Red Sand

This morning, it rained red sand. I don’t even know why I bothered cleaning the glass-topped table.

Is Yerushalayim on fire?
Am I wiping ashes off the table?

I gazed at the sky, and suddenly a vision of the California fires flashed in my mind like a nightmare. The air felt heavy, as if I were carrying a weight on my shoulders. I tried to sense a smell, but there was none—just the opposite. Breathing felt difficult.

I leaned on the iron balcony railing and wondered what was happening. Finally, I decided to visit Har HaZeitim, to stand by my parents’ graves. I called my loyal taxi driver, Michael.

“How often do we have chamsins here?” I asked him as we drove.

Earlier, I had checked my phone. The weather app reassured me that Yerushalayim wasn’t burning; it was a sandstorm sweeping in from the desert.

“Often!” Michael replied.

That’s when it struck me: even though we live in one of the most sophisticated countries in the world, sometimes nature takes us back to ancient times—when Bedouins crossed these lands on camelback, faces veiled to keep sand from their eyes, noses, and mouths.

It felt like reliving the days when Moshe Rabbeinu wandered through the Sinai Desert with our people, enduring the same fierce winds and swirling sand.

When I reached the hill above my parents’ graves, the sight was unforgettable. Fine red sand had settled on the ancient stones, as if Hashem Himself had blanketed all those who left this world with a soft, protective layer.

My stay in Israel was far too short. Usually, I come with opportunities to help our people, but this visit gave me the gift of simply observing—and marveling.

I watched men gather for a minyan within minutes while I was shopping for sneakers for my niece at Foot Locker. I saw a driver pull over, wrap himself in tallit and tefillin, and daven Shacharit on the roadside. I passed the construction site for the new visitor center at Har HaZeitim.

We walked to the Kotel late on Shabbat afternoon to pray Mincha. And most of the time, I sat on the balcony, gazing at the most magnificent view imaginable.

When a clean, silent wind finally blew the fine red dust away, the blue sky returned. The ancient walls before me seemed to whisper one word: peace.