Kotel at Sunrise

i had to write a reflective piece for english so i wrote about the first time me n leah went to the kotel for sunrise. here it is, enjoy

Mushkie Jurkowicz

Reflective:

It was that time of night right before the break of dawn, when the world is still fast asleep. All was quiet in those last few moments of stillness. The sky was an inky black and the ancient city was silent. The night was pleasantly warm with a gentle breeze blowing and the city was enveloped with a feeling of tranquillity. Age old stone buildings lined the narrow streets, so rich in history and culture. The stillness of the night was broken only by the sound of our footsteps and laughing voices as we walked down the old cobblestone paths that would lead us to our destination. The paths were jagged and bumpy, and I could feel my feet aching after my long walk. Yet some areas were flat and smooth, worn down over the centuries by the many people who had travelled this same path. My friends and I were chatting excitedly, eagerly anticipating the moment when we would finally arrive at our destination. Though tired due to the early hour of the morning, we were now invigorated, so close where we to our goal.

School had broken up and I had travelled with a friend to holiday in Israel for the summer break. Though we were staying at respective relatives, we met up often and went touring the country together. Such freedom and independence was new to us, and we were enjoying it to the fullest. On this Thursday night, about a week into our stay, I had decided that I wanted to visit the Kotel at sunrise. My idea was met with an enthusiastic response, and so it was that we were walking the deserted streets of the old city of Jerusalem in the early hours of the morning. Chatting amiably we barely noticed that we were the sole people out on the streets. It was getting closer to morning, and the sky had begun to lighten. The slumbering world began to wake up, and already one could hear the soft chirping of the birds. We were not far from the Kotel, when an eerie wailing sound filled the ancient holy city. Increasingly getting louder, the wailing echoed in the quiet city, resonating off the stone houses. The creepy noises were some sort of melody and sounded like hundreds of voices joined together in a woeful moaning. The hair on my arm stood on end, and a shiver ran up my spine. The frightening sound was that of the Moslems praying their morning service.

As a Jewish girl walking down the streets of Jerusalem, the holy city of my religion, this scene irked me. It didn’t feel right. Why were the sounds of Moslem prayers filling the streets of my holy city? Shouldn’t I be hearing the prayers of my fellow Jews? After all, the Land of Israel was given by G-d to our forefathers and promised as an inheritance to their descendants forever and ever. Though all Jews had not always lived in the land and until recently were not in control of the land, it was still our land. Ever since the creation of the State of Israel in 1948, thousands of Jews had flocked back to their homeland. Israel was the one country to which they were welcomed with open arms. After experiencing endless persecutions, expulsions, and the burning infernos in Europe, the Jewish people finally had a land where they could live in peace with no fear of oppression or hatred. The Jewish people had a homeland, one which would remain theirs forever and ever. Because of this, the land of Israel and especially Jerusalem, the capital city of this Jewish land, should be filled with Jews. Jews should be able to live in their land feeling safe and secure in their country. They should be able to walk the streets freely and live in all areas that they choose. The Temple Mount, the holiest religious site in the city, should be under the control of the Jews.

So why is it that when I walk down the cobblestone paths of my ancient city it is Moslem prayers that I hear. Why is it that I must be careful not to stray from the Jewish Quarter for it may cost me my life? Why is it that so many of my fellow Jews lives have brutally cut short, their only crime being the fact that they live in their own land? All these questions raced through my head as I listened to the eerie melody emanating from the mosque. I felt the anger beginning to course through my veins. The unfairness of it all bothered me to the extent that my blood began to boil. A burning rage welled up inside of me, threatening to overflow. Looming before me was the colossal golden dome of the Al Aqsa mosque. The sight which attracted thousands caused me only intense feelings of disgust and contempt. The beautiful skyline was ruined by that mosque which was standing on stolen property owned by my people.

And just as suddenly as it had come, my burning rage disappeared. I had reached my destination. The Kotel stood there before me in all her glory, and succeeded in washing away all my hate and anger. The beauty of this wall, the wall of my heritage that had stood for over 2000 years, took my breath away. This was the wall to which we turn to 3 times a day in our daily prayer. This was the wall where thousands of Jews had poured out their very souls, their tearstains marking the wall forever. I was honoured to finally be here, at the ancient wall which had stood throughout history as a symbol of hope to my people. No longer did it matter that only metres behind it stood a mosque. This wall was ours, and nobody could take it away. Despite the early hour of the morning, the plaza was not empty, and the early risers were beginning to gather for the morning service. As the morning sun began to rise over the horizon, I slowly walked across the plaza and down to the wall. All my past angers and questions disappeared. The ancient stones of the wall towered above me, making me feel small and insignificant. My hands travelled over the cold, smooth surface of the stones. They felt so strong and comforting. I’d never felt more safe in my life. With closed eyes, I leaned forward and placed my lips on the ancient stones.

Such a magical moment cannot be experienced twice, and though I frequented the old city of Jerusalem and visited the Kotel numerous times throughout my trip, it was never the same again. That enchanting experience will remain with me for the rest of my life.