Waking up in Bethlehem the day before Christmas Eve. I don’t think I’ve been in a sadder place.
It’s Palestinian territory, landlocked in the West Bank, surrounded by walls designed by Israelis to keep terror and violence where they belong, which, they are determined, will not be in Israel.
The day before, we arrived shortly before Friday prayers were finished at the local mosques. We had switched guides from Amir to his friend Elias, a Palestinian Christian, because Amir is not allowed by the Israeli government to go into what they call Zone A. Zone A is Palestinian territory, so deep into the West Bank that the army cannot guarantee his safety. So we met at a roundabout just at the border in Zone B and were handed off like passengers on a strange underground railway.
The zones are based on what was meant to be an interim agreement pieced…
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