On a crisp Sunday morning in late September, the bells of Taybeh’s three churches rang out across the olive-dotted hills of the West Bank, calling the faithful to worship as they have for centuries. Inside Christ the Redeemer Catholic Church, parishioners gathered beneath a mosaic depicting Jesus’ arrival in the village—then known as Ephraim—while Vatican and Palestinian flags flanked the altar. Down the street, families filled St. George Greek Orthodox Church, its walls adorned with icons in Arabic and Greek, and the air thick with incense and quiet anxiety. Taybeh, the last entirely Christian village in the occupied West Bank, is holding on to faith and tradition amid a storm of uncertainty and danger.
The village’s roughly 1,200 residents—Catholics of the Roman and Greek Melkite rites, and Greek Orthodox—are proud Palestinians, passionate about their land and heritage. Yet their hope for peace and independence in the Holy Land has never felt so remote. Violence from Jewish settlers, intensifying Israeli military operations, and fears of growing Islamist radicalization have left Taybeh’s Christians feeling besieged. Even a recent announcement of a ceasefire in Gaza did little to ease their concerns, as threats closer to home continue to mount.
“The situation in the West Bank, in my opinion, needs another agreement—to move away and expel the settlers from our lands,” the Rev. Bashar Fawadleh, parish priest of Christ the Redeemer, told the Associated Press. “We are so tired of this life.” His words echo the exhaustion and frustration that have become part of daily life in Taybeh, where families must navigate not only the spiritual challenges of their dwindling community but also the harsh realities of occupation and conflict.
Life in Taybeh has never been easy, but the past two years have brought new levels of hardship. The Israel-Hamas war, which erupted on October 7, 2023, has devastated Gaza and rippled across the region. The Christian community in Gaza—already tiny—suffered directly when a Catholic church was struck by an Israeli shell in July 2025. Though the church is functioning again, the scars remain. Meanwhile, violence in the West Bank has surged. Israeli military operations have intensified in response to what the army calls a growing militant threat, leading to frequent attacks at checkpoints and near-daily settler violence. This summer, a fire set by settlers crept dangerously close to Taybeh’s cemetery and the ruins of its ancient 5th-century church, according to villagers.
“We’re struggling too much. We don’t see the light,” said the Rev. David Khoury of St. George Greek Orthodox Church. “We feel like we are in a big prison.” For many, that sense of confinement is not just metaphorical. Israeli authorities regularly impose “flying checkpoints”—road gates that can close without warning—forcing students and workers to shelter in place for hours. Marina Marouf, vice principal at the Catholic school, described the constant fear: “We don’t feel safe when we go from here to Ramallah or to any village in Palestine. Always there is a fear for us to be killed, to be ... something terrible.”
Christian families are leaving Taybeh and the West Bank in growing numbers. Clergy estimate at least a dozen families have left the village recently, with more considering departure due to violence, economic hardship, and movement restrictions. Suheil Nazzal, a lifelong resident who has led Taybeh’s music ministry for six decades, said settlers no longer allow him and others to harvest their olive trees—an economic and cultural blow. His own family now lives in the United States, though he remains. “We love Palestine,” said Nadeen Khoury, who returned from Massachusetts with her husband and children. “We wanted to raise the children here, to learn the culture, the language, family traditions.” Yet even she admits, “Everyone is unsafe. You never know who’s going to stop you.”
For Taybeh’s youth, the situation is especially bleak. The churches run schools and extracurricular programs, hoping to offer stability and hope. But the impact of violence and mistrust is profound. “What kind of future can I create for my son while we’re under occupation and in this economic situation?” asked Michael Hajjal, a parishioner at St. George. “Even young people of 16 or 17 years old are saying, ‘I wish I were dead.’” It’s a chilling testament to the despair many feel.
The wider Christian community in the West Bank is shrinking, now accounting for just 1-2% of the region’s three million residents. Across the Middle East, Christian populations have dwindled as conflict and persecution drive families abroad. Yet for many, maintaining a presence in the birthplace of Christianity is essential to identity and faith. “I love my country because I love my Christ,” said Rev. Fawadleh. “My Christ is Ibn Al-Balad”—son of the land.
Meanwhile, political developments in Israel and the West Bank have added to the uncertainty. On October 19, 2025, the Israeli Ministerial Committee on Legislation was scheduled to review a proposal by Noam MK Avi Maoz to extend Israeli sovereignty over the West Bank. Yet, as reported by Israeli media, U.S. President Donald Trump’s public opposition to annexation a month prior had effectively stalled any meaningful legislation. “It’s not on the agenda. A month ago, we were in a different place, but now [Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu] isn’t there,” a senior political figure told reporters. Still, right-wing settler leaders have not slowed their efforts, pushing record-breaking construction of housing units and expanding agricultural farms in Area C, the part of the West Bank under direct Israeli control.
Yossi Dagan, head of the Shomron Regional Council, emphasized the stakes: “The ball has never been in Washington, but in Jerusalem. Only Netanyahu will decide whether there will be sovereignty. In the near future, we will intensify our efforts. Sovereignty is Israel’s defensive belt. Not applying it is a total failure of the right-wing government, a failure that endangers national security. We are here to make sure it doesn’t happen.” Finance Minister Bezalel Smotrich, meanwhile, continues his campaign to block funds to the Palestinian Authority, aiming to prevent any advancement toward Palestinian statehood.
Despite the political gridlock, realities on the ground remain tense and unpredictable. Israeli officials have suggested that the outcome of operations in Gaza could influence what happens in the West Bank—known in Israeli discourse as Judea and Samaria. The sovereignty agenda, while alive in nationalist circles, is effectively stalled under Washington’s veto, leaving many in both communities wondering what comes next.
For Taybeh’s clergy, the mission now is to provide hope amid despair. Rev. Francesco Ielpo, the Franciscan priest recently confirmed by Pope Leo XIV as custodian of the Holy Land, said, “We can’t stop the hemorrhage, but we will continue to be here and be alongside everyone.” The challenge, he noted, is to offer a different approach to the social fractures deepened by war and occupation. “Even where before there were relationships, opportunities for an encounter or even just for coexistence, now suspicions arise. ‘Can I trust the other? Am I really safe?’”
Still, the faithful in Taybeh cling to hope. “Still we are awaiting the third day as a Palestinian,” said Rev. Fawadleh, invoking the Christian promise of resurrection. “The third day that means the new life, the freedom, the independence and the new salvation for our people.” For now, that hope is what keeps Taybeh’s bells ringing each Sunday, even as the future remains uncertain.
