As told to Michal Trenk
Motty held the sefer Torah in his arms. He looked at the faces of those dancing and singing exuberantly alongside him; young, old, Sephardi, Ashkenazi. They were all looking back at him.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, clutching onto the sefer Torah tightly. He reached up to touch the bandage around his neck. He was here to celebrate.
As a little boy growing up in Brooklyn, New York, Motty had heard stories about his grandfather’s days serving in the Israeli army. Though worlds apart from his yeshivah upbringing, he always had a feeling that one day, he would serve in the army, too.
When Motty was ten, his parents fulfilled the family’s life-long dream of making aliyah. From a large, beautiful, newly-renovated home in New York, they found themselves sleeping on thin Israeli mattresses on the floor of their Ramat Beit Shemesh apartment. But they were overwhelmed with gratitude, wide-eyed and fueled by ideals. They were living the dream.
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