Sholom laughed, but Poppa was serious – and scared. Dizzy from the sound of rumbling tanks and halftracks, watching the military weave in and out of Kever Rachel, he held tightly onto his grandchildren. His heart pounded with newfound sympathy and admiration for the young, fatigued Jewish soldiers while they too waited their turn to enter the small, domed stone structure that had been under Jordanian lock and key for 19 years.
Bending low, through the arched, narrow entrance into the inner sanctum of Rachel’s tomb, Poppa trembled at the new reality. “I couldn’t believe I was standing in front of Momma Ruchel’s keiver, and all around shoifros sounded,” he told us later.
It was Rosh Chodesh Sivan, and the Jews at Kever Rachel poured out praise and thanksgiving to Hashem for the miracles in our day. Poppa’s heart was filled with gratitude and awe as he bore witness to the return of Rachel’s sons to the heart of Eretz Yisrael.
* * *
Many families waited anxiously for news of their loved ones. Not all families of wounded soldiers and those missing in action had been notified. The war continued, and for many the outcome was tragic.
On Motzai Shabbat, Kol Yisrael confirmed that Israeli troops were right outside Damascus. The Golan Heights had been captured from the Syrians and the United Nations finally found its collective voice, calling for an immediate cease-fire. David had smitten Goliath, and the world feared an Israeli takeover of the Middle East.
Euphoria reigned as we strolled down Jaffa Road the following Monday morning. East Jerusalem’s Arabs were all around us – some visiting neighbors they hadn’t seen for nineteen years, some checking on abandoned properties, and some coming as innocent spectators, gazing at the victorious Jewish warriors.
Just like that, Jerusalem’s face had been altered. The walls between East and West had collapsed; a new era was set in motion.
* * *
Intensely excited at the prospect of walking to the Kotel for the first time, we prepared for that special day, which happened to be Shavuot, the festival commemorating the giving of the Torah. Sinai was in our hands, the Golan Heights were our eyes, and Jerusalem, Bethlehem and Hebron were our heartbeat. Israel’s stunning victory had provoked an exhilarating reaction throughout the land, and the Yom Tov atmosphere was even more charged than usual.
As we trudged up and around the long winding road leading from Gei Ben Hinnom to Har Zion, and through Zion gate, I looked back to see thousands upon thousands making their way along the narrow, pebble-strewn path. One Jew followed another, each of us spiritually charged, the words of the Prophet Isaiah resounding with each step – “Kol zofayich nasu kol, yachad yiranenu…”
We streamed toward the Kotel, “with our young and our old, with our sons and daughters…for today, our Holiday to Hashem.” It was Chag Habikurim, and we were on that first trek up, to deliver the first of our thanks to the Almighty not only for having saved us, but for having returned us, exultant, to the holiest of sites.
The way to the Wall was not familiar; we just followed those ahead until we reached an area full of rubble. Army bulldozers had destroyed the deteriorating Arab neighborhood bordering the Kotel and puffs of smoke, pushed up by thousands of sandaled feet, rose in a cloud.
When that cloud split, the Kotel came into view.
The sight was forbidding. The ancient stones, untouched by time, seemed disparagingly different from those pre-1948 photos we’d all seen of a few old Jews sitting or standing in front of the Wall.
It was a strange scene: change had come swiftly, without debate, and in the wake of victory the area would never look the same. “Why did they have to bulldoze the area?” was a question repeatedly asked in the days immediately following the war.
We inched our way slowly, a little push here, an elbow there, until the stones were seemingly on top of us. I was afraid – afraid to finger, to touch, to kiss the Wall. I stared in disbelief before finally pulling my machzor from a bag. As I davened, tears of joy and gratefulness stained the pages.