From Church Doors to the Mikveh: Rinat Tabaka’s Journey Home

Rinat Tabaka’s story is one of those rare life journeys that stirs the heart and strengthens the soul. It’s hard to capture the depth of it with just words on a page. Born Jewish but raised in a Christian school in France, Rinat spent much of her childhood struggling to fit in, searching for belonging, and holding on to what little Jewish identity she knew.

As a child, Rinat battled a painful form of arthritis that left her weak and often hospitalized. Despite her illness, she was a top student and stayed loyal to the kosher food her family kept at home. At school, though, this created tension. Her classmates were served meals with pork and seafood, and when Rinat refused to eat them, she was often mocked and left hungry. Still, she remained firm in her quiet commitment.

“At home we spoke only Hebrew,” she recalls, “but outside, I had to pretend I was just like everyone else.”

Instead of bringing her closer to Judaism, the shame and humiliation made her long to be more accepted by her Christian classmates. “I wanted to be like them. I didn’t yet understand that no matter what, a Jew can’t run away from who they are.”

Her health continued to decline, so her parents decided to send her to Israel to stay with her grandmother. That short time with her grandmother changed everything.

“She was full of faith and warmth. I still remember waking up in the morning and seeing her raise her hands to the sky, thanking Hashem for her life. She would say, ‘I’m drunk not from wine, but from Torah and the tzaddikim.’ On Mondays, Thursdays, and Fridays, she’d light candles for the righteous, and her door was always open to guests.”

Rinat still remembers going with her grandmother to the market, where Arab women sat with babies, asking for charity. “I was upset once and said, ‘They’re our enemies,’ but my grandmother grabbed my hand and said, ‘Anyone who stretches out their hand, you give to them. Maybe it’s Eliyahu Hanavi in disguise. And because of the charity you give, you will never lack anything in your life.’ I stayed quiet. I trusted her. I knew she was righteous.”

Eventually, Rinat had to return to France. Her health didn’t improve. Her pain worsened. The anti-Semitism around her was growing. Still, she wanted to belong and pushed herself to act like her peers.

Until one day, everything changed.

Walking home from school with her brother, she noticed a large building with a cross. Curious, they stepped inside. “It was dark, damp, and full of lit candles. I had seen images of that man and Mary before, but this time I felt nothing. Then I saw gold Hebrew letters on one of the statues, the Holy Name. And suddenly, a feeling of warmth and love filled me. It was like a light flooded me inside.”

Not knowing any better, Rinat lit a candle and said a personal prayer. “I was only 12 years old. I didn’t realize that this was considered idolatry. In my mind, I was praying to Hashem.”

Just then, she felt a shadow over her. It was the priest. “Are you Jewish?” he asked sternly. Nervous, she answered, “Yes.” He took her hand, walked her out, and said, “Leave, my child. This is not your place.”

That moment stuck with her.

“I started crying every night. I begged Hashem to bring me back to Israel, back to my grandmother. I told Him, ‘I can’t live as a Jew here. If You exist, bring me home. Show me I have a place in the world.’”

A few months later, her parents were forced to flee France due to financial struggles and growing anti-Semitism. They returned to Israel in the middle of the night, leaving everything behind.

Life in Israel wasn’t easy either, but being close to her grandmother made it bearable. Slowly, her soul began to wake up. At 13, she still wasn’t religious and didn’t know much about Judaism, but one day she went out into the hills behind her apartment building and prayed from her heart. She used words she didn’t fully understand, “a righteous husband,” “mikveh,” “family purity” and was surprised by her own words.

Later, she asked her grandmother about them. Her grandmother smiled warmly and told her that she was named after her own mother, who had served as a mikveh attendant in Tunisia.

“It felt like a small prophecy,” Rinat said. “I believed Hashem would answer my prayer.”

Years passed. At 18, right before starting army service and planning to study fashion at Shenkar, she met the man who would become her husband. He was religious and didn’t want to waste time. “He introduced me to his family and said, ‘This is my future wife.’ I was surprised, but deep down, I felt the same.”

When she told her grandmother, she gave them her blessing with joy. “She always had a kind word for everyone. Her love for Hashem was expressed in love for people.”

Not everyone was as accepting. Her parents were hesitant, but eventually they agreed. A wedding date was set.

Only afterward did Rinat remember she hadn’t told her fiancé about her illness. She was afraid he would leave. But together they went to the hospital to learn more. The doctor was blunt: their chances of having children were almost zero.

Rinat wiped away a tear. “But my husband didn’t give up on me. He told the doctor, ‘There is a Creator in this world. He decides who has children.’”

They got married with joy.

And children? “Baruch Hashem, we were blessed with ten,” she said with a glowing smile.

And remember that prayer for a mikveh from when she was 13?

“During the 20 years of our marriage, we moved many times. Every single apartment we lived in was next to a mikveh. Even now, our home in Kiryat Sefer is right next to one. Hashem doesn’t forget. He gives you exactly what you need, when the time is right.”

Her message is simple, yet powerful.

“Nothing in life is to be taken for granted. Thank Hashem for what you have, and for what you don’t have. Trust that He hears your prayers. If what you want is truly good for you, it will come. You just need patience. That’s the key.”