Our children’s book The Blue But­ter­fly of Cochin tells the sto­ry of the migra­tion of the Cochin Jews to Israel in the 1950s through the eyes of Leah, a young girl in the com­mu­ni­ty. Writ­ing this book was about more than just sto­ry­telling. It was impor­tant to me to high­light a less­er-known piece of his­to­ry and bring this mean­ing­ful Jew­ish nar­ra­tive to children’s lit­er­a­ture. And along the way I made some very per­son­al connections.

I am an Argen­tin­ian and His­pan­ic Jew, and an edu­ca­tor who is deeply pas­sion­ate about Jew­ish his­to­ry and untold sto­ries. In truth, my first man­u­script wasn’t about Jew­ish his­to­ry at all — it was about but­ter­flies, includ­ing a blue one, and it was meant to help chil­dren explore racial dif­fer­ences, embrace diver­si­ty, and find com­mon ground.

My focus shift­ed when Be’chol Lashon (an orga­ni­za­tion that rais­es aware­ness about the eth­nic, racial, and cul­tur­al diver­si­ty of Jew­ish iden­ti­ty and expe­ri­ence) took me under its wing through its Lead­er­ship Fel­low­ship pro­gram. Julian Voloj, the CEO, encour­aged me to weave a Jew­ish theme into my work. That sug­ges­tion set me down a new path.

While research­ing Jew­ish com­mu­ni­ties around the world, I dis­cov­ered the Jews of Cochin, India. Their his­to­ry fas­ci­nat­ed me. Dat­ing back to the time of King Solomon, they lived in har­mo­ny with their neigh­bors in India for cen­turies. But what tru­ly amazed me was their col­lec­tive deci­sion to make aliyah in the 1950s. They left every­thing behind and set­tled in the Negev.

This deci­sion con­nect­ed with me and my own fam­i­ly his­to­ry in a very per­son­al way. My grand­par­ents had made aliyah to the Negev, and my moth­er was born in Mish­mar HaNegev, just min­utes from Moshav Neva­tim, where the Cochi­ni Jews had set­tled. At that moment, I knew — mon­u­men­tal migra­tion was the sto­ry I had to tell.

I began imag­in­ing the jour­ney through the eyes of a child. What would it feel like to leave behind every­thing famil­iar — your home, your tra­di­tions, your entire world — to start over in a new land? How do you hold on to your iden­ti­ty when every­thing around you is different?

The blue but­ter­fly became a sym­bol of trans­for­ma­tion and yet also of con­ti­nu­ity; the blue but­ter­fly sig­ni­fy­ing change was the thread that con­nect­ed past and present.

As I went about con­struct­ing this sto­ry, I con­duct­ed research and I had the oppor­tu­ni­ty to speak direct­ly to mem­bers of the Cochin Jew­ish com­mu­ni­ty. Hear­ing their sto­ries, putting faces to this piece of his­to­ry — it was sur­re­al. I wasn’t just writ­ing a children’s book any­more; in a way, we were team­ing up to help pre­serve a piece of history. 

I will be for­ev­er grate­ful to The Indi­an Jew­ish Her­itage Cen­ter and the Cochin Jew­ish Her­itage Cen­ter for their invalu­able sup­port. These orga­ni­za­tions allowed me to infuse authen­tic­i­ty into the sto­ry by speak­ing with those who lived these expe­ri­ences firsthand. 

Our book launched in Israel at Mesi­lat Zion and the entire com­mu­ni­ty came togeth­er to cel­e­brate. Walk­ing into a room filled with blue but­ter­flies, the smell of Indi­an food in the air, and see­ing a rep­re­sen­ta­tive from the Indi­an embassy in Israel — it was noth­ing short of mag­i­cal. See­ing the faces of all those who had col­lab­o­rat­ed to help the book become a real­i­ty was incred­i­bly mov­ing for me.

I had the hon­or of shar­ing this moment with The Blue But­ter­fly of Cochin​’s illus­tra­tor, Siona Ben­jamin. We both had a chance to present: Siona spoke about her expe­ri­ence illus­trat­ing the book and inte­grat­ing her own per­son­al his­to­ry as a Jew and a mem­ber of the Bene Israel com­mu­ni­ty, brought up in a Hin­du and Mus­lim India and now liv­ing in New Jer­sey. I spoke about my jour­ney of writ­ing it. It was an unfor­get­table expe­ri­ence to stand togeth­er, each of us telling a dif­fer­ent part of the same sto­ry, see­ing how art and words com­bined to bring this his­to­ry to life.

The Blue But­ter­fly of Cochin is a sto­ry about home. About hold­ing onto who you are, no mat­ter where life takes you. It’s about con­nec­tion and recon­nec­tion. About the beau­ty of being two things at once — Indi­an and Jew­ish, old and new, root­ed and transformed.

While work­ing on the book, my pub­lish­er, Lili Rosen­stre­ich, and I dis­cov­ered some­thing remark­able. The blue pan­sy but­ter­fly — just like the one in the sto­ry — lives in both Israel and India. It is a species known for trav­el­ing long dis­tances. That real­iza­tion added anoth­er lay­er of mag­ic. It meant that the but­ter­fly in the sto­ry could be the same one fol­low­ing Leah on her jour­ney, or per­haps sim­ply anoth­er blue but­ter­fly wait­ing for her in Israel — a sym­bol of home, con­ti­nu­ity, and identity.

Mag­ic is an unde­ni­able com­po­nent of the book, even in con­nec­tion to the name of the main char­ac­ter — Leah. Leah was the name of my grand­moth­er, also known as Chola Raben­bach. My grand­moth­er was the sto­ry­teller of my child­hood, the one who, togeth­er with my grand­fa­ther, Natalio, inspired my con­nec­tion to Israel. They car­ried such pride and joy for Israel, such hope for the future, and such deep respect for the past they helped build. I want­ed to name my main char­ac­ter Leah in her honor.

But I wouldn’t do so unless the name tru­ly belonged to this spe­cial Cochi­ni com­mu­ni­ty. I reached out to one of its members,Tirza Lavi, who, to my amaze­ment, told me that her own mother’s name was Leah. With that con­fir­ma­tion, it was set. We had found the per­fect name.

Writ­ing The Blue But­ter­fly of Cochin rein­forced some­thing I have always believed: sto­ries are bridges. They con­nect us across time, place, and cul­ture. They remind us of where we come from and help us make sense of where we’re going. For me, this book was about hon­or­ing an impor­tant lega­cy and shar­ing a sto­ry that deserves to be heard. I hope it inspires young read­ers to explore their own her­itage, cel­e­brate diver­si­ty, and car­ry for­ward the sto­ries of the past with curios­i­ty, pride, and love.