May 11, 2010
Now it our time at the Western Wall. 3/4ths for men. 1/4th for women. The men are doing Bar Mitzvah's. The women stand on plastic chairs and peak over a divider to watch their sons and husbands execute a tradition at least 2,000 years old. The men sing. Take pictures. Read the scrolls. Proud daddies. Many men gather to encourage and embrace the youngest among them.
On the women's side there is mass prayer and mass chaos. As we approach the wall there is only a tiny spot for us.
They have pulled their chairs to the wall and filled in all the holes. I wonder if they are offended by our "gentile" and "Christian" efforts to honor their prayer wall. We hold back, our written prayers in hand, waiting for our turn only to find there is no "turn". No personal space here. I hesitate as the woman beside me is in travail - angst, weeping, rubbing the wall, babbling. I don't want to interfere. MJ waves me on.
I step up. Tuck my prayer in a crack and place my hands and face on the wall.I wait. I seek. No real prayer rises to my lips.
I acknowledge the sanctity of this place, but don't find answers here. I step back and another steps up. When done, we back out. You don't turn your back on the wall.I am struck again by all the effort made to come to a place to meet with Him. I am convicted of my laziness. Too tired to get on my knees, when they will trek miles for one time, or one day at the wall. Some make the journey everyday. I am impressed with their reverence, respect, diligence and effort, but saddened for them because there is no power in the wall. All the power lies in acceptance of the very one they seek...
