Shavuot

י"ד חשון, תשס"ז

My group from Nishmat spent the night of Shavuot, when it is a custom to stay up all night learning Torah, at the home of one of our rabbanim in the neighborhood of Nachlaot. There were shiurim straight through from right after dinner until an hour or so before dawn, with hot drinks, luscious cheesecake, and a few mattresses laid out on a landing and in one bedroom upstairs for whoever needed a power nap (or who gave up altogether). After the last shiur, those of us who were able helped clean up a bit, and then set out towards the kotel for shacharit. It so happened that I left the house on my own. Walking through the alleys of Nachlaot it was quiet, and the night air fresh. I don't mind walking by myself, generally, but I think the thought crossed my mind that it was an awfully long way to go alone in the middle of the night, and I shouldn't have let the others leave without me.

It was a silly thought. As I came onto Rechov Yafo (Jaffa Street) a saw a few other people. Then a few more. Then many more. By the time I'd gone several blocks there were streams, and before I'd passed the Iriya (City Hall) it was a crowd. Men, women, children, all dressed for the chag and all heading in the same direction for the same purpose. A couple of times I passed women from my program who had come from the same place I had, but I felt no need to latch on. I was a single unit, but only one component of a breathtaking entity.

We were walking the same route as we had on Yom Yerushalayim. It was on the path outside the walls, near where I took that last picture barely a week before, that I first noticed I was approximately keeping pace with a particular girl. She was bundled in a winter jacket, and had a distinctive body language that made me notice her. She seemed simultaneously focused, excited, independent -- but also vulnerable. After a bit, she too noticed that we were walking "together," as it were, and we exchanged that quick smile of strangers recognizing a commonality -- but her smile was warm, appreciative. (I hope mine was too!)

We continued in silence, despite having acknowledged a link. Sometimes one of us passed ahead for a few moments, or other people moved between us, but we kept ending up aligned in parallel paths, and continued sharing anticipatory glances. We entered the Old City through Sha'ar Yafo (Jaffa Gate), and, as on Yom Yerushalayim, people were splitting about equally between the route through the Arab shuk and the one that circumvents it -- a much more popular course towards the kotel on any ordinary day. I decided I might as well take my chance when I had it, and went the more direct way. It being still significantly before dawn, the shuk as a place of business was deserted, with all wares behind locked metal doors and proprietors presumably asleep in their beds. As a thoroughfare, however, it was far from deserted. The crowds from the wide street and walkways had funneled into this enclosed alley, and though we were still walking along at a fairly brisk pace, periodically there was a traffic jam (or, to use the Israeli term, a p'kak -- a plug/stopper, like in a bottle). My traveling companion and I, still periodically becoming seperated from one another but now literally bumping up against each other when we met, finally made verbal introductions. Just our names and where in the world we were from -- nothing further. As we reached the end of the shuk she tried to link arms with me, but I shook my head, realizing how much harder it would be to navigate the throng that way. We moved into the tunnel just off the kotel plaza, at this point somewhat less than capable of directing our own bodies. (New Yorkers, picture the 6 line at rush hour!) It was dark and pungent and loud, but I leaned over to this comrade of mine to share an editorial note of sorts: "Here, the light at the end of the tunnel is the holiest place on Earth."

We made it through, of course, but were separated. That was the last time we communicated in any way, although I saw her for a brief moment later on as I moved closer to the wall than I had been initially. My encounter with her was memorable for its setting and its negligibility -- a fraction of a relationship based on a greater extent of mutual identification among thousands of people with whom we also strongly identified, a rudimentary bond based on visibly shared emotions.

My davening wasn't particularly noteworthy, since I was pretty much asleep on my feet, but hopefully Hashem heard my overflowing internal thanks for bringing me to that day, that place, that time, as part of His holy nation.