Bethlehem

I write this entry in short intervals that I find myself not in bed or in the bathroom. I was in the West Bank this last weekend and while the street food in Israel is by no means governed by the FDA, the two times I have left Israel for the West Bank and eaten from a vendor I have returned to Tabgha being followed by some foul satanic food vermin that lives in dark corners and alleys and feeds on the goodness of our hearts.

This is a picture of my immune system fighting dragons in my body (actually St. George at Church of the Nativity)

This journey begins with the 5 volunteers departing from Dormition Abbey in Jerusalem for Paulus House (a hostel on the other side of the Old City). As we were walking the cobblestone street just outside Dormition I slipped (I love the look of cobblestone but hate the function, its slick). Wearing open toed sandals I was in no means prepared to protect myself. My left foot dragged on the ground to help me regain my balance, the trade-off being my left foot dragged on the ground.

Victory in my body (Statue of Michael at the Milk Grotto)

The resulting injury was a nasty sight. If I were being hunted, the blood trail I left would have been so informative my hunters would have been able to figure out my age, weight, and social security number.

It is a 20 minute walk to Paulus House from Dormition when the Old City is busy. It’s always interesting to walk through the Old City because you never know what to expect. I had freshly cut open my foot and the top priority of mine was to keep it clean. On this trip through the Old City I encountered: live corralled sheep, brains and intestines strewn on the ground from butcher shops, and the constant odor of feces and urine.

We got to Paulus House and after finding our room, I quickly found help. Help came in the form of an angel named was Sister Merriam. She was a German Sister and we spoke a little bit about what happened (very simple German). After she finished cleaning me up I could not thank her enough. I felt like a little kid and was only waiting for the lollipop for not crying.

The next day, Monday, minus Johannes plus Richard we headed to Bethlehem. Bethlehem is in the West Bank which means you have to pass through a security checkpoint. Your bus drops you off at the checkpoint, you walk through on foot, and then you catch a taxi on the other side. Intimidation is the best feeling to describe the wall separating these people.

You walk down long narrow fenced corridors to ensure controlled traffic

Many messages cover the wall in the fashion of graffiti. They are messages of hope, connection, prayer, remembrance, and even anger (more so anger at the purpose of the wall).

My favorite message on the wall

It was a Moslem feast day so there were few people out. Why there were few Christians out I do not know but the taxi drivers felt the decline. We unsuccessfully bartered a good price to the Church of the Nativity.

I do not know if it was because of the feast day or my self-consciousness but as we walked the last 100 yards up to the church we received awkward glances of surprise from townspeople. We walked in front of the church the square was almost vacant.

"Door of Humility" Church of the Nativity

The door in which you enter the church is maybe 4 feet tall (it is called the “Door of Humility” because you must bow in order to enter). Other than the door the church is immense. There is a high bell tower outside to the right of the door. Inside huge wooden rafters soar and gigantic limestone pillars line both sides of the church.

Parts of the floor have trap doors that are lifted up to show you the old mosaic floor from the 4th century. There is yet another grand altar decorated by candles, shining metals, and rich colorful cloths. There is a staircase that allows you to descend under the altar onto the “sight” of Jesus’ birth. I was told normally one must wait half an hour because of populace. We did not wait at all.

There is a brilliant fourteen-pointed star in the manger site and people bow to touch it or light candles. The star was a gift from the French in 1717 and it marks where the birth site is supposed.



I ascended into an adjacent church run by Franciscans and sat in the pews to collect some thoughts and ideas.



This church had a vibrant stain glass window behind the altar and a deep colored painting on the sidewall. The art at the religious sites could even bring in those who are not believers.




After touring the church everyone was starving. We walked a little more of Bethlehem, but it was a ghost town. We finally came upon a small broiled chicken stand. Some of us had our doubts in how sanitary it was but there was no place else to eat and everyone was famished. And there’s the rub. I am fully confident in the thorough cooking of the chicken; it is the refrigeration of everything together with the chicken that makes me cringe. Hindsight is 20/20.

While we were eating, the nearby mosque announced time for all of Islam’s followers to pray. I love this act. The mosque blares Moslem prayer over a loud-speaker. It is like a chant/song/poem all in one and the pitch at which the voice reverberates is gentle and alluring.


After eating we hiked about a mile over to the Milk Grotto. This is the site where Mary was nursing Jesus and three drops of milk dripped onto a red rock turning it white. Those who touch the rock are said to have nothing but grade A Land-O-Lakes for their children to nurse from.

Picture above rock

I was easily lost in thought on the taxi ride back to the checkpoint. You look out your car window at the clusters of houses, damaged buildings, the unsymmetrical waves of the landscape, and the beautiful sunset on the horizon and quickly lose attentiveness to the moment.

On Tuesday morning Martin, Thomas, ML, and I were given permission from the Father to drive Jumpy (van) to the Yad Vashem Holocaust Museum. It was about a 25-minute drive across the New City of Jerusalem. My first time driving in the greater area of Jerusalem went off without a hitch.



Yad Vashem is an architectural wonder. It sits upon a hill and one of the numerous buildings is long and thin and runs through the hill. There are countless works of art in remembrance of those (Jewish, Polish, American, German, etc.) who lost their lives combating the Holocaust. Even with the impressive layout of Yad Vashem the mood is solemn.



You walk the halls reading dates, names, and facts and scan every picture. There are so many faces and so many stories. 6 million, and that’s the number who died, so many more were involved in trying to save them. The four of us agreed to go at our own pace but meet back out front at a certain time. I got misplaced in the constant crowd working its way through the museum which was at least 50% Israeli military (unarmed but in uniform).
I look at this material in utter stupefaction and do not comprehend the entirety but I am an American-Christian two generations removed. I wonder what emotions stir in these young people when they look at their ancestry, hopefully peace and reconciliation.



Yesterday we took Jack (my cat roommate) and Frau Reuter (mother of latest 11 puppies) in to get “fixed”. I’ve described the veterinarian’s small office before, its smaller than many single bedrooms with only one window. He has a small moveable table, sink, cabinet, mini-fridge, and desk. I think there are high schools around the US better equipped. I will not be contacting PETA with a recommendation for any awards.