From Tajikistan to Jerusalem: A Journey of Faith and Unexpected Encounters

"Every year, when I light the Chanukah candles here in the Holy Land, I am filled with an indescribable joy," says Abraham Shervatayev. "More than 40 years have passed since we made Aliyah, and each year my sense of gratitude grows stronger," he notes emotionally.

He was born in Tajikistan, Central Asia, then part of communist Russia. "There was no Jewish community in our area besides our extended family," he mentions. "But unlike other places in Russia, we were aware of our Jewish identity, though we only observed the mitzvahs partially. After so many years of communism, no signs of religion remained, and we simply didn’t know how to keep them.

"For example, we would light a menorah during Chanukah but were unaware of the blessings to recite, where to place it, or the order of lighting the candles. We certainly didn’t know the story of the miracle behind the Chanukah lights. Now, being here in the Holy Land and participating in the lighting of Chanukah candles with my five children and sweet grandchildren, I feel that we achieved the impossible and emerged from a spiritual wasteland to rise to the land of Israel and recognize the Creator. How can we not be thankful for that?"

Thanks to Grandpa

Shervatayev's story is rife with divine providence at every turn. "As a child, I attended a regular school in our city, and I constantly heard nicknames like 'Zhid' and 'dirty Jew.' The children saw in the class journal that I was Jewish, knowing I was among the only three Jewish students, with the other two being my cousins. They didn’t harm me physically, but their words made me feel that being Jewish was second class."

Afternoons were mostly spent at home with his extended family, led by his grandfather—the only Jewish remnant from the pre-communist days in the area. "Grandpa was born in 1902, and he managed to attend cheder and get close to Jewish faith until 1917 when communism began," he explains. "It was important for Grandpa to preserve the faith, but so many years had passed that even he did not remember all the details and laws completely. For instance, he would build a sukkah every year during Sukkot, but it was located under a vine, rendering it invalid.

"We also had a special place where we only went to make wine and bake matzot, and when we asked Grandpa why we couldn't buy wine from the store, he'd reply, 'We're not allowed to drink non-Jewish wine.' He remembered and told us many little things, full of nostalgia. He was the only one who spoke and could read and write in Hebrew, and he had many memories from the cheder, but we were completely distanced from Judaism – in the full sense of the phrase 'captured children'."

But then, after many years of oppression and realizing nobody really wanted to be near them, a turning point occurred in Shervatayev's life. "This was after Operation Entebbe," he recounts. "I was sixteen, and when I heard about the operation led by the State of Israel—a state smaller than any familiar city but still executing such a daring hostage rescue, all under the command of Jonathan Netanyahu, an Israeli hero who unfortunately lost his life—it really awakened something in me. I suddenly felt a proud Jew, and I had a strong desire to make Aliyah to Israel—the Holy Land," he says.

This event also drew him closer to religion and Judaism. "At the time, Grandpa was no longer young, and I remember urging him to tell me everything he knew about mitzvahs and prayers. Grandpa was so moved, and he spent long hours writing me blessings and prayers in Russian script, since I didn’t know Hebrew at all then.

"Grandpa wrote to my cousins the words 'Amen Yehei Shemei Rabbah Mevorach' and also 'Amen,' 'Baruch Hu U’Varuch Shemo,’ and more – all in Russian letters. It sparked great interest in me, and Grandpa often called all the men in the family over Bar Mitzvah age to pray together in a quorum. He was the only one who actually prayed, but he taught us to respond 'Amen' and 'Baruch Hu U’Varuch Shemo,' as we couldn’t read or speak Hebrew."

Shervatayev notes that ultimately, it was his precious grandfather, who dreamed all his life of making Aliyah, who passed away before realizing his dream. "We stood around his grave and recited Kaddish just as he taught us, from the notebook," he tearfully recalls. "There are no words to describe what Grandpa gave us in his life. Thanks to him, we knew we were Jews, and he secretly conducted a brit milah for all his grandsons. There's no doubt that because of him, the tradition didn’t leave our family, and we didn’t assimilate among the non-Jews."

Special Guests at the Brit

Shervatayev made Aliyah in the early 80s, settled in Jerusalem, and found a job at a factory. Soon after, he married and had his first daughter. "In 1987, our son was born," he shares.

During the days before the delivery, his work manager asked him to take the car keys to drive an important woman to her destination. "I have many drivers," he told him, "but I choose you because you know how to respect, and this is an important woman who should be taken on time and treated with respect."

Shervatayev entered the car but got lost finding the woman’s address, driving around for a long time until he finally found her house. That’s when an unexpected chain of events began. "A conversation developed between us," he recounts, "and at one point, I mentioned that my wife was due to give birth any moment.

"Her response was unexpected. She asked, 'Have you decided on a name for the baby?' And I truthfully answered, 'We decided to name him Yehonatan, after the hero from the Entebbe operation that connected me so deeply to Judaism and strengthened me.' She was silent for a few minutes, then asked, 'What would you say if I told you I’m Yoni’s mother?' "In response, I felt weak-kneed and was speechless for the rest of the drive.

"Eventually, we arrived at Mrs. Netanyahu’s home, and she invited me to come up and see Yoni’s room, where some items were preserved just as they were left. It was very emotional, and when we parted, she asked me to inform her about the date of my son’s brit milah. I indeed sent the update the following week, and although I wasn’t expecting it, distinguished guests arrived at the brit: Professor Benzion Netanyahu and his wife. Benjamin Netanyahu was serving as ambassador to the UN and couldn’t attend, but on his way to the airport, he stopped by the factory where I worked to express his congratulations."

Thirty-seven years have passed since that day. "Today, my son Yehonatan is already thirty-seven," Shervatayev notes. "*Baruch Hashem*, he has a family and brings us much joy. But during that period, another significant event happened in my life: I first met Rabbi Yagen, of blessed memory. He set me on a path and because of him, I was able to reconnect to Judaism wholeheartedly, learn the mitzvahs and laws, and raise a family that walks in the path of the Torah."

And what about Benjamin Netanyahu? Have you spoken since?

He smiles. "The next times I had the chance to speak with Netanyahu were in connection with my role as Shas Chairman in the Adam community, and we maintained professional contact for several matters. Even though I'm no longer in the role today, I find myself excited each time anew by the turn of events and thank the Creator of the world for the miracles he has done for me and that I am here today."