Bethlehem

Bethlehem is more than a birthplace of prophets or a destination for pilgrims — it is a city layered with soul, sorrow, and resilience. As a son of Palestine, I return to Bethlehem not as a tourist but as a witness, a narrator of its quieter stories. My lens traces the worn cobblestones of the Old City, lingers on the flicker of candles inside the Church of the Nativity, captures the curve of olive branches over ancient walls. It follows the laughter of children echoing through narrow alleys and the silence of dawn as light breaks over Shepherds’ Field. Here, every shutter click holds a paradox — beauty amidst occupation, joy amidst hardship, faith under siege. I seek to preserve not only the visual but the feeling: the incense, the stone, the time standing still. These photographs are not staged, nor perfect. They are alive — spontaneous frames of memory and belonging. They echo the Bethlehem I have known for decades, with all its contradictions: sacred and profane, festive and mournful, eternal yet vanishing. This is my Bethlehem. The one I saw, the one I felt, the one I want you to remember.