My life was thrown asunder by a single declaration from my
aging grandfather who decided to reveal the truth to the family, “you are all Jewish!” The declaration broken open a yearning I had
nursed since first discovering an atlas at age 8, a yearning for the Middle
East. My parents decided it would be good for me to travel to Israel and nurse
the ache in my soul. So I put myself through the interrogation at Johannesburg
airport by the El Al staff and I landed in Tel Aviv with my small tour group 12
hours later. I brought along my best friend Colette just in case a bomb fell or
I was abducted, just in case. Over
the next 4 days we bussed around archaeological sites and hills but I stared
out in to the hazy distance and prayed for Thursday to come, the day we would
travel to Jerusalem. We arrived in Jerusalem at a youth hostel and got settled
in. Colette and I looked at each other with a glimmer in our eyes, let’s haul it over to the Western Wall. We
walked down the stone steps through Jaffa Gate, down the narrow passage of
bustling Arab stalls and out in to the Cardo,
the heart of the Jewish quarter in the Old City. I smiled at the young soldier
in his olive green uniform with his big, black gun at his side, I hoped he
would smile back but he didn’t. We kept on walking but my pace slowed, I was
standing on old stones, stones that had rested beneath the feet of travellers
for scores of years. Hebrew writing flicked across the signs, a for Sale sign hung on one of the passing
flats, I made a mental note to call my father to make an offer. Men, women and
children played in a large square around tables at an open air restaurant, I
felt that ache again, the ache to belong. We marked the way to the Western Wall
and in the distance we saw the infamous site on every postcard picture of
Jerusalem, the Al – Aqsa Mosque, it’s golden dome shining in the dipping sun. A
man passed by with a t – shirt on, the smiley face with its curls on his white
shirt remarked “Don’t worry, be Jewish.” Was it that simple?
I pulled the collar on my leather jacket up, to frame my
freezing face. As we passed through the security booth I realised how
inappropriately I was dressed in my tight jeans and biker jacket, but I was
there to bring my heart not my clothes so I pressed on. The stones wore deep
wrinkles in its skin, and I marvelled at how clean everything was. I breathed
in deeply, passed some beggars at the gates leading to where others were
praying, they looked as though they were going to swear at me for ignoring
them. One of them leaned up against a sign that read “no beggars allowed at the
Wall.” The sun had collapsed in to the horizon and the lights flickered on
around us, I had made it and thankfully few women filled the women’s section
for prayer. The ancient limestone wall I had only seen in books finally stood
in front of me, the last memory of the temple that once graced the holy city. I
pressed my hands on to the cool stone, a small tuft of grass tickled my palm. I
closed my eyes and heard sobs somewhere in the distance, women’s voices mourned
somewhere. I struggled to find the words until in desperation I pressed my head
against the stones and felt as though I was pressed in to the tunic of God. My
heart broke, every question I had carried with me came loose. I could no longer
carry my own weight, I collapsed in to the smooth gutter that held the wall,
still pressed up against the stones. Hours passed but it felt like minutes, I
did not want to leave, Colette wrapped her arm around my shoulders and together
we wept in prayer. I stood to my feet, touched the wall as if touching the
cheek of a lover I was leaving, and as I turned around a woman dressed in
white, with yellow blonde hair, threw her arms around me. I allowed myself to
be gathered up in to the arms of a stranger, “may God answer all your prayers,”
she whispered in to my ear. I did not
want her to let go.
As we passed back through the gates I would not turn around,
for fear that it was all a dream and that the woman in white was an angel in
disguise, now disappeared and back in heaven. An Orthodox man dressed in black
approached us, “shalom do you have a place to go for Shabbat dinner tomorrow
evening?”
“Yes thank you,” I replied and he was off. The rest of the evening unfolded in
a blur, I did not taste our evening meal, I did not hear the conversation at
the table, I can’t remember if I slept that night or not. The friendliness, the
love, the warms arms, the children playing in the streets, everything, it asked
more questions of me. The following evening Shabbat arrived like a daughter
whose family were longing for her return. My rabbi back home in South Africa
arranged for Colette and I to spend the Sabbath meal with his brother in
Jerusalem. We arrived at his home and were astonished to find an old building
that appeared rather creepy on the outside but as we entered the door of his
house, the modern, spacious open plan apartment was breath – taking. His wife barely
spoke, I thought she didn’t like us at first but I came to learn a few hours
later that, she did not speak a word of English. Rabbi Mendy was incredibly
kind, leading me through the ritual of washing my hands before the meal,
helping me with the blessings, the bread and the wine. He kindly asked about my
life, my family and my dreams. “You come to yeshiva
next year.”
“Yeshiva?”
“Yes, we are starting up our first girls only yeshiva this year, I will arrange it, you come.”
“But rabbi,” I protested, “I have no idea how to do all this, I’m still
learning so much, will they even accept me?
“I will get you in, don’t worry.”
Our conversation ended, my mind swirled, I could change the way I dressed, get
deeper in to my Hebrew studies and convince my parents to agree. He pulled out
a book of Sabbath songs, his soft voice filled the air with a tale, a song
about a lost pilgrim trying to find his way home. The pilgrim with a bag of
worries on his back found his way to the Western Wall, lowered his bag and
found home in the arms of the stones. I tried to hold back my tears but my
heart would have none of it, I let them go. I suddenly felt whole in a land of
strangers, I finally found what I had searched for in that atlas, home.
