JERUSALEM, Dec. 24 - Before visiting Bethlehem, the city best known as the birthplace of Jesus Christ, I scoured countless online guidebooks for tips and advice.
"Expect long lines," warned many reviews. What I encountered, however, was surprisingly different: a place shrouded in an unsettling silence.
I stood alone in Manger Square in the shadow of the Church of the Nativity, trying to reconcile the busy scenes described in the guidebooks with the emptiness before me. The square, which should have been teeming with pilgrims as Christmas approached, felt like a stage after the final curtain.
"This place used to be alive with tourists," He said Hamzaa Palestinian guide I met outside the church. A seasoned veteran of Bethlehem tourism, he waxed nostalgic about the crowds that once filled the square and gestured to an empty space where hundreds of metres of queues once stretched.
"The war changed everything here," he complained.
The Israeli-Palestinian conflict, which erupted in October 2023, has transformed this historic city, though not through direct violence. Bethlehem may have been spared the bombs, but the shadow of the conflict drove visitors away, leaving behind a deep silence that speaks volumes about the turmoil in the region.
"Tourists are scared, and I understand that." Hamza said, pointing to the bullet holes still visible in the church walls left by Israeli soldiers during the 39-day siege in 2002. "No one in Palestine is spared the bullets. Not even the church where Jesus was born."
The entrance to the church, which was deliberately built low and narrow centuries ago to prevent intruders from marching into the church on horseback, seemed a metaphor for the isolation of the city. Where once tourists waited patiently to bow their heads and pass through this modest opening, I walked alone, my footsteps echoing in the emptiness.
Inside the church stood a grotto marking the place of Jesus' birth, usually surrounded by crowds of worshippers, silent and unattended.
Under the wooden roof of the basilica, unlit candles stood on a table, waiting for prayers that never came.
Hamza told me that for the second year in a row there would be no spectacular Christmas celebrations due to the lack of tourists and the tense atmosphere caused by the ongoing bloodshed in Gaza, just 70 kilometres away.
"I used to love Christmas here," Hamza said. "The church used to be full of people, the square full of joy. But this year I doubt we'll see anything like that. All we can do is pray - that the conflict will end and Bethlehem will return to normal."
Tourism, once the town's main economic resource, has all but disappeared. Walking through the ancient streets of Bethlehem, I witnessed first-hand the economic devastation. Hotels stood empty and many restaurants were closed. Shopkeepers sat in doorways waiting, both hopeful and resigned to the absence of visitors.
I stopped to talk to an elderly juice vendor. His cart was fine, but he was missing customers. "The tourists are gone and so is our income," he said to me, his words carrying a weary approval that seemed to echo throughout the city.
As the afternoon light faded, I approached the section of the West Bank barrier that separates Bethlehem from Jerusalem. Its high concrete wall casts a sharp shadow on the city's buildings.
At the time of Christ, the journey from Bethlehem to Jerusalem took only hours on foot. Today, Palestinians face a complex maze of security checkpoints, making the ten-kilometre journey an unpredictable ordeal.
Israel claims the wall is necessary to protect its citizens from terrorists. However, the Palestinians claim that the wall was built on Palestinian territory and serves as a means for Israel to seize more land.
I stood at the foot of the wall and felt insignificant under its weight. Steel wires protruded like thorns from the top, and watchtowers kept a strict eye on everything.
But the Palestinians have responded to its grey dominance with colour and wit, turning this monolith into an unlikely gallery. The wall is now adorned with vibrant murals and street art featuring works by Palestinian and international artists.
Near the wall I met Eliasa student at Bethlehem University. His favourite mural depicts a dove in a bulletproof vest clutching an olive branch. "It feels like us - trapped, unable to take off," he explained.
While visitors like me could easily come and go, for Elias and his neighbours, even the simplest journey meant going through a maze of checkpoints, their time consumed by questions, paperwork and waiting.
"It's not that I don't love my country, but we also need to fly away to see the bigger world," Elias confided. I wished him luck, even though I knew how inadequate those words seemed in such a constrained situation.
As I was about to leave Bethlehem, my phone rang with an alert: four Palestinians had been killed in an Israeli raid on a refugee camp in Tulkarm, another West Bank town some 60 kilometres away. These raids have become increasingly frequent and violent since October 2023, as a result of Hamas attacks on Israel. According to the Palestinian Ministry of Health, more than 800 Palestinians have been killed in raids in the West Bank since last October.
Crossing back through the checkpoint, I took one last look at the wall that separates two worlds that were once closely connected. Its huge concrete slabs stood unmoved, seemingly destined to outlast generations of pilgrims and protesters alike. Yet it is comforting to know that beyond the wall lies a city that has endured for more than three millennia, where people of different beliefs coexist in harmony. Perhaps one day the spirit of union will once again overcome even the most enduring differences in this ancient city.
Xinhua/ gnews - RoZ
People at the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem, West Bank. Bethlehem, which is revered as the birthplace of Jesus Christ, is experiencing a subdued Christmas season this year as tourists stay away due to continued Israeli attacks on the Gaza Strip. PHOTO - Xinhua/Mamoun Wazwaz
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