We just celebrated Shavuot, the festival of all dairy foods…and of receiving the Torah. Heck, in America it still is Shavuot. Sorry guys, I’m hoping to hang out with Abbi tomorrow and soak up issru chag.
Anyway, last week the synagogue to which we belong moved from a “temporary” (for nine years) location into its permanent home. Constructing and finishing a public building in Israel in general and Modiin in particular is certainly something I can’t begin to understand, but this was clearly something that deserved a celebration.
(And what’s in it for me? Well, a closer walk to synagogue. That is not uphill. As we’re now coming into summer–also known as the season of brutal, unrelenting hot–this is not insignificant. Although I’m better prepared now than last summer because I have not one, but two pairs of Naot sandals. But I digress.)
There was a very festive procession from the old quarters to the new building, the Torahs being loudly and joyfully serenaded by some yeshiva guys, random people from the neighborhood, and the congregants, largely families with moms and dads in their 30s and 40s and a ton of kids.
We were led by the Torah party truck,
a van tricked out with lights and a sound system.
This wasn’t exactly a ceremony to welcome a new Torah, but close enough.
We even had a police escort. For five whole blocks. Party in the street, y’all.
Carrying the Torahs to their new home.