rothschild family, the same who has an entire avenue in its name in Tel-Aviv).

Why on earth would one come to Israel in these days of political agitation and uncertainty?  Would it be mostly for the beaches, for the Carmel market, for the Humus and Pitah bread, for some unfinished business needing to be closed-up with the Russian mafia?

No sir.  Besides the Jewish tourists daring to come to the Promised Land, there are still plenty of Christian visitors of all denominations coming to the Holy Land for… pilgrimage. The routine trip calls for a visit in Jerusalem and the tomb of Christ, located in the Holy Sepulcher, guarded day and night by Greek orthodox monks with their funny little hats reminding you of a chimney top. When travelling from any point of the country towards Jerusalem, one will find plenty of road signs indicating the Holy City, which is at the same time the country’s capital and the beating heart of Judaism since the days of the Bible. For the Christians, Yeshoua, Christ, the Son of God, is said to have died there and of course, in secret dead end streets, one will find on sale, for sure, some bits of the "True Cross," some remnants of the robe which belonged to "The" Roman soldier who gave Christ some bitter liquid on a sponge, and possibly several handkerchiefs used by Mary his mother to wipe her tears seeing her only child being put to death the Roman way.  Of course, you will be eligible to buy these "original artifacts" only if you are gullible, rich or a seasoned mysticist. Believe me, you will need plenty of hard earned cash – real antiques cost money, we all know, and the shopkeepers of the Temple have had their descendants setting up business just like their ancestors did in the days of Jesus.

Unfortunately, Jerusalem and the Old City sell much better than Bethlehem, where Christ was born between a donkey and an Ox, in the times of King Herodius. However, visiting the Holy Sepulcher time and again, I have found the place desecrated by too many tourists taking pictures, laughing, being overall unruly, whilst in the Bethlehem basilica, the place where it all started up, silence is the rule, only broken by Greek Orthodox litanies when times comes to spread the Holy Smoke around the church and on the very place where Jesus is said to be born. When the time indeed comes for the Holy Smoke to be spread around, time stops, leaving everyone to concentrate on one’s most inner thoughts. 

I strongly suspect that when Joseph and Mary looked for a place to sleep after being shunted away from a local travelers place in Jerusalem, they probably found an easier way to get to Bethlehem than I did when I attempted the trip there.  Thirty-three years before dying of a tragic death, Christ was born just a couple of miles away from the place where he would meet his fate.  But today there are no prominent directions or road signs indicating that particular landmark of Christianity. 

So let’s go and find the crib. Where is it? Ah, Bethlehem?   Well, it should be somewhere not so far from Jerusalem, correct?  No signs in English, not a single sign to find one’s direction when coming from Tel-Aviv, or from Beer Shevah. Not a single road sign when exiting Jerusalem. Short of being guided by the enlightening star or being inspired by the memory of the three wise men, one has to guess one’s way.

Why aren't there any roads signs anywhere indicating the sanctuary of Nativity?  The place where the prophet of the second largest religion was born is not indicated in any way as a focal tourist point?  I would not know.  Is this because Bethlehem lies in the "territories" – or is it rather because no one would wander in Bethlehem without a proper guide and some security people? If that is the case, of course who should worry about finding any kind of directions?  Could it be also because there is nothing so special there, or more simply because it is an Arab town?

Bethlehem, the house of the bread, is located beyond the separation fence (note A) over which mirador-like structures remind the traveler that one is entering a different world where suspicion is the rule and friendship with the "other side" a near criminal offense.

The outskirts of Bethlehem are behind the separation fence. [Text continues below the photograph]

Entering the city, either way, when coming from the "Israeli side," is like leaving the 21st century and returning to the early days in Palestine. Bethlehem is a derelict city. No money, hardly any jobs, dirt, dust, garbage, and, as anywhere else in the world, the screaming of your Palestinian kids getting out of school when the times comes. When entering Bethlehem, a very small sign indicates the "Church of Nativity" – located across the Manger square, the only very limited space in Bethlehem which will see tourists, pouring out of busses and entering the holy place where Christ was born, while trying to evade locals selling postcards, crosses and medals of all kinds. Whoever does not wear prescription glasses will NOT see the sign.  (I do wear glasses, I was lucky enough to see it but nevertheless got lost before finding Manger square, and in daylight of course the wise men's star is not visible.)

The old border post between Bethlehem and Jerusalem [Text continues below the photograph] 

Beside the area directly surrounding the basilica, Bethlehem looks like any other Arabic town. There are donkeys living their donkey life, pipe-smokers gazing towards a better future, shop after shop on the main access road selling decapitated lamb, goat meat, tires, refrigerators, plastic kitchenware made in China – under the baking sun of the middle east and in an atmosphere of extreme poverty, desperation and fatalism.

And there is Ahmad the ironsmith.

My better half has insisted that we should stop and ask him how much he would charge for a wrought iron door for our new house in France, the something "oriental" she wants. And here we go, pen and paper, a few words in Arabic (my mother was born in Egypt) some in English. I draw the ideal oriental door which will be probably the most unique artwork of its kind to be found in my little village back in France. Ahmad the ironsmith smiles because he has an order to work on and a few greenbacks in his pocket (see note M below).  Ahmad is a Palestinian with many children (ten!). One of them works with him.  His name is Hamdi.  Some people would say "He does not look like an Arab” and I would reply – "What does an Arab look like, usually? Does he look like a Jew? They are cousins after all, correct?"  Ahmad is happy today. He has a customer. His derelict shop, housed in an unfinished concrete structure, smells of hot iron, charcoal, and dust.

Ahmad's children include two unmarried daughters.  They wear the veil, but also denims and fashionable shoes, as they try to stay "in the century – although they are being brought up in a very patriarchal society in which women are definitely not a blessing and certainly just good enough to make babies and prepare meals.

Ahmad has also a wife. She smiles but will not shake hands with me. I am a foreigner, but also a male, and shaking hands with a male is just not done in Bethlehem when one is a woman.

As we hesitantly strike up conversation with Ahmad he starts telling us of his life, which is not very good. No one ever comes this part of Bethlehem. The municipality has no money. Cops are corrupt and the government does not do anything to help shopkeepers, and there is "the situation" – the conflict which prevents business to grow, the conflict which gives a bad image of the Palestinian people, the conflict which little by little eats away the economy and kills the desire to live. While three kilometers away an entire country experiences an incredible growth rate, Bethlehem suffers from economic regression and instability in the light of the political situation. I tell Ahmad in Arabic – "ana franssaoui, I am French" and he answers "Ziddane, Ziddane" (**). Ahmad says he has been to France once to visit some distant member of his large family.  We shake hands. My wrought iron door will be ready in three week’s time, and will cost one third of what I would have paid for it if I had it handmade in Jaffa or in Tel-Aviv – and I happily drive away and return to "civilization," the other side of the fence guarded by the Israeli Defense Forces.

Three weeks later, I return to Ahmad shop. It is closed.  The iron curtain is down and I see Ahmad nervously pacing the dusty ground, looking sad and worried.

He apologizes – "Your door is ready, but not painted. I had to close my shop.

Ahmad appears ashamed. He does not want to go into any detail.  I will spare him my questions.  He only explains to me that somehow he would need to pay a fine (about five hundred dollars).  Through the conversation I gather that "something" has taken place involving his son – that Hamdi was arrested and thrown in jail, and that Ahmad’s car was even seized as a guarantee and would be returned to him only if the bail was paid.

Ahmad does not know what to do.  On the other side of the fence, Israeli investors are making money on the stock market, in real estate, on trading that and that - and money is not in short supply. This side of the fence, the future of Ahmad’s small workshop rests on finding enough money to free his son from jail as no son, no work.  I look at my wife and her eyes have already read the message in mine. "Don’t we also need a set of wrought iron bedside tables? Can you make those for us, Ahmad?"

And of course we get out the pen, the paper, and agree on a design that will look as oriental as the door’s. We give Ahmad a deposit.  He smiles.  "Can you take me to the jail with your car ? I will get Hamdi out and we will get to work on your order!"  We drive up the hill and turn right to reach the prison complex.

Why did I write these lines? Why should I care about an ironsmith from Bethlehem whose unruly son has been thrown in jail?  Why should I care about the fact that Bethlehem is as poor a city as it probably was in the times of the birth of Christ?  Why should I care about the unemployment rate in the "territories?" Should I feel that concerned about the huge difference in the standard of living between Ahmad the Ironsmith and, 65 kilometers away, that of my friend Eran (who invested his money in a chain of sex shops and wanted me to become a partner, as you might remember).

Don’t ask me.  I certainly do not know.  Out of compassion?  Maybe, or is it rather something else, may be the strange intuition that there is some injustice somewhere and that something should be done by someone to change things around.

Is all of this because of the fence? Is all this because of religion? Is all this because of territorial claims? I am not a politician and do not have any hatred towards anyone nor do I have any wisdom excepted when it comes to choosing the "right place" to eat "mezze" (***). But when considering the place where Jesus is said to be born, I would have hoped that some kind of "blessing" would have been extended by "his Father" to allow a decent future to this place in the centuries were to come, but to no avail. Bethlehem has been only blessed with poverty.  Bethlehem is a dying city.

Today’s events in the Holy Land have multiple causes.  Cousins are fighting each other, religions are making it even more complex and tragic, and death comes real cheap on both sides. Looking at Ahmad and his family standing in front of the shop I cannot stop wondering how things would look like today if Barrabas had been crucified and Yeshoua (note T) let free to continue preaching to men of goodwill all over the hills of Galilee and around Lake of Tiberias.

Bethlehem cabs waiting for an improbable trip to a better future.

NOTES:

(*)  A common sickness striking mystical people of Christian origin who have spent too much time around the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem and believe that they have been chosen by God to accomplish some kind of a mission which will include walking miles while wearing sandals, dressed in replica of "biblical times" clothing.

(**) A famous French football player of Algerian origin

(***) Salads of Lebanese origin made of eggplant, humus, tabbouleh, trina or other "yummy" things which one usually eat  in any decent middle eastern restaurant.

(A) Israel and the "territories" are separated physically by a "fence" (a concrete wall with miradors) in order to possibly deter any would be terrorist carrying explosives from entering Israel. Sometimes it works, sometimes it does not. Creating this separation wall has drastically changed not only the landscape, and not for the better, but has further contributed to deteriorating relationship between the "common people" on both sides.

(T)  At one point the  Romans were to choose which prisoner would be freed during Passover time and, with some "intelligence," entrusted that choice with the people of Jerusalem . The Sanhedrin (Jewish religious high court), fearing the popularity of Jesus, ensured that Barrabas was freed and Jesus therefore put to death. This decision was one of the starting points for anti-Semitism, as it generated the idea that the Jews "killed" Christ, who was of course Jewish before he even became a "martyr."  In short, Christ the Jew (Yeshoua) was a victim of the Sanhedrin plot to make sure that he would not become more popular than the Grand Priest and his council.  It is to be remembered that the crucifixion was NOT the Jewish way to put people to death but a Roman practice used in the time of Roman domination over Palestine. We know the rest of the story. This led me to another similar but more complex question about the impact of Adolf Hitler having been refused at art school when in Vienna. Indeed, If Hitler had been accepted as an art student, would Europe and the world look any different today ? 

(M) The currency used in the territories is the official Israeli Shekel. However, it is considered as the money of "the occupying powers." Doing business in dollars if much better and allows one to remain on "neutral grounds" and smoothen business transactions. One can indeed hate the "Great Satan" - but everyone also knows that any decent business in the Middle East should involve using American banknotes!

Photos and Text, Copyright © 2007 - Sylvain Ubersfeld

Also from Sylvain Ubersfeld -

• Taxi Rider
• The Joys of Tenancy
• Our Man in Tel-Aviv: KAF, SHIN and RESH, ARE YOU KOSHER?
• Our Man in Tel-Aviv: Never a Dull Moment
• Our Man in Tel-Aviv: Different Folks, Different Strokes
• Our Man in Tel-Aviv: Jaffa, Gate to the Sea
• Our Man in Tel-Aviv: The House of Justice
• Our Man in Tel-Aviv: Apple, Carmel, Melon and Pears
• Our Man in Tel-Aviv: Beach Bumming at Chinky's
• Our Man in Tel Aviv: Moving South, Changing Culture
• Our Man in Tel-Aviv: The Joys of Chutzpah

All text and photos, unless otherwise noted, Copyright © 2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010 - Alan M. Pavlik