When we parked the car and walked to the mountain, we began by going to the area where the last demonstration had taken place. Apart from Israeli soldiers and police, no one else was to be seen. We walked past some ruins and made our way towards a protest camp set up by Palestinians since the last demonstration. As we approached, three wooden crosses loomed up from the camp behind the ever-present Israeli soldiers, the remains of a protest in the last few days.
I smiled to myself at the irony of 1990s Palestinian Christians using the defining symbol of their Jewish Messiah to confront the modern-day sons and daughters of Israel. Western Christian Zionists, who all but worship the State of Israel - a result of the poverty of their own histories and cultures - should take note that 150,000 Palestinian Arabs share the same faith they profess.
Instead, they ignore, condemn and express racist sentiments towards them, preferring instead to "bless Israel" in whatever it does and offering an oppressive, man-made poliical entity their uncritical support. Why? Old Testament injunctions regarding "Israel" and "the people of God", interpreting these politically to support the secular State of Israel. I have met people from churches in the West that actually raise money to hire jumbo jets to transport Russian Jews to Israel as an expression of their love for God. Meanwhile, the Israel they support uproots Jahalin Bedouin camps from the hills of Palestine and relocates these sheep-herding nomads in metal freight containers near roads.
The poor are never who they seem and the poorest are those who think they are rich. I always like to think of the Palestinian refugee camps of the Middle East - the impossible to ignore chapter in the story of Israel's founding - as God's finger pointing at the nakedness of Christian Right ideology. "Whatever you do to the least of these," he said, "you do to me." Ouch.
After walking around the camp for a while, now a focal point for visiting study tour and the more open-minded pilgrimage groups, we decided to head back to the car. Kifah takes a photo of an old man asleep in front of the mountain. I am tempted to see it as a metaphor but can't really be that bothered to make the mental connection. In this land, symbols can drive you mad.
Gunfire can be heard in nearby Bethlehem. It's time to go. The same soldiers who were standing and lying around bored (below, click for 85K close-up) as we walked past them earlier decide to relieve their boredom by stopping us and asking for ID on our way back.
To be fair, we had incited them by taking pictures of them engaged in pretty dirty work. On the day they first reported for duty and waved good-bye to their proud parents, they had probably not imagined they would later be using their weapons and training to aid and abet the theft of a mountain.
I was okay, as I was (i) an ajnabee ("foreigner") with a passport and (ii) the holder of a press card. George's Beit Sahour ID was made when he was young and had hair, and the photo was difficult although not impossible to match with his face and balding head. "How old are you?" growled the Israeli soldier holding George's ID, trying to 'catch him out'.
The soldier obviously had not considered that posing as a Palestinian from the West Bank doesn't really, well - how can I put it? - open any major doors of opportunity. Eventually satisfied, the rest of the IDs were examined one by one. Saleem had Jerusalem - no problem. Hanan has a Canadian passport - no problem. Kifah has Ramallah ID - no problem - but wait, there is a problem.
"You can all go," says a soldier, "but he has to go around. It's a closed military area" pointing at Kifah.
"Closed military area? But we came this way," I explain, "You saw us walk past you and our car is over there." Kifah and others join in the chorus. The soldiers refuse. Clearly, this is not a time for logical argument.
Eventually, I say aloud to everyone, "F*ck 'em. Let's go around." We start to leave, the soldiers laughing at us. George pauses, saying to me, "Why go? This is stupid." "George," I reply, "It's fine. Obviously, they want to be on the Web."
George looks at me uncomprehendingly for a moment and then just starts laughing and laughing. "Ha ha!" he hoots, "Ha ha! They want to be on the Web! They want to be on the Web!"