I Remember

I was sitting at a bench, reminiscing with my friend, who has been one of my closest friends since we came to Israel together in high school. Since then, I have become religious and am now studying at seminary... while he joined Tzahal and became a real kibbutznik. As we chatted, I told him about the rough month I have been having. It's honestly been one of the worst months for me, feeling like the sky had fallen down. 


I had a really bad experience at the beginning of the month, followed by a few deaths and a lot of painful soul-searching and "Pesach cleaning," trying to rid myself of some Mitzrayim. He was sympathetic and then we changed subjects. 


He told me he visited the Kotel the day before, which, caught me by surprise. I confessed that I hadn't been to the Kotel recently... I was avoiding it at all costs. I was having a lot of trouble praying and I was angry at Gd. To tell you the truth, I was REALLY angry at Gd. I felt like he has put me through a lot of really unfair and hard trials and didn't tell me why. Didn't make it clear what problem I had to fix or what tikkun was needed for a past life. But, what ever it was, I was angry. I felt like that four year old girl who was given a good potch from her mother, and was now sitting in the corner staring, refusing to talk. With her arms folded and mouth pursed, holding the expression of unforgivingness... I felt like that four year old, arms crossed... waiting for the "I'm sorry" from Gd, that I knew was never going to come. 


As ridiculous as I felt, no one had done anything to change my mind until my friend said something I would of NEVER expected: "I don't CARE if you're angry with Gd. That doesn't give you the right to not go to the Wall. Even if you don't pray, you still go there. If not to pray, to remember." To remember?


What he has said startled me. For some reason, I took what he said especially hard and started thinking. Two days later, I walked an hour and a half to the Kotel, unsure what I was doing there. I stood by the large, cold stones on the bright sunny Shabbat afternoon... I slipped into my bag and grabbed my white Artscroll siddur. Before I knew it, I was saying the Amidah. 


Hashem's "sorry" never came, but like four year olds, you just forget. Forget why you're angry at your mom, forget that you're not on speaking terms... And I forgot. I forgave. I moved on. I started praying. And the potch stopped hurting.  


I'm not sure how a soldier giving a seminary girl mussar, on a bench at the end of Ben Yahuda, works... but it worked for me, and I have been remembering ever since.