As we danced together in the summer heat, we were overcome with emotion. Who would have guessed that a Sephardic Torah would be dedicated by a group of American Jews to an Ethiopian synagogue in Israel? But at that moment, it made perfect sense. All labels melted away and all that was left were Jews, members of a single family, celebrating a shared heritage in their beloved homeland.
This point was driven home one last time when we began packing up to head back to Jerusalem. As we turned to bid our hosts farewell, we opted for Hebrew, the only common language between us. Only when we began wishing one another “Shabbat Shalom” did we realize just how fitting it was that our parting words would be in our shared, ancestral tongue. That uplifting and unifying moment, marked with warm smiles and hearty handshakes, is one I won’t soon forget.
As we took our leave, the enormity of what we’d experienced overwhelmed me. We’d witnessed the ingathering of the exiles firsthand. We’d established meaningful connections with a community that otherwise felt abandoned. We’d contributed to the rebuilding of the Jewish homeland at a pivotal moment in Jewish history.
Obviously, we could have dedicated our Torah to any number of synagogues. But after that special wartime morning in Sderot, it was clear to me our fathers would have been very happy with our selection. This Torah paved the way for a bright and united Jewish future.