When India celebrated its 80th Independence Day on August 15, Indians gathered to sing the national anthem and embraced the symbolism of the colors of its flag that was hoisted everywhere: courage and sacrifice (saffron); truth and peace (white); faith, fertility and prosperity (green). The navy-blue wheel in the middle is an updated ancient symbol that represents national progress, with twenty-four equidistant spokes for righteousness and cosmic law.

I want to pause to reflect on the country's journey to freedom and its connection to Israel, which became a state just a year after India. In addition to our parallel fight for sovereignty, we share so much in common. Both nations have evolved from ancient civilizations to become resilient modern democracies. Today, we share a strategic partnership centered on innovation, technology, defense and agriculture. India has welcomed Jews throughout the centuries without antisemitism and staunchly supports Israel.

While Indian independence is celebrated in August, the optimal time to experience India is during cooler, drier weather. Join us on our upcoming trips this November and February, when we'll explore India and Jewish India side by side. We will connect with local communities, visit magnificent monuments, share incredible meals, pray and sing in spectacular sacred spaces, immerse ourselves in understanding diverse religions, and enjoy the warmth of Indian hospitality.

Explore our complete itinerary HERE.
 
Register HERE.

Contact me for more information!

The handprint above may look unremarkable, but whenever I see it, I am awestruck by how the Jewish people have persevered in keeping Judaism alive despite all odds.

The handprint is the ancient mezuzah of the Bene Israel community of Bombay.

According to the community's tradition, in 175 BCE, a boat carrying Israelites from the Galilee was shipwrecked off the coast of India. Perhaps they were escaping Hellenist persecution that caused the Maccabees to rebel. Only seven couples survived. 

They settled in the villages along the Konkan coast, on the mainland near Bombay. Though they had lost all the holy objects and texts they may have had with them, they still observed the traditions and laws they remembered, including kashrut, circumcision, Shabbat, and holidays. They recited the only prayer they remembered—"Shema Yisrael"—at auspicious occasions, and marked the doorposts and lintels of their homes by dipping a hand in lamb's blood as their ancestors did to escape the Angel of Death before the exodus. 

The handprint became an astonishing, life-affirming symbol of redemption and survival, one that they renewed every Pesah (Passover). 

Today, Jews all over the world place a mezuzah (literally, doorpost) at the entrances to our homes to mark this miracle of survival and remember our redemption daily. Its contemporary form also dates back centuries: A tiny scroll with the words of the Shema are enclosed in a protective, decorative case. But the Bene Israeli handprint connects us viscerally with its biblical origin. 

The mitzvah of mezuzah is spelled out in Deuteronomy 6:4–9 and 11:13–21. The Torah tells is to write the words of the Shema (and the paragraphs following it) on the doorposts of our homes and upon our gates.  

Shema Yisrael Adonai Eloheinu Adonai Ehad.

Listen, Israel: The Lord is Our God. Adonai is One.

We, too, can reaffirm the power of redemption this Passover. As we cherish the perseverance of our ancestors, we hold onto our faith in the survival of the people of Israel--Am Yisrael--and take action to help bring about the healing of the world.

Tizkoo L'Shanim Rabot and Hag Sameah!
May we all merit many years. Happy Pesah.

A few weeks ago, I made myself a new tallit, the latest in the series of vibrant Indian shawls I've transformed. The turquoise silk stamped with gold feels protective, as blue often is, and reminded me of the tiny, vivid kingfishers (above) that we often spot.on our backwater boat rides in Cochin.

My sister Flora helped me to attach, wind, and knot the tzitzit--the fringes--to each of the four corners of the tallit. As we worked, we talked about the differences in Ashkenazi and Sephardi methods of tying and their numerological interpretations. The number of knots and windings add up either to the letters of God's name (Yod Hay Vav Hay: Sephardi) or Adonai Ehad (Yod Hay Vav Hay, plus Ehad, God is One: Ashkenazi). 

Every letter of the Hebrew alphabet has a numerical value. The rabbis and mystics interpreted those values in complex ways (gematria). They explored the numerical value of the word tzitzit, (600), and added it to the number of threads (8) and double knots (5) in each corner. The total comes to--tada!--613, the number of positive mitzvot in the Torah. 

Did I lose you? What does all this have to do with Tu B'Shevat, an ancient seasonal, fiscal new year for the trees? Today, Tu B'Shevat has become a contemporary Jewish Earth Day.

Gematria extended its interpretive reach to Tu B'Shevat as well. The simple meaning of Tu is 15 (Tet is 9 and Vav is 6), so on the simple level it's just a date, the fifteenth of the month of Shevat. But when you attach the first Bet of B'Shevat  to Tu, you get the word Tov, which means good. In India we called the holiday Tov Shevat, or Tob Shebat (there is no  "v" sound in Arabic, which influenced our Hebrew pronunciation, so we pronounced Vet as Bet).

On Tu B'Shevat, we celebrate nature around us as well as our innate natures. It is an opportunity to magnify the goodness in ourselves, to uplift the goodness in others, and to amplify goodness in the world. 

Happy Tov Shevat!

Experience the wonders of India for yourself on one of our upcoming tours.
November 2026
February 2027
Learn more here

Take a moment to breathe in the beauty of this spectacular hechal (ark) at the Knesseth Eliyahoo Synagogue in Mumbai. As many of our synagogues do, it depicts the seven-branched menorah that adorned the original hechal, the outer chamber of the ancient Temple in Jerusalem. Literally a palace for God's presence, hechal is the Sephardic term for the ark (aron kodesh). A Shiviti, a mystical meditative plaque or design titled with the words Shiviti Adonai l'negdi tamid, ("I will set God before me always" from Psalm 16:8) is bound onto the exquisite hechal, between ornate, gilded capitals and below towering stained glass windows.

The words of another psalm, Psalm 67, are shaped into the menorah, based on the tradition that its seven verses (outside of the header) were inscribed on the menorah in the Temple—matching the number of branches in the menorah. The mystics believed that by reading Psalm 67 while gazing on the menorah shape, you could experience (vicariously!) the radiance of the menorah in the Temple, and you would draw down light and blessing. 

When the first Temple was destroyed, the menorah was plundered. A new one was crafted for the second Temple, but plundered again upon the Temple's destruction. The eight-day Hanukkah celebration necessitated a new type of menorah with space for nine lights that we know today as the hanukkiah, commemorating the Maccabees' faith and victory.

My takeaway is this: The soul of our people is embedded in our history, our survival, and even in our architecture, our ritual practices and symbols. In these deeply troubled times, the words of our timeless texts resonate with us as if they were written today. As the hanukkiah reshaped and added to the light of the ancient menorah, we, too, embrace continuity by holding onto our traditions—yet changing as the times demand—finding light, strength and solace amidst the darkness. 

We mourn the victims of the heartbreaking terror attack in Bondi Beach, take hope from the courage of brave bystanders, and pray for the community’s healing.

“What gave me strength was saying Shema Yisrael every morning. Every Friday night, we tried to make Kiddush. We didn't have wine, so we used water. It was the faith that kept us alive.” --Eli Sharabi, former hostage who survived 491 days in Hamas captivity. 

When we came to the U.S. from India in 1964, I had no idea what Thanksgiving was, even what turkey was (I didn't like it).  It was the one holiday we celebrated at other people’s homes. Two friends from Sephardic backgrounds (one was from Turkey!)  at Mikveh Israel in Philadelphia, where my father became a rabbi, would always invite us. We learned about the Sephardic diaspora and enjoyed a helping of Ladino alongside the stuffing and cranberry sauce.

Today I somewhat strangely associate Thanksgiving with India. After all, Hodu is the same word in Hebrew for “India” and “give thanks!” In that spirit, I am forever grateful to everyone who has traveled with me to India or brought me to their communities—you have allowed me to fulfill my lifelong mission of introducing India’s rich Jewish heritage to the wider Jewish world.

The Indian Jewish communities are small and getting smaller. Don't wait to join us. Our next tours are in February, 2026 and November, 2026.  Learn more and Register here.

Happy Thanksgiving!

My father, Rabbi Ezekiel N. Musleah, Congregation Mikveh Israel, 1975. Courtesy of the Special Collections Research Center, Temple University Libraries. Philadelphia, PA.

Music has always been my umbilical cord to my father. He carried our ancestry in his voice.

My father made many "formal" recordings to preserve our musical tradition. I tried never to lose an opportunity to record him in informal settings, especially when he would teach me the Baghdadi-Indian liturgy and songs, and when he would share his stories.

When my family moved to the United States in the summer of 1964, my father became the rabbi of Congregation Mikveh Israel, Philadelphia's historic Sephardic synagogue which dates to 1740. Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur were imminent, and he had very little time to absorb the Spanish and Portuguese melodies. I remember him sitting with a clunky reel-to-reel tape recorder listening over and over to the voice of Reverend Leon Elmaleh, the hazzan emeritus. 

In the fifteen years we spent at Mikveh Israel, I came to love the elegant and glorious Spanish and Portuguese High Holiday nusah. Later, I learned many of the Baghdadi-Indian melodies for Selihot, Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, which pierce my heart with their direct and pleading eloquence.

Today, whenever I cook for Rosh Hashanah, I take out my old-school CD player and listen to my father’s High Holiday recordings according to the Calcutta tradition. It's a heartbreaking and healing ritual of my own making. As I prepare the apple maraba (jam), and the rest of the special foods for our seder yehi ratzon, each one symbolizing a wish for the new year, the scent of cloves, cinnamon, cardamom, and rosewater embrace me along with his unwavering voice. Often, there's no escaping the tears.

This will be the sixth Rosh Hashanah without my father, yet in the recordings, he is as present as he was when he was alive. His voice is strong, emanating from his soul and creating healing energy. It comforts me even when it breaks me.

“Kiddush for Rosh Hashanah,” he announces, and chants the series of biblical verses in the mystical ritual that precedes the blessing over the wine.

"Tahel Shanah u-virkhoteha!" he concludes, the drama in his voice waking up my own soul like the sound of the shofar. Let the new year begin with all its blessings! 

I cannot replicate my father's voice, but I carry its blessings with me always.

Our inaugural tour of Vietnam and Cambodia was a resounding success!

Our group explored the breathtaking natural beauty of both countries, from river deltas and serene bays to dramatic mountain ranges. We enjoyed the bustle and lively charm of major cities—Hanoi in the north, Hoi An in the center, and Ho Chi Minh City (formerly Saigon) in the south. The area's religious, cultural, and historic heritage came alive as we visited temples, pagodas, shrines, and museums. In some of its breathtaking vistas like meditative Ha Long Bay, we could almost forget the quagmire of world politics.

Several sites hold record-breaking status: the Ba Na Hills Cable Car, which holds several Guinness Book records, took us up a mountain top to a spectacular flower garden, the Golden Bridge, and a towering Buddha statue of almost 90 feet. Cambodia's Angkor Wat, a stunning fusion of symbolism and symmetry, is the largest religious monument in the world. Ta Prohm is famous for its awe-inspiring, tree-root-covered ruins (above).

Besides the region's Jewish history and personalities, we found unexpected and intriguing Jewish connections. In Siem Reap, we discovered an NGO established by a Jewish family that provides scholarships for over 100 high school and college-age students. The students who run the NGO spoke movingly about the profound impact of education on their lives.

And then there was the food! Even if I could share photos of every incredible feast we enjoyed in Vietnam and Cambodia, they would not do justice to the gastronomic adventure we savored. The cuisine is both traditional and inventive, layered with intriguing flavors, delicately and lovingly prepared, and beautifully presented. Buddhism encourages vegetarianism so vegetarian and vegan restaurants are plentiful, from simple village cafes to Michelin superstars—and we found the best of the best. We even enjoyed two superb cooking classes. I love the fact that "Chay" in Vietnamese means vegetarian! 

Join us for our next tour:
February 23-March 5, 2026
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