The obscenity of Israel's apartheid Wall at Bethlehem I like Christmas. Not the frantic, frenzied stress that possesses some folks at this festive time. Not the Xmas variety. Or the Boxing Day brand. Not the secularisation of a holy day. Nope. I try to opt out of all that. I like the story of Christmas. A homeless pregnant single mother and her older kindly partner looking for a place to stay. They famously end up in a stable. Probably a smelly little cave. That’s where baby Jesus was born. No grand palace, big mansion or fancy castle. Nope. And Jesus was not blue eyed or blond haired. Jesus is a Palestinian. So, he probably was a little swarthy skinned black haired wee lad. Just like three year old Aylan Kurdi lying drowned on a beach in Turkey or other wee kids we see on television fleeing war and poverty and being rescued in the Mediterranean Sea, or scrambling for food in a refugee camp or playing in a bomb site in Gaza city. I like the simplicity of Christ...