Modern Nazareth, Jesus’ home town

Although I’ve been to Israel many times, it wasn’t until December that I made my way to Nazareth, home town of Jesus, center of Christian pilgrimage, and, depending on how you cipher the archaeological record, some 3,000 years old.

Today, the agricultural village of Jesus’ time, thought to have a population of 500 or so, is a modern, primarily Arab city of steeples and domes and the hurly-burly of commercial enterprise. It is home to the largest Arab community in Israel (both Muslim and Christian), with a secondary, smaller Jewish community in nearby, newer and slightly suburban Upper Nazareth.

And here lies just one of the conundrums that confront even the most casual visitor to Israel: Who lives where, and why, and at what social, economic, religious or cultural cost? But this is to get into a debate that has no end, when the pleasant reality is that the modern city of some 60,000 – sprawling, business driven, and nestled within a natural bowl of steep Galilean hills – presents itself as a place that primarily wants everyone to go along and get along. And if, while you’re at it, you can promote cultural understanding and sell religious tchotchkes to tourists, so much the better.

If what you’re hoping to find is a storybook vision of rusticity, complete with, say, donkeys, you may be disappointed. Instead, as you approach the city from the west (the main route available), you first descend into a shallow valley, and then enter a snarl of traffic and a cacophony of honking horns before ascending again through a crush of pedestrians, bicyclists and groups of tourists to reach the Old Town. This is where most of the religious sites are, and where I stayed, with my husband, in the Fauzi Azar Inn, a 200-year-old Arab mansion-turned-guesthouse and hostel.

But first we had to find it. Which isn’t so easy given that, like those in most Arab towns in Israel, many of Nazareth’s streets lack names, not to mention numbered house addresses. (The streets are assigned numbers, which no one uses or remembers.) Also, you can’t drive a car through narrow streets built to accommodate, at most, pack animals.

So we parked, grabbed our bags and set off on foot.

But, as wandering is at least half the fun – not to mention that it’s hard to get seriously lost when there are signs all over the Old City with arrows pointing the way to the inn – the lack of on-site parking was hardly an issue. And the inn itself is a marvel of simple loveliness, a many-layered confection built around an open courtyard, designed to accommodate many generations or branches of a single family, with Ottoman arches, high ceilings, frescoes and – in the large room that now serves as the reception area – marble floors and elegant arched windows.

Although December in Nazareth was warm and sunny, I was more interested in losing my way through the valley of the souq (an open-air Arab market), with its hawkers of everything from toy trucks to fragrant spices, than embarking on any kind of real hike. And then there’s this: Nazareth has more than its share of holy places. And with Christmas on its way, seekers from all corners of the world, including large groups of Nigerians and Filipinos led by Orthodox priests in full vestments, were visiting.

Nazareth sprawls, but all the sites are well within walking distance, and as we left the souq, we stumbled into the main entrance of the large and looming Roman Catholic Basilica of the Annunciation, built on the site of what is thought to be Mary’s childhood home, and where, according to the Gospels, she received the news that eventually changed the world.

Built in the 1960s, and topped by a soaring dome, the building is architecturally eclectic, mixing marble with concrete, modernist with mosaics. While in Nazareth, you can’t not see the place, but I preferred the Greek Orthodox Church of the Annunciation, marking the spot that the Eastern Church believes is where Mary encountered the angel Gabriel while fetching water from the spring that still runs beneath the crypt. The crypt was originally constructed during the time of the Roman emperor Constantine, though the rest of the magnificently frescoed church dates from the 17th century. And yes, the faithful were lined up to fill their water bottles from the same year-round spring where Mary and no doubt most other ancient Nazarenes drew their water.

I didn’t know what to expect at the Mary of Nazareth International Center, but four separate multimedia rooms designed to replicate ancient gathering spots, and presenting what I can call only a hokey and simplistic version of the life of Jesus, wasn’t it.

On the other hand, upon entering the center, we came across an archaeological site of ruins from a first-century house, and, as we exited the last of the multimedia onslaughts, we ascended to a lovely garden with astonishing views of the hills above the town. There, as if on cue, was the clap of a thunderbolt, followed by a brief rain, followed by the sound of bells ringing along with the Muslim call to prayer.

You’re more likely to hear Arabic than Hebrew, but Nazareth is both English-friendly and friendly, period. Tension between Israeli Arabs and Jews? You don’t feel it here, or at least I didn’t. That may be in large part because Nazareth, despite being a significant town in its own right, is also, obviously, a draw for tourists both religious and secular.

The question that arises from all this is: Why would a tiny village be the site of an immense (for its time) bathhouse, unless the village weren’t so tiny at all, but rather a big enough town, on a trade route, where not only the locals, but visitors as well, stopped for a shvitz?

One answer – the conclusion that Shama and others have since come to – is that the discovery of the bathhouse is proof that Nazareth was a big and important city during the time of Jesus. It might also mean that Jesus, his family and his circle must have bathed there.

What stuck with me was the layering of time and place, the buildings built over buildings and then climbing up the steep hills, the ringing of bells and calls to worship, the smells of spices and coffee that permeate every corner and sink into every moment, of this town where people have made their homes for more than two millennia.