The Wall

Monday 09 July 2018

I was in Israel last month for a wonderful few days celebrating the Barmitzvah of our very good friends' son.
J and I had an amazing time, including a couple of days relaxing just the two of us in Tel Aviv.

Barring one night away last year, where I had to leave the hotel early to get to Shani's hearing at the Coroner's Court, it was the first time that just the two of us had been away on holiday since before Shani was born, over seven years ago.

We definitely needed that time together - I hadn't realised how little time we'd spent with each other recently!

After the Barmitzvah a couple of us went into Jerusalem to go to the Kotel (the Western Wall) and to meet up with some of my cousins.

I arrived at the Kotel without having really thought about what I might feel when I got there, and I was taken aback by the scale of the emotions that roared through me on approaching the Wall.

I'd been there a few times since Shani was born and each time I had arrived with thoughts of hope and healing, that somehow things would be ok, that the Divine might help to make her better, that with some help Shani would find a way to keep her magic going and continue to dodge the dark clouds overhead.

Those visits were full of anguish, but there was also hope.

Now there is no hope.

Instead there was despair and rage and tears and anger and sorrow ... and silence.

I have a searing hole at the core of my reality.
At the Kotel, all of the barriers fell away that I had built around it to cope with life.

But I was not alone.

I had a friend with me, a wonderful friend, a brother.

He was there to guide me back to the shore, 
out of the raging torrent, 
holding firm to provide a route back to life, 
and a way to enjoy the remainder of our holiday in Israel.