This ethereal experience was overwhelming, the appreciation for the uniqueness of this experience was palpable.

This past parshas Shemos, I was privileged to be in Eretz Yisrael attending the bar mitzvah of my grandson. Witnessing any grandson raised in the Old City of Yerushalayim is a rare zechus. And in this particular case, my heart overflowed with gratitude to Hashem.

His bar mitzvah was held in the same place where, exactly 200 years before, his great-great-great-great-great grandfather celebrated his bar mitzvah.

In 1812, Mordechai Solomon arrived in Yerushalayim at the age of six with his father, Rav Zalman Tzoref. Rav Zalman was one of the Talmidei HaGra — and the first victim of Arab terrorism in the modern era.

In 1819, Mordechai’s bar mitzvah was held in the same chatzer where the present-day Churva Synagogue stands.

How many families in the world can claim that their grandson’s bar mitzvah took place in the same shul as their alter zeide’s bar mitzvah, two centuries before? How many families in the world are still davening in the same shul their ancestors built 200 years ago?

I say this not to boast or to be pompous; I say this only to express my total and complete gratitude to Hashem.

Shabbos morning, I arrived at my son’s house.

Together, three generations walked to our remaining wall of the Beis Hamikdash complex and davened at the closest place on earth to the Kodesh Hakodoshim.

When the gabbai called out, “Ya’amod chattan habachur habar mitzvah maftir chazzak,” tears rolled down my face.

My father had his bar mitzvah here in 1938, and his ancestors before him going back to 1819.

I was filled with pride and happiness, yet most of all, I was humbled into a state of appreciation and gratitude to the One Who makes dreams comes true.

After my grandson’s aliyah, during the singing and candy-throwing, Laibel Fischman, who I haven’t seen for years, came over to me.

“Rabbi Eisenman, I see you are attending the bar mitzvah of your grandson. I’m a professional tour guide, specializing in American boys who celebrate their bar mitzvahs in Yerushalayim. I will take you to all the sights, translate everything into English, and even allow your grandson to daven from the amud in the Churva. That’s not something every American bochur can do. Usually, only a born-and-bred Yerushalmi can daven from the amud there. After a tour with me, your grandson will feel as if he’s still in Yerushalayim even when he gets back to Thirteenth Avenue!”

I thanked Laibel for his offer.

During Mussaf, I picked up a Tanach. As I leafed through it I suddenly came across a pasuk in Yirmiyahu (31:16), and the words of the pasuk leaped from the page and penetrated my heart.

And your children will return home.

The realization that the prophecy of “your children will return home” was being fulfilled before my tear-filled eyes overwhelmed me.

When davening concluded, Laibel approached me. “Rabbi, have you thought about letting me make your grandson feel like he’s a real Yerushalmi even when he’s back in Brooklyn?”

“Laibel, I don’t think you understand. There’s no need for a guide for my grandson. You don’t hire a guide to show you your own home!”

I pointed to the pasuk in Yirmiyahu. “Laibel, do you understand what Yirmiyahu is telling me? My child has returned home.”

When you are home, no guides are necessary, no tours are needed.

My child is home.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 747)