by Antonio Napoli

Under the relentless sun of Sudan, the Jewish fortress of Qasr al-Yahud stood firm against the siege.
For weeks, the enemy had tightened their ranks around the walls, cutting off access to water and supplies. Yet, inside, life continued with the same discipline of the Law. Justice had to be administered.

That morning, for the first time since the siege began, a capital sentence was carried out. A man, guilty of treason, was stoned and then hung from a post—a warning to anyone who might think of following his example. But the Law was clear: “You shall not leave his body hanging on the gallows overnight; you shall bury him the same day, for a hanged man is accursed by God.” The rabbi of the fortress was troubled: there was no cemetery within the walls, and the danger was imminent.

The night before, he had a dream. A goat held a scroll in its teeth—the very same Torah scroll kept in the fortress’s synagogue. The rabbi felt that this day would be fateful. The enemy would take no prisoners. If the city fell, the sacred texts would be burned, and the memory of the people would be lost. The Torah had to be saved—but how?

A thought struck him: those inside the siege want to get out, those outside want to get in. The only way to pass the scroll beyond the walls was to hide it inside the traitor’s coffin and have it carried out by a young man on a camel. In return, the besiegers would be allowed to send one of their own inside, under the promise that not a single hair on his head would be harmed.

The enemies agreed. The coffin was loaded onto a camel, and the young man set off, leading it beyond the walls. But as soon as they were far enough, the besiegers broke their pact. One of them shouted, “Kill the boy, keep the camel, and burn the coffin!” The young man was struck down with a spear. Then, a fire was lit, but the camel, terrified by the flames, bolted and fled.

Inside the fortress, the rabbi soon realized the deception: the man the besiegers had sent in was not a warrior but a sick slave, carrying a plague that would soon spread among the besieged. Yet, he did not despair. He gathered in prayer.

And then the miracle happened. The camel, in its frantic gallop, climbed a steep path. The coffin came loose and tumbled onto the rocks, breaking open. The corpse was carried away by the river’s current, but the Torah scroll—safely enclosed in a wooden case and wrapped in fine cloth—slid onto a grassy field where a goat was drinking. The animal seized it in its teeth and dragged it back to the flock.

The shepherd, curious about the object, sold it to a merchant, who in turn sold it to another trader. The scroll traveled from hand to hand, crossing the desert and bustling markets until it reached a small community that, over time, had almost forgotten its origins. When the scroll was unrolled, an elder recognized the sacred words.

The Sefer Torah, the impregnable fortress of faith, had come home.