A couple of years ago, we went to Israel for my daughter's Bat Mitzvah. For me, the most exciting part of planning for this trip was taking my children to this historical, important place and hoping they felt a connection to this amazing part of the world. I wanted them to feel more Jewish and connected by doing this thing, visiting this place. And I hoped to feel the same way too. We took a two week trip with a great tour guide. We visited many 'touristy' places: the Old City, some other parts of Jerusalem, the Knesset, Masada, the Dead Sea, Kinneret Sea, the Golan area, grottos by the Lebanan border, Greek ruins, Tel Aviv, etc. A whirlwind of a trip for sure. We couldn't go south because of the danger there at the time. After the trip was over, ha, 2 years ago now, I still reflect back on the experience. The most important thing I did there, for myself, was visit the Temple Mount. I feel like that was a monumental accomplishment for the latter half of my life. It's such an important, meaningful, pivotal place on earth, and I got to go there. Do you realize how many people in the world NEVER make it there? How many people have no idea of the true scale of the place? There are Jews all over the world who have never been there, aren't ALLOWED there. They don't know but I was there.
My mother-in-law, my 13 year old daughter, and I dressed (what we thought!) conservatively and made sure we had nothing on us that would cause us to be noticed in a suspicious way. We stood in line for quite a while during the narrow window of opportunity. I had my Travelon purse, which would identify me as a tourist, and my American look about me. I turned my Star of David necklace backwards around to the back of my neck, and put on a black shaw. My daughter had on long shorts, longer than many others, but as we got to the top of the line, the Muslim decision-maker guy made us buy a shaw to wrap around her legs. It was ridiculous and an excuse to soak us out of some money. Whatever, we did it anyway. (we still have the cheap, crappy, nearly translucent shaw) The three of us felt the tension between us and the Muslim guy and we really thought he wasn't going to let us visit. I think they just wanted to cover a young pretty girl any way they could and make some cash.
We finally entered the lower level plaza after some time. It seemed a lot like an American park near a library or something, covered in tan Jerusalem stone, but with non-working fountains intended for feet washing. I was dismayed that the Muslims that were there were having a picnic, and playing soccer. I thought this was a holy place and I thought they would be acting 'holy'...or, reverent...or something. I guess I didn't know what to expect. The al-Aqsa was off to our left but there was nothing going on during this 90 minute visiting window. I don't know, it all seemed very informal. I remember thinking "look around, take it all in". I would inhale deeply, taking in the hot dry air. I wanted to remember it forever, that I was finally here. And more importantly, I wanted to feel like G-d was somewhere around. I wanted to feel the weight of holy energy there. I kept looking for it, listening, breathing, hearing, waiting, but it never happened for me. I did, however, feel very nervous and self-conscious. I know the Muslim watch-guy was keeping an eye on us and our behavior. We walked around the plaza and I thought that is the only area we'd be allowed to tour but we saw people up on the plaza around the dome, and near 'the place'. We decided to climb the stairs and we crossed over the old rock that was part of the wall of the first Temple. I was hoping for G-d's presence to somehow reach us. Instead, I was startled by a group of about 8 or 10 obnoxious European men in shorts and t-shirts (with cheap shaws blowing in the breeze around their legs) yipping it up, taking selfies, and being loud. They looked like they had been drinking but I have no proof. I did, however, feel like smacking them across the head and explaining where exactly they were! And there were other people walking around the dome and looking like they knew what they were doing. I, on the other hand, felt like I was being watched and kept my distance away from the dome and the three of us skirted the edges of the Mount area. I instructed us to be respectful and quiet so as not to draw attention, and I was still hoping for that amazing connection to happen. I never did get close to the building there. I was nervous and afraid of doing the wrong thing. And I wanted to be reverent and humble in that place. I was afraid of being offensive to G-d and His holy place. I did squeeze in a selfie at the edge of the Temple plaza, at the top of the stairs leading away from the domed building, to prove I was actually there.
Before we left, I took another long look around and tried to imagine all the people that had been there before me. The people coming with their sacrifices, their offerings for a better life, their troubles and their celebrations, the priests coming and going with their duties. I imagined what it might look like if a cloud did hover over the area while the Ark was stationed there. That my footsteps would mingle with everyone else's footsteps.
In the end, my experience on the Temple Mount, while amazing, inspiring, and life-changing, was like it was for all my visit to Israel. I felt no special connection. I felt no draw to be there, no kinship with the people there. I wonder what is wrong with me? Why NOT me?? I think my at-the-time 13 year old daughter felt it. She seemed comfortable there. All the kids were more comfortable than I -they spoke Hebrew to varying degrees of success and just seemed to "fit in". Sadly, it is not my homeland. My ancestors weren't there. My past lives didn't happen there. The desert was not a place I could be. Over the years, I have considered what and how to make aliyah and whether I could or wanted to, but I think it's just not my place. I feel like I have been running the hills and forests of Appalachia for thousands of years. I have deja vu sometimes here. And while I wanted that in Israel, I am disappointed that it didn't happen. I think my daughter might have, and I guess I could visit her on occasion.
Wednesday, November 04, 2015
The most holy place on earth.
A couple of years ago, we went to Israel for my daughter's Bat Mitzvah. For me, the most exciting part of planning for this trip was taking my children to this historical, important place and hoping they felt a connection to this amazing part of the world. I wanted them to feel more Jewish and connected by doing this thing, visiting this place. And I hoped to feel the same way too. We took a two week trip with a great tour guide. We visited many 'touristy' places: the Old City, some other parts of Jerusalem, the Knesset, Masada, the Dead Sea, Kinneret Sea, the Golan area, grottos by the Lebanan border, Greek ruins, Tel Aviv, etc. A whirlwind of a trip for sure. We couldn't go south because of the danger there at the time. After the trip was over, ha, 2 years ago now, I still reflect back on the experience. The most important thing I did there, for myself, was visit the Temple Mount. I feel like that was a monumental accomplishment for the latter half of my life. It's such an important, meaningful, pivotal place on earth, and I got to go there. Do you realize how many people in the world NEVER make it there? How many people have no idea of the true scale of the place? There are Jews all over the world who have never been there, aren't ALLOWED there. They don't know but I was there.
My mother-in-law, my 13 year old daughter, and I dressed (what we thought!) conservatively and made sure we had nothing on us that would cause us to be noticed in a suspicious way. We stood in line for quite a while during the narrow window of opportunity. I had my Travelon purse, which would identify me as a tourist, and my American look about me. I turned my Star of David necklace backwards around to the back of my neck, and put on a black shaw. My daughter had on long shorts, longer than many others, but as we got to the top of the line, the Muslim decision-maker guy made us buy a shaw to wrap around her legs. It was ridiculous and an excuse to soak us out of some money. Whatever, we did it anyway. (we still have the cheap, crappy, nearly translucent shaw) The three of us felt the tension between us and the Muslim guy and we really thought he wasn't going to let us visit. I think they just wanted to cover a young pretty girl any way they could and make some cash.
We finally entered the lower level plaza after some time. It seemed a lot like an American park near a library or something, covered in tan Jerusalem stone, but with non-working fountains intended for feet washing. I was dismayed that the Muslims that were there were having a picnic, and playing soccer. I thought this was a holy place and I thought they would be acting 'holy'...or, reverent...or something. I guess I didn't know what to expect. The al-Aqsa was off to our left but there was nothing going on during this 90 minute visiting window. I don't know, it all seemed very informal. I remember thinking "look around, take it all in". I would inhale deeply, taking in the hot dry air. I wanted to remember it forever, that I was finally here. And more importantly, I wanted to feel like G-d was somewhere around. I wanted to feel the weight of holy energy there. I kept looking for it, listening, breathing, hearing, waiting, but it never happened for me. I did, however, feel very nervous and self-conscious. I know the Muslim watch-guy was keeping an eye on us and our behavior. We walked around the plaza and I thought that is the only area we'd be allowed to tour but we saw people up on the plaza around the dome, and near 'the place'. We decided to climb the stairs and we crossed over the old rock that was part of the wall of the first Temple. I was hoping for G-d's presence to somehow reach us. Instead, I was startled by a group of about 8 or 10 obnoxious European men in shorts and t-shirts (with cheap shaws blowing in the breeze around their legs) yipping it up, taking selfies, and being loud. They looked like they had been drinking but I have no proof. I did, however, feel like smacking them across the head and explaining where exactly they were! And there were other people walking around the dome and looking like they knew what they were doing. I, on the other hand, felt like I was being watched and kept my distance away from the dome and the three of us skirted the edges of the Mount area. I instructed us to be respectful and quiet so as not to draw attention, and I was still hoping for that amazing connection to happen. I never did get close to the building there. I was nervous and afraid of doing the wrong thing. And I wanted to be reverent and humble in that place. I was afraid of being offensive to G-d and His holy place. I did squeeze in a selfie at the edge of the Temple plaza, at the top of the stairs leading away from the domed building, to prove I was actually there.
Before we left, I took another long look around and tried to imagine all the people that had been there before me. The people coming with their sacrifices, their offerings for a better life, their troubles and their celebrations, the priests coming and going with their duties. I imagined what it might look like if a cloud did hover over the area while the Ark was stationed there. That my footsteps would mingle with everyone else's footsteps.
In the end, my experience on the Temple Mount, while amazing, inspiring, and life-changing, was like it was for all my visit to Israel. I felt no special connection. I felt no draw to be there, no kinship with the people there. I wonder what is wrong with me? Why NOT me?? I think my at-the-time 13 year old daughter felt it. She seemed comfortable there. All the kids were more comfortable than I -they spoke Hebrew to varying degrees of success and just seemed to "fit in". Sadly, it is not my homeland. My ancestors weren't there. My past lives didn't happen there. The desert was not a place I could be. Over the years, I have considered what and how to make aliyah and whether I could or wanted to, but I think it's just not my place. I feel like I have been running the hills and forests of Appalachia for thousands of years. I have deja vu sometimes here. And while I wanted that in Israel, I am disappointed that it didn't happen. I think my daughter might have, and I guess I could visit her on occasion.
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1 comment:
Thanks for sharing your inner feelings on this combustible place.
Some thoughts to share with you. . .
1) It's more than okay that you don't "feel the magic" on "Temple mount." The religion that YOU adopted is a religion that is really found more in the crumbled stones down below than up on the mount. (Would you seek to return to animal sacrifice? Or is it the religion developed by the rabbis in the wake of the Temple's destruction the one that drew you in?)
2) I also visited this spot some years ago -- before the Orthodox had figured out how to do it. (What I mean is that, at that time, they were afraid to go up on Temple Mount because they didn't want to accidentally intrude into the "holiest places." Now they've "mapped it out" and go up there with no fear. I liked it better in the old days.)
3) The whole Kotel business is a form of idolatry. I think it's important that EVERYONE have the right to visit all the places -- but it's hard when people insist on maintaining their rights over those of others.
4) I WAS moved by seeing the rock in the Dome of the Rock. By tradition, this is where Avraham sought to sacrifice Isaac. To the Muslims, it's an important touchstone (literally) in their religious tradition. That's lovely. This one place having so much resonance through so much history to different peoples. Did you see the Jerusalem movie at COSI? It really conveyed the co-existing stories well.
5) My wife calls the prison at Acco "her kotel." It was there that founders of the State of Israel overcame those who sought to stop the creation of the State. The point is -- different places in Israel will have different resonance for different people.
6) For me, perhaps the most precious place I recall was Ben Yehudah Street (the pedestrian mall). I chose to be there at least once -- maybe it was more than once -- at the time that the siren sounds in Israel for commemorating Yom Hashoah and/or Yom Hazikaron. THAT'S where I felt my big, proud, to-the-core-of-my-Jewish-soul moment -- to know that I was sitting safely in the heart of Jerusalem (well, standing) despite all the losses of my people, all the hatred, all the war -- that we are here, we are strong, we are striving to make things better in our homeland and throughout the world.
It's a scary thing to feel that you need to feel magical when you visit "the holy land." And it can make it harder to have those feelings. You create at least as much magic when you lead or are part of a group that continues music going back deep into Jewish tradition. I hope you feel that. Let's make sure you have another trip when you can connect to some great sacred music in Israel, and I think you'll have a real personal high!
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