The Last Rabbi of Yemen: A Perilous Escape to Israel

The darkness that fell over northern Yemen that night was especially heavy. In his small home in the village of Raydah, near the capital Sana’a, Sulaiman Dahari locked himself inside and shut all the windows. The house lights had long since been turned off; only a small oil lamp cast a faint glow that slowly pushed back the shadows.

At midnight, a powerful explosion shook the village alleyways. Dahari awoke in alarm and peeked fearfully through the shuttered window. The sight before him stunned him and shook his heart.

“I saw my house beginning to burn,” he recalls. “They planted a bomb in my home and rigged it from every direction. They tried to murder me and my family.”

Peace in the village

The story of Mori (Rabbi) Sulaiman Dahari is one of Jewish courage and resilience. Until about a decade ago, he was one of the last Jews remaining in Yemen after the waves of aliyah to Israel. He served as the rabbi of Raydah, a village in Yemen’s northern province.

“Today, only four Jews remain in all of Yemen,” he says. “One of them is rotting in a Houthi prison.”

His family had previously lived in the village of Qana. He remembers village life from his childhood as colorful and beautiful: “We had a simple but very spacious house. In our yard we had a cow we milked every morning, so we could make kosher dairy foods. We had a chicken coop for eggs, and a donkey in the stable that we rode to the market to shop. In the center of the village there was a well, and every day we would ride the donkey to draw water.”

Was there a Jewish community in the village? A synagogue?

“We had a small, old synagogue built from ancient stones. On regular days we rarely had a quorum, so we usually prayed individually. On Shabbat and festivals, Jews from neighboring villages would come to complete a minyan and pray with us.”

As the Jewish population in Qana dwindled, the family moved to Raydah, where there was a more established Jewish presence — though no synagogue.

“When we arrived in Raydah, we built a synagogue ourselves so we would have a place to pray and study.”

There, Dahari served as village rabbi, shochet (ritual slaughterer), and mohel. He also served as the regional Mori, teaching boys the traditional Targum in a study room he established. Later, he opened a learning space for girls as well.

“At first I opened it just for my daughters — to give them a learning framework — but later more Jewish girls from across the village joined.”

Streets of fear

The quiet rhythm of life in Yemen shattered brutally when the Houthi rebels seized control of large regions — especially Sana’a and the north. Al-Qaeda and ISIS also established terror bases in the Aden area, and violent clashes between armed factions made civilian life unbearable.

“There was a constant sense of mortal danger in the streets,” says Dahari.

Because of the escalating threats, he decided to leave Yemen and immigrate to Israel.

“I announced that I was selling my house and property — and from that moment, the threats never stopped. Every night, letters were slipped under my door. When I opened them, I saw explicit threats against my life and the lives of my family. They wrote that I must leave them the house and go — and that if I sold it, I would die.”

How did you continue living there? Weren’t you afraid to walk outside?

“I was very afraid — and during that entire period I never left the house after early evening. Like all Jews in the village, I owned a weapon — but I did not walk with it. It was more dangerous to carry a weapon than not to.”

The last one to escape

After the assassination attempt — and after two other Jews in the village were targeted — Dahari decided to flee to Israel as quickly as possible.

“I sold the house to a Houthi — for less than half its value,” he says painfully. “I had no other choice. Either sell it to an enemy of Israel for a ridiculous price — or leave it behind to be looted. For me, abandoning it wasn’t an option.”

He began planning a covert escape route, but a series of delays emerged — the most significant being the outbreak of Yemen’s civil war.

The war began when Houthi forces stormed the presidential palace. The intervention of Arab and Muslim countries, led by Saudi Arabia, launched the military campaign known as Operation Decisive Storm.

“Much blood was spilled in the streets,” Dahari recalls.
“The Houthis did not personally harm me or my family — but because of the war, I had to wait three months before I could leave Yemen.”

Why so long?

“Because the international airport was shut down. Day and night I followed every update, until I heard that the airport had opened briefly to receive UN humanitarian aid. I seized the opportunity and rushed there.”

To reach Israel, he first flew to Jordan. After a short delay, he boarded a direct flight to Israel.

“When I stepped off the plane at Ben-Gurion Airport, I bent down and kissed the Land of Israel,” he says emotionally.

He and his wife reunited there with their children who had immigrated earlier, and they began the absorption process at the Yaelim Absorption Center in Be’er Sheva.

Do you feel a religious difference between Israel and Yemen?

“Yes,” he admits. One of the biggest differences is modesty. In Yemen, women dressed with exceptional modesty — fully covered with veils. Here it is very different. But the greatest challenge is economic. In Yemen everything was cheaper — here life is very expensive.”

And yet — you don’t regret immigrating to Israel?

“Heaven forbid — never. This was the dream of our ancestors for generations: to ascend to the Land of Israel and live among Jews. God told Abraham, ‘Arise, walk through the land… for I will give it to you,’ and it is deeply moving that we merited to come and walk upon it.”

A prisoner in a Houthi jail

His arrival in Israel was not the only emotional chapter — he also succeeded in smuggling out an ancient Torah scroll nearly 800 years old.

“It was no longer kosher for reading, because over the years some letters had faded — but that is a defect that can be repaired. And beyond that — the scroll holds immense emotional value. For generations it served the Jews of Raydah.”

His story eventually reached the office of Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, who invited him to a special meeting, during which the Torah scroll was displayed.

“At first I didn’t want to go. I was afraid that pictures from the meeting would endanger the Jews who remained in Yemen.”

His fears proved justified.

The meeting — intended to be private — became publicized internationally. Photos reached Iran and provoked anger, and shortly afterward the Houthis arrested Dahari’s neighbor, accusing him of helping smuggle historic property out of Yemen.

“He didn’t help me with the Torah scroll at all,” says Dahari.
“He only helped me pack some belongings before I left.”

You feel deep pain over him.

“Of course,” he says — and the pain can be heard in his voice.

“For ten years now he has languished in a Houthi prison, with no sign of hope. I personally appealed to Houthi leaders begging them to release him, but it didn’t help. Our only hope is our faith — we are believers, the children of believers — and miracles can happen at any moment."