Epiphany At The Western Wall

How do I feel being here? I can tell you what makes it so special to my heart. It isn’t what I thought it would be. Oh no. It isn’t the history. And it isn’t the sacred sites. Absalom’s tomb takes my breath away, the Orson Hyde memorial garden is quite something, walking on Jericho road is marvelous, and western wall was… a wall—a very old wall, but not holy or consecrated. I felt like an outsider—a tourist—a mere observer there yesterday at Friday’s sundown, the beginning of Sabbath. I should explain this experience from the top so you will better understand.
I left the center in a huddle of students. I walked down Jericho road, through the kidron valley and up to Mount Moriah. I walked along the Via Delarosa, past “King Faisal street,” the Austrian hospice, and the streets of the Old City… past St. Anne’s Cathedral, and over the great stones from the Roman occupation period (raised from 20ft below to the current street level). I walked under canopies and through the streets empty of street vendors when it had been so vibrant and bustling only a day before. Two men in full orthodox dress—long black satin coats and all pelted past us, running through the streets to be on time. I passed signs written in Hebrew/Arabic/English. I walked through metal detectors while my fanny pack was searched by Israeli soldiers. I loved it all. Then I walked into the temple complex. I was staring at the western wall. Crowds of men and their sons: very old and very young, curled locks, prayer shawls, head to toe in black robes or suits, hats of all sorts. Yamakas and great thick fur hats, they bring their culture with them through the ages—from Poland and Lithuania, Russia and Spain. They’ve come to their holiest of sites. I watched as with fervent reverence they stood silently, lips working fast in prayer. I loved it. I saw handfuls of tourists in varying degrees of modesty, watching with interest as I did. I saw a a crowd of young men across the square in white shirts holding hands, singing at the top of their lungs holding hands in a circle and dancing. Laughing with joy they formed a wall, stopped and sang in chorus. They moved in a wall, converging the space—singing with spirit and joy. I loved it. They moved into the men’s section of the wall’s partition, staying near the back, shouting, singing and dancing together in song. I watched a small bent woman back away from the wall, her eyes closed, her daughter as her guide so she would not run into anyone as she did not turn her back.
I moved among the women’s section, watching with wide eyes a display of devotion and reverence beyond compare. I walked among the women. When a space is filled with only women the atmosphere changes perceptibly. It was here too. A sense of knowing each other by association of sisterhood. I watched a girl no older than myself in chairs against the wall, head bowed, both hands pressed against the wall for more than fifteen minutes. She never moved. I loved her. I watched a European Jewish woman with a nose ring sway back and forth, book in hand, softly murmuring a song of prayer—a tune. I watched huddles of BYU girls observing the scene in varying shades of emotion.
I saw hundreds of slips of paper at the base of the wall, and scores of others tucked into crevices of stone. It was fascinating. I was very still inside, but so very alive, so aware. I didn’t want to intrude… I felt like I shouldn’t. Wouldn’t I offend them? But then I remembered, I’m an Israelite too. These are women, like me. And could I say years from now that I had stood two feet away but not touched the wall? When a woman in front of me moved I took her place at the wall, touching it, and—like her—pressing my fingers lightly to my lips. I backed away a few paces, turned around, and walked back to the center of the women’s enclosure. I stood with my hand over my heart, by other across my waist, in strong emotion. I felt an awe for these people. And while I recognized the wall as their holy ground… it was little more than a wall. I decided to pray.
My eyes open, I prayed in my mind, “Holy Father, bless these people. Bless their families and their children. Bless their land. Make it fruitful. Grant them peace. Bless them. Let them prosper. Help them.” And my heart began to swell in my breast as I thought, “let them know. Help them know the great things thou hast done for their fathers. Let them know of the covenants, that they might know thou hast always been there and hast not forsaken them. Let them know that Jesus is the Christ! Anointed one, savior and king! Let them know.”
I loved them.
Rivulets of tears flooded my face as I remembered the title page of the book of Mormon I had studied earlier that day. That the purpose of the book is to know “the great things done for their fathers,” “that they may know the covenants,” and that “they are not cast off forever,” knowing that the great God does know and care for them and always has. Further it is to the convincing of jew and gentile that JESUS IS THE CHRIST. I prayed for them; and I loved them. Filled with a love for these fine people—what I wanted most and more than all was for them to know! For them to know as I do.
I stood twenty feet from the western wall and was awash in appreciation and deep love for the restoration! All I could think of was those people and the book of Mormon. I so desperately want them to know! And as I thought these things my heart glowed in the assurance that they will know. Someday they will know. I thought more of Joseph Smith, the book of Mormon, and the treasure that I have. That we have!
I knew before I came that the greatest challenge of this trip would be as I came to love the people—to truly see them as my sisters and brothers and to pass them by! Unable to tell them my secret. Unwilling to disrupt their devotion, but with a heart full of emotion and despair. Oh, how can we do this? Mankind is our business! “How can I walk through crowds of my fellow beings with my eyes turned down?” How can I not share the glorious truths? It will break my heart! And yet, it is not their time. And it would cause more harm than good. Oh if I could but share with you my love and respect for these people! How they are and what they are and who they are and why they are. I have yet to know all, but I have seen enough. I love them.
The wall may have been little more than a wall, but now it is for me a symbol of the jewish faith and the hallmark memory of how I suddenly understood the purpose of the Book of Mormon. How I stood and watched and saw with new eyes the magnitude of the restoration. What it has done and what it can do. I loved it. I thought of the restored gospel from the first vision--Joseph Smith, and then of President Hinckley. I wanted to rejoice in the words, “I thank thee O God for a prophet!” To shout Hosanna to God and the Lamb! I thought of temples and modern revelation. I knew that God lives and directs this, his living church. I thought of what I am a part of, my privilege, and my blessing. I stood and bore testimony to a friend next to me of what I felt then in my heart. How I wanted them to know.
Things are as they are and will remain so until they are designed to change. Until then, I will continue to walk back home. Home to the center. Home to the world. I want to tell all I can. I want to shout it from the rooftops that all may know there is a God! Jesus Christ, the light of the world! And someday all will know. And we will all be united. Truly He has done great things for all the House of Israel.

And so now you see… it is not the sites. It is not the history. It is the people that have made this special and important. It is them that will draw me back and hold me here. It is love for them. Respect for them. Joy in them. Hope for them. Kinship with them. I love them. It hadn’t really hit me until then—but they have awakened me to a small understanding of why I am here. What I will do here. What has been done and what will be. And I can’t wait for more.


COMING SOON: a brief story on my flight over, the airport, and the arrival.