Bittersweet

When the day arrived and the minute the music began to blare from the van, I was out there, in the freezing wind — yes, we do have winter in Israel — wrapped in my down coat, one of the first to arrive. As I watched, mothers clutching the hands of little boys disappeared into the building to see the nascent sefer Torah, perhaps even write a letter.

“Yeladim, line up, you’ll get pekeleh,” came over the loudspeaker. Not quite an orderly line, but family groups, children supervising smaller children, gathered, all eager for their treats. They emerged clasping their treasures and cylindrical light sticks that flashed a rainbow of colors to join the parade. Often they use live torches with the children herded between two ropes but this time they chose the safer solution.

Bochurim from several yeshivos begin to appear. Boys seem never to feel the cold. Most come in just suits, though I notice a few wearing scarves. Tall young men, on the cusp of manhood, they surround their rebbeim. Group after group appear, lining the path the sefer Torah will take on its way to the chuppah.

People pour from the building, the security guards, the crowd controllers, adults and children, and finally, in the arms of a beaming bearded man, the sefer Torah itself, breathtakingly beautiful, adorned with a huge silver crown and white mantle. The boys stand to attention. The chattering crowd quiets. It seems as though everyone takes a deep breath to inhale the kedushah. As it reaches the chuppah the boys break ranks and erupt into joyous singing and dancing.