Jerusalem Day

 

Fifty-four years ago, Egypt, Jordan, and Syria attacked Israel, vowing to destroy the tiny, Jewish state. Thankfully, they didn’t succeed. Not only did the country survive, but it also miraculously liberated dozens of Biblical towns and holy sites. No one alive then can forget the impassioned cry of “The Temple Mount is in Our Hands”. A week later hundreds of Jerusalemites made their way to the Kotel for Shavuot holiday prayers.

Since then, every year, except for last year when Corona shut down so many activities, the Kotel is the site of day-long celebrations to mark the reunification of Jerusalem. This morning my husband and I drove to the city, parked our car a kilometer away from the Kotel, and had a pleasant walk there. Once at the Kotel we went our separate ways for meaningful, morning prayers. Halfway through the services, though, we were interrupted by the loud, popping noises of tear gas cannisters and stun grenades on the Temple Mount. From the Al Aska mosque rocks were hurled down upon some of the worshippers.

It was hard to concentrate. It was hard to hear.  For the first time, in a very long time, I was discouraged that redemption was on its way. Instead, I feared we’re on the brink of another war, G-d forbid.

Suddenly, though, I remembered a lesson we all know. It’s always darkest before the light. Labor pains are the worst right before the birth. Recalling this, I felt a slight surge of optimism.

Please, HaShem, let us see the light at the end of the tunnel. Please make it happen speedily. Please no more wars or terror or plagues or tragedies.  Please bring the world true peace.