Israel's News & Views Blog

Continued from part 1
Nazareth, Kfar Kana (where the water was turned to wine), the Sea of Galilee (in whose waters we dipped our feet), and all the churches around it, from the cool simplicity of St Peter’s of the Primacy to the stunning manicured gardens of the Mount of the Beatitudes, the silent pillars at Capernaum and the humble quiet of the church at Tabgha (of loaves and fishes fame).

And at each site, busload upon busload of tourists – in a veritable cacophony of languages, from Europe, from America, South America and the Far East, tourists with parasols and cameras and name tags, bursting into impromptu hymn inside the stony recesses of Christianity’s first temples and sitting in shaded enclaves reading from their Bibles, in the throes of what was quite clearly a very moving experiences.

In Jerusalem, the tiny alleys of the Via Dolorosa swelled with hoards of pilgrims; they gathered in the Garden of Gethsemane and swarmed in the over-ornamented gaudiness of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre.

Even in the tranquil leafiness of the Garden Tomb, where the highly enthusiastic guide, relapsing into an evangelical sing-song sermon about Christ the living saviour detailed his argument as to why it was actually here that Jesus was buried and rose from the dead and not at the more famous site within the city walls (most convincing, too – I highly recommend a visit if you’re ever in the Holy Land), groups of clear-faced Christians gathered as in mini parishes, reading from the Book and softly, with closed eyes, offering up their prayers.

But Bethlehem, Bethlehem, O little town thereof, where the whole story started, the place every schoolchild across Europe knows; Bethlehem of stars and shepherds and myrrh and little donkeys, Bethlehem was like a ghost town.

“Why are you going there?!,” my Israeli friends asked in horror, as if I’d told them I was just taking a quick jaunt to Basra. “That’s Palestinian territory. Are you crazy! It’s not safe!”

I can’t say I wasn’t a little troubled by the warnings; suddenly my association of the scene of the nativity was replaced by the siege in the Church of the Nativity; “how still we see thee lie” hadn’t been relevant for a while, with the images of tanks and fighting that had emanated from the famous town in recent years, and there certainly didn’t seem to be any wise man in sight.

However, my mind was made up: I’d been singing about the place every December for the past 31 years; I wanted to see what it was all about…

And so with not a little trepidation, we loaded up the rental car and set off on our way …

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