Sarah's Siddur

The Western Wall was even more breathtaking than it looked in photographs.

- Eve Heidi Bine-Stock OMAHA, NEBRASKA

The morning sun glistened off the towering limestone blocks while visitors of all ages and cultures, even soldiers in uniform, stood in prayer. My best friend, Ruth, and I hurried to the area where the women gathered, excited to pray at the foot of the Temple Mount, where our Jewish ancestors had felt closest to God. In a little room to the right, hundreds of prayer books of different colors, sizes and languages were stacked. I grabbed one with Hebrew and English and stood next to Ruth, who’d brought her own from home, a siddur with a worn brown cover that had belonged to her mother, Sarah.

Tufts of greenery sprouted from cracks in the mammoth stones, along with folded notes containing prayers. I left a note myself, asking God to help me find my beshert—my soul mate. Ruth placed her own note in the Wall and bowed her head, her eyes closed, deep in devotion.

“What did you pray for?” I asked when she was finished. Ruth wouldn’t say. That was unlike her, but I respected her privacy.

“I feel so at peace here,” she said.

Something had been on Ruth’s mind, that I knew. We’d been best friends since the third grade, and there was little we could hide from each other.