The cool air blew gently past me; the velvety darkness enveloped me in a warm embrace. The night was quiet, heavy with countless tears and so much pain, yet light with relief and so much hope. The crowded plaza lay sprawled before me, its well-worn cobblestones whispering my name, tugging at my heartstrings. A haphazard array of women stood shoulder to shoulder, their hearts woven together with threads of unspoken unity. Countless individuals merged into one – exploded in a dazzling display of connection and happiness and desperation. Each face hid a world of experiences; each heart held a gamut of emotions. And in front of it all stood The Wall, so tall and proud yet so humble. The stones, so pure yet simultaneously soaked and sullied, beckoned, their cracks mirroring each woman’s splintered heart. The stones promised to absorb all the tears and pleas, crying along as countless prayers swirled to the heavens.
* * *
I didn’t expect to feel anything when I went to the Kosel for the first time after 11 years. Excitement? Maybe. Awe? A tad. Connection? Hopefully. And love? Maybe a bit. But as I stared at those pure, golden stones, a deluge of emotions flooded my parched soul. Excitement? A bit. Awe? 100%. Connection? Definitely. And love? It was the warmest embrace I have ever experienced.
As I stood at the Kosel, siddur in hand, the only thing I could do was stare. Stare at the stones that have seen so much pain, stones that have heard so many wrenching tefilos. They witnessed our exile, providing the comfort we needed when the world wished to destroy us, and they rejoiced as we triumphed over yet another battle. They held our hands as we beseeched our Creator, pleading for life and happiness and the ultimate Geulah. They cried with us, they danced with us, they provided a rock of comfort, a holy place for tefila. And they remind us that no matter where we are, there is a splintered wall, a splintered nation, whose Father is waiting for us with open arms – waiting for His broken, suffering nation to come home.
And as I stood there staring, the contradictions hit me full force, piercing my heart with deep pain and all-encompassing love. My eyes expanded in wonder, in elation, happy that I have the opportunity to daven at the holiest place in the world. But then my gaze latched onto the mosque next door, the gold dome jutting out in the distance. And then grief overwhelmed me, reminding me that the Wall in front of me is but a tiny room in an enormous castle. There’s so much more. So much more happiness, so much more holiness, so much more love.
Now, I may be standing before a soaring wall, but its beauty is not in its majestic architecture. It’s the beauty of desperation, pain, and confusion mingling with tender strokes of hope. It’s the beauty of a diverse nation joined together with a common goal, each individual neshama yearning for connection. But it is splintered beauty. It is the beauty of a sunset shrouded by clouds of exile, stubborn clouds that can only be dispersed by sincere ahavas Yisrael.
I stood at the Kosel, feeling like I had come home. But then I realized that we are not yet home, that the Kosel is just a step closer on the journey of connection. And we must cry there, plead there, and pray there for the ultimate Geulah, for the Beis Hamikdash, for the end of this long exile. We want these cobblestones to be filled again, bursting with millions of fellow Jews who are no longer splintered, no longer broken, no longer suffering – Jews who have finally come home.
The writer is a Baltimore student attending seminary.
