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This man was kneeling for at least 10 minutes, praying with an intense look in his eyes that was visible from the way he stared at a mural of Jesus straight ahead of him.

Many of the people I met who were strangers to Jerusalem like myself, were either trying to escape something, or they were hoping to find something there, whether it was buried deep within themselves or somewhere within the stone-paved streets of Jerusalem itself.

There’s a reason Jerusalem is dubbed the Kingdom of Heaven; it’s a kingdom for those who aren’t whole, for those who are looking for meaning beyond perpetual meaninglessness that creeps when you’re deep in the rat race.

God can be found in many places, places we don’t expect. But watching this man, I thought that perhaps our most direct connection to him is through the simple act of prayer, whether you kneel down on your knees once in a while when life overwhelms you, or five times a day as Muslims do.

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