On my first journey to Israel, we were met at the airport by my oldest daughter, Judy, and her husband. They immediately whisked us off to go sightseeing. Soon we were in the Old City of Jerusalem, weaving through its ancient winding streets.
It was the eve of the Great Sabbath, the Sabbath before Passover. Suddenly, below us, splendid in the late afternoon sun, was the holiest place in the world for the Children of Israel, the Western Wall.
First, we had to file through the security gate. An old man, flanked by two gun-toting Israeli soldiers, was inspecting everything. My bag was bulging, for I had a large tallit and other items in it, but when he came to me, the “Keeper of the Gate” refused to examine my things and insisted I go straight through.
A short distance in front of the Wall, another surprise awaited me. For years, my daughter had been promising to make me a yarmulke. It was the most radiant one I had ever seen. Woven of gleaming gold strands laced with silver, it seemed the embodiment of light. And it was the perfect moment, with the soft light of the setting sun glowing golden on the ancient stones of the sacred Wall .
They placed the golden yarmulke on my head, and, with a grateful blessing, I put on my tallit, and placed a special prayer for the time still to come, within the crevices of the sacred Wall.