e was born in the tiny village of Kandilli, population 488, on September 27, 1978.

He was given the name Erhan which in Turkish means a good, merciful, yet, heroic soldier.

He would eventually live up to his name in ways no one could ever have imagined.

His father was not particularly observant; however, his mother would take him to the local mosque every Friday.

When Erhan reached the age of compulsory army service, he decided to delay his enlistment and become a shipman.

He sailed to the United States.

When the ship docked, he decided he would never return, and instead he dissolved into the Turkish/Muslim population of Patterson, NJ.

It was November 18, 2000.

In many ways, his real journey was just beginning.

There was a yearning in him.

That same yearning which drove him to jump ship was now pushing him to find out more about G-d.

He looked deeply into his own heritage and was disappointed by what he found.

He read books from famous atheists, but there too, he found no spiritual succor.

One day, while searching for other spiritual possibilities, he came across a lecture by a man with a long beard.

This man was different.

He didn’t preach hate.

He didn’t speak about the destruction of other people.

He spoke about being kind to others and helping others in need.

He spoke about a loving and caring G-d who is involved in our lives.

Quietly and secretly Erhan began to listen to more Torah lectures.

He dared not tell his Muslim roommates what was coming out of his headphones.

After years of searching and listening, in the Spring of 2017, Erhan made a decision: Judaism was the truth he sought.

It was in April of 2017 when I received the heavily accented call.

I told him to come in and speak to me.

When he arrived and told me he was a Turkish Muslim and wanted to become Jewish, I didn’t know if I should press the panic button under my desk to alert the police or welcome him.

But Erhan persisted, and so did I.

In the beginning, many were suspicious of him and his motivations.

Erhan remained calm and persevered.

He learned diligently with the chavrusas I arranged for him and attended davening regularly.

Soon, his gentle nature and kind soul was recognized and appreciated.

He moved to Passaic, continued learning, and finally, on the fifth day of Adar Beis 2019, Erhan Deri became Yehudah ben Avraham.

His dream had come true.

I then asked him the one question I had been wanting to ask him for almost two years.

“How and why did you choose my shul?”

Yehudah smiled and said, “I did look into other shuls, but when I saw you, something about you connected to me. You seemed warm and sensitive and that’s why I came here.”

I realized how you really never know how your most commonplace movements and appearance can change a person’s life.

The Chofetz Chaim teaches us that all of those who became geirim are descendants of those who, when Hashem offered the nations the Torah, had ancestors who voted yes. Unfortunately, they were outvoted.

Hashem manipulates the world so their descendants eventually find their way home.

It was a long journey from Kandilli, Bozüyük to Passaic. However, Yehudah has finally come home.

On Pesach, Yehudah sat next to me at the Seder table.

As he ate the matzah, he finally tasted true freedom.

Freedom from false beliefs and non-beliefs, freedom to publicly and proudly declare to all, “I am a Jew."

He experienced the freedom one has when they choose Torah and mitzvos over hedonistic pleasures and false faiths.

Welcome home, Yehudah, you are my brother, and I love you.

 (Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 767)