With a foreign accent, he joyfully chanted the ancient yet accessible Hebrew words, his olive-skin fingers pointing to their letters, etched in ink. Around him stood the others, local residents, with local accents and lighter skin, all of them connected on this sunny Saturday morning, in the sameness of the words they all read.
Divine words that have guided, comforted and continue to give life, to an immortal people.
He was visiting our quiet city of Thousand Oaks, saw our “Chabad Jewish Center” sign, and stepped inside to celebrate Shabbat with us. He offered to read that week’s designated portion from our Torah Scroll.
And so, there he was, chanting the words with a Sephardic lilt, thousands of miles away from his own, in a synagogue different than his own, and yet he was home.
At home with this precious piece of parchment, containing the exact same 79,847 hand-written words as the many others across the globe, from Israel to Australia, from Toledo to Thousand Oaks.
At home with words that transcend cultures, time, and space.
No matter where you roam, the sacred scrolls are the same.
Rishe wrote...
Zeesy wrote...
That's Shula: straight to the point in few and profound words.
Jai wrote...
KrasnovQKt wrote...