I went to the Jewish quarter and prayed at The Kotel (Western Wall). I have heard stories of people breaking down from overwhelming emotion at the Western Wall. I did what I was supposed to and wrote a note but questioned it as a methodology of communication to G-d. I stood there and kissed the Western Wall, noting in my journal:
“bowing, crying, consoling, bowing again, eyes closed.
Backing up from the wall. I kissed it. I will forever be on that wall long after my physical body. Time and place. Is this a 2,000-year remorse for the loss of the Second Temple or are these people crying for their own personal losses. In the grand scheme of things, life, what will this one prayer do? What will these 60 seconds do? What will become of paper I just jammed into a crack in the wall? Will its message transcend? Transcend to where, a geographical location?”
I backed up from the Kotel. I wasn’t content and didn’t quite feel the connection emphasized by so many people.
A few days later, 8 Israeli soldiers joined our trip. We introduced ourselves and did a few icebreakers. At age 18, Americans are given freedom to make their own choices, go to college, not go to college, work, move away or do what we choose. At age 18, Israelis have their freedom taken away. They join the military and defend their country. Over the course of the trip, I discovered their time in the army made them stronger, united and mature. At age 18, they were all granted the opportunity to represent their country through pride.
On the 3rd night, we traveled south in the Judean Desert to stay in Bedouin tents. That night, we walked in the desert, which is where I experienced my moment. It wasn’t at The Kotel, it was there, in the desert among the shadowed dunes and stars, which exposed my moment of intangible belief. I decided it was through living in the moment and for that, I needed to find a solution to satisfy my longing to appease this identity.
When they left, their final words were to tell us to have pride over our land, the land of Israel. They emphasized since we are all Jewish, Israel is ours, Israel is our home too. As I waved goodbye, I couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable with the fact Israel is my land too, yet I had just spent 10 days as a tourist, not as a family member who defends her home.
I look myself in the mirror and say I’m Jewish because I wear a star around my neck. What makes me Jewish? Is it my upbringing? Maybe it is because I go through the motions at services every Friday night. Is it because I bow towards Jerusalem when reciting the Amidah?
During the night hike in the desert, the group of about 50 of us stood in a circle and recited the song,
“Lo Yisa Goy” while gazing at the stars in Israel, the same stars I see on the rooftop of my New York apartment. We are all family and it is time to give back.
Lo Yisa Goy
Isaiah 2:4
Lo yisa goy el goy cherev
Lo yil’m’du od milchama.
Don’t walk in front of me I may not follow.
Don’t walk behind me I may not lead.
Just walk beside me and be my friend,
And together we will walk in the path of Hashem.
