Dressed modestly I stand, neck craned, beneath the towering bricks of the Kotel: the Western Wall. Women read from their books of prayer and place notes of desperation between the cracks of the calcite. A circle of young girls and young women and old women gather and begin to chant hymns, blessings. Men are heard through the divider, the tops of their covered heads are seen as they spin and skip about. Leaves in trees rattle, the rain drops fall heavily. A gust of wind rushes in from the east. The wave falls upon the wall and sweeps back, pulling the crowd farther from shore. The feeling is tangible.
I walk to the stone basin where men mechanically wash away the evenings workings. Ariel and Jonathan stand with me. We wait for Lazer, aged thirteen. With Peyous curled beside his ears, a black hat and floor length coat, he greets us in the company of three older men in similar fashion. Away we are swept like small pebbles and legless crabs through the arab shuk. Spices and carpets heavy from the warm rain sag and we rush by. We are late for dinner. Rabbi Glazer is waiting.
No comments:
Post a Comment