“Jerusalem — built as a city held together as one; to which the tribes go up, the tribes of God, as a testimony to Israel, to give thanks to the name of God.” (Psalms 122)

Today, Jews from Israel and from all over the world come to the Western Wall, wanting to draw close — to God, to history, to something larger than themselves. They want to touch the Wall and pray. This place connects them to the past, to generations of Jewish life, to their Jewish identity today, and to their children — the future of the Jewish people.

For years there has been a painful dispute — baseless hatred — next to the remnant of our Temple, which was destroyed precisely because of this very sin. Women with tefillin and Torah scrolls are pushed aside, prayer books are torn, and it is unbearable to watch.

In 2017, Prime Minister Netanyahu approved a compromise: the creation of Ezrat Yisrael, a separate prayer space at the Western Wall complex. The goal was to reduce conflict by allowing people to pray at the Wall in ways that do not follow the rules enforced by the Rabbi of the Western Wall. It would be a modest space — not large or central — where those who wished could approach the Wall in their own way. It would permit — heaven forbid! — mixed-gender prayer, egalitarian services, and perhaps even women wearing tallit and tefillin.

A few months ago, I had the privilege of visiting Ezrat Yisrael for the first time as part of a joint secular-religious study group organized through the Shalom Hartman Institute “Mishmeret Leshatef Atzmenu 2025” program. I was deeply moved. The space felt intimate and genuinely sacred, a place that invites connection. During the visit, some of our non–halakhically observant friends shared something painful: they feel no connection at all to the main Western Wall plaza. For them, it feels foreign and alienating, governed by rigid religious rules that do not speak to their lives.

Conservative and Reform Jews, in particular, feel unwelcome. When their requests to pray according to their own customs and rules are denied, they experience humiliation and rejection. Is the Orthodox Judaism that dominates the rabbinate truly unable to make even a little room for other expressions of Jewish life?

We can discuss the halakhic questions and the fear of a “slippery slope.” But this issue is bigger than that.

Ezrat Yisrael is not only about Reform and Conservative Jews or secular Israelis.

During my visit, I — an Orthodox religious woman — recalled my son’s bar mitzvah, when he first put on tefillin in the men’s section of the Western Wall. I could see him — just barely — but I could not touch him, and I certainly could not be part of the moment.

If I could choose, I would have held that ceremony at Ezrat Yisrael. I would have stood beside my son and placed my hand on his shoulder as he took on the responsibilities of Jewish life.

And I let myself imagine the future: a grandson’s bar mitzvah. I picture the hug I would give him at that moment. I imagine all of us there together — his parents, his siblings, grandparents, even great-grandparents. All of us under the same tallit, embracing the child entering the world of mitzvot in a moving family celebration.

And now we arrive at the current crisis: the High Court has ordered the state to move forward with making Ezrat Yisrael accessible to the public. In response, Yariv Levin and Bezalel Smotrich have strongly opposed the decision. Predictable — but still deeply sad.

In shared public spaces, the rabbinate should adopt the most inclusive and lenient approach possible. Religious stringencies can and should remain personal. When Jews are seeking a connection to Judaism, we should welcome them. Especially after October 7, which shook Jewish communities around the world, we should be helping our brothers and sisters reconnect — to Israel, to Judaism, to us — rather than leaving them isolated on the far side of a growing divide.

And what about the slippery slope everyone fears?

This is the real slippery slope:

A future where non-Orthodox Jews in the Diaspora drift away from Judaism entirely.

A future where secular Israelis lose any sense of connection to Jewish roots.

A future where the hope of “brothers dwelling together” and “the tribes of Israel united” erodes.

Women wearing tallit and tefillin do not scare me. Intermarriage, emotional disengagement, and the loss of shared identity — that does.

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)