At any time and at any hour, when I had a few spare moments, I would make my way to the Western Wall, Something reserved exclusively for the residents of Jerusalem.
For me, the Western Wall was on the way to everywhere.
I passed by it on my way to visit my elderly aunt who lived in the Katamon neighborhood; I passed by it on my way back from work out of town; I walked by it on my way to a wedding in Givat Shaul; and I visited it on my way to visit my daughter in Kiryat Sefer.
On my way?
When I would tell my aunt, daughter, or anyone else that I passed by the Western Wall on my way to them to pray, they would laugh: And is the Western Wall on the way from Beit Vegan to Givat Shaul? Is it a stop at the exit or entrance to the city?
That was my magic friend at the Western Wall.
My feet carried me to him and I felt that the entire city was at his feet. He is the main thing, the center and there is no other, all the rest are trifles compared to him. He is the entire city. All the other neighborhoods are paths leading out from the Western Wall.
I arrived at the center and from there I went everywhere.
That's how it used to be.
A few months ago, the thing died down. Lately, I would approach the Western Wall and retreat, approach and shiver.
""The paths of Zion mourn without a guest" - I remembered the mournful words from the Lamentations Scroll, the road to the Western Wall is empty of people. There is no one there and no one is walking. I would turn from the Jaffa Gate towards the Jewish Quarter and everything around would be empty. I would look at the gate and immediately the words would come to mind: "Her gates are desolate and she is bitter.".
And if I saw people around me, they were the sons of Ishmael. Those who, even if they don't have a sword or knife in their hands, have a devilish smile on their faces, as if they hadn't just secured their sources of income in the Arab market, which has never been satiated by economic satisfaction.
And besides these Ishmaelites, from every corner you see the long muzzle of a rifle, from every corner a soldier, policeman or security guard emerges, lest you forget that you are in a place of danger. A place where a drawn sword threatens your existence.
And why am I telling all this in the past tense? Because that's how I felt in the past, that's how I've felt in recent months, since the intifada of the few began. That's how I stopped running to the Western Wall as I usually do.
That's how I felt until yesterday, Sunday.
•
In the dark of evening, I made my way through the Jaffa Gate.
A woman wearing pants accompanied me to the Western Wall. It's more pleasant to walk together.
""Scary, huh?" I asked her as we passed a group of young Arabs.
""Scary?" She stared at me with huge eyes.
""Look, everything is empty!" - I pointed around. "There's no one!""
She laughed out loud, and said in an innocent and genuine tone: "Empty? There's no one? What's the matter? God is with us. He is always there!""
She took a tiny book of Psalms out of her pants pocket and showed it to me. "He protects me," she claimed in a tone that made no ambiguity. "I have no fear.".
Oh, how I believed her.
She said these things from such a pure and understanding heart.
•
We approached the Western Wall, stood in front of it, close to the wall, as did the five other women who were there at the time. 'Tomorrow,' I promised myself, 'tomorrow I will pass by the Western Wall on my way to my radio work.
The mourning roads of Zion and the desolate gates will not deter me.
The rifle butts of our soldiers, the glare of onlookers from the sidelines, and the empty market square will not frighten me. Only then will I be able to stand in front of the Western Wall, as I have always done, and whisper with longing, longing, and hope:
""Return us to you, O Lord, and we will return, renew our days as of old!"'
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