By Sarah Shapiro    
What have we done?
This morning marked the first weekday in three decades that I wasn't confronted by beggars when approaching the Western Wall. After a long history of complaints from tourists and residents, a front-page article in the Friday (November 9) Jerusalem Post reported, "Praying, Yes — but Begging, No," — beggars have at last been banned from Judaism's holiest site. So their absence today didn't come as a complete surprise.
But it felt a little odd, even vaguely disorienting, to descend from the bus, make my way across the Western Wall Plaza, then turn right onto the walkway down toward the Wall — all without being accosted by those supplicant eyes and outstretched hands. Gone were Malka and Tzipora, Shoshana and Ilana, and all the others, whose names I never knew. Apparently, somewhere along the line, I'd gotten used to them. The persistent annoyance of their presence had become an integral feature of my Western Wall experience, perhaps as much as the huge, eternal stones themselves.
And annoyance it often was. Except for violence and outright acts of aggression (which in 30 years I myself never witnessed; perhaps behavior of that sort occurred over on the men's side) I can attest to the basic accuracy of most everything else reported in the Post. The guilt-inducing comments and the disappointed gaze, the requests for more, the ubiquitous red strings. Most irritating of all: the less than gentle, insistent tapping on one's shoulder in the midst of prayer — surely the ultimate intrusion on a person's privacy.   
ONE BEGGAR in particular earned a certain notoriety by virtue of her rude insatiability. Give her a shekel and she'd want five. Five and she'd implore you for ten. Ten? You were in for a scolding. "Ze lo yafe! I just got out of the hospital! An operation! Look! Here's my scar!"
A visitor to Israel once told me how he'd given this individual NIS 20 and she had reprimanded him for not giving dollars! On one occasion when I decided impulsively to court her favor, I gave her five shekels, which she said was not enough. "Beseder [OK]! Give it back to me then!" I retorted, snatching it from her hand. That crass interaction upset my equanimity and discombobulated me to such an extent throughout my morning prayers, that I determinedly ignored her from then on, passing her by with averted eyes — which was equally discombobulating. She had me over a barrel.
It was additionally unnerving to learn sometime later that several respected rabbis in the Jewish Quarter had pooled funds and raised money on this woman's behalf. That's how she paid for the operation.
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