My Kotel
You had been in my dreams, imagination,
At another time, another place, so long ago.
When at first my eyes beheld your splendor
Your ancient stones gazed upon me
Giants rising in a narrow, dusty alley
Wisps of green moss breaking the pattern
Of square, grey, uneven hewn rocks.
Epochs of history, carved deeply
Enfolded before my inner eye.
I searched the shapes, contours of
Majestic, silent, solid rocks
Their weathered, sculptured faces
Unchanged, unmoved, standing firm
Against stormy winds of history
Repulsing waves of enemies, invaders
Unyielding in their stoic stance.
You have not changed, not aged
You are as when I first beheld
Your splendor so long ago.
With benevolence you greet the masses
Crowding, pushing, swaying frantically
In silent, fervent prayer, foreheads leaning
On your cool, comforting stones.
Eager hands of young an old
Place tiny scrolls between your crevices;
Prayers, promises, notes of thanks.
You, mysterious source of hope, strength
Witness to our people's glory
Weeping at our people's fall.
As for me, should my feet not ever again
Stand near your hallow ground, nor caress you
Nor ever face you, rising from a now
Wide open, paved square, no longer intimate,
So unlike the Kotel of my youth.
Your ancient stones, silent as ever
Are in my dreams, etched in my heart forever.
Esther Adler
May 2000
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