The Wall

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June 30, The Old City, Jerusalem (Birthright)

I am an inexperienced counselor. I never did summer camp, I was never in a youth movement. My parents took my sister and I on summer trips instead, to the UK, to the Caribbean, to the Maritimes, to the Rockies, to Israel. Besides, I was a shy kid, introverted, interested in Star Trek, science and science fiction. While I’ve grown up since then, volunteered and backpacked abroad, led organizations on campus and off, that quiet Asher is always a part of me. The first few days of Birthright were tough; I learned that my ‘job’ as a madrich (counselor) involved the stuff I’d never done at the camp that I never went to - ice-breakers, learning games, and programs. I was eager to learn but a growing tension between the other two staff left an uncomfortable void. They’re amazing people, but without a clear delineation of responsibility they kept stepping on each other’s toes. Each resentful of the other, programming meetings frequently paused for awkward silences. The negative vibe made it hard for me to engage.

But on a personal level, without the programming, I loved interacting with the students. I’d worried that they would be jappy kids, excited to legally drink under 21. On the whole, they were far more mature than myself or that group I’d done Birthright with five years back. After the slow start in Tel Aviv, their attention and interest grew in Jerusalem. They were engaged. We walked single file down the narrow streets of the Jewish Quarter of the Old City, towards the Wall.

If you’ve never seen it, the Western Wall is the exposed portion of the 2000-year-old retaining wall of the Jewish Temple. It was built by Herod the Great in the ancient kingdom’s twilight years. The Israeli Army created the open plaza in front of the Wall by quietly demolishing 135 Arab homes shortly after capturing the Old City from Jordan in the 1967 war. The result is the dramatic vista when you exit the narrow alleys of the Jewish or Muslim Quarters. The plaza stretches out before you, the Dome of the Rock glistens (even more after an $8.2 million 80 kg gold donation from the King of Jordan), the atmosphere is electric and you feel that you’ve arrived at the center of the universe.

Jeremy warned the group about the peculiarities surrounding the Wall. Women might get an unwelcome pat on the abdomen (an alleged blessing) or a scolding for cleavage or a showing midriff; others would be offered charms for charity (of the legitimate sort and otherwise); the guys would be pressured to lay t’fillin (a religious ritual), and a strict segregation of the sexes would be enforced. Jeremy hung back while Sheri and I went forward to watch over the flock. With the decline in my religious observance, the Wall has lost some significance for me. So I was solely focused on making sure the guys were okay.

“Have you put t’fillin on yet today?!” a chorus of voices yell as the guys enter the Wall’s male enclosure.

“No thanks,” I respond, holding my gaze forward as I walk with the guys.

“What’s wrong with you? You’re the Birthright leader!” I hear over my shoulder.

I look down at my Birthright staff nametag and then stuff it in my pocket. A tense energy boils in the pit of my stomach. Yossi goes straight to the Wall to pray. Others accept the t’fillin offer. The rest stand uneasily towards the back of the enclosure. I spot Tyler standing sullenly while a white bearded ultra-Orthodox man hounds him about putting on T’flillin. Eager to show a bit of leadership, I approach. Putting myself between Tyler and the man, I say

“I don’t think he’s interested. Would you leave him alone?”

To my surprise, the guy responds with “Why are you getting in my face boy? I’m gonna get in your face!” Which he proceeded to do, within an inch. An ugly face too.

“I’m not in your face,” I respond, trying to de-escalate.

“If you’re not careful, boy, you’re gonna end up on your ass. I have a blackbelt.” An ugly stream of similarly bizarre threats pours out.

Well this was unexpected. I don’t want to back down but I don’t want to get into a fight at the Wall with this ugly man and his friends. So I keep my hands in front of me, locked together, and I don’t say much. Eventually, he leaves. I can’t stand these people. Maybe Jews don’t proselytize to non-Jews, but we absolutely proselytize to our own. Tyler doesn’t let the incident go for the rest of the trip. “You getting in my face son!” was his response if I asked him to do anything.

He actually did talk to that man again a few minutes later. Apparently this time the man walked away in frustration, not being able to convince Tyler to do anything. That-a-boy Tyler.

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