A couple of months ago, at the ripe old
age of twenty five plus, plus, plus, I finally made it to the Kotel.
It was a nice, clear night in Jerusalem
with a magnificent moon and bright stars in the clear sky. The Plaza
was not as crowded as it usually is, but still had some people posing
for pictures. And here is was – the Wall that I have seen
countless times before on the pictures, finally real, right in front
of me.
As I slowly approached the ancient
stones, there was no excitement – the same way there was no
excitement when KGB called us late one evening and told us that we
can leave USSR. That was not a “yippee” moment. And finally my
hand was touching a cold, weathered stone. My throat closed, and for
a while I could not say anything; I just stood there with tears
running down my cheeks. And then I started praying – praying for
my family, for our people, for the Holy Land, for my country....
And as I was wrapping up my
conversation with The Heavenly Father, I realized something – this
is not a wailing wall; this place is a testament of our survival and
our eternal bond with Him. These stones, bleached by harsh sun,
survived not only the destruction of the Temple, but the countless
battles waged over this piece of land that so many conquerors wanted
to claim for their own. And in the end it is ours. Ours to connect
with The Creator and to try and remember who we truly are.
1 comment:
Beautifully written.
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