The Western Wall

I’ve been home from my pilgrimage long enough to distill my
impressions of what I saw in Israel, to race my mountain bike a couple of
times, and to get over the bug I brought home in my small intestine.  To be very frank, I didn’t have a solid stool
for over a week, even though I drank nothing but bottled water (and minty
lemonade).  I blame it on the poor hygiene
standards of the street food vendors who sell the best made-to-order falafel in
the world. 

Spending a week in Israel after a week in Spain is like
washing down your milk with a shot of hot sauce—I did it backwards.  We went from the slow, humane pace of bicycle
touring to the furious and frenetic pace of traffic in Tel Aviv.  But with a little luck and perhaps a bit of
Providence these pilgrims made it to the Old City of Jerusalem.   

I wasted no time in setting out for the Trifecta of holy
sites of the Abrahamic religions.  First
up was the Western Wall, the holiest site in Judaism, in spite of the fact that
the wall is nothing more than a retaining wall, which is emblematic of my
impression of the Jews there—very practical and very casual.  They had yarmulkes available for Gentiles and
forgetful Jews to cover their heads with in order that the fear of heaven  might
be upon me as I approached the wall. 
What struck me most about stepping up to that wall was not the little
notes to God stuck in the cracks between every block, nor was it the intensity
with which the Orthodox men prayed, and swayed at the wall—which reminded me of
the Spinners, or members of the Church of Unlimited Devotion, who used to spin
and sway at Grateful Dead concerts. 

 What struck me most was the casual attitude with which these
people behaved in a place they consider so holy.  I saw men snapping photos of toddlers
fumbling against the wall, other men took video of some of the swaying orthodox,
another young orthodox man was asked by a secular man to take his photo at the
wall.  Then there were the bar mitzvahs,
about five of which were going on the day I was there.  There was singing, dancing, praying going on
everywhere, and women, who have their own separate section at the Wall, threw
candy over the fence at all the children on the men’s side.  Meanwhile, there were young Israeli defense forces toting machine guns everywhere, reminding everybody how tenuous the Jewish presence in Jerusalem is.  There was no judgment of who was holier than
whom, everybody was accepted, and everybody seemed comfortable in their own
skin.  They didn't care that a Gentile like me was standing next to them listening and taking photographs.  I couldn’t imagine some of the
holy places back home ever having such a comfortable, welcoming atmosphere.  

I liked the Western Wall so much we visited
it twice.