I walked into the synagogue, as I have on hundreds of other Friday nights throughout my life. Except this time, I was quickly approached by an elderly man wielding a six-foot staff who immediately questioned whether I was in the right place, or whether I was looking for another synagogue. After confirming that this was the Ethiopian synagogue, I affirmed that indeed, it was my intended destination. I was then asked my name, origin and purpose in being there. After explaining I merely desired to pray the evening service together with them, I was welcomed in warmly.