Let us now go even unto Bethlehem, and see this thing that is come to pass (Luke 2:15)

Just in time for Christmas, Tim and I headed to the West Bank, the occupied territories of Jesus's birth. The main attraction, of course, is the Church of the Nativity, and even I had to admit that it seemed pretty holy upon first approach, what with the streaming light and all:

And it was pretty awe-inspiring to see how the events of this place sparked a faith that spread throughout the world. On this day, there were hundreds of what appeared to be Indians and Pakistanis worshipping at the church, including these two lighting candles for prayer:

But the serenity of this sanctuary was soon shattered as we descended into the cave that makes the city famous. It hardly seemed pious to be so pushy at this holy site:

The cause for the crowding was the Star of Bethlehem, an ornate plaque dating from the fourth century that marks the presumed place that Mary delivered Jesus before he was set in the manger nearby. The people in line knelt to kiss the spot, probably not thinking, like me, about the fact that afterbirth likely landed here, too:

After birth inevitably comes breastfeeding, so we continued on to the Milk Grotto, where legend holds that a drop of Mary's milk, which dropped as she stopped to nurse Jesus as they fled from King Herod's baby-killing soldiers, turned the rock unnaturally white. The custom today is for women to chip off some of the shrine's wall to give them luck in fertility. I kept my hands in my pockets, but I did see a member of this party scrape some off, for what reason I'll never know:

No Christmas visit would be complete without some consumerism, so our guide took us to a olive wood-carving factory and store, where we bought requisite souvenirs (a candlestick and a bell). I was able to refrain from splurging on this impulse buy:

After blowing our cash, we stand-shopped through the Palestinian souk, which intermittently included blow-up Santas and hand-knitted stockings. The most eye-catching store, though, had to be this one, smack dab in the middle of Manger Square:

Besides this sign, very little else about Bethlehem aroused the Christmas spirit. Workers were only just putting lights on the trees, to prepare for the Christmas Eve concert. Perhaps it would've been more festive when they were turned on at night. But we didn't stick around that late, because we had to get back for a true Christian tradition: the staff holiday party. So I settled for staring up at this one sad, small, strung-out collection of ornaments: