Reflections on Return
Bnei Menashe boy at Ben-Gurion
Airport.
It was a bright summer morning recently at Ben-Gurion International Airport outside of Tel Aviv when I found myself standing in the arrivals hall, waiting impatiently to witness a miracle.
After months of planning, preparations, and delays, some 40 new arrivals from India belonging to the Bnei Menashe, a group claiming descent from a lost tribe of Israel, were finally about to set foot in their new home, the Land of Israel.
For years, they had been living a fully Jewish life in the northeastern Indian state of Mizoram, near the border with Burma and Bangladesh, cherishing their ancient connection with the people of Israel and longing to return.
Now, they were just moments away from fulfilling that dream, and rejoining the nearly 750 Bnei Menashe who have moved to Israel over the past decade.
Slowly, the group emerged into the hall, the men and women pushing their wagons filled with belongings from the old country as their children energetically scouted out the new.
Shouts of joy erupted, and tears began to flow freely, as relatives were reunited and old friendships renewed.
Spontaneously, those present burst into song, filling the immense hall with tunes of elation. Curious onlookers approached, asking what the commotion was all about. When told that it was a lost tribe of Israel returning home, many smiled and began to join us in song.
The flight from Bombay had been long and tiring, but this latest batch of new Israelis was undeterred – they wanted to go to the Kotel, the Western Wall in Jerusalem, to say a prayer of thanks for their safe arrival. Clutching small Israeli flags, and some big Zionist dreams, they boarded a bus and headed straight for the Old City, where they prayed and danced in celebration and gratitude.
After a brief welcoming ceremony, and some interviews with the media, the group climbed back aboard the bus to begin their journey to their new homes in Shavei Shomron, a Jewish community in central Israel.
As I watched this episode unfold, I was overcome with emotion, for it reminded me once again of a very important lesson: we should never underestimate the power of Jewish memory.
Despite the passage of centuries, people around the world with Jewish ancestry are grappling to come to terms with their heritage and their identity. As Jews, it is incumbent upon us to reach out to them and assist them with their spiritual and personal journeys. It matters not whether they are from India or Spain or South America, or whether they are black or white or somewhere in between.
For some, the idea of return means conversion, whereas for others it signifies greater consciousness of their roots without any corresponding religious commitment. It is not for us to judge such individuals, nor would it be fair to do so. But what we must never forget is that every Jewish soul is precious, and we owe it to them and to their ancestors to extend a welcoming hand.
It is not an easy task, nor a simple one, but it is our task nonetheless. And whatever the difficulties may be, we shall not shy away from fulfilling it.