The Western Wall (הַכּוֹתֶל הַמַּעֲרָבִי)

The Western Wall, as most people know, is the only remaining part of the Second Temple. It’s in the Temple Mount complex, and also includes Robinson’s Arch and Wilson’s Arch, where non-Orthodox Jews gather for mixed services. The rest of the Western Wall is in the Muslim Quarter. Most is an underground tunnel, but a small portion, the Little Western Wall, is near the Iron Gate of the Temple Mount.

The term “Wailing Wall” is almost exclusively Christian, and only began appearing in the 19th century. Jews don’t use that term. The only other name we call it is the Kotel, which means “wall” in Hebrew.

Though the Kotel is under Orthodox auspices now, with sex-segregated prayer, there was no enforced separation until 1967, when the Six-Day War reunified Jerusalem and recaptured our holy sites from Jordan’s illegal occupation. Photos from the mid-19th century onwards show men and women praying together, which presumably was the custom pre-photography too.

After the Roman destroyed the Second Temple in 70 CE and sent most of us into Diaspora, the Kotel was off-limits. We were forbidden from going there or even living in Jerusalem for centuries. After the Roman Empire turned Christian, we were permitted to go there only on Tisha B’Av to mourn for the loss of the Temple.

In 361, the occupying Byzantines let us live in our own holiest city in our own indigenous homeland again. By 614, the Jewish population had increased to such an extent there was a revolt against the Byzantines, in which we joined forces with the Persians. Sadly, it was put down, and Byzantines carried out a brutal massacre. Survivors fled the city.

We returned after the Islamic conquest of 638, which granted freedom of worship (along with second-class dhimmi status). Many people went to the Kotel to pray, which was noted by writers and diarists of the era. Then the Crusaders came to town in 1099 and massacred most of the Jewish population.

Though high-profile Jews visited the Kotel in the years afterwards (e.g., travel writer Benjamin of Tudela, scholar Maimonides, poet Yehudah HaLevi), only in 1187, under the rule of the renowned Sultan Saladin, were Jews allowed to live in Jerusalem again. However, our numbers remained sparse.

The Ottoman occupation, which began in 1516, placed more restrictions on Jewish residents, such as installing permanent fixtures and putting furniture like tables at the Kotel. On Purim 1625, Jews were forbidden from praying on the Temple Mount. In 1840, paving a pathway to the Kotel was forbidden, as were keeping prayerbooks there and praying too loudly.

The number of worshippers began steadily increasing as more Jews returned from Diaspora and began transforming the deserts and swamps into fertile farms and modern cities. During the centuries of Ottoman rule, Pre-State Israel was by and large a desolate, sparsely-populated wasteland with lots of absentee landowners (despite the ahistorical nonsense spewed by antisemites).

Shamefully, on Yom Kippur 1928, British cops beat women trying to prevent the removal of a mechitza (divider between the sexes), using the broken wood as clubs. Chairs were also yanked from under old people. This disgusting desecration made world news, and no one sided with the British.

The cops defended themselves by saying the mechitza violated pre-existing Ottoman rules, and that the Supreme Muslim Council demanded it be removed. The antisemitic Mufti of Jerusalem, Hajj Amin al-Husseini, who later became buddies with Hitler, got British permission to build new mosques above and next to the Kotel, to assert Arab dominance.

He continued complaining to the British about benches, tables, and lamps being installed, and in the summer of 1929, he created a new opening at the southern end of the alley to the Kotel. Because mules often went through this alley, it was soon littered with feces.

In 1929, a violent wave of pogroms swept the land. One of the many victims was historian and Hebrew literature professor Yosef Klausner, who was trying to formalize the right to Jewish worship at the Kotel and install a mechitza. His house in Jerusalem was also destroyed.

In 1931, blowing shofar by the Kotel was outlawed. Offenders were charged £50 (£2,819.48, or $3,563.02, in 2024), sent to jail for six months, or both. However, many people defiantly blew the shofar at the end of Yom Kippur.

In 1948, during Israel’s War of Independence, Jordan (which was created from 75% of the British Mandate) illegally occupied Judea, Samaria, and the Old City of Jerusalem. All Jews were ethnically cleansed from those places and forbidden to set foot in them. Even Muslim citizens of Israel were forbidden to go there. Many houses of worship and cemeteries were destroyed or fell into disrepair. The graves on the Mount of Olives were used as a staircase.

The colonial term “West Bank” comes from this period of Jordanian occupation. The proper name for that area is Judea and Samaria (Yehudah and Shomron).

After the miraculous victory in the Six-Day War, on 10 June 1967, the Old City was freed from Jordanian occupation, Jerusalem was reunified, and the Kotel was back under Jewish sovereignty. Three days later, the narrow 12th century Moroccan Quarter was razed to widen the alley leading to the Kotel and create the Western Wall Plaza.

The Kotel came under protection in the 1967 Law of the Conservation of Holy Places. All the other newly-liberated religious sites were also protected, repaired, and restored to public access by people of all faiths.

I personally don’t mind the Kotel is under Orthodox auspices, since I’ve grown to prefer praying behind a mechitza. However, I condemn the fanatics who throw rocks, diapers, and chairs at the Women of the Wall.

It’s customary to walk backwards away from the Kotel, since it’s rude to turn one’s back on the Divine Presence.

I’m always overcome with emotion by the Kotel, and feel so humbled. It’s hard to describe the feeling of putting my hands and forehead against it as I offer up the deepest prayers of my heart. I’ve cried against those ancient stones.

Viddui (וִדּוּי)

Viddui (confession) in Judaism takes the form of communal prayers in the liturgy, most famously on Yom Kippur. Ashamnu and Al Chet were constructed as alphabetical acrostics to help people with remembering them. These prayers, which are repeated many times during all five services of Yom Kippur, are rendered in first-person plural not because every individual has sinned in all of those ways, but because we as a community have committed such sins.

Even if no one in our community has done some of those things, we all have the potential to succumb to our yetzer hara (evil inclination), or perhaps we thought about them. On the flip side, we may have done the opposite of many of these sins, but we didn’t do all we could to, e.g., conduct ourselves properly in business or treat our families well. We also may have struggled with doing the bare minimum, and did those things resentfully or only out of obligation.

The communal nature of these prayers also reminds us of our responsibility for one another, how we’re supposed to be connected as one big family, and that sin may be the result of a community failing in its duties to help those who are struggling, or not setting a good example.

Ashamnu is also said by many Sephardim in the daily liturgy, right after the Amidah (long standing prayer in the middle of services). Al Chet, however, is exclusively for Yom Kippur.

At the daily Ma’ariv (evening) service, it’s customary to beat one’s chest during the words chatanu (we have sinned) and pashanu (we have transgressed) in the Selach Lanu section. A Midrash teaches one should gently beat one’s chest while recalling sins, since it reminds us forbidden desires originate in the heart.

I never picked up this particular body language, but perhaps someday I might develop the habit.

When I’m at an Orthodox Yom Kippur service, I skip over the lines of Al Chet where it talks about sins that merited burnt offerings, whippings, and capital punishment, just as I always skip prayers about animal sacrifices and the restoration of the Temple. We’ve been doing just fine without those things for almost two thousand years, and I envision the Third Temple as a universal house of prayer for all peoples.

Even the great scholar Maimonides said Hashem didn’t want for us to keep sacrificing animals for all eternity. That was a stepping-stone to more advanced, sophisticated, mature forms of worship. When the Second Temple was destroyed, it was like the training wheels being kicked off a bike and forcing us to evolve. Our ancestors only did that when they had no other examples of worship.

Prior to one’s wedding, viddui prayers are said. A wedding is compared to a couple’s private Yom Kippur, since they’re wiping the slate clean of any mistakes and sins committed before this fresh new start.

There’s also a deathbed viddui, with a shortened version for those in grave danger of expiring sooner rather than later. After finishing this final viddui, dying penitents often say the Sh’ma and Thirteen Principles of Faith one final time, and give money to tzedakah (charity).

Pirkey Avot says, “Better one hour of repentance and good deeds in this world than all the life of the World to Come.”

Outside of the liturgy, we always confess to Hashem and the people we’ve wronged, instead of an intermediary like Catholics and Orthodox Christians. The first step is admitting we’ve done wrong and feel remorse. We then have to undergo the difficult work of self-transformation and consistently demonstrating we’ve genuinely changed.

We never know when our final day or hour will be, so Rabbi Eliezer taught “All the more reason, therefore, to repent today, lest one die tomorrow.”

According to some rabbis, a person who has sinned and undergone full repentance is higher than a righteous person who’s never sinned.

Al Chet
“Personally Connecting to Ashamnu,” David Schwartz, Sefaria
Selach Lanu

U’Netaneh Tokef (ונתנה תקף)

U’Netaneh Tokef is one of the most famous, awe-inspiring pieces of High Holy Days liturgy. It reminds us of the fragility of life and how we never know when our time might be up.

We shall ascribe holiness to this day, for it is awesome and terrible. Your kingship is exalted upon it. Your throne is established in mercy. You are enthroned upon it in truth.

In truth, you are the judge, the exhorter, the all-knowing, the witness, he who inscribes and seals, remembering all that is forgotten. You open the book of remembrance which proclaims itself, and the seal of each person is there.

A still small voice is heard. The angels are dismayed, they are seized by fear and trembling as they proclaim: Behold the Day of Judgment! For all the hosts of heaven are brought for judgment. They shall not be guiltless in your eyes, and all creatures shall parade before you as a troop. As a shepherd herds his flock, causing his sheep to pass beneath his staff, so do you cause to pass, count, and record, visiting the souls of all living, decreeing the length of their days, inscribing their judgment.

On Rosh Hashanah it is written; on Yom Kippur it is sealed.

How many shall pass away and how many shall be born, who shall live and who shall die, who in the fullness of years and who before, who shall perish by water and who by fire, who by sword and who by beast, who by famine and who by thirst, who by earthquake and who by plague, who by strangulation and who by stoning, who shall have rest and who shall wander, who shall be at peace and who shall be pursued, who shall be at rest and who shall be tormented, who shall be exalted and who shall be brought low, who shall become rich and who shall be impoverished.

But teshuvah [repentance], and tefilah [prayer], and tzedakah [charity] avert the severe decree.

For your praise is in accordance with your name. You are difficult to anger and easy to appease, for you do not desire the death of the condemned, but that we turn from our path and live. Until the day of our death, you wait for us. Should we turn, you will receive us at once. In truth, you are our Creator, and you understand our inclination, for we are but flesh and blood.

Our origin is dust, our end is dust. We earn our bread by exertion and are like a broken shard, like dry grass, a withered flower, like a passing shadow and a vanishing cloud, like the breeze that blows away and dust that scatters, like the dream that flies away. But you are King, God who lives for all eternity! There is no limit to your years, no end to the length of your days, no measure to the hosts of your glory, no understanding the meaning of your name. Your name is fitting unto you and you are fitting unto it, and our name has been called by your name. Act for the sake of your name and sanctify your name through those who sanctify your name.

Traditional Orthodox Machzorim (High Holy Days prayerbooks) use the very old-fashioned translation “lapidation” for the word “stoning.” The only reason I know what that word means is because of the connection to “lapidary,” a popular type of Medieval book describing the believed medical and mystical properties of gems.

The last paragraph reminds me very much of the lyrics of “All Things Must Pass.” Ultimately, we’re nothing more dust that scatters in the wind, the dream that flies away, sunrise that fades away in the morning, a cloudburst that doesn’t last all day.

An apocryphal story persists that it was written in 11th century Germany by Rabbi Amnon of Mainz, who refused his friend the archbishop’s request to convert to Christianity and subsequently had all his limbs cut off. Rabbi Amnon was carried into the synagogue on Rosh Hashanah, as he was dying, and recited U’Netaneh Tokef with his final breath. Three days later, he appeared to Rabbi Kalonymus ben Meshullam in a dream and imparted the words of the haunting prayer.

Contemporary scholarship, however, reveals it probably was written several centuries earlier in Israel, and that there’s no other record of Rabbi Amnon. Wouldn’t such a great scholar be written about in more than a single legend?

Copyright Deror_avi

Some modern non-Orthodox rabbis have gotten creative with the “Who shall live and who shall die?” section, adding new categories related to current events.

Touro Synagogue (בית הכנסת טורו)

Copyright Kenneth C. Zirkel, Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 International

Touro Synagogue, built in Newport, Rhode Island from 1759–63, has earned its place in history alone as the oldest known surviving synagogue in both North America and the U.S. However, in 1790, they locked down even more historical value when Pres. George Washington (one of my distant cousins) sent them a beautiful letter which they now read every year.

In 1760, Rabbi Isaac Touro came to the American Colonies from The Netherlands to serve as cantor and rabbi of the Portuguese Sephardic congregation Jeshuat Israel. At the time, almost all Jews in the Americas were Sephardic, descended from people who fled the Inquisition.

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Though the building was constructed in the 18th century, the congregation itself formed in 1658, when fifteen families came to Newport from the Dutch or British West Indies. In 1677, they bought land for a cemetery.

It took more than a century, but finally they saved up enough money to build a synagogue. Prior, they’d met in private houses. Architect Peter Harrison designed the building; philanthropist Aaron (né Duarte) Lopez laid the cornerstone; and Benjamin Howland painted a mural of the Ten Commandments above the Ark. Generous funding came from New York, London, Jamaica, Suriname, Amsterdam, and Curaçao.

The synagogue was dedicated 2 December 1763, the first night of Chanukah.

Copyright dbking, Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic

To escape the British occupation during the Revolutionary War, Newport’s thirty Jewish families fled to Massachusetts, Connecticut, and New York. They gave the Torah scrolls and the synagogue’s deed to Congregation Shearith Israel (also Sephardic) in NYC. Touro Synagogue survived destruction because the British used it as a hospital and public assembly hall.

The British left in October 1779, and within the next two years, many evacuees returned and began rebuilding the Jewish community.

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In August 1790, Pres. Washington visited Newport to drum up support for the new Bill of Rights. Moses Mendes Seixas, synagogue president, attended the welcoming ceremonies and wrote him a letter congratulating him on being chosen as the first president, with good wishes for his success. This letter also discussed religious liberties and separation of church and state. Unlike most of the other Thirteen Colonies, Rhode Island had always practised religious tolerance (though Jewish residents nevertheless didn’t have full citizenship rights).

Pres. Washington’s letter of response arrived 21 August, with the famous line “the Government of the United States…gives to bigotry no sanction, to persecution no assistance.”

Because Newport never regained her pre-Revolutionary importance as a seaport and centre of commerce, the economy started on a permanent downward trajectory. By the early 19th century, barely any Jews remained, and the synagogue only opened for funerals, the High Holy Days, summer visitors, and special occasions.

The cemetery, however, remained an active burial ground. Though almost everyone had left the area, they never stopped loving their original synagogue and feeling a sense of connection and responsibility to it. The bodies of former residents were returned to Newport for burial. A brick wall was built around the cemetery in 1820.

The synagogue was also a stop on the Underground Railroad, with a trapdoor on the bima (pulpit). To prevent the building from falling into disrepair, Stephen Gould, a Quaker who’d been good friends with many Newport Jews, served as caretaker.

Copyright Olevy

In 1881, a new community of Ashkenazic immigrants who’d fled Tsar Aleksandr III’s pogroms petitioned Shearith Israel (trustees of Touro) to reopen the synagogue and appoint a permanent rabbi. Two years later, Rabbi Abraham Pereira Mendes of Jamaica and London arrived to fill the role. He stayed for ten years.

Though the congregation remains predominantly Ashkenazic, they continue to use Sephardic prayerbooks and rites. Once a year, people from Shearith Israel (which still owns Touro) visit to hold services in the full Sephardic style. Today, about 175 families are members.

In 1946, Touro Synagogue was designated a National Historic Site, and in 1966, it joined the National Register of Historic Places. Its antique metal artifacts underwent a full restoration in 2005–06.

Touro Synagogue

Shavuot (שָׁבוּעוֹת)

Shavuot, fifty days after the second night of Pesach (Passover), commemorates the giving of the Torah at Sinai. Every night from that second Seder onwards, we count the Omer (an offering of barley originally brought to the Temple) for seven weeks. After the final day of the Omer, Shavuot begins.

Shavuot literally means “Weeks.” Though there are some surface similarities to the Christian holiday of Pentecost (fifty days after Easter), they mark completely different events. It’s always jarring to see a very old text calling Shavuot Pentecost. Beyond being extremely archaic, it’s completely inaccurate.

In the 19th century, the Reform Movement started having Confirmation ceremonies on Shavuot. Some Orthodox shuls also began having Confirmation for girls of bat mitzvah age (back when there was no such thing as a bat mitzvah ceremony). The typical Confirmation age today is sixteen or seventeen (tenth grade).

Many people decorate their homes and shuls with flowers, plants, and leafy branches, since according to tradition, Sinai bloomed with beautiful flowers before the Torah was given. Other sources believe flowers represent the Jewish people and the eternal covenant we made with Hashem. We’re the bride, Sinai is the chupah (marriage canopy), Hashem is the groom, and the Torah is the ketubah (marriage contract).

Some Sephardim and Chasidim read a ketubah between us and Hashem, written by Rabbi Israel ben Moses Najara (ca. 1555–1625), who lived in Damascus, Tzfat, and Gaza.

The traditional Orthodox belief is that the entire Torah, both written and oral, was given at Sinai. (The Oral Torah was later transcribed as the Talmud.) Though I accept the modern scholarship that shows multiple people wrote the Torah over a long period of time, I believe the core was given at Sinai and passed down orally. I also believe the tablets of the Ten Commandments were given at Sinai.

As it famously says in the first line of Pirkey Avot, “Moses received the Torah at Sinai and transmitted it to Joshua, Joshua to the elders, and the elders to the prophets, and the prophets to the men of the Great Assembly.”

Buchenwald survivors celebrating Shavuot, 18 May 1945

Judaism is different from most other faiths because our foundational event was a mass revelation. Yes, Avraham was a single person called by Hashem, but we didn’t get the Torah for quite a long time. Our ancestors faithfully passed down the story of the revelation at Sinai for thousands of years, which shows how very important it is to our identity as a people.

However, since Judaism isn’t a religion of Biblical literalism and inerrancy, I don’t believe there were millions of people there (600,000 adult men plus their families). Far more likely, we were a much smaller group whose numbers were greatly embellished later on.

Still, I’m not a hardened skeptic who believes anything in the Bible without outside archaeological or documentary confirmation is just a fairytale. Many folktales have origins in stories passed down from ancient days, and oral cultures are known for excellent memories.  They have no other way to pass along their important stories and wisdom. But by the time these stories are finally written down, surely some changes have been made along the way.

The people who wrote the Bible were wise, spiritual, and inspired by God, but they were also humans, and no human being is perfect.

Many people stay up all night studying, in recreation of waiting to receive the Torah. It’s customary for synagogues to have late-night study sessions and seminars, and for people to host such sessions at their homes.

Shavuot is the only Biblical holiday without any mandated laws apart from abstaining from the 39 categories classified as work. Everything associated with it is a traditional custom or rabbinic observance.

The best-known culinary custom is eating dairy. The simplest explanations are that the Song of Solomon compares the Torah to milk and that we had to eat dairy at Sinai because our meat cookware had to be kashered. Until we received the Torah, we weren’t obligated to keep kosher, though some people believe our ancestors kept every single applicable law even before the Torah was given.

Chalav (milk; dairy) has a numerological value of 40, and Moses was on Sinai for 40 days and 40 nights. Psalm 68 also calls Sinai Har Gavnunim (mountain of majestic peaks). Gavnunim is very similar to genivah (cheese).

The Zohar links each of the negative commandments to a day of the year, and Shavuot corresponds to the commandment to bring our first fruits to the Temple and to not cook a kid in its mother’s milk. The first day we could bring those first fruits was Shavuot, so the second part of that line means we should eat one meat meal and one milk meal on the holiday.

The most popular dairy Shavuot foods today are cheesecake, ice-cream, and quiche.

We also recite liturgical poems and read the Book of Ruth, which is set around harvest season, stars a convert who accepted Judaism and Jewish peoplehood just as our ancestors did at Sinai, and ends with the genealogy of King David, who is said to have been born and died on Shavuot.

In modern Israel, many agricultural communities have reclaimed the tradition of celebrating the harvest of first fruits.