Rick Steves Travel as a Political Act

by Rick Steves

  The biggest share of the tourist industry in the Holy Land is religious tourism. While Jesus was born in Bethlehem (in the south, near Jerusalem), he grew up and spent much of his three-year ministry in Nazareth, near the Sea of Galilee—where the Bible says Jesus walked on water, calmed the storm, and talked fishermen into changing careers. For Christians, making a pilgrimage to the places they’ve imagined since their childhood Sunday school classes can be a transforming experience. Experiencing “the fifth gospel,” as pilgrims call the Holy Land, helps them better understand the other four gospels. While I rarely saw a tour group elsewhere, I was stuck in traffic jams of tour buses at the great Bible sights.

  The Sea of Galilee—700 feet below sea level, 13 miles long by 8 miles wide, and fed and drained by the Jordan River—is Israel’s top source of water. The Jordan River dumps into the north end of the lake, oxygenating the water and attracting a high concentration of fish—and fishermen. In the Bible, Matthew writes, “As [Jesus] walked by the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon, who is called Peter, and Andrew his brother, casting a net into the lake—for they were fishermen. And he said to them, ‘Follow me, and I will make you fish for people.’”

  The faithful believe John the Baptist baptized Jesus in the Jordan River. And today, Christians from all over the world come here in droves to affirm their baptism with a dip in that same storied river.

  Churches are built on sites where, for over two thousand years, stories of miracles have inspired worship. Christians gather to worship on Mount Beatitude, high above Galilee, where Jesus gave the Sermon on the Mount. “Beatitude” is Latin for “blessing.” And here, Jesus said, “Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth. Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy. Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.” Peacenik priests and pastors enjoy making the point that Christ said “peacemakers” rather than “peacekeepers.” Traveling here in the Holy Land, this Beatitude has a particular poignancy and relevance.

  The Church of the Primacy of St. Peter, delightfully set on the Sea of Galilee, is especially important for Roman Catholic pilgrims. The church is built upon the rock where, tradition holds, the resurrected Jesus ate with his disciples and told Peter to “feed my sheep.” For Catholics, this is a very important site, as it established the importance of Peter—the first pope—among the disciples.

  At each pilgrimage site, my Jewish guide read with passion passages from the Bible. I found the scriptures about the Sermon on the Mount, feeding the masses with a few loaves and fish, Jesus calming the stormy sea, and the Beatitudes particularly moving in the places where those events occurred.

  Gazing out over the fabled Sea of Galilee and imagining Jesus walking on the water, I became more emotional than I had imagined I would be. Closing my eyes, I let the song of pilgrim groups singing in the distance, the sound of the little waves at my feet, and the breeze off the lake come together in a touching, personal moment. If you’d like to share the experience enjoyed by pilgrims over the centuries, travel can be a spiritual act as well as a political one.

  Bethlehem: Gateway to Palestine

  For me, no Holy Land visit is complete or balanced without learning from both narratives—Israeli and Palestinian. Crossing from Jerusalem to Bethlehem (in Palestine), suddenly there’s not a yarmulke in sight. Wandering Palestinian streets and markets, I kept thinking how easy it is to get here, how little I knew of it, and how rarely visited this land is.

  Crosses and crescents share Bethlehem’s skyline.

  No longer just the little town of Christmas-carol fame, Bethlehem is a leading Palestinian city. The classic Bethlehem panorama shows a delightful town capping a hill with spires and minarets. But this view is impossible to find today, as the city sprawls and is almost indiscernible from greater Jerusalem. If it weren’t for the border crossing—and the traffic—you could ride a bike from the place Jesus was born (Manger Square in Bethlehem) to the place he died (Calvary Hill in Jerusalem) in about 20 minutes.

  While beloved among Christians as the place where Jesus was born, Bethlehem’s skyline is a commotion of both crosses and crescents—a reminder that historically, the town has held a mix of Christians and Muslims. The main square bustles with commerce. And the traffic circle comes with a memorial to locals doing time in Israeli prisons. Here, immersed in a sea of Palestinian people going about their daily lives, preconceptions are challenged.

  While pilgrims line up at the Church of the Nativity, the people of Bethlehem go about their daily chores under this memorial to locals locked up in Israeli prisons.

  Arriving in Bethlehem, I checked into my guesthouse, and within minutes met my Palestinian tour guide. He took me to a tourist-friendly restaurant that posted a “families only” sign so they could turn away rowdy young men. I guess we looked harmless enough, as they let us right in. We sat down, and an impressive array of Palestinian dishes appeared.

  There’s a rhythm to eating here. You’re presented with a delicious and irresistible array of little appetizer plates—hummus, salads, cheeses, meats, eggplant, and various dips to eat with pita bread. Then, just when you’re about full, the real meal arrives—generally a plate full of various meats and grilled vegetables. And save room for dessert! If food is love, there’s an abundance of that in this land.

  In Palestine, a clean plate just gets you more food.

  In fact, a frustration when traveling in Palestine is being overfed. I don’t like to overeat or to waste food. And it seemed I had to do both twice a day. But then my local friend taught me that, according to Palestinian culture, whenever a guest finishes his plate, it’s only hospitable to refill it. So I found the solution: not to finish my plate.

  As in Israel, nearly all tourism in Palestine is religious tourism. And, of course, Bethlehem is a hugely important pilgrimage site to Christians as the birthplace of Jesus. While our image of “no room at the inn” is brick and wood, the “inn” of Bible fame was very likely a series of caves. And “no room” meant that a woman about to give birth would not be welcome in the main quarters, as childbirth was considered unclean. Mary was sent to the manger cave, where the animals were stabled, to give birth to Jesus.

  For over a thousand years, a mosque has also stood on Nativity Square. Muslims consider Jesus a major prophet and have a special reverence for Mary, who has a big role in the Quran.

  Today, the place where the Baby Jesus first entered the material world is marked by the Church of the Nativity, established by St. Helena—mother of the Roman Emperor Constantine—in 326. Inside, you feel the history. A steady stream of tourists and pilgrims come here from all across Christendom to remember that first Christmas and to pray.

  For too many, unfortunately, the word “Palestinian” raises an automatic association with terrorism. Because of this fear, the typical Christian pilgrimage tour visits Bethlehem as a side-trip from Israel. They zip through the wall into the West Bank, head directly to Manger Square, visit the Church of the Nativity, and make a beeline back to safety in Israel. These unfortunate travelers miss a lot and come home with only one narrative. This means that pilgrims who visit the Holy Land to “walk where Jesus walked” seldom walk with the people Jesus walked with. They rarely interact with Palestinian Christians.

  The fact that not all Palestinians are Muslims surprises some. When meeting an Arab Christian, many tourists ask when their family was converted. The answer is usually, “About 2,000 years ago, back when Jesus’ disciples were doing missionary work around here.” A century ago, about 20 percent of Palestinians were Christian. But many Arab Christians fled the draft during World War I (since the ruling Ottomans were neither Arab nor Christian, these Arab Christians saw no reason to fight in their army). And many more have fled with the rising sectarian tensions of recent decades. Today, Christians make up a tiny sliver of the population…and most of them live here in Bethlehem. With the rise of Islamists across the region making parishioners nervous, the Church needs people t
o stay. Christian leaders meet monthly with Muslim imams to discuss growing extremism in the Muslim community and a growing uneasiness among Christians.

  According to scripture, angels were heard on high at Beit Sahour—the Shepherds’ Fields just outside Bethlehem.

  The village of Beit Sahour, just a 30-minute walk east of Bethlehem, is the site of the famous Shepherds’ Fields. In these fertile fields, the Bible tells of an angel who said to ancient shepherds, “Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.” Today, pilgrims still come to these fields to hear the good news, then spread it throughout the world. (Locals say that God knew what he was doing, because this town is still notorious in Palestine for its gossiping. Even news less important than the coming of the Messiah spreads fast from Beit Sahour.)

  That evening, back at my Bethlehem hotel, I bumped into a dozen Lutheran pastors in the lobby. They were heading into the 2,000-year-old cave upon which the hotel was built for a devotional service. They invited me along. Even though I was really tired, I followed my travel ethic: If an opportunity presents itself, say “Yes.” I climbed down into the cave with them and enjoyed a wonderful hour of singing, reading, and sharing. It was, simply, beautiful. You meet far fewer tourists in the West Bank than elsewhere, but those you do meet are really interesting.

  Walls and Settlements: It’s About Land… Like Holy Land Monopoly

  As long as I’ve been politically active (since my first trip to Central America back in the Contra/Sandinista days), I’ve been impressed by how land issues are so fundamental to peace with justice. And land—it seems to me—is what the struggles in the Holy Land are all about.

  Two hot-button land issues dominate much of the debate: Israel’s erection of a barrier around the West Bank, and the Israeli construction of settlements within West Bank territory. In an effort to get a balanced-as-possible take, I made a point to talk with people on both sides (physically and philosophically) of this divide.

  Whether you call it a “Security Fence” or a “Separation Wall,” this 300-mile-long structure has become an icon of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.

  Begun in 2003, a 300-mile-long fortified barrier now separates Israel from the West Bank. What Israelis call the “Security Fence” or “Anti-Terrorism Barrier,” Palestinians—who consider it an affront to their dignity—call the “Separation Wall,” the “Apartheid Wall,” or simply “The Wall.”

  Israelis explain that the barrier is essential to their national security, and needed to be built after losing hundreds of its citizens to suicide bombers in the previous decade. And they claim it’s been effective—noting that since its construction, there has been far less violence.

  Palestinians would counter by saying that the wall was built only with the pretense of security. (Several locals assured me that if anyone really wants to get through the wall—which is far from finished—it’s very easy to do.) They don’t credit the wall for the decline in violence, but say it’s because the West Bank, its leaders, its security forces, and most of its people have all realized that violence is a losing strategy.

  Palestinians also view the wall as a land grab designed to hobble a Palestinian state. The wall generally runs well within Palestinian territory: It’s nearly twice as long as the border it claims to defend—gerrymandered in order to secure Israel settlements, aquifers, good farmland, and religious and archeological sites within the West Bank. While it can look landscaped and attractive from the Israeli side, the wall is gloomy and oppressive from the Palestinian side.

  Walking through the border checkpoint is enlightening and, for some people, uncomfortable. For a Western tourist, it’s easy: Leaving Jerusalem, I took a cab to the checkpoint, flashed my passport, walked through the turnstile, and hopped into one of the many taxis waiting on the Palestinian side for the quick ride into downtown Bethlehem. But for Palestinians heading for work in Jerusalem, it isn’t nearly so simple. Like border towns between rich and poor lands all over the world, workers with special passes cross every day on their humiliating commute for higher-paying jobs in the more affluent country.

  I can understand Israel’s need for security. But my hunch was that the wall is designed at least partly to separate people from people. And to me, that’s part of the problem. I sensed that the younger generation on both sides wanted to get beyond the baggage of their parents and connect. But with this barrier, there’s literally no common ground where people from opposite sides can come together. Walls are ugly. They may be necessary at times, but they represent a diplomatic failure.

  In addition to the wall, Israel has steadily encroached upon Palestinian territory by building hilltop settlements in the West Bank. Today over half a million Israeli Jews live in settlements in Palestinian land (about a third of them in East Jerusalem, claimed both by Israel and Palestine). These are planned communities—beautifully landscaped and designed—offering the same modern conveniences and efficiency you’d expect in an American gated community. And thanks to Israeli government subsidies for housing and transportation, young Jewish families can afford to live here and comfortably commute to jobs back in Israel. For many, it’s a deal too good to refuse.

  Over 500,000 Israelis live in planned and fortified communities built mostly in the last generation on ridges and hilltops within the West Bank.

  When Palestinians complain about Israelis building homes here, they hear many justifications. Supporters of these settlements make the case that developing this land is reasonable because it was unused, and because the language of the treaty designating it Palestinian was open-ended (“until a final status agreement is reached”). Israel also explains that settlement construction creates a needed buffer zone (an action they can defend by simply pointing to their recent history). They say that according to international law, if land is used to attack a nation, that nation has the legal right to both occupy and settle that land for its own defense. And many Jews (and Evangelical Christians who are inclined to support them) believe it is God’s will that they occupy this land. (According to the Bible, Judgment Day will only happen when Jews control the entire Holy Land. A certain breed of Christian supports Israel simply because they’d like to move things along.)

  To better understand the settlers’ perspective, I spent some time in a few Israeli settlements that were built during the last decade or so in the West Bank. Strolling along Leave It to Beaver streets under the red-tiled roofs of cookie-cutter homes, I felt as if I were in suburban California. Gangs of happy-go-lucky children on their bikes were eager to befriend me, and there was a relaxed vibe.

  This Israeli couple—enjoying their community’s sleek shopping mall—explains why they choose to live in a West Bank settlement.

  I spoke to one couple who’s raising 10 children in one of Israel’s biggest and most modern settlements. Chatting in a café at their mall, they acknowledged that the rest of the world may not like it (referring to the “rest of the world” as just another opinion). Describing their community as a “city” rather than a “settlement,” they were thankful to have a place to raise their children according to their values in a secure and affordable environment.

  For Israeli parents, settlements in the West Bank are a great place to raise children. I could have played all day with the kids I met.

  I also enjoyed a beer and a chat with a resident of a simple and rustic settlement in the Jordan River Valley. He said he was here not as a Zionist, but because it was quiet and offered his young family a back-to-nature home with wonderful neighbors. “You never see the stars in Tel Aviv like we do here,” he told me.

  In another settlement, I met a 24-year-old man who had just bought his house and was thrilled to invite me in. He and his buddy talked with me on their balcony, overlooking a vast and unpopulated view. They said that the land was go
ing unused anyway, so why shouldn’t industrious Israeli Jews develop it? They can pump in water from desalination plants and build a slick freeway to provide a fine place for people to live within a short drive to jobs back in Israel proper. When I asked these young men if there’s a good and peaceful future in this region, I was struck by how matter-of-factly they said, “Only if the Palestinians move east across the Jordan River and into the country of Jordan.”

  Walking through an Israeli settlement, I can see the appeal of these neighborhoods. But history has taught us that when a government plants its citizens in disputed territory, the descendants of those original settlers are likely to pay the price. Ultimately, rather than cheap, that land is very costly. (For more thoughts on this, see “Planting People Brings a Painful Harvest,” chapter 3, here.)

  I’ve also learned that these Israeli enclaves embitter the Palestinians as much as violent resistance embitters Israelis. And the more settlements are built, the more the West Bank becomes fragmented, and the more difficult a mutually agreeable two-state solution—or any solution—may become. While I hope it’s not true, I worry that the aggressive establishment of these settlements today could haunt Israel’s prospects for a happy resolution of the tensions in the Middle East tomorrow.

  I see three possible outcomes to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict: The first scenario is two independent and secure states (a Jewish Israel and Palestine). The second scenario is one modern, pluralistic, and secular state with a dominant Jewish population and an equal and protected Palestinian minority. Unfortunately, this is untenable for anyone who believes in a Jewish state, as over time—according to demographic trends—the Muslim minority would grow to outnumber the current Jewish majority, tipping the balance of power. The third option is one Jewish state with its Palestinian minority kept on the equivalent of Indian reservations—what some would call an “Apartheid state.”