“No matter what happens, we will not leave — we will die here, for all we want is to be close to our churches.”

If Jerusalem is the beating heart of Christianity, then its people are the lifeblood that keeps the faith alive. Once a majority in ancient times, the Christians of Jerusalem are diminishing at an increasing rate. Now a minority within a minority, numbering only 6,000, they are caught between two states in a land annexed and illegally occupied. While they are members of the world’s most prominent religion, they are facing an existential threat in the place most celebrated by them.

The shifting political landscape has led to tensions. It means those who are born and reside there for generations often find themselves in a limbo — an unresolved dilemma of who they are. In living history, one family can find itself with three different official identities: Israeli, Jordanian, or Palestinian. This is no different for the Christian population, who have endured through all these political shifts.

Lourd, a young Orthodox Christian, put it: “Mostly people here [in Jerusalem] have a Jordanian or Israeli passport. So, it depends on what you have a passport. But mostly Arabs we are in between - Arab Christians especially - as they cannot identify as Israeli [either]. If you are Muslim, you'll probably tend to identify as Palestinian.” This is not a unique view but is echoed by others across Jerusalem. This misconception extends internationally, where Palestinians and Arabs are often assumed to be Muslim, leaving Christian Arabs overlooked in the Israeli-Palestinian narrative. Lourd tells me, adding, “Arabs are just known as Muslims; they don’t know that there are Christians. We are the lesser minority.” This ambiguity allows the Christian population to be isolated from any majority group — including the global Christian community — and targeted.

But the targeting of Christians in Jerusalem is nuanced. There’s the perceived state-level targeting of all Christian institutions via the re-introduction of the ground tax, landing the churches with bills that would require the selling of large swaths of land. I spoke with Assad, a human rights lawyer who was working closely with the churches in the city. “Now, they want all the churches to start paying… after 50 years, they never asked churches to pay. Now, they want churches to pay.”

But there is also the targeting of religious ceremonies. The Holy Fire ceremony — symbolising the resurrection of Jesus, the pinnacle of Easter weekend — has become an increasing target for aggression and restriction of attendance. In the past, the ceremony was attended by upwards of 50,000 people from all over the world, but the numbers are limited to 2,000 in the church due to apparent safety concerns. In addition, people are refraining from coming due to increasing tensions with the police. As Assad puts it, “People are not daring to come because they can be beaten, they can be arrested… we cannot take it… I don't want my 4 years old child, to bring him here… look at your father he is fighting with the police.”

This was not something missed this year. The Greek Orthodox scout group — a predominantly child organisation with adult leaders — had several incidents with the police, both arising from the police refusing to allow scout members to fulfil their duties on Holy Saturday as agreed by the Status Quo, a set of historical and legal arrangements that regulate the possession and administration of Christian holy sites.

One major incident saw a police officer raise his sidearm to the face of a scout leader, a parishioner of the local Greek Orthodox Cathedral of St. Jacobs, leaving the children in complete shock — a video of which has been circulating on social media. The second, more isolated incident involved a father and son in scout uniforms who were denied entry into the Old City. When the father was confronted aggressively by a police officer, the 17-year-old son stepped between them to de-escalate. Four officers responded by assaulting the boy, tearing his shirt in the process.

I spoke to the father, Hani: “He [the police officer] started to hit and you know my son is 17 years old so he tried to defend me... I put my hands high because I know there are cameras and if you hit any soldier, it will become your problem. Then four soldiers started beating him [his son]… and he was in his scout uniform." The incident left his son shaken and with a torn shirt. "This is the worst year," Hani adds. There is a consensus that this year was the worst in terms of restriction on worship and violence from the authorities, and there is the feeling this is coming down heaviest on the Christian population. "They don’t do these things for neither Muslims nor Jews, but because our [Christian] numbers are not sufficient enough, they do whatever they want."

There have also been increasing incidences of personal attacks, such as spitting on clergy and Christian icons. According to data collected by the Rossing Institute in 2024, “priests and nuns living in certain areas of Jerusalem — such as the Armenian Quarter and Mount Zion in the Old City — now face an almost certain risk of harassment each time they step outside.”

This behaviour has meant most Christians have left for other countries, leaving only the most persistent remaining. So, where do Christians turn for help? There is a feeling of abandonment by the Christians here. Asaad, who I spoke to earlier, vocalises this sentiment: “Christianity is the biggest faith in the world… what are people like the Vatican… What is this massive international community doing to protect the population who share their faith in Jerusalem?”

In a time when tensions across the region continue to rise, the challenges facing Christians in Jerusalem are increasingly overshadowed by the escalating humanitarian crisis in Gaza. Just this week, the UN World Food Programme (WFP) announced it has depleted all food supplies in the territory, following an Israeli blockade on humanitarian aid since March 2. As WFP-supported bakeries shut down and food parcel distributions end, rates of acute malnutrition — especially among children — are climbing rapidly. These issues mean the international attention is focused squarely on Gaza, leading the Christians of Jerusalem and the West Bank to feel forgotten.

However, the churches in the Old City are working together to survive, and the population is resistant to this abuse. All over the city are signs of collaboration — from the shared guarding of Christ’s tomb by the Greek, Armenian, and Catholic churches, to the cross-church teaching of seminarians by senior clergy, and collaborative readings and sermons being given at special events.

This collaboration peaked when the churches came together to dispute the reinstatement of the ground tax, demonstrating that they will stand together when threatened. Even when walking the streets of the Old City, one will see bishops from different churches kicking back in their lay clothes, sharing coffee and a laugh at one of the cafes in the Christian Quarter.

The Christians I spoke to remain positive. They are the people living next to the Holy Tomb. Time and again, I heard the same sentiment: there is space for everyone in Jerusalem — Jews, Christians, Muslims, and secular communities alike. That, they said, is how the city must live. But there needs to be recognition from the international community about what is going on. The Christians in Jerusalem cannot, and should not, be forgotten.