Over the past
weeks I have found myself glued to the television, radio, newspapers, internet
news and social media web sites. With
nail-bitingly intense anxiety I've been watching, reading, listening; waiting
to hear even the smallest piece of news or update on the condition of our
nation’s homeland as a barrage of vicious rocket attacks rains down upon our innocent brethren. Sometimes the images that I see before my
eyes quite literally brings me to tears, as I am reminded over and over again
of the danger that my friends and loved ones live in for reasons that seem impossible
to this Modern-Day Jewess.
At first,
recognizing the speed at which the holiday of Chanukah is approaching, I couldn't help but feel an eerie generations-old sort of dejavu. Did we not already fight this battle so many
hundreds of years ago as the Greeks tried capturing our land, our Holy Temple,
and slandering us among the nations of the world? Have we not already fought
bravely for our home time and time again, standing up against a world that
would otherwise have seen the Jewish people long ago destroyed? And just today
I thought back to a recent trip to Israel that reminded me, why, in fact, our
nation seems to be reliving these horrific wars over and over again.
A few years ago
I was privileged to be spending a month in Israel. Not really touring heavily, I simply woke up
each morning and spent wonderful days lazily rediscovering my beautiful Jerusalem
all over again, as if for the very first time.
No matter where my daily travels and walks took me, they always found me
standing before the great gates of the Old City walls. It mattered not how I got there, and some
days I didn’t arrive until late in the evening; but nonetheless each and every
day of my stay in Israel I made sure to connect to the place that helps me to
connect with my Creator.
My trip that
year brought me a tremendous amount of comfort.
Seemingly, just walking around Yerushalayim brought me great solace and
peace. But, just as all good things seem
to do, this trip was quickly coming to its end.
As that final evening approached I called a cab to pick me up and take
me directly to the Kotel.
It was one of
the most beautiful times of day. The sun
was just beginning to dip beneath the trees and as I approached the Old City
walls they truly glimmered with the golden aura of the fading sun. Immediately my eyes filled with tears as I
knew that this would be my final trip to the Kotel for some time to come. My heart beat with a quick yet terribly sad
thud at the thought of leaving my beautiful Yerushalayim.
I exited my cab
and walked slowly towards the open courtyard.
The setting sun lit up the sky above with a prism of reds, pinks,
purples, yellows and golds. I approached
the wall and steadied my trembling hand as I went to reach out to touch her
stones. Immediately upon touching the
wall I felt the heat of the day still securely preserved within her heart. The warmth from within these stones warmed my
palms as it calmed my soul. My heart poured out to the Borei Olam for over an
hour, when I had finished, I had thoroughly exhausted myself. By that time, the sun had completely set, and
the beautiful Jerusalem night was upon me.
Knowing that I had to soon leave, my heart ached; and so I allowed
myself a little more time to sit at the back of the courtyard and simply take
it all in.
I took my seat
and told myself to take a mental picture of all that surrounded me. I closed my eyes and listened to the hum of
the courtyard. Prayers, thousands of
years old, had been directed to this one spot, and with my eyes closed I was
almost sure that I could hear each and every one of them. The cries of men and women, calling out in
pain, crying out in thanks and simply singing the praises of a G-d who surely
made it possible for us to be here at this moment, at this spot and at this
time. The hum quickly morphed into a
sort of mystical song that to this day I can recall with great accuracy, yet
somehow cannot reproduce with my own voice.
With my eyes
remaining steadily shut I began to breathe deeply; to take in the smells that
wafted around me. The pungent and
delightfully unique smells of Middle Eastern spices, mixing with the clean yet
ancient Jerusalem air filling my lungs. I
secretly wished that I could have lived off of that very lungful all the way
back to the United States. All of a sudden a gorgeous breeze blew through the
courtyard and as if in answer to my prayers, the atmosphere around me seemingly
seeped into my burnt fair skin, cooling it in only the way that a nighttime Jerusalem
breeze could.
Then I slowly
opened my eyes. Once they had adjusted
to the lights around me it was as if I was viewing the Kotel for the very first
time. The golden stones of the Kotel
seemed literally to glow against the inky-black night sky. That very same sky, a twinkle, with those
very same stars that Hashem blessed Avraham Avinu with as he stood atop Har
Hamoriah; prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice in HaKadosh Baruch Hu’s
name. Every woman standing before the
Kotel’s mighty façade seemed to take on an ancient kedusha in my mind’s
eye. Each one a representation of our
holy Imahot; all of whom serve as constant and everlasting examples of what
truly strong and righteous Jewish women should be.
I stood up and
walked behind the dividing fence that separates those praying from the general
courtyard. I walked toward the men’s
section and saw standing there a combination of Jews from all walks of
life. Rebbe’s with their stately,
long-white beards; soldiers having just turned eighteen, yet old enough to
carry the weight of the Jewish world on their shoulders; young boys, exhausted
from a long day at cheder, but whose voices rang out as sweetly and as clearly
as I would imagine the voices of the malachim themselves as they surround the
Kisai Hakavod. There were men wearing
yarmulkas made of paper, simply out of respect for the place at which they
stood, but whose faces told the story of a soul’s journey to find the truth.
At this time, in this place, I saw before my eyes what I can only describe as Atchalta D’Geulah. If only we could bottle this tolerance, this peacefulness and this unity. These are the moments that form the very bricks of our longed for Beit Hamikdash. At that precise moment I closed my eyes, took it all in, in its entirety; the cool breeze, the perfumed air, the glowing stones, the melodic hum of the tfillos and most of all the peace that I felt at that moment, as my neshama was cradled by nearly all of my senses. I was absolutely SURE that Moshiach would soon be here to take this moment in time and make it last for all eternity.
It is when times
get tough that I close my eyes and reach into my memory and recall those very
moments. The moments that made me
believe that Am Yisrael would indeed soon bring an end to all of our suffering
by reaching out with their souls to the Borei Olam in total and complete
humility, and storm the Gates of Heaven pleading with Hashem to free us from
this interminable Galus. War would be a
thing of the past. Rockets would never find their way onto Holy ground, the
blood of the innocent would no longer saturate this land that was promised to
flow with Milk and Honey; children on every side of every line that G-d draws
in the sand will live without fear and will once again play with the young
abandon that only a child can possess.
Perhaps what we
can all do to see an end to wars and battles such as those that we fight now is
to fight back, not only with the strength of the mighty Israeli Tzavah, but
with the strength of the millions of us not privileged enough to stand in
physical defense of our land. Perhaps
were we to show more kindness to one another, more understanding, less judgment
and far more love, perhaps then we would stop hearing the sounds of
rocket sirens screaming overhead, rather the call of the magnificent shofarot
and trumpets of our third and final Beit Hamikdash instead.
