EMMA WILLIAMS
For Christmas we had a baby boy in Bethlehem, and our project for the week, rather like last week and the week before that, is to find him a name. A nine-and-a-half-pound giant born in the Palestinian/Philistine city that was once royal David's; my father suggests Goliath. Thanks, Dad.
Bethlehern TV and radio, so thrilled that one of the Palestinians' beleaguered hospitals is patronised by a Westerner when Israeli checkpoints isolate Bet hlehemites from the world, insist on interviewing me. They arrive just as I am being escorted through the hospital for an X-ray. I lie captive on the X-ray slab. The radiologist looks down, lines me up for the shot and starts a conversation about the troubles. 'To understand things, we have to go back in history,' he intones. 'To the British Mandate?' I weakly try. 'No — to the Canaanites,' and I know I'm in for a long one, as he lists every power that ever flexed here. Reaching the Mamelukes, he breaks off, a sudden thought he must enlighten me with: 'You know, 2,000 years ago there were no Jews here.' I don't know what the Arabic for 'don't be bloody ridiculous' is, but that's clearly what the midwife blurts. Gratefully I scarper, quick as I post-partum can, leaving them to a noisy historical row. The radiographer wanted me fully dressed to spare other patients the vision of my bare legs. Back in bed, the cameras want me undressed to be convincing as a newlydelivered mother, before they ask, 'Why Bethlehem?' This is a question I answer many times in the days to come. Bethlehem is locked behind Israeli Defence Force (IDE) checkpoints, and to get to my hospital I have to go through them. Being foreign, I almost always succeed, but locals are denied that luxury. At least five Palestinian women so far have had to give birth at checkpoints, resulting in the deaths of two babies and one mother.
While the weather is still crisp and blue, pacifist marchers are out in Bethlehem. Heartily international and churchy, they organise a walk from there to Jerusalem to encircle the Old City walls in a folksy 'protective embrace'. They never get beyond the Bethlehem checkpoint. Spanking-new armoured vehicles lurk. Troops swarm in droves. Expats and Palestinian marchers wave balloons and hope they look peaceful. Journalists and cameras loiter, waiting for action. We linger on the soldiers' side of the khaki barricade; friends among the marchers sing and wave. Charlie Glass suavely calls out in greeting, weary
after his early morning start (well, it is 11 a.m.), and now bemused — he's not allowed to cross the human barrier. Instead he leans over the linked arms of soldiers to kiss me hello; Pyramus to my Thisbe. The wife of Britain's most respected postwar ambassador to the region, diminutive but charmingly forceful despite her 79 years, marches up to the rows of troops and stands beside them, absorbed by the contrasts: sharpshooters and hymn-singers, body-armour and children playing. Then it's all over, the organisers, obedient to Israeli demands, disband: Palestinians not allowed out of Bethlehem; foreigners, go home please.
Following a piece in a US paper, a letter criticises me for risking the life of my unborn child by choosing to bring him forth in a Palestinian hospital. I reject the slur, and write back to thank Mr Nosy for his concern, telling him my choice was quite
justified the hospital was excellent — and made on sound medical grounds. Little could he imagine that the Bethlehem hospital is linked with prestigious institutions abroad and modelled on European obstetric practices. Israeli hospitals favour the US model. Having trained as a doctor in Britain, I have delivered babies in London, Luton and Afghanistan (the caring Soviet model of obstetrics — try saying no to an episiotomy in that system), and had my first three babies in New York. I prefer the European system. That's all. It's not doctor-dominated and midwives are acknowledged good guys.
We escape the tyranny of our newborn for an evening, and dine in a restaurant with a group of Israeli friends. Under discussion: is it true that anti-Semitism is on the rise in Europe? They debate, and there's talk of Israel being described as a 'shitty little country'. 'Well yes, obviously we are,' laughs one of Israel's leading columnists. He recounts asking a senior Israeli cabinet minister last week, 'How can we object to that?' Of course it's true,' the minister had admitted; when it comes to the Palestinians, 'shiny is exactly how we behave'.'
The barometer changes: we sit and shiver in cold, wet weather that brings Jerusalem to a halt. Public transport is threatened by the quantities of water descending from the heavens, school shuts early, teachers bolt, pupils stand in pools of rain until parents pitch up. Our power is off all day and the heating with it. Meanwhile my husband is in Rafah refugee camp near the Egyptian border, looking at the newlyhomeless — they are truly cold. The conflict's three-week lull has ended (a lull in which no Israelis die, but 20 Palestinians are killed by the IDF). Harnas break their ceasefire and launch an operation, killing four Israeli soldiers in Gaza. The IDE retaliates by bulldozing dozens of Palestinian homes, making hundreds shelter-free in the shuddering wind and rain. Israeli journalists — furious over their government's 'blind cruelty' — describe the refugees' misery as they watch everything they own, every memory and saving, ploughed under the bulldozers' military tread.
Amer, a Palestinian neighbour, comes to my rescue lugging a gas heater, round which we cluster. He bemoans his leader and Palestinian extremists, asking when they will wake up to the need for non-violent protest to end the occupation, and concluding that they are nothing better than hungry hyenas growing fat on the cow. The Karine A arms-ship is, he says, yet another blunder by Arafat's acolytes, who have no clue as to what their people think or feel or need. While they fiddle, Sharon burns their territory into shrinking chunks of Palestine-between-the-Settlements. There is no hope, he says. 'Our people have nothing left to lose. So the struggle will go on until the occupation is ended.' I look at Goliath and try to look on the bright side. The rain is meant to stop tomorrow, and he'll have a name soon. Optimism is in short supply round here — we grab whatever's on offer.
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