On the Wings of Faith


I fly through the sky, watching all the children playing on the warm dirt streets. It is 1947, and arguments of whether to establish Israel as an independent state continue. The day is sweltering; the sun is blazing with all its majestic light focused on the bright gold dome. The Jewish people gather to pray by the sacred mosque, and I decide to land on a nearby rooftop,
                              gently,
                                              tenderly,
                                                                 noiselessly,
                                                                               so as not to raise alarm. The people gather together, Jews and Arabs, a contradiction of faiths, to pray at this one spot. They are separated by a wall; one side is for Jews, the other for Arabs. They are both a people of tradition, of history. Their descendants have spread to the ends of the earth, but they keep their belief alive.
                              Auschwitz is no more.
                                              Hitler is no more.
                                                                 They are free, but they
I glide swiftly into a hospital room in Illinois. It is November 11, 1993. The grandchild of the woman from Auschwitz has just been born. She has all the potential to be a great leader, a great Jewish leader. Her family will raise her well and teach her the way of the Jewish people. She will carry on those traditions for the rest of her life. It is almost luck that she was born, for her grandmother’s life was in danger for years. Her life is charmed with
                fortune,
                         luck,
                               happiness,
                                        prosperity,
                                               and an ability to return
to the homeland of her people, Israel.
I glide with her as her family exits the plane in Jerusalem, almost twelve years later. A short bus ride later deposits them in front of their hotel. The child walks briskly to the old city and sets her eyes on the
                gleaming,
                         glinting,
                               shining,
golden dome of the mosque for the first time. So many of her people have seen it before her, and thousands will see it in the future. It remains a reminder of the past to the Jewish people; it has been through wars and struggles. The girl is an American, yes, but she is also Jewish. The love for her people will remain in her heart for as long as she lives.

by: Anna H.
Maple School