(JNS) - The wind cuts down from the Mount of Olives as three Jewish men named Cohen hunch their shoulders against the cold and start up the wooden ramp to the Temple Mount, breath clouding in the Jerusalem air.
In a scene that could stand in for countless real family journeys, their grandparents' stories trace lines through Poland, Tunisia and Iran, but here the paths merge: walking the worn stone their Israelite forefathers once crossed in white linen, lips shaping the same psalms those priests sang when the Temple still stood and the smoke of offerings climbed into the winter sky.
If this tr...
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