A Walk to Remember

I got brave in Jerusalem. Maybe stubborn is a better word.

I was being so well cared for - fed, sheltered, toured, educated - that I felt a bit of a need to remind myself that I was, after all, an independent woman for goodness sake!

So one morning I decided to expand my walk into Old Jerusalem. I got my bearings and off I went as the sun came up. Destination: find the Western Wall.

Now if you have been to Old Jerusalem you know that inside the walls are narrow streets and alley ways that cut every which way through different quarters. Each with a personality (sites, sounds, smells) of their own. The roads are worn stone, bumpy, slick, often inclined/declined and uneven. Other mornings I had come into the city to explore and go to mass but this day I craved something a bit different, unknown.

On other trips, I had noticed a walkway outside the old exterior wall and decided to set out on it. The spirit of exploration giving me some sense of bravado.

The coolness of the morning was a treat. It was not reflective of the heat that surely would come in just a few hours. The sky already blue, clear. So off I walked anticipating a gate would at some point allow me to cross back into the old city.

I walked parallel to the wall through a small park with bushes, olive trees, native plants and flowers. Simple beauty surrounding me. Cars whisked by below on their way to work or trips to destinations unknown.

There was indeed an opening, and in I went through a stone corridor back into the Jewish quarter. The quietness was immediately welcoming. Small groups of children were hurrying off to school. Backpacks and giggles are universal, aren't they? Orthodox Jewish men carrying prayer shawls and with little ones in tow hurried through the walkways. Bakers were carting out wagons of bread. The aroma was wonderful. Shopkeepers were beginning to open their areas. Sleepy eyes and yawns escaping as they undid shutters and rolled out wares.

I had no idea where I was. No map. I did not care. Delight filled my soul.

A believer in following the obvious, I wandered, keeping a distance, from a group of men carrying packaged shawls. My guess... destination morning prayers.

We descinded in the city. Right alley, left, down. And then I saw the security. I had guessed right. The wall was ahead.

Dutifully I laid my camera and key on the shelf and walked through the metal detector. I followed a small group through. The area dumped me on a covered walkway. Up I walked. The wall to my left. Hundreds of Jews already there in prayer.

Men had a large side, chairs, tables, fans... there was a hum of noise as individual prayers rose up. As heads leaned against the wall in petition.

Women had their own side. Smaller, less chairs, less tables but equal in devotion to prayer.

Wait, I can see it all, but this walkway was leading me out again. Phooey.

At the top, I realized I was exiting to the "other side" of the wall. The girl in front of me received a scolding from an armed guard to cover up her tank top clad shoulders. Quickly I covered my head and shoulders with my scarf out of respect. And I surveyed where I was.

Ahead the Dome on the Rock glistened. Men washed their hands and feet at long sinks... readying themselves for or post morning prayers.

The calling of the Adhan completed. Groups of men were rolling up and folding Islamic prayer rugs. I guessed that one of their five formal prayer times was completing. I thought about how the ritual was a constant reminder to seek God's guidance and forgiveness. I said a prayer in my head as I tried to be invisible, quiet, respectful. A group of old women, eyed me a bit. No universal smiles but no look of hatred either. I was immediately relieved.

I made my way along the wall. Again, convinced there would be an opening eventually to cross back in to the otherside. I found it. And began the weaving across to where I knew the remnants of David's temple had Jews and early pilgrams gathered.

I turned left and poured out into the large plaza. I noticed the concealed section of the wall that ran the length of the Temple Mount. The large limestones rising 100 feet looked much like the side I had just came from but they were indeed a world apart.

For Jews the place held significance as the wall to the Holiest of Holies...a place for the mourning of the destruction of the temple. A place for prayers and readings.

For Arabs the place is significant for it being where the prophet Muhammad tethered his horse, Buraq, and ascended into the sky. The Dome on the Rock covering that spot.

It is the area where Abraham was to sacrifice Issac. A place that holds sacred meaning for Muslims, Christians and Jews alike.

Neither culture valuing the other's beliefs, acknowledging the other's claim to the spot.

I quietly covered my head and walked to the wall to offer my own morning prayers. Satisfied in the moment, I walked backward from the wall.

I'd come back again with my friend and guide to place a note in the crevices of the wall. My own little petition for my husband's family and our own. The knowledge that the note would sometime in the year be collected and buried on the Mount of Olives meant a part of me would remain in Jerusalem. Silly, I know. But I smiled nonetheless. Content.