The Song That Opened Heaven: How One Visit Changed the Future of Sephardic Education

A Dream, a Minister, and a Firm Refusal

Several decades ago, under the leadership of the late Rabbi Ovadia Yosef, a visionary new educational network was born—one that would ultimately rescue tens of thousands of Sephardic children from spiritual collapse and help raise generations of proud Torah scholars.

But back when this network was just a dream, a key piece was missing: official approval from Israel’s Minister of Education at the time, MK Yitzchak Navon. On paper, the odds looked good. Navon was a traditional Jew of Sephardic roots, known for attending synagogue on Shabbat and holidays.

Rabbi Ovadia Yosef and Aryeh Deri invited Navon to meet with the Rav at his home. After polite pleasantries, Rabbi Ovadia got straight to the point:

“Yitzchak, we want to establish a new school system for our Sephardic youth and you must approve it.”

Navon’s answer was disappointing, even shocking:

“I’m sorry, but I can’t possibly approve this. It would be harmful to the national education system. And my colleagues in the Labor Party would never go along with it.”

Rabbi Ovadia did not back down. With deep emotion, he said:

“Yitzchak, you will be rewarded greatly if you help save our youth. You are nearing the end of your political journey. Leave behind a legacy that will earn you eternal reward in the World to Come.”

Still, Navon remained unmoved and left the meeting without agreeing to anything.

Yitzhak Navon (Photos: Yonatan Sindel / Flash 90)

A Classroom Visit and a Voice from the Past

Rav Ovadia, undeterred, moved to Plan B. He asked Aryeh Deri to invite Navon to visit one of the few Talmudei Torah that had already been established in Jerusalem, without state funding.

At the next cabinet meeting, Deri leaned over to Navon and whispered:

“I’m not asking for much—just come visit one of our Sephardic schools. See it with your own eyes.”

Navon brushed it off again:

“Aryeh, don’t bother. It’s pointless. There’s no way I can give you what you want. It’s beyond my control.”

But Deri persisted:

“Please, just come see what a Sephardic cheder looks like on the inside.”

Eventually, Navon agreed. A visit was arranged to Talmud Torah Yekirei Yerushalayim in central Jerusalem. Navon entered the classroom wearing a large kippah and took a seat in the teacher’s chair.

Deri, knowing Navon’s deep love for Sephardic liturgy and melody, gave a subtle signal to the teacher, who in turn instructed the children to begin singing Shir HaShirim in a beautifully ornate Sephardic tune.

As the children sang, Navon sat in stunned silence. The melody brought him back to his mother’s kitchen, to the warm voices of his childhood, to the authentic tradition of his ancestors. Moments later, he began to weep. His shoulders trembled as the tears flowed freely. The children looked at the adult guest before them, astonished to see him crying like a child.

Navon wiped his tears and leaned over to Deri.

“It’s okay. Tell Rabbi Ovadia that you have my approval.”

A Legacy That Echoes in Eternity

In my mind’s eye, I can see Yitzchak Navon’s soul ascending to the heavens, accompanied by the sweet, pure voices that he helped save. They sing the tune he loved so deeply:“Shir HaShirim asher liShlomo”

It is written, “A good name is better than good oil, and the day of death is better than the day of birth.” And as Navon enters the World of Truth, his awards and titles matter little. But this story? This, he takes with him.

Yitzchak Navon of blessed memory helped rescue a generation from spiritual loss. Tens of thousands of Sephardic children now learn Torah in your merit, preserving the melodies and values you cherished.