As a child growing up in the Galut, I was not truly aware of that truth. I lived in Vienna, surrounded by a warm and embracing family, and that was my entire world. Was I different from anyone else in my class? Yes, I was. Did it disturb me? Not really, except for a few painful moments in elementary school when classmates hurled vintage Nazi curses at a boy who dared to keep his yarmulke on during our snack break.

But otherwise, we were content living in the city our parents chose for us, a place layered with history and memory, shadow and light.

Yesterday, on the plane from Washington DC to Los Angeles, I used the quiet hours in the air to catch up with my Nach Yomi. I listened to a powerful explanation of why a father blesses his children with the words, “May G-d make you like Efraim and Menashe.”

Esti Kimche of the OU speaks with a clarity that penetrates the heart. She teaches that Yaakov, before his passing, envisioned the long future of our people. He understood that just as he and his sons lived in exile, we too would one day be driven from Eretz Yisrael. When he blessed Efraim and Menashe, he was telling us: Even in the Galut you can remain like Yosef in Egypt, steadfast and faithful, walking proudly in the ways of your ancestors and in the tradition of Torah.

I am undeniably one of the fortunate ones who can make that statement. So can all my friends who grew up in postwar Vienna, carried by the strength and resilience of parents who rebuilt Jewish life out of ashes.

I am deeply thankful to my parents, who lived with the blessing that Yaakov bestowed upon his grandsons: ‎כאפרים וכמנשה

And perhaps even more powerful is the memory that my father was a Kohen. His blessings were direct, ancient, and intense, reaching us with a force that still reverberates in my soul today.

And wherever life has taken me, I have discovered the same truth: the blessing of our ancestors does not fade. It becomes the compass that always leads us back to Hashem.

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)