WASHINGTON-If every day in Washington could be like Inauguration Day, then Moshiach (the Messiah) would surely be coming. What kindness, what reaching out to one another, what an incredible sense of love and unity!

The atmosphere was filled with an unparalleled quiet outpouring of caring and consideration the likes of which I've only seen comparable in the Holy City of Jerusalem, may it stay safe, whole and united, in all ways.

"Free at last" manifested itself on Inauguration Day as an unbelievably kinder, gentler District of Columbia, overwhelmingly so.

There was a sense of African Americans being able to breathe, to stand up straight, shoulder to shoulder with the rest of the world and to reach out to others from a full and open heart. The sun filled day abounded with a sense of unity and loving equality as never before. Please G-d may it continue.

I went to the inauguration despite enormous fears, particularly having been in a terrorist attack eleven years ago-large crowds are not very relaxing for me. But I went-I went because G-d unexpectedly sent me credentials and invitations to two Jewish inaugural balls.

I went because a Jewish young woman I never met heard I was looking for a place to stay and gave me her D.C. apartment for free, calling me gleefully with, "the Jewish network works again. Stay at my apartment, eat anything, use anything ..." And several days later, when I went to get her a thank you gift, she said, "please just make a donation to tzedakah instead. Bikkur Cholim (helping the sick) would be nice."

I later found out that this lovely person had advertised to sublet her place for thousands of dollars for the inauguration. Yet because I was a friend of a friend, her home was my home. I am in awe of her fulfillment of the mitzvah of Hochnassas Orchim, welcoming guests. Her generosity to give me her studio apartment while she went to visit her folks is stunning.

So I went because G-d unfolded the red carpet before me. The hashgacha pratit, Divine intervention, was unmistakable. On arrival to pick up my credentials, I learned that my ticket for the inauguration was for a seat a few yards from President Obama. I felt like Cinderella.

But this was no fairy tale. This is real life and I knew I had to overcome my terror and go for so many people who have played such integral roles in my life.

I had to go for Mattie Williams from South Carolina who was my family's housekeeper for 45 years and who my mother referred to as her best friend and confidante. Though my mother had many siblings and all of them were extremely close, it was Mattie with whom she could let her hair down and speak openly. It was Mattie she trusted to care for her when she was ill and it was Mattie who she asked to move in with my father when my mother knew her own demise was imminent. And Mattie did care for him and treated him with the utmost consideration and respect.

Mattie was truly a southern mammy, never hesitating to tell me what she thought of my appearance, my love life, my cleaning abilities, in essence, everything. She would put her hands on her hips and let me have it right between the eyes.

Mattie took three buses to get to and from our house. She referred to herself as a "poor old black woman with no education" and as she ironed in the basement, she sang spirituals with a faith that would lift my soul. I am sure that my becoming an observant Jew was in no small part because of Mattie's upbeat temperament and unswerving faith in the face of constant adversity.

I went to the inauguration for Albert, the man who cut the grass, who was always so grateful for my relative's offering of sandwich and iced tea, especially because she gave it to him in a cup; most customers gave it to him in jar.

I went for LaTanya, who I met when we were 14 years old. LaTanya, my best friend from high school, whose father had served in the American military, stationed in France. LaTanya had the privilege of attending French schools, studying ballet and the arts and arrived in an East coast public high school in the middle of the race riots at the end of the 1960s.

We attended a school built for a thousand, which instead had three thousand students. The dark halls were seething with rage and hostility and people shooting up-both drugs and guns. Security simply couldn't keep up with what went on in that hellish place-the razor blades in the desks, the knifings on the stairways.

The school was 88 percent Black, 10 percent Jewish and 2 percent other. Despite the roiling tension, the Blacks took Hebrew, and the Jews took Swahili. None of us cared to further our studies in French, Spanish and the other regular languages offered at the school. The Blacks took off for Jewish holidays and the Jews took off for Martin Luther King's birthday and this was way before it was a national holiday.

When LaTanya and I would walk down the hall between classes, the Black students would yell, "Whatcha doin' with that honkey, mama?" And Latanya would pirouette, spinning to look at me and ask, "what is a honkey? And why are they calling me Mama (with her French accent) when I do not have children?"

My dear friend LaTanya who profusely apologized to me when she got into Yale and I was wait-listed, even though we had the same GPAs, the exact same SATs and pretty much the same recommendations. "I'm so sorry, you know it's because of affirmative action-my being black and female."

Thank G-d she graduated from Yale while her brother continues to serve his prison term for rape and murder. "We are the prototypical black family of the 60s," she often says. LaTanya is now ill and was unable to bring her adolescent daughters to the inauguration.

And then I went for my dear friend from college, Denise. She is half Black and half Puerto Rican. She came to college from Puerto Rico at age 16, shortly after her parents' divorce, with Spanish as her first language. We were both pre-med. I struggled just to keep up with studies; Denise took notes in Spanish, came back to her dorm room and translated everything into English and then pored over her textbooks when even the most studious of us were tucked in for the night.

I am so very proud to say that she is now a doctor and the director of a major hospital and has a beautiful marriage and family. When her daughter recently graduated from law school, mother and daughter celebrated by going to Italy for a vacation. This from a born again Christian girl who taught me to prepare kosher rice and beans and arroz con pollo and platanos and sofrito in the dorm basement kitchen as she counted her pennies.

And who was regarded by the Blacks on campus as one of them when, in truth, she really didn't fit in with any group. But she persevered. I don't know where she got that determination. But it wasn't just the determination, it was and is that she always does what she does with diligence, yes, and yet, with great grace, humor and confidence, Despite her prestigious job, she was unable to get a ticket to the inauguration, though it would have meant the world to her to be there.

When I got cold feet before the inauguration, she emailed me a loving message to get off my duff and be there for her and her family and all who didn't have a ticket to witness history in the making.

And am I glad I went! For it was a day like no other. What started out as gray and overcast became a sun dappled and radiant day.

In making my way to and from the inauguration, I met a myriad of people from all over: a young reporter and her mom from Cape Cod who were thrilled that her ticket was for standing room over at Union Station; two Native American women from the Yakama nation in Washington state, weary women who, nevertheless, were full of hope that this new administration would be forthcoming regarding funds promised by their treaty with the U.S. which have been withheld since 1855; a cab driver from Ghana named Joseph, who was expert at navigating the packed and cordoned off streets of the city. He was calm and gentle in the midst of the millions of people surging from all over. This profoundly beautiful man who said, "yes, it is nice that G-d has put Mr. Obama in the White House. Now let's see how G-d will work through him. It is G-d who runs the world. He has the whole world in His hands." When I paid Joseph, he handed me back money saying, "You are paying me too much."

I know. Have you ever heard of such a thing?

I spoke with Americans from California and Atlanta and Florida and Michigan and North Carolina.

And as I made my way to the Capitol, I laughed and cried as an elderly black lady who was walking in front of me, arms outstretched, head to the sky, gently sang, "We have overcome today."

Wherever I went, people struck up conversations with strangers, helping each other navigate stairways, running after someone who had dropped a glove or lost a Blackberry, ripping off seating signs for each other after the ceremony as mementoes to this glorious, rarified day in which random acts of kindness and brotherhood with the family of man abounded.

I also especially loved the old black t-shirt vendor who winked at me and smilingly sang, "we are family" as he wrapped the shirts, having given me, the only white person standing at the table at the time, a discount that he offered no one else, "cause you make me happy."

As a Jew, I was happy to see Senator Dianne Feinstein presiding over the ceremonies. And I was moved that Jewish violinist Itzhak Perlman performed during them. This was especially meaningful for me because my father, may his memory be for a blessing, the concert master of a JCC orchestra, introduced and accompanied a teenage Perlman at the soon to be virtuoso's debut American concert.

When Reverend Rick Warren gave the invocation at the inaugural ceremonies, he intoned the words of the Shema, "Hear O Israel, the L-rd our G-d the L-rd is one."

It felt that we were all one. All two million souls gathered together on the National Mall between the Capitol and the Washington Monument. It was a sea of love, truly a rainbow of diversity coming together in hopeful unity.

Reverend Warren continued, "Almighty G-d, Our Father, everything we see and everything we can't see exists because of You alone. It all comes from You, it all belongs to You, it all exists for Your glory. History is your story. You are the compassionate and merciful one and You are loving to everyone You have made."

I pray we may all share our loving oneness while recognizing the oneness of our loving G-d.

And I was so touched by Reverend Joseph Lowery's benediction, "G-d of our weary years, G-d of our silent tears, Thou, who has by Thy might led us into the light, keep us forever in the path we pray ... Our faith does not shrink though pressed by the flood of mortal ills. For we know that L-rd, You are able and you' re willing to work ... to restore stability, mend our brokenness, heal our wounds ... And as we leave this mountaintop, help us to hold onto the spirit of fellowship and the oneness of our family. Let us take that power back to our homes, our workplaces, our ... temples ... or wherever we seek Your will ..."

As President Obama said in his inaugural address, "The time has come to reaffirm our enduring spirit; to choose our better history; to carry forward that precious gift, that noble idea, passed on from generation to generation: the G-d-given promise that all are equal, all are free, and all deserve a chance to pursue their full measure of happiness."

So after a very happy but very long and chilly trek back towards the apartment, I stopped into a Starbucks to warm up and get some tea. The barista and I, two women close in age, struck up a conversation. She confided that she is from Michigan and had moved to DC to make money to try to save her two properties from foreclosure.

Jane works six days a week as a dental hygienist and then each night at Starbucks. If she has time off, she works as a substitute teacher. She averages four hours of sleep each night and says, "But I'm not tired. I'm happy. I' m making progress to save my properties. I run a bed and breakfast in Manistee, Michigan. It's called LadyJane's Bed and Breakfast."

(Sure enough, I looked it up on the web and there it is.) I felt blessed that we so warmly connected and that I got to share a bit of her history, her courage, fears and dreams. Jane walked me to the door of the bustling coffee shop and we hugged goodbye.

As I walked away with a smile on my face and a heart full of gratitude, I suddenly realized that this day, in all its multi-colored and multi-faceted prismatics, was a microcosm amazingly representing the best ideals of the Obama administration.