Born to be Wild — And Tamed

The holiest location to three major religions on earth. People spend their entire lives dreaming of coming to this location.

To worship.
To pray.
To maybe feel a touch of the divine that they’ve been looking for? 
Who am I to know their intentions.

But travel brought me here– and curiosity of the divine. Born into a partially Jewish family, it certainly called to me and I felt inclined to answer that call.

After I entered the female side of the entrance, I stood there staring for a good 45 seconds. Stopped in my tracks.

I moved to the middle of the pack of women, maybe about 25 feet from the wall itself, hoping to engulf and feel the spirit of religious devotion around me and selfishly, to study that devotion.

Finding a seat, I threw in my headphones and played my favorite of non vocal songs.

Waiting.
Meditating.
Awaiting the ancestral urge to touch the western wall. 

I watched devoted women rocking, praying, and some crying. They were covered, some head to toe. No chests, no knees shown and some very little hair visible. They had waited years for this moment. It was clear. 

There was divinity and holiness in this place for so many. But as I sat there and awaited some feeling of divinity amongst me, nothing divine happened.

Growing impatient with myself, I took a deep breath and told myself to just wait. Something would come.

Nothing ever did.

Instead, I found myself absolutely fixated in respect and admiration for those who surrounded me. I respected the fact that these women were here. They were mere yards away from where their token of the divine was located. A rock.

The rock on which the universe and man was supposedly built. Surrounded for years by walls, this location was the closest many of them would ever get to god before death. 

This entire town, indeed was considered the holiest of holy.

Just earlier that day, I stood on a building’s rooftop overlooking the historic Mount of Olives. From our tour information, we learned that there were thousands of graves of Jews who believed the closer they were buried to the temple located just aside from the Mount of Olives, the faster they would ascend into heaven. So these Jews fought to be buried on that hillside– a last attempt, even in death, to be close to the divine.

According to our tour guide, the same location meant divinity to Muslims. It was foretold that Muslims that believed the Dome of the Rock is where Allah and Muhammad negotiated how many times to pray a day towards Mecca. It’s where Muhammad also ascended into heaven and where Muslims would cross the threshold into heaven some day as well.

This place, this very location was where the world will end according to Jewish testimony.

It was a holy place and space to stand.
To pray.
To hope and to await external peace. 

As someone who’s has dabbled in just about every major religion out there, the history of this place invoked such a curiosity within me. I wondered if I would feel a touch of the divine, if the location would revive some feeling towards where my heart had lived for such a long period of my childhood— to Jesus. 

Or perhaps I would acknowledge my roots and where my people had come from. Maybe I would be called to feel strong connection to the place where my tribes were based. Maybe walking on the same sand, stone, and streets would draw me to a firmer feeling of grounding from my past. 

All of those years reading about the teachings of Muhammad, the understanding I sought out to learn about their pilgrimages to Mecca and Medina. Maybe the Dome of the Rock would inspire me. 

But in all honesty, nothing came that felt transformational or divine. I sat at the wall, willing myself to touch it, to leave a note to God, or pray. 

But it felt wrong.
It felt untrue.
It felt unnatural.

So I did nothing but watch in admiration at those around me. I left no note. I didn’t walk to the wall. I didn’t pray to the Dome of the Rock a few yards ahead of me. I sat and thanked the universe for the opportunity to be in this place, to study those around me, and to know this was not for me.

And that’s when I realized that my version of God, the divine, is based outside of these books. Don’t get me wrong, I believe very strongly that the basis of religion is healthy for many people. It provides a strong foundation of morals, community, justice, and teachings that we can all use. 

But was God in those beliefs to me? 

I think not?
And I choose not to judge or condemn that.
I choose to accept that thinking.

For me, I don’t think God is positioned inside a temple, in books based on prophets tellings or even within the walls of a church. 

To me, God was everywhere.

He or she is in the air.
The way life unfolds.
The way we walk through life and what that walk teaches us– that is where God is found for me.

To me, God is the wind that hits your face at the moment where you may feel a bit down.
God is in the smile of a baby who you just met for the first time.
God is that beautiful feeling you have when you meet a soul that understands yours.
God is seeing your grandparents still madly in love when they look at the other.
God is a friend knowing your heart and taking a moment to check in with you.
God is in community where we know deeply, care for, and watch out for others because we love them. 

To me, God cannot be contained into a place, a box, a book, or even a feeling. It is the all encompassing notion, not even the feeling, that truly… all is well because it is what is.
It is what we need.
It is not what we want.
It is what is meant to be. 

And God is good.

Like really… He/she/it really is. 

So I didn’t touch the wall, but I sat and watched the others do it. Those who had an inclination to love something further and beyond what they can see.

And I adored that. I admired that— I admired their ability to place God into one place, one location, one man, or one teaching. 

I just don’t think it’ll be for me. And without providing judgment, I accepted that for myself because it felt pure to me. It felt right to me. 

So did something divine happen at the Western Wall for me? 

Yeah. Yeah I think so. I think I found my version of God at that wall, but not what I had expected to find.

And that alone, makes this whole journey 7 hours ahead in time zones, into the Middle East, 18 hours of traveling… so much more worthwhile. I thought I was just coming to this place to celebrate love with a woman I admire. 

And instead, I found a bit of God on the road to Israel. And that… is a blessing to sit with for years to come.