A child in Europe
In the beginning there was a magical imaginary village of Bethlehem, so childish and close, though far away. Domasticated, adorned with cotton wool in the parish church, as if it was really full of snow on the birth of Jesus.
Then there was a religion class and a lot of new names. Jerusalem, Nazareth, Egypt, Jordan River… And in spring, during Easter – a movie in the television – Middle East landscapes, desert, apostles with beard and John the Baptist dressed with a strange, single robe. And burning sun.
Then a Mass – and a lot of other stories. Those abote the Galilee in the north, Judea in the south and Samaria in between. Those of Golgotha and reaping the water from well. Palestine in the times of Jesus, pictured in the imagination of thousands of Christian children around the world.
In the evening, after dinner, parents were again wathing boring news, incomprehensible for a child. Gaza Strip? Is it a place where they extract gas? Embargo? What a funny word. Bomb attack? It must be somewhere far away from here! The pope prays for peace in the Holy Land? And why for peace? Shouldn’t it be peaceful already? They closed the airport in Tel Aviv? Arabs are protesting against the Jewish settlements in East Jerusalem? I don’t understand. Well, this “Jerusalem” sounds kind of familiar though. Religion classes. I’m going to sleep.
Today in Bethlehem 