the western wall

[cellio]

I'll return to chronological order later. Today we visited the wall, and that deserves an entry of its own.

I wasn't really sure what to expect at the kotel, the main plaza in front of the western wall. As I wrote before, on Friday we visited a different section of the wall and, while it was nice, it didn't really move me.

I guess I expected to have an intellectual/historical experience today. I don't believe that the wall is religiously special; I am convinced that God hears my prayers just as well in Pittsburgh as in Yerushalayim. For the same reason, I'm not the sort to leave a note in the wall. Some people get fervent about the wall, and sometimes I've thought they go too far, bordering on fetishism or even idolatry. It's a historially and nationally significant place, but, well, at some level it's just a wall. I should clarify that I was not (and am not) at all hostile; I just didn't really get it.

We had some time for private reflection, and I went down into the women's side. (The mechitzah is excessive, and I noticed several women standing on chairs looking into the men's section.) I ignored the mechitzah and focused on the wall. Near the center there were three soldiers -- with hair uncovered, by the way -- praying quietly and intensely. I of course don't know what they were praying, but it struck me that most of us probably don't have call to pray for our lives like they probably do. The pictures I took (respectfully) probably don't convey their mood very well, but I tried.

A space cleared up down near the far end, so I went up to the wall. It's quite tall, so from close up it really does tower over you. It was too late for shacharit and too early for mincha and I didn't have any texts with me, but I silently recited the one psalm I could do completely from memory (150). (While writing this I realized I also know Ashrei, which is mostly (I think) psalm 145; didn't think of it at the time.)

And then I touched it. And that's when it hit me. I felt a strong, emotional connection. It was overwhelming, and it completely surprised me. There I was, touching the western wall, staring at all the notes cramming every nook and cranny, and I felt this connection with something bigger than myself -- history, God, the nation of Israel, I'm not really sure.

Epilogue: As I walked back from the women's section into the main plaza, an older black-hatter -- long white beard, peyot, serious appearance -- looked at me and said "welcome home".

I wonder if first-time-ness shows in people's faces, to the experienced eye.

Comments

Re: My first time was a bit different . . . .

[osewalrus.livejournal.com]

And, when I got to the Wall . . . .

A pigeon pooped on me.

I turned around, and I saw a bus load of Japanese tourists wearing their identical "timbul" orange hats, snapping pictures. I could almost here the imaginary "look at the cute natives in their religious ritual. Quick, get a picture of that!"

I have been to the Wall many times since, and always found myself awed and in sych with the air of spiritualty that eminates from it (for me). But I have never forgotten my first time. And I have often blessed the Lord in my heart for a much needed lesson in humility and my proper place in the universe.

Re: My first time was a bit different . . . .

[cellio]

Wow, what a great story! Thanks for sharing that.