Just the other day I was thinking to myself: How many
weddings, bar mitzvahs and night occasions I'll forgo. But I
don't regret it. Even weddings of close family members --
I'll come early for the chupa and stay only through
the first dancing. When my children told me recently how
special the end of my nephew's wedding was, I can't say I
didn't feel a twinge, but coming home earlier than the others
was definitely worth it for me because something very special
is again awaiting me in the early morning.
Have I aroused your curiosity? Let me tell you, it takes a
lot of self discipline, determination and three alarm clocks
all set to go off between 4:15 and 4:30 a.m. Every
morning.
Without minutes or seconds to waste, my shoes are near my bed
and I'm partially dressed with the rest of my apparel put
aside on the hooks. My Tehillim, key and monthly bus
pass are all set in my pocket. I have between five and ten
minutes left before I unlock the door and leave. Baruch
Hashem, there's still time to start whatever davening
I can while it's still dark and then go on to Tehillim.
It's 4:45 and I'd better go. It will give me five minutes
leeway just in case he comes early. I certainly don't want to
miss this special netz Egged bus and the uplifting
experience of this dawn davening at the Kosel.
Actually, the uplift begins from the moment I awake, and gets
a huge boost the moment I step on the bus. Except for
newcomers who don't know the unspoken rules, this is a
Mehadrin bus: women get on in the back, men in the front.
Since most of the people are regulars, they have bus passes
and don't have to pay, so getting on from the back is no
problem. One women even told me about the time when a new
secular month began and she had forgotten to bring money to
buy her new pass. The driver, a guy who deserves a whole
article to himself, saw her consternation and handed her a
new ticket. "You can pay me tomorrow," he said with a hearty
smile.
There is very little talking on the bus, even though almost
everyone is a regular, and a familiar face by now. There's no
time for talking. Prayer is the only thing on our minds. Some
women are reciting the bircos hashachar, with their
seatmate answering, some are reciting Shir haShirim
and others, Tehillim. At the Bar Ilan stop, one woman comes
on and distributes the Divided Tehillim booklets. Just
imagine, the entire Sefer Tehillim is completed collectively
by the time we reach the Kosel, 5:10 a.m. and you are part of
it! There are no words to describe the soul-refreshing,
heavenly satisfaction that sets in, a feeling of having left
this materialistic world for a short while and entered a
different time-space bubble twixt night and day, a different
sphere. You have the feeling of touching something very pure,
angel- like, tasting a m'ein olam haba.
When sunrise is still early, in the spring and summer, we
barely get off the bus, quickly find seats at the Kosel
square, and then kaddish launches us into the prayers.
Winter and the winter clock allows us ample time for Tehillim
and other prayers.
There is a great deal to be said about the special people who
make up this `congregation:' there are Jerusalemite women,
many of whom have never, or almost never, missed a single day
ever since the Kosel became accessible! You have salt-of-the-
earth Sefardi women whose devotion illuminates their faces,
baalos tshuva recognizable by their somewhat different
attire, very regular working women who may be off to their
early jobs after dashing home to send their children off to
school. Occasionally, someone hands out special prayers and
segulos, sometimes even laminated, lezikuy
horabbim. There's a smattering of young girls. And the
good women who collect for various very worthy causes.
This elite company has an incredible effect on one's prayers.
One can concentrate and be uplifted in a feeling of unison,
fervor that is intoxicatingly contagious but still very
muted, demure, but tangible and kinetic.
Each day, at the precise moment when Hashem's light brightens
the sky, a piercing, heart-rending plea rings out from one of
the crowd on the other side of the partition, "Tzur
Yisroel -- Rock of Israel, Rise up..."
By the time we finish, we have had the privilege of answering
amen and yehei Shmei Rabba numerous times, with
feeling and fervor. I am already anticipating tomorrow's
morning davening.
But that's not all. For those who can afford the time, there
is a daily lesson on shemiras haloshon, with a cozy,
homey flavor that often includes household tips! All that's
missing is a hearth, because, actually, there is coffee
provided by one very thoughtful woman: two thermoses, coffee,
sugar, diet sugar and even wafers and biscuits. If this is
the chessed with which she begins her day, one wonders
what she has accumulated by evening!
There is a spiritual cherry on the cake, besides. What else
can this morning treat offer, you wonder. Well, at 6:15 a
gate is opened inside the Kosel Tunnels and one can get to
the closest spot permissibly directly opposite the Kodesh
Hakodoshim. The pesukim you say here have an
indescribable impact upon you; you feel them ascending
directly...
I check my watch. It's time to go. It's hard to leave but
tomorrow is another day. I run for the bus...
Which reminds me. Our driver. There is so much to say about
him. He is more like a chauffeur of an elongated limousine,
providing personalized service. He readily gives out his
cellphone number to people so that if they are a minute late,
they can call him and he'll wait. Ever see an Egged bus drive
in reverse? He's done it for a `client' who's running to
catch him. Then there was the time that a young man threw up
on the bus. He stopped, helped him out, cleaned him up and
then brought him back on the bus to finish the trip. And
everyone waited patiently...
It's 6:50 now and I've reached my stop. I'll be home in time
to wake my children, prepare breakfast and start the day, on
two right feet.
Come and join us! Tell me you read about it in
Yated...
