Joseph closed the woodwork before sunset. At night he crossed over Palestine. Mary was waiting for him at Gaza Strip. She had risked a lynching because a woman from Israel could not bear a son of a Palestinian one. They walked in direction to Bethlehem asking for shelter, but everybody was busy.
Joseph and Mary were too tired and collapsed. On the horizon there were thunders and lightnings: they were bombs on the Gaza Strip becaming sound of war. A woman, whose face was covered by a burka, offered them a tent. It was the only shelter she had. In the middle of the night, the desert heard the cry of a child. The woman came and the little hand of baby pulled the burka down. The child stared at the beauty of her face.
Meanwhile, Joseph and Mary turned pale, because they saw tanks and armies approaching, while a crowd of men and women from Israel and Palestine arrived to understand what was that ‘glare. It was not the light of the bombs, but that one of a new life. When the Palestinians and the Israelis were kidnapped by the creature’s beaming face, looked at Joseph and Mary, exclaiming in chorus: “Blessed are you. Your child is the beauty of our peoples, divided by hatred, but today finally united by this act of love.” in the meantime they came soldiers and tanks. The guns and helmets were swept away by the hugs and kisses from all people gathered. There was an air of festivity and everybody called the child with a different name.
I witnessed everything. I had neither a notebook nor a camera to record what it was happened. It had already happened and that one was the most beautiful Christmas night in my life. On the way back I read on a hand-carved wooden sign: “Shalom Jesus, Joseph and Mary’s son. December, 25 2011.”
It happened tomorrow.
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