Wednesday, February 11, 2015

And I ‎will keep ‎returning, until the dream becomes reality

...Yes, there ‎were the expected criers, yelling Allahu akbar as ‎we passed. There were ‎strangers and neighbors, friends and foes, but none of it mattered because ‎I ‎had arrived and I stood in the sun wondering why I had not always been ‎there.‎ I asked my guide why he kept coming and he told me it was to keep ‎the dream alive. I knew ‎what he meant, immediately, and as we walked up ‎the steps I also knew what had broken my ‎heart in that session many weeks ‎earlier. ‎

Annika Hernroth-Rothstein..
Israel Hayom..
11 February '15..


I have a dream

‎"And it shall come to pass in the last days that the mountain of the Lord's house ‎shall be ‎established at the top of the mountains, and shall be exalted above the ‎hills; and all of the nations ‎shall flow unto it. And many people shall go and say, ‎Come. And let us go up to the mountain of ‎the Lord, to the house of the God of ‎Jacob. And he will teach us of his ways, and we shall walk in ‎his paths: for out of ‎Zion shall go forth Torah, and the word of the Lord from Jerusalem" (Isaiah ‎‎2:3‎).‎

Something shifted in me this past October, after learning about the ‎assassination attempt on ‎Rabbi Yehuda Glick. The Temple Mount had represented ‎an ache in my heart, but stayed there, ‎as elusive as a dream. Every time I ‎visited the Western Wall, I felt sadness and loss, knowing that ‎I was so close, yet ‎so far away, but somehow I had accepted the status quo and settled for ‎this ‎state of silent complacency. ‎

Then someone drove up on a motorcycle and tried cutting down a man who ‎had kept the dream ‎alive for all of us, and I knew in my heart that this could ‎not stand. ‎

A few months later, I went to the Limmud conference in England to give lectures ‎and to learn. ‎Between planning my own sessions and giving them, I went to ‎listen to a British Orthodox rabbi ‎talk about Jewish prayer on the Temple ‎Mount. I knew beforehand it was a liberal crowd, and ‎perhaps I should have ‎stayed away. I didn't, however, and 45 minutes later I found my ‎stomach ‎turning. ‎

In the middle of the lecture, the rabbi showed a short clip of Glick ‎speaking about our right to ‎pray on the Temple Mount, and why the ‎withholding of those rights should have consequences. ‎The audience ‎murmured, and as the video faded to black, the rabbi asked them, ‎‎"What is it he is ‎really saying?"‎

In my opinion, Glick is to the Jewish world what Martin Luther King ‎Jr. was to the U.S. civil ‎rights movement. Glick is putting the Temple Mount in ‎the context where it belongs: as a human ‎rights issue, making the injustice ‎of it all so blatantly clear. Much like Dr. King in his day, Glick is ‎being ‎criticized for challenging what is now the status quo and putting the issue on ‎the top of the ‎agenda, and this critique comes from the police, politicians and ‎religious leaders alike. ‎

But as I sat there, what I heard was a predominantly Jewish audience ‎call Glick a troublemaker, ‎an inciter, guilty of causing a third intifada. I felt ‎like I was losing my footing. I was heartbroken, ‎but I couldn't really pinpoint why. ‎


I ended up arguing with the rabbi after the session, louder and more angrily ‎than I had ever ‎expected. What I felt was betrayal, disappointment and rage. ‎Within me the decision was ‎forming, slowly; I have to ascend the mountain. I ‎have to find out for myself. ‎

As the days drew closer, I felt the trepidation, swinging like a pendulum ‎inside of me. I had read ‎about the violence, the riots and the threats and I ‎feared that I would not be able to reach the ‎places I wanted to inhabit. Not ‎merely physically, but more importantly, spiritually. ‎

I met my guide by the Western Wall plaza one early Sunday morning, and within ‎minutes we ‎were there, at the place I had painted pictures of in my mind. I'm ‎not sure what I had expected, ‎but I know that was not what I saw. Yes, there ‎were the expected criers, yelling Allahu akbar as ‎we passed. There were ‎strangers and neighbors, friends and foes, but none of it mattered because ‎I ‎had arrived and I stood in the sun wondering why I had not always been ‎there.‎

I asked my guide why he kept coming and he told me it was to keep ‎the dream alive. I knew ‎what he meant, immediately, and as we walked up ‎the steps I also knew what had broken my ‎heart in that session many weeks ‎earlier. ‎

The voices I heard in that room had given up on the dream. The rabbi, the ‎audience, all the people ‎calling to indict the man whose blood was spilled for ‎holding on to a dream we cried out for over ‎centuries -- they had resigned to ‎living in yesterday whereas my soul cried out for tomorrow. ‎

They say that the best lack all conviction, while the worst are full of passionate ‎intensity. What I ‎felt before I went up on the Temple Mount, the fear that dwelled in ‎me, it was the dream being ‎silenced by the criers on the mountain. That is ‎terror, at its core, to make fear so prevalent that we ‎end up thinking that we ‎chose to stay away. ‎

I did not know until I got there how right it was to go. But I know now, and I ‎will keep ‎returning, until the dream becomes reality, speedily and in our ‎days. ‎

In the immortal words of Dr. King, "We've got some difficult days ahead. But it doesn't matter with me now. ‎Because I've been ‎to the mountaintop. And I don't mind. Like anybody, I ‎would like to live a long life. ‎Longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned ‎about that now. I just want to do God's will. ‎And He's allowed me to go up to ‎the mountain. And I've looked over. And I've seen the ‎promised land. I may ‎not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a ‎people, ‎will get to the promised land.‎"

Link: http://www.israelhayom.com/site/newsletter_opinion.php?id=11549

Annika Hernroth-Rothstein is a political adviser, activist and writer on the Middle East, religious affairs and global anti-Semitism.

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