c. 2000 Religion News Service

(UNDATED) Almost 26 years after my bar mitzvah, I was assigned, along with religion reporter David Briggs of The Plain Dealer of Cleveland, to cover the visit of Pope John Paul II to Jerusalem. It was not the usual reason a Jew goes to Israel, but it was a trip to the Holy Land nonetheless.

Friends, relatives and co-workers said it would be a great experience both professionally and personally. I was sure that it would be a great challenge and experience to photograph the pope’s historic trip to Jerusalem. I wasn’t so sure that I would feel anything intimate about the land of my forefathers. I think of myself as a fallen Jew. I was doubtful that the land of Israel would connect with me.

After the plane landed in Tel Aviv, David and I drove to Jerusalem through rolling hills. We worked until the sun set.

From our hotel window, we could see the lighted walls of the Old City. It was dark and I was tired from the trip, but I wanted to explore. The walled city is open and quiet at night. All the shops are closed and most of the tourists are gone. At first, I almost felt like I was at a Disney re-creation of Jerusalem. It looked just like a movie set except that it wasn’t.

I wandered through the dim stone streets. I was reminded of a dream I often have where it is night and I am in a maze of unfamiliar streets; I don’t know where I am going but I don’t care.

However, in this reality I was beginning to feel tired and I was lost. There really was no one around to ask for directions until I was passed by a group of men walking with purpose. They wore large black hats and long black coats. I followed them.

Abruptly, they turned down a narrow alley, no more discernible than 20 other alleys we already had passed. I came to a security checkpoint and realized I was at the Western Wall of the temple that was destroyed by the Romans in A.D. 70.

I had seen pictures of the wall and read stories about Israel regaining control of the Old City and the temple wall from Jordan during the 1967 war. Now it stood before me. Why was I here now? I asked myself. Why did I follow those men? I am not religious, but I was feeling an attraction now.

I covered my head, which is Jewish law, and slowly moved closer to the wall. It was dark and quiet but I could hear men praying. The mixture of their voices created a resonance that reminded me of electricity, or was that the wall itself? I moved closer still, put my hands on its cold stone surface and pressed my face to it. I stayed awhile just like that and then I left.

I got simple directions back to the hotel, so I was no longer lost. Now, though, I was confused about what I felt. The wall had spoken to me. Is a Jew one who practices the rituals of religion, or is Judaism something not so easily discarded?

In the following days while covering the pope’s trip, I found myself returning to the wall in my down time. Each time, the awe, the feeling of being near something electric and alive, continued. I looked into the faces of old men and saw my grandfather. One such man invited me inside the cavernous hall adjacent to the wall. Inside this room, the man prayed for me and my family and then asked for a small donation. A small price to pay for a blessing, I thought.

This large hall, which encloses part of the Western Wall, houses holy books and documents including many Torahs. I was alone now and able to observe men rhythmically bobbing while praying enthusiastically. It seemed as though their words circulated through the space, moving across the curved ceiling and landing back inside the wall. Their words were of praise for God. Their prayers showed commitment for the laws of their Lord. They were saying, “I believe in what you have commanded of me.” Once again I left confused. I felt something but I did not want to obey.

On the day the pope was to visit the Western Wall, I arrived early and situated myself near the Orthodox Jews who were praying at the wall. On this day, these Jews were angry. They were barricaded off from the section of the wall the pope was to visit. They believed this man had no place here.

The pope moved slowly toward the wall. He stood alone with his head bowed, and after a while he left a message in one of the large cracks of the wall. The visit was over. The pope’s note is no longer visible. Some say it was pushed far up into a crack where it resides with thousands of other messages to God.

This was my last visit to the wall. I decided to leave a prayer for God in the wall. I think it’s selfish to pray for myself and my family alone, so I prayed for the protection of all the innocent people of the world who are not capable of protecting themselves. After a while, I decided to leave a second prayer _ I’m only human.

On the plane ride home, I sat next to an Israeli woman who survived the Holocaust but lost her entire family in the death camps. She said she was not religious, either, but that she was a Jew nonetheless. That’s when my confusion about being a Jew ended.

DEA END LEVY

(Mike Levy is a photographer for The Plain Dealer of Cleveland)