They call this the Wailing Wall, but I really think it should be called the Whispering Wall. The women who come to pray here whisper a lot more than they wail or cry. They bring old prayer books and they whisper in many languages that I don't understand.

Then again, what do I know? I am only a simple hyssop bush, growing out of the Western Wall where the women pray.

Once, a long time ago, I saw men cry. They were the soldiers who came here in 1967 to reclaim the city of Jerusalem. They threw their arms up against the Wall. They cried loud sobs of joy and gratitude.

After that, people came and worked to restore the glory of this sacred site. They put down a nice marble tile floor beneath me. Then they built all the houses and schools nearby where the people live and learn.

I know I am not as noble as human beings, who can build homes and make fancy marble plazas. But there is one thing that I know I am good at.

I know how to listen.

I listen to the women whispering their prayers. I get to know each of them, even though they don't seem to recognize me.

There is one woman who first came here about 12 years ago. She was one of the few who cried. She put her face against the cracks of the Wall and tears came sliding down the stones to the ground.

The next year she came back with a little baby wrapped in blue, and this time she wasn't crying-she was laughing.

This woman comes back every year, bringing her little boy with her. We all wait each spring to see them.

There is another woman that we see here almost every day. She is one of the poor of Jerusalem. Her face is rough and wrinkled like crumpled paper. She wears torn clothing. Her back is all bent so that she can never really stand up. Before she comes into our area to pray, she stands outside to ask people for money.

When she comes to pray, I always expect her to pray for money or food. You would think she'd pray for her life to be easier.

That isn't what she prays for. She always prays for the same thing: for peace for the State of Israel.

I have heard the other hyssop bushes whisper that she has two sons serving in the Israel Defense Forces. She cares more about them than any money or food.

I have heard it said that the Western Wall was built by the poor in ancient Israel, who had little money. They gave what they had to participate in building the Beit Hamikdash, home for the Holy One. Because of their righteousness, this Wall will never be destroyed.

I guess this poor woman would fit in very well with those ancient righteous people.

Every week I wait for Friday night, the beginning of Shabbat. The area in front of the Wall is filled with people who have come to pray. The spotlights on the Wall and around the courtyard light up their faces. They are all beautiful and happy. When they pray, I feel the gates of the sky open to receive their prayers.

Though I have no human voice, I join them. I pray with joy and gratitude that a simple bush like me can be part of such an awe-inspiring place.