Put a note in the Western Wall in Jerusalem

“As my mind flashed back to my parents, I remembered the notes they had given me to place on the wall. I reached for them and set the pieces of paper in my right hand, keeping my left hand on the wall while pressing my forehead onto the stone; I had begun to pray for the first time in my life. I prayed for my parents, my sister, my friends, and for you. I had prayed that everyone in the world would experience the purity and genuine love I was experiencing. [...] Finally, I found somewhere I could place my parent’s notes side by side. Taking a few more moments to resonate in the moment, I decided it was time to go, not wanting to overstay and spoil the present. I began to walk away from the wall backward, as I had been instructed to do by my trip leader, Abby; keeping my eyes fixated on my parents’ notes. I walked away, feeling like I had left a piece of my heart at the wall.”

“So I take the note out of my pocket and go towards the Wall to put it in one of the cracks. In that very moment a man praying there comes to me, takes me by the arm and urges me to come with him. Together we go further down the wall where, thanks to excavations, you can see the foundations. He indicates a spot next to an enormous stone and tells me to put the note there. While I slowly follow his indications he puts his hand on my head and he starts praying aloud calling upon me a blessing for my intention on the note, for my family, my friends etc. We stand like this for about a minute. Only when I pull my hand back from the wall he stops, gives me a broad smile and walks away, leaving me with an odd sense of wonder, peace and surprise.”

“I found a small space where my note would fit and took a few seconds to wedge it in there well. I didn’t want it to fall out. Someone had told me that they come by a couple of times a year and clear out all the notes and then bury them, but I didn’t want my note to end up on the ground, being unintentionally kicked around by people or lost. Once I felt it was secure, I placed my palm over it, felt the stone on my fingers, and closed my eyes. [...] Someone was forcibly poking me in my left shoulder! I turned around to see what was going on, and who was interrupting my spiritual time at the wall, and there was an orthodox man saying something angrily to me in Hebrew. [...] Then I realized what all the fuss was about. He was trying to tell me that I should be wearing a Kippah, or yarmulke, at the Wall. [...] I graciously accepted it, put it on my head, said thank you in Hebrew, one of the three words I knew in that language, and went back to my place at the Wall. I took a few minutes to finish what I’d come to do, said thank you to the Wall and the Universe, and turned to make my way out.”