What I found at Christianity’s holiest sites in war zone during the Christmas season

BETHLEHEM, West Bank — I discovered first-hand what it’s like to be surrounded by the eerie silence of Christmas at Christianity’s holiest sites during the Mideast war.

I set out earlier this month to cover the state of Israel’s conflict as talk of a cease-fire agreement in Gaza began gaining momentum just as the Christmas season started.

I hoped to take a break from the war along the way to share the stories of Christians making their pilgrimages to the Holy Land.

But when I arrived at the holiest sites where Jesus was born, preached, died – from Bethlehem and Nazareth to the Sea of Galilee and Jerusalem — the only Christian I found was myself.

The discovery was yet another sobering reminder of the ongoing war in the region, but it also served to reinforce the hope of the season: peace on earth.

Bethlehem

Ancient Bethlehem lies in the West Bank, in an area where the Israeli government bans its citizens from entering. To visit, you cross a checkpoint manned by Israel Defense Force soldiers pointing rifles at all who enter in case a terrorist attack should break out.

Immediately upon entering, music indicating Muslim prayer time blast from speakers across town. On the run-down streets that could come from a scene in the Disney movie “Aladdin,” paintings of young Palestinian “martyrs” carrying AK-47s remind visitors of the nonstop religious war in Israel.

While hatred for Jewish Israelis in Bethlehem is evident, the town thrives off the dollars of Christian tourists who once poured into the town by the millions.

But since Israel’s war with Hamas broke out after the terror group’s Oct. 7, 2023, massacre of more than 1,200 Israelis on the other side of the country, tourism is just a fraction of what it had been. Where the city saw about 2 million tourists a year before the conflict, officials estimate only about 100,000 visitors came to the holy city in 2024.

The dramatic drop-off has deeply hurt business in the Palestinian-controlled region. While restaurants have a few customers here and there, the beloved shops carrying images of Jesus hand-carved from olive wood are dead silent — with business worse than it was during the COVID-19 pandemic.

“You’re my first customer this week,” Bethlehem shopkeeper Nadir Nasser told me as I purchased handmade rosaries for my family back home. “The nativity sets have been 50% off for more than a year, and I still can’t move them.”

My tour guide, Youseff, told me on our walk to the Church of the Nativity that I was his first English-speaking visitor during the season.

“Most have been coming from the region — India is about as far as I’ve seen people come from lately,” he said. “But even they weren’t Christian.”

Instead of pilgrimages, what little tourism that has come to Bethlehem over the past 14 months of the war has involved mostly non-Israeli history buffs from neighboring countries.

Inside the church, I saw a handful of other tourists. Looking forward to hearing their stories of making the Christmastime pilgrimage despite the war, I approached each English-speaking person I could find to ask for an interview. But none of the 12 individuals I found inside said they were Christian.

Still, they were interested in learning the ancient landmark’s history and traditions, including involving the space said to be the site of the original wooden manger where Jesus was born.

Nazareth and the Sea of Gallilee

Unlike Bethlehem, Nazareth — where Jesus was raised — is part of Israel proper. It is also home to the largest concentration of Muslims and Arab Israelis in the nation.

The streets were bustling with locals — both Jews and Muslims — on their way home from school and work as I ventured into town.

But I soon found myself alone as I approached one of the main holy sites in Nazareth, known as Mary’s Well.

Believed to be where the angel Gabriel visited Mary to tell her she would bear the son of God, the “well” could now otherwise be mistaken for a dry, rundown park fountain.

I sat there alone for about half an hour, reflecting on the dual beauty and sadness of having such a sacred place all to myself. If there’s one thing to be said for religious tourism in a war zone, it’s that it teaches you to be grateful for the little moments.

Later, I drove about 18 miles away to Tiberius, Israel — home to the Sea of Galilee, where Christians believe Jesus walked on water.

Once a hotspot for pilgrims, Tiberius now looks like a resort town in winter — with heavy construction at nearly all of the hotels, where most of the rooms sit empty.

I also visited the nearby Capernaum National Park, once home to the Jewish fishing village where Jesus first began his ministry. But instead of pilgrims, the few people I found there were nature enthusiasts taking in the rich and diverse landscape of the area on the banks of the Sea of Galilee with the mountains of Jordan perched in the distance.

Jerusalem

I capped off my pilgrimage in Jerusalem, which was territorially split in half between Israel and the West Bank as part of the Oslo Accords of 1995.

The holy sites are contained mostly to what’s known as “the Old City,” which is cordoned off into four sections: the Muslim, Jewish, Christian and Armenian quarters.

Because the site is important to so many different faiths, I found Jerusalem to be less deserted than the other holy sites I visited. Jews still flocked to the Jewish quarter’s Western Wall, the remains of the retaining structure surrounding the Temple Mount — where the first and second Temples of Jerusalem were built and destroyed in 587 BC and 70 CE, respectively.

While non-Muslims are not allowed in parts of the Muslim quarter, there are some markets in the area that are open to visitors. The ancient streets that were open to me bustled with business from visitors to the Islamic sites.

Local shop owners, hungry for customers, greeted me cheerfully throughout the Old City, convincing me to come into their stores to purchase Christmas presents for my family.

I spent about $250 in one store, purchasing some ancient Roman glass jewelry at a ridiculously reduced rate because of the lack of business. The shopkeeper, Asif Hassan, thanked me profusely, noting that the amount was more than he’d made in the entire month.

The Christian quarter was quiet, like so many of the Christian sites I toured previously. Walking the same streets where Jesus was condemned to death by Pontius Pilate, the hushed atmosphere seemed almost mournful in a place that once saw some of the most tourism in the area.

Upon entering the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, I finally found a few Christian tourists. Two knelt at the slab of rock where Jesus’ body was believed to have been anointed before his burial and kissed the artifact in intense prayer.

Up the stairs and around the corner, I found about a dozen more people — some kneeling and weeping in front of an elaborate altar.

I joined them, taking my place underneath a huge display of Christ on the cross, not sure of the signifigance of where I was. Without many English speakers around — and no English signage — I knew whatever happened there must have been important by the reactions of others.

Later, a Hebrew-speaking friend who joined me on my visit explained that I had just prayed at the site of Jesus’ crucifixion.

Around the corner, I came upon Jesus’ tomb, where Christians believe he rose from the dead three days after he was buried there.

The site was nearly as empty as it was when Mary Magdalene is said to have discovered Jesus’ body was missing.

There, I finally recognized the gift it had been to have these holy sites almost entirely to myself this Christmas season. I knelt there inside Jesus’ tomb, praying for an end to the war that had brought me to the country.