The Marrying of Chani Kaufman by Eve Harris Page B

her to attend just once. Shifra was her assigned mentor and Rebecca enjoyed her easy company and so the spiritual knowledge she passed on had not felt like a trial. They were the same age and quickly became friends outside class. Rebecca suddenly felt conspicuously aware of the thin cotton welded to her skin. She wished she had brought a shawl but it was too late to go back.
    The female soldier barked an order and the line surged forward, making Rebecca stumble.
    â€˜You ok?’
    â€˜Yes, yes I’m fine,’ she muttered, feeling foolish.
    â€˜We’ll be through in a minute. This bit is always annoying.’
    â€˜Sure.’
    But she wasn’t sure at all. She felt uneasy, a hypocrite for being there. She had visited the Wall before on holiday with her family but never just before Shabbes. The precinct had always seemed half empty, peaceful in its vastness. The fervour that now filled the air had been missing. Rebecca was beginning to regret agreeing to come. But she had promised Chaim she would go. Just this once. She knew he was here somewhere too. Maybe he was through already.
    The line lurched again and they found themselves in a small hall. Inside, there was a conveyor belt and scanner. She had nothing on her since it was Shabbes and it was forbidden to carry. Bored soldiers directed her through the metal detector. They appeared nonchalant, rifles swinging at their hips, jaws working overtime, pounding gum. They joked and flirted amongst themselves, shouting over the heads of the faithful.
    The immensity of the precinct made her feel small and vulnerable. At the far end of the square stood the Wall. It reared up, massive and foreboding, its face cast in shadow. At its base supplicants had begun to mass, ant-like, insignificant compared to its bulk.
    Tourists, soldiers, students and schoolchildren gathered in small excitable groups. The evening sky darkened to indigo. An Israeli flag fluttered proudly, fabric whipping against flagpole in the stiff evening breeze. There were trestle tables covered in white tablecloths offering an array of soft drinks and cake. Cameras flashed, teenagers hugged and grinned and tour leaders called out names. Young Hasiddim mingled with the secular inviting them to Shabbes dinners. Beggars rattled tins crying out ‘Tze-da-kah!’ Rebecca spotted a tall, slender bride in a billowing gown and glittering bodice. The girl was laughing, her face suffused with joy.
    At the barrier of the women’s section of the Wall, a woman handed out cloaks to female tourists who were inappropriately dressed. She glanced at Rebecca and smiled and nodded. They made their way through the narrow gaps between the plastic chairs where elderly women sat hunched up, peering at their prayer books. Some smiled and whispered a greeting. She found herself gently smiling back.
    Only a few feet remained between them and the Wall. All around her, women swayed and bowed and the air buzzed with whispered devotion. It was quiet, serene, the fractious disorder of the queue now forgotten. Singing from the men’s section floated on the breeze, dying away until another wave of sound flooded the enclosure. She was sure Chaim was there.
    They squirmed through the last row of congregants until there was nowhere else to go. She gazed up and up at the massive slabs. Plants had grown through the cracks, the dusty green of their leaves a contrast to the expanse of Jerusalem stone. Its colossal height and thickness gave an impression of perpetuity.
    It had stood here for almost two thousand years. Instinctively she ran her hands over its wrinkled surface. The stone was still warm from the sun and its crevices were crammed with hundreds of tiny folded notes. Rebecca wished she had brought a secret plea of her own but she had not known what to ask for. She had had a vague idea but was too scared to put it into words in case the note really worked. She was not sure she was ready for the outcome.
    She looked