Packs on our backs, Issa and I follow a ridge out of Bethlehem. The asphalt drops down sharply. We swing east to face the morning haze. Bethlehem’s sister villages rise to meet us. They huddle on desert’s edge.
A Divine Indiscretion
Our Lady of the Milk. Metal image on the front door of the Milk Grotto entrance.
There is nothing more natural, beautiful, or healthy than a mother with a baby at her breast. Agreed?
So why do I feel weird?
It is because I have never been inside a building devoted to the celebration of lactation.
Until this moment.