At 6:15am, I am showered and partially coffeed. I stand on a Jerusalem street corner with my roommate Riki. We move east to the Old City, to the streets of stone, to the Western Wall. I am talking too fast. I am moving in dance. I have been thinking about this for a long time.
This in not my first visit to the Wall. Four or five times, I’ve made the treck through the Old City, the voyage through the medal-detectors. Four or five times, I’ve touched the wall. I’ve written prayers and song lyrics on little pieces of paper, pushed them into overstuffed spaces between stones. I have known that all paper ends in soggy messes on the ground, but still I tried. Pushed myself to some tangible relief of prayer.