We ride on a bulletproof bus. We are safe. But what are we afraid of? Aren’t we still in Israel? Isn’t danger on the other side of the wall?
The walls rise up on either side of the bus. They flank us like enormous bodyguards. So tall I can’t even imagine what’s waiting on the other side.
Dress modestly. Cover up. This is a holy place. Don’t women know what bodies look like, though? It’s not like we pray next to men. We wouldn’t want to distract from the important prayers.
Take a picture. Right there, next to the tomb. Amid the prayers? Yes, go on. But where is it? Under the donated covering, commemorating a bar mitzvah? I guess so. If they say it’s holy, it must be. Pray faster, harder, until you believe.
I feel like a voyeur, peeking around corners. Look, there’s a bunker. More soldiers than worshippers. Who are they fighting? Who are they fighting for?
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