There are feelings that are unattainable by words, when the heart soars, and the past, present and future do not collide, but intertwine before you. There is nothing to be explained, but everything to be felt.
There is justice, mercy, and truth in the grains and life to the wind.
The eternal, intangible harmony of the east never sets, for it is filled with a thousand prayers of a million souls from all corners of the earth.
Its song knows not of language, but of savory truths finished with a sprinkle of weeping.
The weeping of loss, of gain, of courage and the triumph of the human spirit.
It knows not solely of spoken word, but of unity of hearts.
It dwells not for those who wish to destroy it, but in its stone walls that stubbornly defy all destruction beckoned in its name.
The etchings of its sandy creation naturally contour against white shawls and black boxes before it that stand as a guiding reminder that we, were once strangers.
That the stranger is not unlike the widow, whom is not unlike the orphan.
That justice and peace cannot always exist side by side.
But when they do, harmony is made.
It is Israel, in all her song and dance.