Thanks to my darling wife, Jane
The driver of the ‘sherut’ (shared taxi) drops me opposite the Damsacus Gate in Jerusalem and motions towards where I can catch the bus to Bethlehem. Early in the morning as it is, the heat is already rising. Tired from the overnight journey, I’m still relieved to have escaped the gleaming angular airport of Ben Gurion and the long queues at the passport booths.
To enter the Bethlehem bus is to enter another, parallel world. Perhaps not meticulously clean and a bit ramshackle around the edges but warm and welcoming, like a well-worn blanket. People greet one another and exchange news. A young girl comes to sit beside me and gives me a broad smile. As we drive out of the city an elderly gentleman opposite with deep lines in his face where he has smiled often looks out of the bus window where an elderly Jewish gentleman is being…
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