By: Paula R. Stern

A few weeks ago, I got up very early in the morning, somewhere around 4:30 a.m., and made my way down to the Western Wall in Jerusalem. Many were there already, many more arrived within minutes. Those who do this very often, recognize and greet one another. For the occasional dawn-waiter like me, it was a little bit confusing. It is a special honor to recite the morning prayers at the earliest possible moment. For those who do not accomplish this every day, what moment is the right time to begin? Now...a few more seconds or minutes? Who will lead us? How will we know when to begin?

From one second to the next, the sky does not suddenly brighten. I looked up and saw that it was still very dark. The immediate area was lit by strong lights and most people were just waiting. Suddenly, a murmur began on the other side of the divide. One man stepped forward and began. Further across the plaza, another man began leading his group, and another and another. Beside the divider, nearer to the women's section, another voice began, and the women followed.

All this took place within seconds. Each prayer that I heard was echoed a few seconds later somewhere in the distance. It was still very dark, but I looked down and began saying the words of the morning service. They are words of gratitude for our lives, for the sleep that rejuvenates us, and the gift of awaking to a new day. We say our thanks for our families, our country and the dawn that is but moments away.

The area surrounding the Western Wall is always illuminated, with many lamps burning through the night and into the first moments of dawn. These were man-made lights, soon to pale against the strength of the sunshine just waiting to break through the night. The Western Wall lamps can hold off the darkness, but cannot defeat it. Only the sun can do that. Like the darkness of terror, I thought, and the promise of peace.

Peace will bring light to the Middle East. But, until it is a true light, we are merely holding off the darkness. Standing with my head bowed in prayer, I focused on the words. I closed my eyes and thought about my young children, still asleep in their beds, and of my two older sons, standing across the plaza reciting their own prayers.

The next time I looked up, I noticed the faintest lightening of the sky. Dawn had begun. A new day, a new opportunity for me, my children, for my country.

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Adapted with permission from an article by Paula R. Stern. The full article can be found on her website (www.paulasays.com) at: Waiting for the Dawn