Palestinians Inside Church Torn Between Loyalty, Fear

BETHLEHEM, West Bank —  Corpses rotting beside the crypts of saints. Children sleeping where tradition says the infant Jesus once lay. Gunmen bleeding to death in the basilica of one of Christianity’s most sacred shrines.

As the confrontation at the besieged Church of the Nativity here entered its 31st day in a sudden blaze of gunfire and flame today, those inside appear to be actors in a complicated psychological drama, something between a hostage situation and a prison standoff.

Their story is slowly emerging, pieced together from interviews with those still inside and those who have left the church.

An estimated 40 priests, monks and nuns have remained inside the church since April 2, when hundreds of Palestinians raced inside to escape invading Israeli troops. The clerics say they feel a duty to offer refuge but are repulsed by the presence of armed men.

The Palestinians are equally conflicted, divided into factions of factions. Some want exile abroad, a chance to fight another day. One small group seeks to provoke a blood bath, hoping to further the cause of a Palestinian state in the world’s eyes.

“Some have said: ‘I’ll stay in the church. I prefer to die in the church,’ ” said Omar Habib, a 16-year-old who left the sanctuary last week. “They feel like what is happening inside the Church of the Nativity will help bring about the state of Palestine.”

Of about 200 or so Palestinians who originally fled into the church, about 150 remain, most of them armed with automatic weapons. Israel has said that at least 10 and as many as 50 are terrorists, responsible for killing civilians.

Food and water are running low inside the cavernous basilica. Israeli snipers continually shoot at those who brandish weapons. The military has waged a campaign to erode morale, playing sirens to keep the men awake.

The Israelis insist that both clerics and Palestinian civilians are hostages. But not even priests who have fled the church say they were forced to remain inside.

Palestinians who have emerged in recent days say those inside are torn between loyalty to their brethren and fear of the Israeli soldiers, who have killed five Palestinians during the standoff.

But they also tell of pressure to remain united, to stay or go, but only together. The continued presence of priests and civilians is a guarantee of sorts for the safety of the most violent of those inside--the members of militant groups accused of killing Israeli civilians.

Both Palestinian government and militant leaders have made it clear that all can leave, those who have emerged say. But doing so, the leaders have warned, would be seen as a betrayal of sorts--a death sentence in a society where collaborators are routinely killed by vigilante mobs.

“I didn’t try to leave on my own for one reason: I was afraid that I might be accused of being a collaborator,” said Thaer Mohammed Manasra, a 20-year-old who was taken to an Israeli hospital after a sniper shot him while he ventured outside to collect ferns to eat.

The situation is just as complicated outside the towering walls of the compound. The Palestinian leadership, the Israeli government, the Vatican, the Greek Orthodox patriarchate, the Anglican Church, the European Union, the United States and various other countries are involved in the delicate diplomatic effort.

The Israelis have said they want the crisis to end peacefully, thus avoiding the spectacle of a gun battle inside the church. But they have not ruled out a military option.

“We’re making every effort humanly possible to get civilian hostages and terrorists out of the church as quickly and safely as we possibly can, but it’s not open-ended,” said Capt. Joel Leyden, an army spokesman.

In yet another reminder of the high tensions, early this morning, gunfire erupted and a fire appeared to break out in the Franciscan monastery that adjoins the church. The Israeli military said the Palestinians fired at them, prompting a volley of warning shots. Palestinians claimed that the Israelis had tried to storm the church. It was unclear how the fire began.

The standoff at the church began on the afternoon of April 2. As locals stocked up in preparation for an expected Israeli invasion, and militants gathered in Manger Square in front of the church to make resistance plans, the Israeli army suddenly approached from all directions.

Shouts went up from different quarters: “Run to the church! Run to the church!”

The church has long defined Bethlehem, placed on a rise overlooking the ancient city’s olive groves and rock-terraced hills. Thick, fortress-like walls surround the compound, about the size of four square city blocks. On the north sit the Roman Catholic buildings, including a monastery and St. Catherine’s church, site of the famous Christmas Eve Mass beamed around the world each year. The Armenian and Greek Orthodox faiths share the south side of the compound with their own gardens, monastery and chapels.

The church itself lies at the center of the compound, sitting atop a network of caves that includes the grotto revered by Christians as the birthplace of Jesus and the tomb of Christian saints.

Habib, the 16-year-old, was out in the street running to buy medicine for his diabetic mother when he heard shots. He ran to the local mosque, then heard the cries to run toward the church.

When he got inside, he counted about 200 Palestinian men holed up in the gloomy interior lighted only by high windows and candles. Old oak beams dating from the Middle Ages stretched across the roof. Smooth stones paved the floor.

Many of the men and boys were strangers to one another, with a few groups of friends here and there.

But there were also several groups of armed men, a total of perhaps 100 to 150. They included Palestinian police, naval police and the presidential guard.

Also present were members of militant groups such as Islamic Jihad, Hamas and the Al Aqsa Martyrs Brigade, an offshoot of the Tanzim, the military wing of Palestinian Authority President Yasser Arafat’s Fatah movement.

“I was scared,” Habib said. “I didn’t know how we were going to get out of there.”

A Violent Turn

It didn’t take long for the standoff to become violent.

On April 4, Samir Abraham Salman, 45, a mentally impaired man who had spent most of his life working as a bell ringer at the church, apparently decided to go home.

He left from an entrance on the south side of the church, ignoring or perhaps not comprehending the shouts of an Israeli sniper, who killed him for fear he was a suicide bomber.

“He was killed, and I am sorry about it,” said Col. Marcel Aviv, the chief of operations at the church for the Israeli military.

The circumstances of the next killing were unclear.

In the early morning hours of April 8, a fire broke out in the Franciscan monastery, in a second-floor dining hall and kitchen area.

Palestinians inside claim that the fire was the product of a botched Israeli commando raid, sparked by either flares or stun grenades.

The Israelis, however, say they have never entered the church or the compound.

Whatever the case, Khaled Siam, a Palestinian police officer, was shot and killed during the confusion. The Palestinians said he was rushing to extinguish the blaze. The Israelis said they saw a man inside the area with a weapon.

He was shot in the head, just below his left eye, dropping dead on the spot. Suddenly, the Palestinians had a martyr for their cause.

The Bethlehem region’s Palestinian governor, Mohammed Madani, who has been in the church since the beginning of the crisis, called all the Palestinians together, according to several who recently fled.

“He said, ‘If you want to leave, leave.’ But then he said, ‘If you leave, you will be considered a collaborator,’ ” said Jihad abu Qamel, 16, the first Palestinian to flee the church.

‘I Don’t Want to Die’

Five days after Siam was killed, Hasman Nasser, also a Palestinian police officer, became the third man shot during the siege. He dragged himself from a nearby building to the main church basilica, where he bled to death.

“I don’t want to die,” he told rescuers inside the church as he frantically tried to call for help. “I don’t want to die.”

The days passed slowly. The Palestinians confined themselves to the main basilica, lounging among the towering pillars, in nooks filled with massive gold lamps and finely wrought mosaics from the Byzantine era.

The Palestinians would joke, play cards, and dream about food. At night, two or three men would share a single blanket. They gradually burned all the devotional candles in the church in an effort to stay warm at night. On Fridays, they held traditional noon Muslim prayers in the basilica.

The younger children, ranging from 10 to 18, according to the Israeli military, at first slept downstairs, in the underground grotto.

Up to 30 crammed together, trying to stay warm in the small space bounded by gloomy, gray stone walls.

Some slept on the 14-point star that Christians believe marks the exact spot of the manger and where, in better times, the faithful await their turn to prostrate themselves.

“It was hard to find any place warm. We put 10 candles lit and sat next to them to be warm,” said Fouaad Laham, 19, who left the church with nine other teenagers a week ago.

Food has grown increasingly scarce. For the first two weeks, meals came from food stored at the various monasteries. The Palestinians had at least one decent meal a day--fava beans, rice, even chicken. Then, the supplies ran out.

At first, the Israelis hoped to starve the Palestinians out, Israeli military officials said. But the presence of the clerics quashed that plan. The Israelis realized that they had to continue supplying food to the clerics or risk starving priests, monks and nuns as well.

And so they set up a clandestine delivery system, supplying food via different doors into the compound. But the clerics, in turn, continued to share that food with the Palestinians.

“The priest used to bring us food, but not enough for everybody,” said Abdul Nashash, 17. “I started throwing up whatever I ate.”

Still, the meals became more and more infrequent. Rice was often served in cooking water as a sort of soup.

Men began stealing out at night into the hilly orchards behind the compound’s east walls, grabbing fruit, lemon tree leaves and fiddlehead ferns usually steamed like greens.

The Israelis also turned off water to the compound, forcing those inside to rely on cisterns. They quickly drew down water levels, reaching insect-filled muck at the bottom of the wells.

Psychological Warfare

The conditions began to wear on the Palestinians, as did Israeli psychological tactics. On some days, soldiers threw in plastic bottles with notes promising food and safe haven. There were even phone numbers to call. “Don’t think of the others. Think of yourself,” read one note.

The corpses of the slain men were stored in a room in the Greek Orthodox monastery and began to decompose. Bathrooms were limited, and the lack of water turned them into foul cesspools.

A sick, inescapable odor filled the vast and empty space of the basilica.

The tensions boiled over April 21. A group of Palestinians went on a rampage through the Armenian monastery, whose monks had remained more distant than those from the Greek Orthodox and Franciscan orders.

The men roamed from room to room, breaking in doors in a desperate search for food. They confronted the bishop, stealing a gold chain from his neck and breaking a cross.

“All the rooms have been damaged. They have broken into the monastery searching for food. They looted everything,” said an Armenian priest reached inside the church.

The vandalism, which spread to the Greek Orthodox monastery as well, prompted an ultimatum from the Rev. Ibrahim Faltas, an Egyptian priest at St. Catherine’s church, which adjoins the Church of the Nativity.

“We’re giving you a 48-hour ultimatum,” Faltas told those outside, according to Bethlehem Mayor Hanna Nasser. “If you don’t do something, the priests will leave the church.”

The threat was clear: no priests, no protection for the Palestinians inside.

Two days later, talks began.

The two teams of negotiators sat down for the first time April 23. Col. Aviv was head of the Israeli team, and local councilman Salah Tamari was the coordinator for the Palestinian side.

One result came quickly: The Israelis agreed that the two bodies could be brought from the church. Palestinians inside chose nine children to do the job.

The fate of the wanted men soon became the stickiest point in the negotiations.

At least two of the militants had come to be seen as leaders inside the church. The same acts that made them wanted in Israel had turned them into heroes among many Palestinians.

Ibrahim Abeiyat, the head of the local Al Aqsa brigade, told The Times in March that he ordered the killing of an Israeli settler.

Abdallah Daud Kader, head of the Palestinian’s local intelligence division, has been accused of weapons smuggling.

The Israeli government wanted the men to stand trial in Israel or be sent into exile. The Palestinians saw this as a dangerous precedent and insisted that the men stay in the Palestinian territories to face trial there.

Questions also surrounded the fate of the other men inside the church. Israel wants to question every one of them, but the Palestinians have resisted, fearing that they may be tortured or unfairly imprisoned.

After six days, during which two more Palestinians were killed by snipers and two others wounded, talks broke down Monday.

Low-level negotiations continue, however, mostly centered on the release of those inside the church who want to leave. Twenty-six people emerged Tuesday, and more groups are expected.

Although negotiations remained frozen Wednesday, the resolution of the siege of Arafat’s Ramallah headquarters brought new hope to the process--and could provide a model for ending the crisis in Bethlehem.

The Palestinians have said they are prepared to accept U.S. or British wardens to oversee the transfer, trial and imprisonment of any of the wanted men inside the church.

Israel has not publicly ruled out such a solution.

Some Palestinians are predicting a resolution within a few days--possibly in time for Greek Orthodox Easter this Sunday. Others are less hopeful.

In the meantime, two peoples, three religions and multiple nations continue struggling to find a way out of one of the most difficult crises to face the church in its long history.

Said Bethlehem Mayor Nasser: “It is a mess.”

Times staff writer Rebecca Trounson in Bethlehem contributed to this report.