W hen I arrived in Yeshivat Har Etzion in Elul of 1979, I was one of 30 or so American boys.

We were in a distant country that spiritually we were to call home, while in actuality, we felt like foreigners.

When one of the administrators mentioned that hot water is available only between 9 and 11 p.m., and that we should first get wet, then shut off the faucet, soap up, and then only use water for a quick final rinse, we were shocked!

The Israelis were all in the Hesder program, combining military service with full-time yeshivah learning. The Israelis were tough, we were pampered Americans.

There were no Israelis in our chevreh, except for one young man named Zack. Although he had lived in Israel since he was ten, Zack was one of us.

Like me, he had grown up in Brooklyn and attended Yeshivas Etz Chaim on 13th Ave and 50th, where Eichler’s is today. Like me, Zack remembered the Miracle Mets of 1969 and could recite the starting lineup by heart.

Zack was our personal acculturation center. He smoothed over the rough edges of Israeli yeshivah life and helped us integrate and feel part of the yeshivah.

He was one of the guys. But he wasn’t. I realized this one cold winter night.

Every night, two bochurim had to do shemirah (guard duty) around the parameter of the yeshivah. One night, I rose from my bed at midnight and left to meet my fellow guard. It was Zack waiting for me.

As we walked under the star-filled sky, we huddled close to each other to battle the frigid wind. As we patrolled, we spoke about our dreams and our hopes for the future. Zack, notwithstanding his American roots, was totally Israeli in spirit. He loved the land, and he was passionate and definitive about his desire to live in the land and to serve in the IDF.

Zack was steadfast in his dogmatic belief that all Jews belong in Eretz Yisrael. He argued with conviction and fervor as he attempted to convince me to remain in Israel.

As the morning light arrived, Zack looked at me and said, “You must understand. This is my home. Neither of us knows what plans Hashem has in store for us, however, one thing I can promise you. My home is here, and no matter what will happen and no matter where I may travel, I will eventually return to this land, and here I will be forever!”

On that cold January morning, neither of us ever imagined how prophetic Zack’s words would be.

Zack was forcibly exiled from his beloved land for almost four decades.

Last month, on 29 Adar II, Zack fulfilled the pledge he made to me almost 40 years ago and finally returned home to the land he so loved.

The path home was not the one he or anyone else hoped for or would have chosen, and it certainly took longer than anyone had envisioned, but He Who sees all eventually reunited Zack with his family and his land.

When my wife told me the news, my immediate reaction was to cry.

However, these were not tears of total sadness, as interspersed between the tears of grief were tears of relief and tears of closure as I and the entire Jewish world finally knew that Zechariah (Zachary) Baumel Hy”d had come home.

“There is hope for your future,” says Hashem, “your children will come back home” (Yirmiyahu 31:16).

 (Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 759)