Why is it easier to write while I reside in Israel
I just returned from a visit to the Kotel.
Once I walk through the security, I always stop before I descend the stairs.
Why?
You might ask, aren’t you in a hurry to reach the remnants of the Beth ha Migdash, to touch its ancient stones, kiss them, and begin pleading to Hashem on behalf of so many Jewish souls who await a Refuah, whether physical or spiritual?
But first one must pause and absorb the holiest view a Jew can face.
Usually my eyes follow the loudest sounds.
It could be dozens of teenage girls in bright purple shirts celebrating the beginning of summer camp, as I witnessed today. They screamed and jumped so loud with their arms raised high, their excitement palpable.
Then I noticed little boys, no older than five or six, wearing golden crowns. An entire class had arrived. Some held their father’s hands, while others formed a chain behind their rebbe. Curious, I asked what the occasion was.
“These children are receiving their first Siddur at the Kotel,” came the reply.
I continued walking toward the woman’s section and passed a large fenced off area designated for military use.
Tables were covered with colorful photographs. An event was being prepared, and soldiers in uniform were busy setting up microphones, screens, and a stage. The person directing the entire production was a young woman dressed in olive-green army gear. A large rifle hung casually over her shoulder as though it were a handbag.
Yet what impressed me most was not the weapon. The turban covering her hair revealed that she was a married religious woman. She wore a skirt, and the insignia on her shoulders indicated that she had chosen the army as her profession far beyond the years required of her. I went close to the fence and waited until we locked eyes. She approached me and I expressed my gratitude for her service to our nation.
By the time I finally reached the Kotel, after observing all of this within the span od ten minutes, I was overcome by an extraordinary feeling of belonging.
Children receiving their first Siddur.
Soldiers celebrating their service.
Religious men and women protecting the Jewish state.
Where else can one witness such scenes in the course of a short walk?
I focused on the purpose of my visit and davend with all my heart.
Perhaps this explains why writing comes more easily to me when I reside in Israel.
The stories are not hidden here. They unfold before my eyes every day. I do not have to search for them. They find me.
In Israel, Jewish life is not confined to the synagogue or the pages of a history book. It fills the streets, the buses, the markets, the parks, and the stones of Jerusalem itself.
A simple visit to the Kotel becomes a lesson in continuity.
The little boys with their first Siddur represent the future.
The soldiers stand guard over our present. The ancient stones remind us of our past.
And somehow, all three meet in one place.
Perhaps that is why my pen moves freely here.
Israel does not merely give me something to write about.
Israel gives me something to feel.
