A Scene from Israel: The Holiday of Seeing: Part Three
cont’d from last two blogs but you can just step in here. Welcome.
Dedicated to my son and all the young boys masquerading as soldiers who were left with no choice but to go to war yesterday.
This Holidays of Seeing, known as the Pilgrim festival, still happen three times a year all over the world. One of the high points of the holiday, as it manifests in Israel, is always the great gathering that takes place for the Blessing of the Priests. Tens of thousands of people from every corner of the country stream into Jerusalem’s Old City. Like a waterfall of talk and color, they flow down the Old Citie’s cobble stone streets, pouring out onto the white plaza of the Western Wall. I always make a point to join in, to be carried along by those currents of people, until we all pool together, lapping up against the white stone beaches of the Western Wall.
The experience is like a dip into an ocean of awareness and love. Everyone is looking, looking, at everyone else. Everyone’s eyes are wide with awe or moist with emotion. Every type and taste of person is placed before you. The men with their traditional religious garb and prayer shawls, some rainbow striped, some black and white; the women clad with hats, and colors, and children by the thousands. If you look carefully, you can distinguish who is from Russia, who from America, who from Europe, from North Africa, Asia and native born Israel. And then there are the beautiful Ethiopians who parade in with ritual umbrellas crowning their majestic heads — a sight to behold! The sheer sanctity of the gathering is astounding.
The prayer service begins on a loud speaker, all leading up to the moment we have gathered for, the blessings of the priests. The priests line up in rows against the wall and turn with their arms extended out over the throngs of people. Hundreds of priests, from all over the world, come for this opportunity to be a conduit for the great blessing of love on these Holidays of Perception.
One year, I had climbed up onto a small slope of grass that stands at the side of this great holy congregation of people. From there you can see it all. A kaleidoscope of faces fanned out before me, and the moment came for the priestly blessing. There is a tradition to avert one’s eyes from looking when the priests turn toward the people to bestow the blessing, for the holiness of the sight is said to be like the sun for spiritual brightness, so brilliant that it is a danger to behold. The Shehina rests between their fingers. So as the priests turned to bless the people, everyone’s heads bowed in one synchronized wave.
The priests began to chant the blessing and I, well, I just couldn’t resist. I have always been a bit of a rebel. I lifted my head, just a little, to behold this awesome moment in full, sighted awareness. It was wondrous indeed. And as I wondered over the sight of the blessing-draped crowd, I caught the eyes of another person across the plaza, also standing on a raised slope, also awe-struck by the sight. We saw each other seeing the scene.
Though I did not know him, we were like two long lost friends who suddenly found each other again, or like two lone cranes passing each other in flight over a still lake. We shook our heads incredulously, thankfully, and wept. Not just to see the sight but to see another person see the sight and share the ecstasy of that moment. The blessing ended. We both were swallowed back into the sea of pilgrims, exhausted and exhilarated with the love born from perception.
marc gafni
posted on marcgafni.com
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