News - Holy Land - Catholic World Report

Facing a Christmas Crisis
While hopes for a peace settlement wax and wane,
the Palestinian people suffer under conditions that will not easily be remedied.

As the crisis in the Middle East continues, attention remains focused on the fighting which continues on the streets of the West Bank and Gaza. In recent weeks a new dimension has been added to the conflict with the intervention of Hamas and the Islamic Jihad. It is still, however, the ordinary people of the general Palestinian population who suffer. When such incidents occur as the bombing of a school bus carrying Israeli settlers in Gaza, the response by the Israeli Defense Force (IDF) is predictably swift and severe: houses and workplaces are shelled under the pretext that they are hiding places for Palestinian “terrorists.”

The only Christian fatality to date in the latest round of violence has been a German doctor. Since there have been over 300 Palestinian Muslims killed, and a much larger number wounded, that single death would seem at first glance to suggest that the Palestinian Christians have not suffered as much as their Muslim compatriots. However, as predominantly Christian towns like Beit Jala and Beit Sahour are laid waste by Israeli helicopter gunships and missiles, the economic effects on Christian families and the psychological effects on their children are increasing the burden on the Christian population.

Maher Al-Atrash lives in the Estaih neighborhood of Beit Sahour, a West Bank town with a predominantly (more than 80 percent) Christian population. On October 10, he had just returned with his family from prayers at the nearby shrine known as Mary’s Well when he heard the beginning of clashes between IDF forces and Palestinian gunmen. With the Israeli military base of Shidmah only 250 yards from his home, Maher and his family suddenly found themselves caught in a crossfire. Bullets from .50-caliber machine guns blasted holes in the walls and shattered household items. Maher and his wife concentrated on shielding their children, aged 4, 3, and 2 years, from the bombardment, as the sounds and the impact of the incoming rounds left them screaming in fear. As soon as he perceived a lull in the violence, Maher rushed his family into their car and drove to his sister’s house.

The damage to Maher’s house is estimated at $8,000, for which he is doubtful he will receive any compensation. His is one of 159 families forced to evacuate Beit Sahour, their property destroyed by shelling from the Israeli military—whose duty it is to protect them. And even more alarming than the physical damage is the psychological effect the violence is having on Maher’s children. His eldest son Maroun barely sleeps or eats; teachers complain that he is “a different child,” starting fights and drawing pictures of helicopters and bombs. Maher’s daughter Marina is back in diapers, and wakes up in the night screaming.

Analyzing the negotiations
A recent reversal in Israeli policy—the government’s decision to accept proposals for an international inquiry into the violence—may hold some promise of an end to such suffering. The investigative team led by former American Senator George Mitchell was scheduled to begin their “fact-finding mission” in mid-December, as this report was written. The prospect of an investigation was undoubtedly good news; Palestinian negotiators had been insisting upon such an inquiry.

Still, no analyst is willing to harbor even a guess as to when a suitable arrangement will be reached that can bring the fighting to an end. Cynics argued that Israel’s Prime Minister Ehud Barak was using his sudden policy change as an electioneering tactic, after his abrupt resignation assured a quick national campaign. Others speculated that the “lame-duck” American President Bill Clinton was making one last-gasp effort to achieve a foreign policy coup that would etch his name in history as the President who brought an end to conflict in the Middle East.

Even optimists admitted that time is a precious commodity for all parties involved in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. The only thing that is quite certain is the determination of each side to uphold its rights, by force if necessary. So while the current intifada may be brought to an end in a matter of weeks, it could just as easily drag on for years to come. Many of those affected by the fighting—displaced, bereft of home and possessions—have had nothing to do with the fighting. These are the victims of the rapid strangulation of the Palestinian economy.

A crumbling economy
Since the start of the intifada, all construction work in the occupied territories has ceased and foreign investment has been withdrawn. Israeli companies have dismissed their Palestinian employees. Palestinians living in the occupied territories and working in Israel have not been allowed through checkpoints to get to work. Due to a lack of business, Palestinian companies have been forced to lay off staff, as there is simply no money with which to meet the payroll. For example, employees of the Jericho Oasis Casino have been on “unpaid vacation” since October 15.

Aggravating this economic disaster is the fact that the Palestinians have received none of the $1 billion promised by affluent Arab countries during the recent Arab summit in Egypt. As a result, unemployment in the territories has reached its highest level since 1967: 30 percent in the healthiest villages, and up to 60 percent in the towns that have been completely closed down by the IDF. As the winter cold sets in, residents of the West Bank are losing electricity and struggling to pay for supplies and food. It is no surprise that more and more of the Christian Palestinians who have friends or relatives abroad are choosing to emigrate, rather than remain under what they see as an oppressive regime.

The Palestinian economy is heavily dependent on the tourist industry. Five million pilgrims were expected to visit the Holy Land this year. Hotel workers and shop owners in old Jerusalem, Bethlehem, and the other holy sites anticipated record revenues during the weeks leading up to Christmas. Instead, today the vast majority of hotels in Jerusalem are closed; the only one maintaining a reasonable level of guests is The American Colony, the preferred meeting place for Western journalists. The streets of the Old City, usually crammed with tourists from all over the world, are deserted. Those who ignore the warnings put out by the Israeli Foreign Office, and make the trip to the Holy Land despite the risks, are not even allowed to venture into Bethlehem. Sadly, the perennially packed Midnight Mass at the Church of the Nativity on Christmas Day was bound to be a somber affair this year, as the public celebration had to be cancelled for the first time since 1948.

Children’s voices
Early in December at Al-Ahlieh, the Latin Patriarchate school in Ramallah, 15-year-old students were reading Wuthering Heights. Many of the students were slumped in their chairs, their minds obviously on other matters. The following day, the topic under discussion was the current political situation. The same students raised their arms with shouts of “Teacher! Teacher!” The struggle to generate enthusiasm had changed into a struggle to contain it. All 36 students had points to make: a verbal assault on the character of Ariel Sharon; a demand for more action by international leaders; a sophisticated critique of the political interests which have divided Jews, Arabs, and the Western world. The students found another means of expressing themselves in a writing contest, in which students between the ages of 14 and 18 were invited to submit their views, in English, about the situation. Many of the entries focus on human-rights abuses:

The occupation tries to kill the will of our people by savage and cruel instruments using all kinds of weapons and killing that affected everyone, even our children. —Ghada, 17

Others express aspirations of the future through emotional imagery:
I will build a castle from my hope and the blood of all the martyrs… I will kill anyone with my anger… I will take his body and I will put on him the first brick of our new independent strong country. —Laila, 17
Initiatives such as that writing contest are effective both in improving the students’ command of English, and in giving them an opportunity to express their feelings. But they cannot replace the standard curriculum which the teachers still need to teach. There are math, chemistry, and biology lessons in which a political discussion has no place. But when students come in to school after a night during which they could not sleep through the cacophony of gunshots and artillery shells, they are often too tired or distracted to concentrate on academic matters.
These students are also worried. Their fathers may have lost their jobs; their brothers may be involved in throwing stones; the route to and from school may pose problems. Whatever their fears, they certainly are not able to ignore the situation. At schools whose students have been killed, photographs of the deceased are stuck to the desks as a stark reminder of the atrocities outside. On the walls of school corridors, posters are displayed; the recurring image is of a small child clutching a stone, facing an Israeli tank. The contrast in size between tank and child is striking; it is reminiscent of Tiananmen Square. In a poignant reminder that this is not merely a graphic image, the child who was made famous by that popular photograph was killed three days after being caught in that memorable pose.
The younger children—many of them too young to understand what is going on—are equally affected. In a visit to the kindergarten group at Bir Zeit school, we watched 5-year-olds drawing pictures of “anything they want.” Invariably, their pictures featured the same motifs as on the walls of the schools: flags, helicopter gunships, small Palestinian stick-men with stones. With few opportunities to play outdoors after school, due to their parents’ fears that they might be caught up in fighting, these young children spend their afternoons watching television. And what do they watch? Images of blood and death fill the screens; they listen to the speeches of angry politicians, frustrated peace activists, and bereaved parents.
Back at school, the children have too much energy and little opportunity to burn it. So they fight. A 5-year-old reprimanded for throwing stones at a friend pointed out, “I’m not the only one.” Others play “the intifada game.” Some are IDF soldiers, some Palestinians, some the ambulance drivers. They throw marbles at each other, and carry one another around on make-believe stretchers. Thus fantasy and reality are intertwined in a macabre extension of the situation on the ground.
Lured by the West
At the universities, too, the students face daily problems. Lecturers whose commitments require them to be in several different institutions during the course of the week are often unable to deliver their own lectures; they are regularly turned away at checkpoints on their route from one school to another. Students who don’t live at the university (often because they cannot afford to do so) are equally vulnerable. For example at Bir Zeit, the largest Palestinian university, many students live in nearby Aboud. It should take 15 minutes to drive from the town to the campus. But today Aboud is under virtual lockdown, and traveling between there and Bir Zeit involves a circuitous two-hour journey.
As a consequence of these logistical difficulties, timetables are skewed. Students are given no work for several days, then they have piles of essays to complete over a weekend. Many of them lose heart or lose interest, and their academic careers are jeopardized. Others see the length of time they will need to finish their courses being lengthened—a prospect that will cause financial difficulties as they are forced to pay more tuition and postpone entry into the workforce. The brightest students, fed up with all these difficulties, will apply to study abroad in Britain or America. Once there, they may well stay, attracted to the high incomes and job security which they will probably be offered. Thus once again the Palestinian education system and the local economy suffer from the loss of its most able citizens.
Even if a peace settlement is engineered tomorrow to the satisfaction of both sides, the prospects for Palestinian Christians remain bleak. Those who have lost olive farms, homes, or places of work are unlikely to receive adequate compensation. Those who work for Israeli companies will find their work even harder to sustain under an arrangement which in all likelihood will separate the two nations even further. And certainly, no settlement can bring back the dead or cure those who have been permanently handicapped.
Bitterness over the occupation and the resulting damage—both physical and psychological, inflicted over half a century of conflict—is unlikely to die for several generations. The young children who have been caught in this intifada, whether willingly or not, are unlikely to forget the harrowing scenes of military siege, nor the sounds of aggression. The memories they bear with them may leave a substantial number of them traumatized for many years to come.
One option is to emigrate. Today there are more Christians from Ramallah living in San Francisco than in Ramallah itself. As the year 2000 drew to a close the Christian proportion of the Palestinian population stood at 2 percent, but that number is being eroded by the continuing conflict. Many of those who have been forcibly evicted travel to America to stay with relatives there until the situation improves. It is uncertain whether they will return.
But it is the Christians who sustain the distinction between “Arab” and “Muslim.” It is also these Christians who keep the Holy Land alive for the millions of Christian pilgrims who visit every year. And it is these same Christians who are suffering, and will continue to suffer, in the land where political tensions and military artillery are as common as the churches, mosques, and synagogues that make it unique.

For Israelis Only

A Catholic priest encounters a roadblock

“You must leave now: They are going to bomb Ramallah.” In the small offices of the Latin Patriarchate Schools, these were familiar words. Employees grabbed their belongings and headed out, numbed into nonchalance by the recurring threats to their security and property.

The city—whose outskirts are lined with the villas of cabinet members of the Palestinian Authority, set close by the large gray concrete buildings in which Yasser Arafat meets his ministers and delegates—has become synonymous with violence. Every day, its inhabitants live in expectation of air strikes and missile attacks, waiting for the dull drone of the Apache helicopter gunships from the Israeli Defense Force (IDF) that act as a signal to shut up shop and stay indoors.

On international news broadcasts, the images of Islamic chants and heavily masked demonstrators give the impression that Ramallah is a refuge for Islamic fundamentalists. It is not. With 10,000 faithful and a municipal protocol that stipulates that the mayor must be a Christian, this is a traditionally Christian city.

The parish priest for the Roman Catholics in Ramallah, Father Ibrahim Hijazin, is a respected figure in the city. His confidence in the possibility of peace spurred him to initiate a “Peace Education Program” in the Latin Patriarchate school which he runs here. When we met him, he spoke proudly but sadly about his project. “We are the first school in Palestine to have meetings with Israeli students and teachers,” he said of a program which began five years ago. “We have had many meetings with Israeli schools about the peace process, the environment and water resources, as well as games like basketball. But when our students see the killing on TV, how can we teach and convince them of a real peace with Israelis—who they think are killing their people and taking their land?”

In this atmosphere, it is easy to despair—even more so for Father Ibrahim, who has himself been the victim of aggression.

The incident developed this way:

Father Ibrahim was driving back to Ramallah from nearby Nablus, where he had been conducting services. As always, he used the main road between the two towns. At about 6:20 pm he was stopped by a group of between 45 and 50 Israelis from the nearby settlement of Shilo, who were blocking the road. They were middle-aged, dressed in civilian clothes, the men brandishing machine guns while the women placed boulders strategically on the road to halt oncoming traffic. As the priest brought his vehicle to a halt, a well-dressed man addressed him: “What is your business here?”

“I am a Catholic priest,” he replied, “returning to my parish from religious services in Nablus.” (He was dressed in cassock and clerical collar.) When asked for his papers, he produced his Vatican passport, at which one of the men scoffed before throwing it back into the car. The leader shrugged and stated, “You can’t use this road; it is for Israelis only. Go back.”

“But I used it only hours ago. I always use it; it’s a main road,” Father Ibrahim replied. At this the leader leveled his gun at the priest’s head and repeated that the road was for Jews only. The people behind him were beginning to get angry, shouting and gesticulating at the car. Father Ibrahim put the vehicle in reverse and attempted to turn around. Behind him, however, had gathered another group of some 30 younger settlers in their mid-20s. One of these approached the driver’s side and said, “Shalom.” Father Ibrahim replied, “Shalom,” and was astonished to hear the breaking of glass from his rear window. He looked back to see that the younger group had surrounded the car, were gathering stones and hurling them from as close as two or three yards away. The attack continued until every window of his vehicle had been smashed, every side dented. He quickly put his car into gear and set off the way he had come.

At a nearby service station, the owners took one look at the condition of the car and its driver, and called first the police (who flatly refused to come) and then the army (who in fact did not come). As the priest was wondering what to do, an Arab taxi drove past, in too much of a hurry to give any assistance. Fifteen minutes later, however, the cab returned, its elderly driver and his vehicle having received much the same treatment as Father Ibrahim. The driver said that he knew a back road to Ramallah, so the priest followed him slowly back to his parish.

The next day, Father Ibrahim visited the police station in Jerusalem. The officers there redirected him to offices in Beit El, where he filled in numerous forms and complained to the officer in charge that, by law, he should be compensated by the government for this attack. “I’m sorry,” shrugged the policeman. Israeli laws stipulate that the government should pay compensation for damages done by Palestininans, but not by Israeli citizens. The $2,500 bill for repairs to his vehicle was paid by the Latin patriarchate, out of funds which had been raised abroad to be spent on schools, housing projects, and other needs of the local Church.

By Nicholas Jubber and Michael Hirst