With daily struggle for survival overshadowing Christmas, Christian Palestinians have little to celebrate this year, writes Talal Jabari from Nablus and Bethlehem It is a gray gloomy Sunday in Nablus and a light rain is falling as two-dozen Palestinians stand on the roadside next to an Israeli army tank and jeep. Some cars are allowed through after being searched. Palestinians on foot are sent along too, some to whence they came. A few kilometres inside the city, in the neighbourhood of Rafidya, members of Nablus's Christian community are shuffling to church for Sunday prayers as Israeli fighter jets fly low overhead. Dodging the curfew, worshippers, mainly older and mainly women, enter St Philip's Episcopal Church in single file. Christmas is only a few days away and the worshippers remain in the church foyer, with the organ playing in the background, to chat about one thing: the situation. This will be Christian Palestinians' third Intifada Christmas, which gives little cause for festivities and in many cases is pushing Christians out of the Holy Land. "In Jerusalem we were about 40,000 and now we have less than 8,000 Christians. It is very sad and extremely worrying," said Reverend Hosam Nauom, the preacher at St Philips. The diminishing numbers of Christians in the Holy Land is an issue that has the Vatican pumping extra funds into Catholic institutions in the West Bank and Israel to promote job creation and offer incentives for Christians to stay. But local preachers fear the Christian community here might be non- existent within a generation. The young, according to Reverend Nauom, are usually the first to go. Today's Christian population in Nablus now numbers no more than 700, some of whom are determined to stay. "This is our city, our country, our home," says Salwa Sudah, a local teacher. "We can't leave, we are Christians here from [long] ago. My father and my grandfather and all of us were born here." The Biblical Christmas story describes a bright star that shone over Bethlehem, guiding the Three Wise Men to the birthplace of Jesus, and an angel who informed the shepherds of the new birth, giving hope to the people of the land. But as the Christian residents of Nablus look southward to Bethlehem this week, they see anything but hope. A combination of tight curfews and a siege on the town have made the run up to Christmas miserable for the residents there. There are no decorations on the streets, and the Latin patriarch has decided not to put up the traditional Christmas tree in Manger Square. The Israeli Army has counted 13 suicide bombers from the Bethlehem area, and says its siege is a result of warnings they have received that more are planning to follow suit this holiday season. "Instead of just calling it terrorism, Israelis should ask themselves why Palestinians are behaving this way," said Latin Patriarch Michel Sabah, the head of the Catholic Church in the Holy Land, in a recent sermon. "Our Christmas message is an appeal to put an end to the siege and then to the occupation, and an appeal to stop bloodshed on both sides." For many residents of the Bethlehem area who rely solely on tourism during the holiday season the siege has been disastrous. It has killed their livelihoods and now they look westwards for a new home in Europe or America. "Our daily struggle is for survival. This is why Christians started to flee the place, to run away, to emigrate. Mainly to the United States," said Father Majdi Siryani, a Catholic Priest in Beit Sahour. This year he has received 60 Christmas cards more than last year; to him this is a sad indication of how many more families have left. To Father Majdi, though, it's not just a matter of the quantity of people leaving, it is more a matter of quality. According to him the people that have left are the educated, most of whom were prosperous and employed other residents of the town. This is certainly the case for the Musleh family, members of Father Majdi's congregation. They built a hotel before the Intifada, a few minutes away from the Church of the Nativity, but with no tourism their business is ruined. And although they have not yet announced it to their friends for fear of being looked down upon, they are planning to pay off the rest of their debt and join their family in Miami. Neither Judith, a teacher, her husband Issam, a hospital administrator, nor their three children feel secure in their hometown anymore. "At nighttime the kids were sleeping; there were helicopters, tanks; it was like the end of the world to us," says Judith, recalling the siege of the Nativity Church last spring. "It was terrible for us, sleeping while listening to bombing. Shooting all the time." Their youngest daughter, eight-year- old Natalie, has required psychological treatment and still wakes up screaming, thinking the Israeli Army has come for her. And 10-year-old Saba feels like he lives in a prison because he is not permitted to play outside during curfews. The situation has left Issam feeling helpless. "I can't protect my children while they are at school. I cannot offer them a good life [here]. It's out of my hands, you know." Their oldest daughter, Roula, 16, accepts that this Christmas might be her last in Bethlehem. She is looking forward to acting like a normal teenager. She wants to go shopping and swimming. However, unlike most teenagers she knows she has to make the move in search of "a better life".
