Before Independence Day: ‘Shabbat Peliah’ (Sabbath of Wonder)

The sabbath before Passover is called Shabbat HaGadol (The Great Sabbath), named for the miracle that occurred on it. The sabbath before Tisha B’Av is known as Shabbat Chazon, after the haftarah that begins with the words, “The vision of Isaiah.” The sabbath before Yom Kippur is called Shabbat Teshuva (the Sabbath of Repentance), due to its proximity to the Ten Days of Repentance and the haftarah’s call, “Return, O Israel.” The sabbath before Shavuot is named Shabbat Derech Eretz, as “proper conduct precedes the Torah,” a prerequisite for receiving the Torah. But what about the sabbath before Israel’s Independence Day? To answer this question, dear readers, allow me to share a personal journey filled with wonders — before, during, and after my immigration to Israel.

Though decades have passed, I cannot forget that moment: two Jews from the Land of Israel arrived at our village in Ethiopia. They seemed like beings from another world, veritable angels. We all wanted to touch the hem of their garments; they were emissaries from Jerusalem. We didn’t ask if they were Ashkenazi or Sephardi, left or right. Our love for them was pure and absolute. They represented our dream. That was a great wonder.

One night, on the shores of Khartoum in Sudan, we left the refugee camp. Agents of the Mossad loaded us onto a truck and covered us with a tarp. After hours of driving, the truck stopped. A terrifying noise deafened us, the door opened, and suddenly — the sea. For the first time in my life, I saw the sea. The massive waves moved with dizzying speed, filling me with indescribable fear. Then, out of the fog and water, angels in human form appeared — fighters from Israel’s Navy SEALs, Shayetet 13. They embraced us, and both they and the Mossad agents shed tears. A great wonder.

I immigrated to Israel alone. At one point, I received news that my parents had perished. Two years later, it turned out to be a mistake. When I traveled from Afula to Or Akiva to meet them, the journey felt like an eternity. When the door opened and I saw my mother’s face, we wept together. A resurrection of the dead. A great wonder. Years later, D. Limor, who led Operation Brothers to bring Ethiopian Jews to Israel, called me and said, “When you were in Sudan, I was your commander. Now you’ll be my commander, under my son’s wedding canopy.” He asked me to be the rabbi who officiated at his son’s wedding. There were many tears under that canopy. We closed a circle. Another wonder.

I also experienced a wonder in Canada. During my IDF service, I met a lone soldier from Canada, Ilan Gewurz. We talked often and formed a special bond. After our discharge, as often happens, we each went our separate ways, and the connection faded. Twenty years later, I landed in Canada. At the airport, someone removed his hat and said, “Do you recognize me? I’m Ilan Gewurz. You’re staying with my parents.” We fell into each other’s arms, embracing like brothers, like family. A few years later, at Ilan and Julie’s home, a Canadian Jew, Jonathan Goodman, heard part of my immigration story. It touched him deeply. The next day, after prayers, he approached me and handed me a package. “This has been in my house for years,” he said. “I didn’t know why I kept it. But yesterday, when I heard your story about Shayetet 13, Israel’s Navy Seals, I understood.” I opened the box, and inside was a wristwatch — a unique watch worn by the Shayetet 13 fighters. That Jew had kept it for years without knowing why. When he heard my story of meeting the Shayetet in Sudan in 1982, he realized the watch belonged to that story. Who could believe it? Shayetet 13 fighters embraced me on Sudan’s shore, and thousands of kilometers away, a Canadian Jew placed a Shayetet watch, made in 1973, on my wrist. These types of connections are not of this world. They are great wonders.

When the Kedoshay Yisrael community in Kiryat Gat, founded by Holocaust survivors, chose me to serve as their pulpit rabbi, a journalist from a well-known newspaper asked them, “Why did you choose an Ethiopian rabbi?” They answered simply, “We don’t know an Ethiopian rabbi. We know Rabbi Sharon.” Then they added a sentence that remains etched in my heart: “How can you imagine that after the selektzia (the Nazi selection at the entry to concentration camps of which Jews would live temporarily and which would be murdered immediately), after what was done to us in the Holocaust because we were Jews, we would discriminate against someone because of their skin color? We seek knowledge, not color.” This was another meeting that was beyond nature. A great wonder.

Another moving and surprising encounter occurred in the city of Efrat. A group gathered for an extraordinary event: two converts who had endured hardships, including an attempt to deport them from Israel, stood alongside an American Jew with a big and generous heart, Joey Low, who had dedicated himself to helping them. At the event, two rabbis, the two converts, and Joey stood together. They put on tefillin, wrapped themselves in tallitot, and recited aloud, “Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is One.” Tears streamed from their eyes — heart-wrenching tears. Most touching was Joey’s crying — an American Jew with no direct connection to the converts, one from Sudan and the other from another African country. Yet they met in Efrat, in the heart of the Land of Israel, and united in a moment of holiness and humanity. This is a wonder. This is a moment that shows Judaism is not just an identity — it is a profound human story. The Jewish story is inseparable from the human story; it is part of it. A great wonder.

The Jewish people have been persecuted through the generations, not because of conquest or conflict with Arabs, but simply for being Jewish. There was always a new reason to hate us. As a Holocaust scholar said, “There are only two dangerous places for Jews: in the Land and outside it.” Yet, amidst all this hatred, the Jewish people are a wonder. They know how to create light, to bring repair to the world. Returning to our initial question — how should we call the Sabbath before Independence Day? I propose calling it Shabbat Peliah (Sabbath of Wonder). Because the State of Israel, like the Jewish people as a whole, is a wonder. It is a great wonder that defies all laws of human logic. And still, from the hatred poured upon them, this people continues to create light. A wonder. The great question hovering above is: Who creates this wonder — man or God? This is perhaps the deepest and most central debate in Israeli society today: Is the miracle of our existence here the result of human effort, daring, and faith, or is a divine hand guiding it all? For me, the answer is clear. My mother, of blessed memory, taught me through her actions: “For luck, you need a bit of wisdom too.”

And to conclude, my personal wonder: My wife was born in Basel, Switzerland, the city where Herzl envisioned the Jewish state. I was born in a small village in Ethiopia, where we dreamed only of reaching Jerusalem. Today, we live together in the Land of Israel. Two weeks ago, our son enlisted in the IDF. Am Yisrael Chai! The people of Israel live!  We are a people of great wonder. Happy Independence Day.