Shuvoo Sights & Sites

Journeys Through Photo & Word

 

People & Places from the Past and the Present by Ashirah Yosefah

 

Issue No. 3, May 25^th, 2006

 

 

ETERNAL CITY, ETERNAL PEOPLE

Memories of Yom Yerushalayim at The Kotel

 

 

 

 

Shacharit (Morning Prayers) at The Kotel on Yom Yerushalayim 2005.

(© Ashirah Yosefah Photo)

 

Look behind the davening men.  Notice the color change in the Western Wall stones.  The smooth and darkened band of stone bears witness to the pleas, prayers, tears of millions Jews and others that have impregnated these holy stones even more than the daily profusion of written prayers wedged and scrunched into every accessible crevice.

 

 

In Israel, we celebrate Yom Yerushalayim this week – the anniversary of that miraculous June day in 1967 when Israeli troops re-entered the Old City of Jerusalem through Zion Gate and reclaimed the Temple Mount in an uncontested miracle of Divine Providence. Tragically, the sacred and holy site was later turned over to Arab jurisdiction … a complete contradiction of the miracle provided by Hashem.  This reversal left Jews with naught by The Kotel, also known as the Western Wall.   

 

This week’s Shuvoo Sights and Sites will be up on the website by the time we celebrate the Yom Yerushalayim holiday on Thursday, but I came across a written memoir of Yom Yerushalayim 2005 which I would like to share with you.  It reflects poignantly the swiftness of change and the many contrasts that one can experience daily here in Israel.

 

Last year, on Yom Yerushalayim morning, I made my way down to The Kotel to daven (pray).  As I descended the stairway leading from the Rova to Kotel Square, the sound of voices singing in prayer rose to greet me.  I looked towards the Wall and smiled … a sea of white and black, in rippling waves, greeted my eyes as the men swayed to and fro davening Shacharit (the morning prayers).  Despite the beautiful sounds of Tehillim being sung, and the rejoicing that accompanied the remembrance of the victory that restored Yerushalayim to Jews, I knew that within the crowd there was a bittersweet edge.  All one had to do was raise their eyes and be reminded of the loss of Har haBeit (the Temple Mount), so very close and yet completely off-limits to Jews for prayer and simchas. 

 

I made my way to the Women’s Court, taking note of a large stage set up for a Yom Yerushalayim celebration later in the day.  At center stage, a man wrapped in tefillin and tallit finished his sound check.  I smiled, thinking how Jerusalem affords a person so many “Kodak moments”.

 

The davening that morning was powerful.  Winds of song and voice carried the prayers heavenward.  I glanced across to the Men’s Court and smiled again.  Close to the mechitzah (divider), a minyan (group of 10 men) was dancing in a circle and singing.  The morning light reflected in soft rays off the tefillin crowning their heads.  There were numerous human whirlpools of dance in that sea of davening men. The tallit-crested waves of davening interspersed with whirlpools of dance made a remarkable sight.  The several Bar Mitzvahs taking place added even more kedushah (holiness) and simcha (joy). 

 

Voices from girls’ yeshiva davening in the Women’s Court poured forth in Psalm upon melodious Psalm.  An unseen Conductor seemed to be orchestrating a symphony between the Men and Women’s Courts.  Psalms and prayers would resonate from one side of the mechitzah, then echo from the other … over and over. 

 

I turned to the Wall in front of me, pressed my face into its cool surface and ran my hands up its façade, feeling the change in texture beneath my palms, the progression from smooth ‘oiled’ stone to time-worn roughness.  My hand had gone above the upper reaches of the stones impregnated with thousands of tears and the polished residue of the innumerable foreheads, cheeks and hands that have pressed against these stones over the years. 

 

Eventually, it was time to leave.  I walked across the Kotel Square, delighting in the many groups of school children who were also dancing in circles, waving flags of Jerusalem and Israel high and proud.  Around them, Bar Mitzvah celebrations had begun to spill out into Kotel Square.

 

 

 

Women and children dance, celebrating a Bar Mitzvah at the Kotel.

(© Ashirah Yosefah Photo)

 

 

I was climbing up the stairs from the Kotel to the Rova when discordant voices caught my attention.  An angry cadence was rising in volume and venom from atop Har haBeit.  It seemed the Arab crowds on the Temple Mount were trying to drown out the songs and prayers from below. 

 

(Even after three years living in Israel, I am still stunned by these displays of hatred, even though they generally mark and mar most days of Jewish celebration.)

 

A friend approached me swiftly.  “What’s happening down there?”  He quickly explained, “There is a riot on The Temple Mount.”  We made our way down the stairs.  The angry cadence atop Har haBeit was diminished by the voice of an Iman spewing words of hatred and anti-Semitism through a loud speaker somewhere in the vicinity of the Al Aska mosque.  I looked down to Kotel Square.  Riot police were hurrying up the ramps to Har haBeit.  They adjusted their gear as they went, jumping over barrier fencing in their haste to form a human wall filling the gate onto Har haBeit.  When the entrance was solidly barricaded in black, the police stood and waited for whatever would ensue.  Thank G-d, no stones had been hurled upon the worshippers below who continued to daven and sing while the sirens of arriving police and army vehicles echoed about them.  Despite the large crowds at the Kotel, no one panicked, no one fled.

 

A captivating drum solo began and somehow stood out amidst the many sounds filling Kotel Square.  It was another Bar Mitzvah.  The young man sat high on the shoulders of his father as his family and friends carried him towards the Men’s Court where he would receive his first call to the Torah.  Meanwhile, groups of school children continued to stream into The Kotel.

 

There was no question.  The light emanating from the Kotel would not give way to the nearby darkness so intent on snuffing out the simcha of this special day.

 

 

 

A procession of honor – Yom Yerushalayim Bar Mitzvah, 2005.

(© Ashirah Yosefah Photo)

 

 

Returning home, I was yet again reminded of the tensions that throb daily in this Land.  The entrance to the main street through my neighborhood was a bottleneck of police motorcycles and Border Police vans.  Twenty police lined the street, waiting.  There had been another terrorist attack warning.  Later that afternoon, the bomb sappers safely detonated a bag of explosives left in the playground across from my apartment.  So it was, and so it is, life goes on.  It only takes a little light to dispel a lot of darkness.

 

It was just another Jerusalem day; but in this case, it was Yom Yerushalayim.