Mon, 26 August 2019 = 25th of Av, 5779; Boker Or L'Koolum!! (Heb. A Radiant morning to Everyone!)

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"Blessed are You, G-d, Who returns His presence to Zion."--<https://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/867674/jewish/Translation.htm>

[Author's note: Oh boy, do I ever INTUIT, FEEL, and KNOW YOUR PRESENCE HERE IN JERUSALEM AT ALL TIMES OF THE DAY AND NIGHT, especially in my pre-dawn walks at 4:00 AM in Ramot!]

"The Imprimatur of Time, " Part Two

"At this moment Betzalel determined unwittingly to leave the holy compound in search of a respite from the intensity facing him. His feet spirited him past the lines of the sherutim, taxis for seven passengers, which stood on the road to Bethlehem. Could the foreign passengers find peace in the manger after they had passed through that miserable roadblock right beside Rahel's Tomb? Asian faces stared wearily from the gas-propelled vehicles connecting impoverished, squalid East Jerusalem to the birthplace of Jesus, now in the hands of the Palestinians.

"When Betzalel attempted to ponder these new images, he simultaneously caught himself treading on the land at once so sacred to his collective memory, just parallel to the Kotel, the Western Wall. So close these holy sites to the holiest one of them all, the Temple Mount for the Jews and Haram al-Sharif for the Muslims; yet he would not consider this religious crucible again until his brush with a past almost lost in contemporary Jerusalem.

"Now Betzalel would engage in the climb of his life right across the street literally on the other side of the Kidrn Valley!

"Could Jesus' sermon still rustle the leaves of those olive trees standing in the Garden of Gethsemane and continuing up the steep incline alongside the garden higher and higher?

"In his mind's eye, Betzalel became dazzled by the embodiment of Jesus of Nazareth, who proclaimed the unforgettable words originally heard on Golgotha, "Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani" (Matthew 27:46)? And Betzalel could merely translate those words frozen in time: "My G-d, my G-d. why have You forsaken me?" Upon translation. the words boomed out in the open holy air, and Betzalel gathered up all of his strength to join in the fight of his life! Jesus' call to reckoning challenged the age-old defense of the Israelites in these words--"Set me as a seal upon thy heart, as a seal upon thine arm--the flashes thereof are the flashes of fire, a very flame of the L-rd" (Cant. 8:6).

"On this very mountain, the Mount of Olives (Heb. Har. Zeitim), thus began a war of holy words, with Betzalel, the witness. Now out of breath, out of stamina, out of moisture in his mouth, Betzalel put his tongue on his palate to whet his sense of taste, the taste of wonder belonging to an as yet unexplored garden owned by the Mormons.

"More than three hundred meters up above the road to Jericho, Betzalel smelled what could have been Eden. Lush, verdant land--was this a "new" Jerusalem?

"Suddenly, a swarthy, willowy park caretaker loomed before Betzalel.

"Changing the direction of a powerful sprinkler, the ranger studied a solitary Betzalel. 'What do you think of the luxuriance?' the ranger queried in a heavily accented British English swathed in an Arabic tint. 'Aren't the Mormons resourceful?'

"'Yes,' Betzalel retorted impassively, still consuming the splendiferous beauty surrounding him. The whole of this place almost smothered his imagination.

"'And the panorama before you is my neighborhood,' continued the ranger. 'Yes, I was born here, and found out about this garden just some seven years ago. It's my l-a-n-d, you know!'

"Having become aware of his saturated kippah, the skullcap he had donned during the afternoon prayer at the Wall, Betzalel felt anxious; however, his need to find Har Zeitim was foremost on his mind; and he did not wish to upset the ranger.

"He thought, I need to make a bridge across the Jewish-Palestinian rift in order to visit the greatest cemetery of my people.

"Unbeknownst to Betzalel was the true reason for seeking out his final destination; nevertheless, he proceeded to ask questions as if his life depended on it. Rabbi Nahman of Bratzlawa could have been his guide: 'The world, all of it, is like a bridge. Don't be afraid.'

"'Tell me,' Betzalel continued, 'how does one reach the Mount of Olives cemetery?'

"A smile wavering across his lips, the ranger warmly asked, 'Why would you ask such a question? That's just an old forsaken plot of land on our land--my land. Oh, you're not the first 'pilgrim' to ask for directions. But I have to tell you that I'm sort of tired setting people 'straight'. Oh, all right. Just climb to the very top of the garden, and transverse a large abandoned field just past a monastery to the traditional tombs of Micah and Haggai, the Tombs of the Prophets.'

"A memory crept into the recesses of Betzalel's mind. Before he could show his recrimating gratitude to the ranger, the sight of the Old City (Heb. Ha' Ir Ha'Atiqqah) before him almost blinded Betzalel. Breathless, he was not able to manage any response beyond a hoarse, 'Thank you.'

"Galumphing with lung-propelled limbs, Betzalel finally gained entrance to the tombs, and persisted to wend his way to the cemetery. It was time to find the tomb of any Jew buried on this sacred mountain and say Kaddish, the capstone prayer chanted in honour of the One G-d. Betzalel resolved to seek out the prophet Zechariah's grave for reasons he did not understand at the time. Somehow, the need to pray supervened the present conditions, like so many steps taken by every person who must forge his or her destiny by human invention.

"White arisen above the ground, Jerusalem stone s-h-o-n-e exquisitely in an unrelenting, respendent arena. And Betzalel drew his sight from its presence to the glory s-h-i-m-m-e-r-i-n-g to the west, the Old City of Jerusalem [Ha'Ir Ha'Atiqqah]. At this moment again the eternal words in Arabic--blended together in an ethereal mix as he listened to the muezzin summon his people, a new song in praise of the A-l-m-i-g-h-t-y!

"Here the air resounded with plaintiff, righteous voices projecting words presently intersecting at the locus of a fresh beginning, the penultimate fugue for all. Praying for quietude from the miasma of frequent violent sounds, surrounding him in his City of Peace, Betzlel blushed as he exhaled loving owrds glorifying his Maker. These words fluttered heavenward like the white doves occasionally seen perching in their given niches on Ha'Kotel Ha'Ma'arvi, the wall of sanctuary for the wodow, orphan and poor.

"The hallowed sounds of a million martyred souls criss-crossed this Kidron valley in His honour.Who could stand in this holy place and not inhale an amalgam of prayers permeating a rarefied air imbrued with the smoke of sacrifice and libation to a still-hiding Presence? With ears open to a world populated by some seven billion mortal souls. Betzalel w-r-a-p-p-e-d his shoulders with the sound of a faraway shofar's trumpeting reaching its venue far and wide: from hilltop to hilltop and strength to strength."

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I will return to Linked-in on Monday, September 9, 2019.