As Passover 2016 approaches, I fondly recall my first and only trip to Israel, in June 2013. Among my many memories, none is more stirring than my stop at the Western Wall on a Wednesday, ’round midnight.

I am not religious, but beneath the bright lights at that spot, there is an intensity of feeling and a palpable energy that are thoroughly transformative.

Deroy Murdock)

The Western Wall is the holiest place where Jews pray. It was erected as part of King Herod the Great’s expansion of the Second Temple, initiated in 19 b.c. The Romans destroyed the Temple in the First Jewish–Roman War in a.d. 70.

The Western Wall is also known as the Kotel, or the Wailing Wall, although some consider the latter term derogatory, as it refers to Jews weeping at the Wall when it was controlled by various non-Jewish occupiers. Firmly in Jewish hands today, the Western Wall now welcomes Jewish worshipers and curious Gentiles.

On my visit, I observed an ancient tradition: I wrote a wish (a.k.a. secular prayer) on a slip of paper and wedged it between cracks in the Wall.

I then turned around and saw a slightly bald, middle-aged man poised in front of one of the small, portable podia available for anyone who wishes to read or recite from the Torah or other sacred text. He stood there, beneath his yarmulke, in a long-sleeved white shirt. He could have been Jonah Hill’s 50-something uncle. His face revealed reverence, joy, awe, and perhaps some astonishment. While I didn’t snap his photo, nearly three years later, I can picture him as if he were three feet away.

Nearby, I also saw some young Jews — Israeli and American — strumming guitars and singing mellow songs on a nearby staircase amid the temperate, dry, summer breezes. It was a beautiful, peaceful scene — and such a stark contrast with the car bombs, beheadings, and other daily contributions of militant Islam. As I write these words, this memory brings tears to my eyes.

I visited the Wall in mid afternoon the following Friday. It was pretty beneath the searing sunshine, especially the floral bushes that inexplicably sprout between the huge, ancient blocks of Jerusalem stone. But, to my disappointment, that Wednesday evening’s high-voltage emotional power was gone.

If goosebumps are what you seek, see Jerusalem’s Western Wall, late at night.