BETHLEHEM, Occupied West Bank -- Gnarled and cracked, an old olive branch enters Jiries Giacaman's shop and sits in a dark corner for three years. One day, Mr. Giacaman will pick it up. He will turn it around in his hands and his mind, and then begin cutting.
From the twisted wood will emerge a sleek and polished figure of the Virgin Mary. Or Jesus. Or a camel, or a cradle, or a wise man.
Mr. Giacaman makes manger scenes and other carvings from olive wood, a specialty of this town where Scripture says Jesus was born. It is a craft passed down for many years, a craft Mr. Giacaman, 49, learned from his father and now shares with his brother and nephews.
"The smell of olive wood is in me," he said. "I grew up with it. It's special to me. It's like your mother's cooking."
This Christmas season, the store attached to Mr. Giacaman's wood shop is filled with thousands of figurines and Nativity scenes. So is his brother's store on Manger Square. The store owners stand at their doorsteps, waiting for tourists.
Israel's occupation of Bethlehem and the Palestinian uprising that began in 1987 have discouraged tourists from coming. Those who do come often make a quick visit to the Church of the Nativity and leave, without dawdling in the surrounding shops.
"They just go from bus to the church, church to the bus," said Mr. Giacaman. He can understand why: "How can you see Christmas through all the guns? It's impossible."
Before the Israeli occupation began in 1967, Mr. Giacaman's father employed 45 workers, he said. Now the number of workers -- in a factory crowded with half-finished carvings amid air thick with sawdust -- has dwindled to six.
Mr. Giacaman is committed to his trade. He talks wistfully of his father's skill in working the grained wood and cutting the delicate mother-of-pearl jewelry that also is a Bethlehem craft tradition.
He can trace his family and its name back to the Crusaders who came to Bethlehem. But he does not want his sons to stay, to labor in what he fears is a dying business.
"People need to make money, to pay the bills. I don't want my children to live the way I do."
The slow tourist traffic is only one of several changes that threaten his trade. Machines that automatically carve six identical figurines at a time have glutted the market. Tourists are lured by the cheap prices of the machine-made sets.
'Killing the art'
"The machines are killing the art," Mr. Giacaman said.
But he has submitted. He has two of the machines in his own shop. They do a "rough cut" from a model. Mr. Giacaman or one of his workers sculpts the final features with small, hand-held drills, then sands and varnishes the figurine.
That handwork can take an hour or a week, depending on how finely detailed the carving is to be. The price will vary accordingly. Mr. Giacaman sells manger sets ranging from tiny, crude ones for $4.50 to large, intricate scenes for $300.
"The tourists want the inexpensive ones," he said. "They don't appreciate the art."
Mr. Giacaman's father, Elias, disdained the power tools and used only a jeweler's saw and files. Mr. Giacaman shows off an ornate olive wood brooch made by his father, its geometric holes dazzlingly tiny and precise. Mr. Giacaman admires it in his own rough hands.
'Eyes go crazy'
"I can't do work like this. An hour of trying to do this and my eyes go crazy," he said. "This is what is dying. We can't do this kind of thing anymore.
"He liked his work," he said of his father, who died two years ago. "He was a real artist. Some of his work is so fine, nobody can do it.
"Now, everybody wants to make money. They want to use power tools. They don't want to work by hand. My father wanted a perfect job. All his life, he never accepted work with power tools. He died using a hand file."
But it is not just the lack of tourists or the cold productivity of machines that threaten Mr. Giacaman's profession. It is also politics.
When the Palestinian uprising began, Mr. Giacaman moved his family to New Zealand. Four of his five children have stayed there -- although his oldest son, 19, wants to return to the business in Bethlehem.
Carved kiwis
In New Zealand, Mr. Giacaman carved bowls, ashtrays, kiwis -- lots of kiwis, he said of the country's national bird. He carved what the tourists wanted. But he missed the craft of his youth, the beautifully grained olive wood and the religious artifacts.
"I was very busy carving kiwi birds, but when I would hear the word 'Easter,' I had to stop and do a Last Supper," he said. "When I heard 'Christmas,' I had to do a Nativity scene." He returned to Bethlehem three months ago after hearing of the peace accord signed by the Palestinians and Israelis.
He thought things would be different, that the tourists would be back in Bethlehem.
Ringed with troops
He is disappointed, he said. As during other Christmases, Israeli soldiers ring Manger Square, and tourists feel the apprehension of danger more than the invitation of commerce.
More disturbing are the divisions among Palestinians.
The flight of Arab Christians from their traditional centers, such as Bethlehem, has left those towns largely Muslim. Everyone acknowledges the tensions.
The other day, Muslim zealots hassled his workers for making Christian items, Mr. Giacaman said.
It happens that all but one of his workers is Muslim.
"I was hoping it would be the peace that I read about," he said. "But it's not.
"There are too many divisions. Too many problems. I don't know what will be the future."