O Little Town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie.

My heart breaks as I sing these words and relive my experience of contemporary Bethlehem. I finger the beautiful hand-carved olive-wood rosary given me by Sima. I gaze at the lovely colorful photo of the Madonna presented on his own accord to me by 5-year-old Nicholas. Again, I am surrounded by the warm hospitality of this Bethlehem Christian family.

I am transported back to the Bethlehem Inn where my Compassionate Listening delegation is residing. The group of Christians, Jews and Buddhists is led by Leah, a Jewish woman. We are committed to listening to the life stories and efforts of all sides in the ongoing hostilities of the region.

I have met Sima through a mutual friend via the Internet. She and her husband, Mounir, come to meet me one evening after a full schedule of Compassionate Listening activity. We sit in the lobby and chat. They graciously offer to drive me on a tour of the imposing concrete wall. They show me the arbitrary meanderings of the tall zigzagging obstruction—one house surrounded on three sides, streets divided in half, separated neighborhoods, farmers isolated from their fields. “We feel like we are in a big prison.”

They ask, “Would you like to come to our house for coffee?”

“That sounds lovely,” I say.

As we approach the front door, the smell of the aromatic coffee wafts from within. They serve tasty homemade delicacies with the strong dark liquid. I am introduced to Nicolas, who is not yet sleeping, as he attends afternoon school sessions. The two girls, Berta, 14, and Nadia, 13, have retired to prepare for early rising and school the next day.

Mounir’s family owned a thriving textile business before the wall was built. The business has been decimated due to the construction of the wall and the difficulties of passing through the checkpoints. They are no longer able to transport materials from their suppliers in Israel. Without materials, they have no product to stock vendor outlets. Sima, a high school teacher, is barely able to earn enough to maintain the family. She works full-time, cares for the family and each week assists the Dominican sisters with their computers. Marmood is job-hunting, participating in church-related activities, transporting the children to school and caring for his elderly parents.

“I feel so sad,” she says. “My children have never seen the sea. Although it is not that far away, we simply are not permitted to go.”

She goes on: “This wall separates us from our families and friends in East Jerusalem as well as our Jewish friends in Israel. They are not allowed to come here, and we have great difficulty going there. I have not seen my sister in years. She lives in Nazareth, only a couple hours’ drive away.”

“The Israeli government says that this wall is protecting their citizens. We wonder about walls. Do they truly protect?” she says.

“Bethlehem is unique at Christmas,” she says. “We celebrate Christmas in the church. The only thing I can give my children is to teach them to love and forgive.” I see the somber look on the faces of Sima and her family. They have the expression of shock, grief and hurt. Yet they voice hope. “Your presence assures us that we are not forgotten. We believe God hears us with our prayers for peace.”

“Oh, little town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep, oh hear your people cry. …”

Open Bethlehem is a campaign to save the town and seeks to preserve and celebrate Bethlehem’s sacred heritage as the birthplace of Christ and as an icon of tolerance and openness.

To find out about the children’s book Bethlehem Star, Open Bethlehem and ways to get involved, visit: www.openbethlehem.org.