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!

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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! 

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Travel+Leisure magazine recently contacted me to be featured on its new podcast, Lost Cultures: Living Legacies. The podcast delves into the rich history of Kolkata's Baghdadi Jewish community.  Host  Alisha Prakash also interviewed writer, scholar, and Calcutta resident Jael Silliman.

The Kolkata community has grown smaller, but its legacy remains monumental. It's always been my mission to try to preserve and share that legacy with as many people as I can, through my tours, programs, writing, and recordings.

The title of the podcast is exactly on target. As I told Alisha on the podcast, "Maybe people aren't living in the places where they came from, but it doesn't mean that the culture is lost, because we are carrying on our traditions wherever we are."

Learn more about the Baghdadi Jews in Kolkata on Season 2, episode 3 of Lost Cultures: Living Legacies, available on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Amazon Music, Player FM, or wherever you get your podcasts. Better yet, join one of our next in-person tours and see Kolkata for yourself!

It's hard to believe that ten years have passed since our first tour in January 2015.

Our tours have maintained their integrity, dynamism, charm, and passion. We incorporate the same "neshamah," the same soul and spirit that imbued our very first trip, and every tour since. That neshamah is integral to the way we explore India and Jewish India together.

One thing has changed: India’s Jewish communities are getting smaller. That's why we encourage you to join us now to maximize your experience. Don’t miss this chance to explore the richness of Indian Jewish life alongside India’s vibrant hospitality and magnificent sites.

In a world full of chaos, India remains a safe and welcoming destination.

Join our upcoming November tour. Learn more here. Register now!

Freedom—or the lack of it—is on my mind this Pesah.

The tragic state of the world today, ravaged by war and injustice, divisiveness and pain, leaves me with a grieving heart. When 59 hostages remain in captivity in Gaza, when freedom itself in many parts of the world seems to be caged, fettered and ensnared, how can I celebrate it? I feel like the "simple" child, the pure child, who cries out sharply, Mah Zot? "What Is This?" or the child who has no words at all.

The story begins, Avadim hayinu: We were slaves in Egypt. B'chol Dor vador, in every generation we have to see ourselves, we have to show ourselves, as if we ourselves had left Egypt. There are instructions: Kol dichfin yetei v'yachol. Everyone who is hungry, come and eat. There is faith in the face of sober reality. V'hi she'amda, Many enemies have tried to destroy us, but God, Who stood up for our ancestors, saves us.

Embedded in the traditional text, I find space for both sorrow and solace, for hope and balance.

Mitzrayim, the confining captivity of Egypt, is not underplayed. The Haggadah traces the origins of Israelite enslavement. The Children of Israel cry out in agony and terror. After generations of suffering, God redeems Israel "b'yad hazakah u-vizroa netuyah," with a strong hand and an outstretched arm.

Why did God need both a strong hand and an outstretched arm? Wasn't the mighty hand of a victorious fighter enough? No. God reached out to us simultaneously, like a parent or grandparent embracing a inconsolable child, like a lifeguard rescuing a drowning swimmer. God needed to be both powerful and gentle. So, too, in our world today, our power lies in merging courage and compassion.

There are still many reasons for gratitude. Following COVID, it's no small thing to be able to sit at the seder table surrounded by my family of four generations. In no particular order, I'm also grateful for the legacy I cherish; for travel, for music; for friends, for food, for health; for the freedom to pray, to dance, to write; for the ability to give tzedakah. The world is still torn and broken. But for today, dayenu.

Tizkoo l'shanim rabot! May we merit many years in which there are still things to be grateful for.

This interpretation of "b'yad hazakah u-vizroa netuyah, the illustration of the kiddush cup above and the four illustrations below are included in my contemporary retelling of the Haggadah: Why on This Night? A Passover Haggadah for Family Celebration (reissued by Kalaniot Books).  The Haggadah is available on all major platforms, including Amazon; Barnes and Noble; Walmart, and Bookshop.org. Order today!

Winter seems like a funny time to celebrate Tu B'Shevat, our Jewish Arbor Day or Earth Day. It’s a new year for the trees and a time to celebrate the fruit of the earth. In Israel, the rainy season has passed, and the first buds begin to appear around Tu B'Shevat, the 15th day of the Hebrew month of Shevat, which falls on February 13 this year.

Here in New York, bare branches silhouette the sky, and the earth seems to shiver instead of blossom. In Los Angeles, fire has devastated so much of what we hold dear. In Israel, our hostages have begun to come home, but the destruction Hamas sowed before, on, and after October 7 continues to traumatize us.

Several years ago, in the middle of the pandemic, I was privileged to interview Rabbi Jennie Rosenn, who founded Dayenu: A Jewish Call to Climate Action, to mobilize the Jewish community to confront the climate crisis on a systemic level. You can read the interview here. Tu B’Shevat, she said, is an opportunity to connect spiritually both to the severity of the climate crisis as well as to the beauty of our earth and humanity. Please read about Dayenu's new endeavors to combat the climate crisis.

One of the most tangible ways to remind ourselves of our obligation to repair our world is to hold a Tu B'Shevat seder. Originally a kabbalistic ritual that combines both the tangible and mystical, it honors the most wondrous of birthdays—the earth’s. A Tu B'Shevat seder is an appropriate way to bless the land, pray for its regeneration, and take action.

Four cups of wine or grape juice represent the changes in the season—white, pink, light red, dark red. Fruits and nuts mentioned in the Bible make a tasty and colorful array, ranging from those with coverings on the outside, like oranges; those with pits, like peaches and olives, and those that can be eaten both inside and outside, like figs and raisins. In India, we loaded our table with over 50 varieties of fruits and nuts! A contemporary seder could pair each fruit we choose with an act of climate change or hesed.

Ladonai haartez um'lo'ah. The earth and its fullness are God’s.
--Psalms 24:1

We are caretakers of the earth. It is up to us to protect and preserve its beauty.