What the Headlines Can’t Tell Us About the Western Wall

Robinson’s Arch is the contemporary name for a portion of the Western Wall in Jerusalem, named for the remains of a large stone archway that once jutted out from the southwestern corner of the Temple Mount complex.

It is distinguished by other features as well. For one, it lies outside the security checkpoints that demarcate the Western Wall Plaza. It would be easy to imagine that these checkpoints designate the boundaries of Judaism’s most important archeological site, but this isn’t true. In this case, the painting extends beyond the frame.

The area is crisscrossed with ramps and platforms that keep one elevated above the ground. The landscape beneath has been torn open by archeologists to reveal the countless stone fragments of a lost and broken ancient world.

It has been suggested that this area be officially designated for non-Orthodox, egalitarian prayer. This plan has not yet been implemented, though Robinson’s Arch already serves this purpose unofficially. Not everyone appreciates this, as was demonstrated recently when ultra-Orthodox rioters stormed the site on two different occasions to cause chaos.

These stories dominated Jewish news outlets for weeks. The Haredi rioters targeted bar and bat mitzvah ceremonies, tearing up prayer books, and spitting on their fellow Jews. 

As all of this was coming out, I was readying myself to move back to Israel after two years away. These stories filled me with dread about Israel’s future and also, perhaps, my future in Israel.

The culture war, it seemed from the headlines, was being lost. After all, in a few short decades, the ultra-Orthodox will be nearly half of Israel’s population. It won’t be long — in the grand scheme of things — until they are the majority. These rioters will move from disrupting bar and bat mitzvah ceremonies to passing laws forbidding any non-Orthodox Jewish services in the state. 

I found myself imagining how people from the future will marvel at old pictures of Tel Aviv — pictures of young, attractive people laughing at cafes and lounging on the beach — the same way people today marvel at old pictures of Tehran from before the revolution.

As I walked through the streets of Jerusalem, I marveled at what seemed like a miraculous sight — so many Jews being Jewish in so many different ways. 

When I arrived back in Israel, however, what I saw didn’t accord with what I had read, and my dire prognostications about Israel’s theocratic future suddenly seemed less certain. As I walked through the streets of Jerusalem, I marveled at what seemed like a miraculous sight — so many Jews being Jewish in so many different ways. 

I was equally moved when I visited Robinson’s Arch. I arrived early in the morning and was the only person there. I put on my Tallit and Tefillin and began to pray. By the time I reached the Shema, a few small groups were beginning to arrive. They set up shop at various tables. All in all, four different families showed up — each one to celebrate a bar or bat mitzvah. They came with Torah scrolls and photographers and rabbis from non-Orthodox denominations. At the center of each service was a young person who had trained diligently for this day. 

When I had finished praying, I stayed to watch the ceremonies. Everything went off without incident. No rioters came to desecrate these holy occasions with noisemakers and taunts. When they were finished, they packed up their Torah scrolls and went home. 

As I walked back up the hill to my apartment, I remembered the story of the wicked King Balak in the book of Numbers. In this story, Balak hires the prophet Balaam to curse the Israelite people, who he has deemed a threat. Balaam consults with God, who tells him that he mustn’t curse the Israelites for they are a blessed people. He relates this to Balak, but Balak insists that they at least give it a try. 

His plan is an interesting one: he continues to take Balaam to ever higher vantages on a mountain — areas from which only a fragment of the Israelite camp can be seen, hoping that this will make a difference.

First, “Balak took Balaam up to Bamoth-baal. From there he could see an edge of the people” (Numbers 22:41). Still, Balaam would not curse the Israelites, and so Balak tried again, this time taking Balaam higher still to “to the peak of Peor, which overlooks the wasteland.” 

After several location changes, Balak gives up — perhaps realizing that he is up against forces bigger than himself.

His strategy, however, wasn’t such a terrible one. A change in perspective can change everything. Our perspective can be limited or expanded. When it is expanded so that we can see more detail, nuance, and context, we tend to soften our judgements. When our perspective is limited, on the other hand, our judgements become hard and fixed.

In the case of Robinson’s Arch, I had confused news with reality. In the case of Israel’s Haredi population, I had conflated the “edge of the people” for the whole. 

In the case of Robinson’s Arch, I had confused news with reality. In the case of Israel’s Haredi population, I had conflated the “edge of the people” for the whole. 

It is the purpose of journalism to take us — the readers — to a vantage point from which we may observe something that is happening in the world, perhaps something very far away. This, of course, can be done in one of two spirits. A higher vantage can be used to expand our perspective, as when God sends Moses to the peak of Mount Nebo to take in the holy land in its entirety (Deuteronomy 34:1). But a higher vantage can also be used to obscure, as in the case of Balak. 

I don’t mean to minimize the seriousness of the disruptions that took place at the Western Wall. Sociological fractures in society, when they become violent and aggressive, are a threat to all of us — and a threat to Israel’s viability as a safe and vibrant Jewish homeland. 

That said, we would all do well to remember that what we see in the headlines is partial. It is an “edge of the people” or a glimpse of “the wasteland” but it isn’t everything. 

Sometimes, you need to go see for yourself.

Matthew Schultz is the author of the essay collection “What Came Before” (2020). He is a rabbinical student at Hebrew College in Newton, Massachusetts.