Christmas behind Israel's wall

"It's not easy passing through all those doors. You feel like a prisoner," says Kate Komseyeh, a resident of Bethlehem who commutes daily to Jerusalem where she works as a Greek-language teacher at St. Dimitri's School. "It's better without the wall. We can see Bethlehem from Jerusalem."

Residents of Bethlehem, a suburb of Jerusalem that attracts foreign diplomats and expatriates, drive 10 minutes up the road for hospitals, shopping, and schools. "Bethlehem and Jerusalem are twin cities. It's the first time in history that Bethlehem has been separated,'' says Jad Isaac, director general of the Applied Research Institute, a Jerusalem-based environmental group. "It will gradually cause Bethlehem to become ghettoized, a further deterioration of living conditions, and further immigration."

Municipal officials say that unemployment in Bethlehem is more than 50 percent due to the drop in tourism. On Tuesday, Palestinian gunmen briefly seized control of Bethlehem's city hall, demanding jobs in the Palestinian security services.

There are signs of life though. In an alleyway leading to Manger Square, a team of workers is laying cobblestones and cement after the municipality repaired sewer damage from Israeli tanks that roamed the Old City in 2002.

But estimates of the recovery differ. Mayor Batarseh says Bethlehem has experienced a 10 percent growth in tourism in recent months, while the Israeli Army said that the number of pilgrims in 2005 doubled to 200,000.

Just across from the Church of the Nativity, the Roman basilica built over the grotto that is the traditional spot of Jesus' birth, the signs over the storefronts of souvenir shops are shattered from gunfire. Gesturing to the empty stone plaza of Manger Square, Joseph Tabash complained that pilgrims go directly from the buses to the church and back. "Look outside. It's empty," says the gift-shop owner. "Go to any place in the world. Would you see a city center like this?"

Back near the entrance of Bethlehem, the neighborhood around Rachel's Tomb - the traditional burial spot of the Old Testament matriarch - has become a ghost town. Once bustling with markets and restaurants, Bethlehem's gateway district has been carved up by a cement wall corridor that allows Jewish worshippers to visit the holy site without being exposed to sniper fire.

In November, the construction of the wall nearly swallowed Johnny Anistas's villa, surrounding it on three sides. For five years, the family's gift shop and spare parts business on the first floor has been shuttered because of military blockades.

Now the isolation is physical. The wall's jagged crown is within spitting distance of the top floor window. "When we walk outside, we see the wall in our faces," he says.

"We can't live here anymore, but we don't want to leave our house. We're strong believers in God, but how much can God tolerate?"

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