James Zogby
THE scene in the Vatican’s Paul VI Audience Hall was quite moving. Pope Francis had come to thank those who had donated its Christmas tree and the carved, life-sized figures that depicted the birth of Jesus set up at its foot. As the Pope sat in silent prayer, one thing stood out: the manger on which lay the figure of the infant Jesus was lined with a keffiyeh. The symbolism was powerful. Here’s why.
The birth of Jesus, as related in the Christian Bible and tradition, tells us that because his parents could not find room in a Bethlehem inn, they were forced to find shelter in a cave that housed animals. After his birth, Mary, his mother, placed the child in a manger where he lay as common shepherds came to pay homage and kings from the East came bearing gifts.
When King Herod, the Roman client who governed this region of the empire, became aware of this birth and the prophecies about how, despite his inauspicious origin, this child would rise to lead his people, he felt threatened. In a rage, Herod ordered the massacre of all little children in the area. Warned in advance, Jesus’s parents and their newborn fled to Egypt until it was safe to return.
Palestinian Christians see echoes of their nation’s plight in this story. They are outcasts living under occupation. We are told that, from the beginning, the birth of Jesus would herald a new order that would promise freedom for captives, bring low the mighty, send the rich away empty and reward those who persevere for the sake of justice. Palestinians know that their very existence and steadfastness threatens to upend the established order.
When the Christian faith was later adopted by the Roman Empire, images of Jesus took on the trappings of royalty. He came to be portrayed as a king in an earthly sense, clothed in regal garments and crowned in gold. In this transformation, the profoundly unsettling upside-down message of the original story is lost. And so, the manger scene in the Vatican is a powerful reminder of Jesus in the beginning – an outcast, born humbly, under occupation, and with parents fearful for his safety. In this context, the keffiyeh is a perfect touch.
Not everyone agrees, though. Earlier this year, the head of the Anti-Defamation League, Jonathan Greenblatt, was accused of drawing an equivalence between the keffiyeh and the Nazi armband. Building on this, one US Congressman denounced Pope Francis for falling victim to the anti-Semitic propaganda lie that equates the plight of Palestinians with the Christmas story. This requires a response, because the story of the symbolism of the keffiyeh is itself something that must be understood.
In the mid-1930s, Palestinians were living on the edge. They had been severed from the rest of the Arab East. Their new rulers, the British Mandatory government, promised their land to the Zionist movement. The British had opened the door to a massive wave of Jewish immigration to Palestine. To regain control over their lives, land and futures, Palestinians launched an uprising that lasted between 1936 and 1939.
During this Great Revolt, they succeeded in liberating almost 80 per cent of the land. It was ended only with an agreement made between the British (who needed to free themselves of this conflict given their concerns with impending war in Europe) and a number of Arab leaders, with the Palestinians concurring. In the agreement, the British pledged to convene a commission to study the problem, to suspend immigration and in the end to respect Arab aspirations in Palestine. This, they did not do.
It is an insult to Palestinian history and humanity to try and reduce the meaning of the keffiyeh to an anti-Semitic act
During the three years of the revolt, the British exacted a heavy toll. They killed more than 5,000 people and arrested more than 12,600. Because the leadership was urban-centered, the way some Palestinian leaders sought to escape arrest and repression was to take on the garb of the peasant population, in particular, the checkered keffiyeh.
When Yasser Arafat launched the Fatah movement, despite the fact that its leaders were also members of the urban elite, they too adopted the keffiyeh as a symbol of their attachment to the land and those who work on it.
Seen in this light, it is an insult to Palestinian history and humanity to try and reduce the meaning of the keffiyeh to an anti-Semitic act. On the contrary, it is perfect to merge the two symbols – the manger and the keffiyeh – to give hope to those who have lost hope, comfort to those who are suffering and recognition to those who have been abandoned.
