Sitting in my tiny studio apartment in Jerusalem on a Sabbath morning, I could hear the sound of music in the distance, a crisp tambourine, and the melodic singing voices of men and women.

Come to discover, a 65-year-old reformed synagogue was hidden in plain sight near my apartment – surrounded by a high wall and locked with a coded gate, shrouded in mystery.

As a young adult, I would accompany my Jewish grandmother to visit the neighborhood Mizrahi (Middle Eastern Jews) synagogue before the Sabbath or holidays, and I felt like a complete alien, almost a ‘goy’ (a gentile).

I would fumble with a foreign Siddur (prayer book) in the Women’s Section balcony while a multitude of judging eyes bore into me under bright fluorescent light. I watched the male cantor through the slits of a divider, disconnected and hating every moment of it.

Although I loved the prayers, the camaraderie, and the poetic singing, I never felt welcomed as a light-skinned Ashkenazi Jew among Mizrahi Jews, or in general.

In my Messianic...

Israel Today Membership

Become a Member

• Read all member content

  Get exclusive in-depth reports from Israel.

• Get exclusive in-depth reports from Israel

  Connect with Israel, right from your home.

• Lift up the voice of truth and hope

  Support Jerusalem-based Zionist journalism.

Become a Member

Already a member? Login here.