The moment, I have touched the, heavy, textured wall… I felt veins of life pumping inside the stone in a powerful but steady pace. My hand did not want to let go… I have experienced an elating feeling in my entire body. It was a thrilling encounter and a spiritual exchange between me and the soul of the wall.
“ Jews may often be seen sitting for hours at the Wailing-place bent in sorrowful meditation over the history of their race, and repeating often times the words of the Seventy-ninth Psalm. On Fridays especially, Jews of both genders, of all ages, and from all countries, assemble in large numbers to kiss the sacred stones and weep outside the precincts they may not enter.”
Charles Wilson, 1881. (Picturesque Palestine, vol. 1, p. 41)
The legacy of a continuous occupation dating back to the Stone Age and Medieval upheaval, European city streets were often narrow, dark and winding. As elsewhere in the world, people nurtured the dream of a city protected by ramparts. Many believed the New Jerusalem—so eagerly anticipated by Christians and seen as a post-Apocalyptic utopia—was the representation of paradise. When I visited Jerusalem this summer, I could certainly feel the distinctiveness and individuality of this place. It would not be wrong to say, that the power of this mystical place lies in its walls.
Article writing and photography by Katrina Kocialkowska.