By Alix Brown
Thursday, February 16, 2012
It is hard to be in Jerusalem and not go to the Kotel. When the prospect arose that our group would have some time to ourselves, I knew my path would be directly to the Old City. Meandering through the market, listening to the myriad of voices and languages, taking in the smells of spices, responding to the beckoning calls to enter a stall of goods...all of this pushes me through the people towards the Kotel. The rain begins to come down and the narrow, ancient streets become a river of water that everyone tries to dodge.
After passing through the usual security point, we entered the plaza from above. The rain forced many to take temporary shelter beneath the arches and tunnels; the plaza itself was not the bustling place that I had visited before: it was quiet and the sky was dreary with clouds. All the chatter was about snow that might be coming for Shabbat. Carefully descending the wet and slippery steps we made our way to separate sides. Having been in this place before, I wondered what I would feel: awe, God, belonging, boredom? It's different every time and I thought complacency would take over, but this didn't bother me so much. After all, I think I was looking only for quiet and a moment to just "be." This day was a week into our time together; learning, studying, pushing the boundaries and bringing tough, difficult and sometimes painful dialogue to the table.
I turned to enter the women's section and greeted two women leaving. I was drenched from the rain. It was not simply a passing "Shalom" but heart-felt and the women returned in kind. I kept walking and my eyes and thoughts were already two steps ahead when I felt a hand upon my shoulder.
"Please," she said. "Can I give you a hug?" Her accent was thick, but not Israeli.
She and her friend waited for me to respond. Even in the rain I could see that their eyes were filled with tears.
I don't know what moved me as I put my hand on her shoulder and said, "Can I give YOU a hug?" With that we embraced. I can not imagine how others passing by witnessed this moment. I only know that this woman hugged me and I hugged her; it lasted a few moments and her arms were strong. I could feel her sobs when she began to cry; I closed my eyes and cried along with her.
"Is this your first time here?" I asked.
I remember well how I felt the first time I put my hands upon those stones.
Their voices were soft and they answered together, "Yes."
They were here from Ghana and Ethiopia. "Bless you," they said as we parted ways. "Bless you."
Our hands were linked and then the connection was broken. I never even asked for her name.
I entered the women's section and slowly approached the Wall, listening again to the sounds around me: words of prayer, a voice from a cell phone held up to the Wall, shuffling feet, laughter, tears, rain. Buoyed forward by that woman's spontaneous hug and tears, I entered that space. I had arrived thinking that I couldn't possibly feel anything new or different. Instead, I saw and felt this place through her lens and her heart. She is the Kotel.
She will never know the gift she gave me.
~ Alix Brown
Congregation Kol Ami
White Plains, NY
White Plains, NY
Beautiful!
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