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Standing in one of the world’s holiest places, I found myself surrounded by guns, and confronting my gender identity. When I was six or seven years old, my grandmother would sleep over and she always took my bed, relocating me to the floor. I didn’t mind - we were going to stay up way too late and play rummy for real money, so a few nights on the floor was no big deal. As she shuffled the deck my grandmother would tell me her story. She was a Holocaust survivor. As she spoke the tears poured from her eyes, each tear breaking my heart. But she kept speaking. And I kept listening. To my grandmother, Israel represented a safe haven - place where Jewish people could live freely, without fear. Traveling there, I recalled my grandmother’s love of for Israel. Entering the Old City of Jerusalem was like being transported into a mystical, ancient era. I walked along the historic stone walls, through the winding alleyways to the Shuk, a bustling marketplace. The shops were divided by religion, but the sounds and scents comingled. Finally, I approached the Western Wall. Thousands of years old, it is the last relic of the Second Jewish Temple and one of the most important Jewish sites in the world. , I looked behind me and saw the soldiers standing astride with their enormous rifles. In front of me, I saw the Wall was separated into two uneven parts: one large side for the men, and one much smaller for the women. Where did I fit in? As someone who is non binary, I couldn’t help but feel frustrated. This was not an unfamiliar feeling. This type of dilemma is not uncommon for me – it’s something I confront daily. Finding a one stall bathroom feels like a gift. In my travel planning, I had expected soldiers, but forgot to factor in the gender division. My inner turmoil, heightened by military presence, was starting to spiral. All of this compounded with my desire to honor my grandmother and experience this place as the refuge of which she had dreamed. My grandmother’s legacy protecting me, I closed my eyes and shut out all the noise, especially that of my mind. I suddenly was struck by the raw, ancient power of this land. The history, the mysticism, the pure spirituality of it unhampered by politics with a big or little “p.” It all coursed through me and it felt beautifully chaotic. Out of chaos comes order. Standing there at the Wailing Wall, I realized I didn’t have to choose a side. I wouldn’t choose a side. I would admire the remarkable presence of this ancient temple and its undeniable magic and just be who I am unencumbered labels. That day, I realized I honor my grandmother by being who I truly am. Boundless.