I'm in a place I've never been before. I've always been a "Good Girl"; a "Good Christian" and growing up in the South, in the Bible Belt, that was considered a good thing. Now, in the last couple of weeks I have read various articles by Jewish people that have painted me, Ms. Evangelical Christian, in a horrible light. I'm not used to being viewed as the bad guy and I don't like it.
The first was an editorial entitled "A Special Place in Hell". It was a scathing commentary on Christians and Messianic Jews who attempt to convert Jews to Christianity. This weekend I read two more teachings by a rabbi who seems to have every Christian's motives and tactics figured out. The teachings were a little more academic, yet full of animosity and reproach. This one really bothered me. I kept thinking about it all this morning and then when I went to check out my blog there was a comment on a post inviting an open discussion about the very same thing. God has a way of getting our attention.
On "Converting the Jews", I don't have some kind of secret agenda--at least not one that I'm aware of. What I do have is an inexplicable love in my heart for this people group. So much so that I quit my nice comfy job, sold most of my belongings and moved to Israel so that I could "comfort His people and speak tenderly to Jerusalem..." Isaiah 40:1-2. I came here to bless and to serve, not to accuse and try to change. I don't want to see people lose their Jewishness; I don't want them to cease to exist as a nation; I want God to redeem all the years that have been eaten away by the locusts (Joel 2). I want them to survive and come shining through; to always be able to say, "Hear O Israel, the Lord thy God is One God."
My heart hurts so badly when I think about the things that the Jewish people have walked through, and I'm not just talking about the Holocaust, although that was bad enough... It started way before that. Just look up Jewish persecution on the web some time -- from Pharoah to the Babylonians to the Romans and then the Crusades; the Ottomons, the Spanish Inquisition, the pogroms in Russia and Poland, through the Holocaust to the current situation with radical Islam wanting to wipe the Jews off the face of the earth. It's overwhelming, and I want to do everything in my power to say, "I'm sorry. Oh my sweet God in Heaven, I am soooo sorry for everything that you have walked through! What can I do to make life better for you?"
My dear friend Racheli called today. Her oldest brother lives in the North. He refuses to leave there, even though he is extremely close to where the rockets are landing. His daughter is in the military guarding the border, doing her job to protect her people. Her Abba (Daddy) is not leaving her. And I'm not leaving them because I know my Father in Heaven is not leaving me either. Racheli mentioned that this war is hurting us; that people aren't coming into the country because of it. I told her that I'm still here, and so is everybody that I work with. We're not leaving.
I feel for those soldiers. I pray for them daily; for their safety and supernatural wisdom and discernment. I'm also trying to do practical stuff for them as well. Last weekend I volunteered to help pack goody baskets for the soldiers on the front line, and I prayed over every one; that it would be a blessing to the person receiving it, and that he or she would receive it and know that somebody out there cares and loves them and is thankful for what they are doing.
This post was supposed to be about the issue of Christians trying to convert the Jews. I don't think it came out the way I expected, but it has shown me that I really needed to search my heart and weigh my motives. I think the above outpouring is the result of that. I don't want to defend myself or Christians who truly believe that they are doing what God has called them to do. When God calls someone to a certain task, then it is up to God to defend them in it. He's a lot more capable of it than I am. I just needed to figure out where my heart is, and I think I have done that.
Jennifer--I don't know if this is the kind of dialog you want or expect, but it's what is in my heart. And I pray that nothing will be able to shake you in your faith; that you will stand so strongly that if anyone did pray for your conversion from your faith that it would just be like tumbleweeds drifting along in the breeze but unable to move you in any way (Reference Psalm 83). I love it that you and your dad are having good discussions about sticky topics; may God bless your relationship with him and give you two many, many precious times together.
Monday, July 31, 2006
Thursday, July 27, 2006
face to face with a lot of things
When you're young in America, you never wonder IF you'll have a car when you grow up; you wonder what KIND of car you'll have. My niece just graduated from high school and got a green VW Beetle. I'm totally jealous, because that is the car I've been praying for.
I never thought my life would turn out the way it did. That's not regret talking, just me realizing a few things. Actually, my life turned out so much better than I ever thought it would, but there are still some things I definitely feel are missing.
For example, I never, ever thought I would live this long without getting married and having a family. I find myself thinking a lot these days as I'm quickly approaching my fourth decade of life that it's too late. It must not be what God has planned for me. If that is His will, that's okay. It just makes me a little sad. I always wanted six boys. Well, with Sandra's four and one on the way that could possibly be another boy, I guess I can live vicarously through them. But as much as I love them and would lay down my life for them, it's still not the same.
And growing up I never dreamed that I would actually live in a foreign country. And not have a steady income. And not have a car. And feel illiterate most of the time (I used to think I was smart!). And live in a city so frequently threatened by suicide bombers and a country hated by most of the world.
Growing up in the South, I was well acquainted with predjudice against people, especially African Americans (which is not the term we used growing up). But I really never knew how deep the hatred could run until I came to Israel. It goes beyond any logic or reason I can muster in my brain. It just doesn't make sense to me to hate someone just because of their ethnic background. At least that's what I thought until a couple of days ago.
I'm a hypoctrite. I got on the Number 14 bus to go to work out the other day and came face to face with an Arab woman. She was a beautiful, young, smiling woman. And the first thing I did was to look her up and down to try and determine whether or not she could be sporting a bomb. She was pretty slim—no bulging explosives anywhere, so I just made my way past her and towards the back of the bus. My mind just kept reeling with the news stories I had just been reading about young Arab women deciding to join in the fight against Jews and Christians by forming suicide brigades. I kept praying and watching her and trying to figure out what an Arab woman would be doing on that particular bus, going from one Jewish area to another. I had just about made my mind up to get off at the next stop when she got off instead.
So there it is. I was hit hard by my own predjudice, my own media influenced thought patterns. Not every Arab is a murderer. Not every Arab wants to kill all the Jews and Christians. It's just the ones who do want it that make the news. It's so hard. I feel so called to the Jewish people in particular and have tried to educate myself on their history and their culture, and unfortunately with that, I have developed a horrible predjudice against Arabs. I tell myself that I bless those who are called to love the Arab people; and then justify myself by saying that I'm not called to them and want nothing to do with them.
God needs to do some work in my heart. I have no idea how to judge rightly in this situation. I need to have a heart of compassion for these people and I just don't have that right now. I know that they are going through very tough times, and I would truly hate to be in their shoes. I just don't know that I can be neutral. I've always had such a competitive spirit; I don't know that it's in me to not choose sides. Even as I say that, I'm realizing that it's okay to choose sides; I just need to see that the true battle is a spiritual one, and it's easy to take the right side in that. I just have to keep reminding myself that the battle belongs to the Lord. His is the victory, no matter what the battle may look like here on earth, He will reign victorious.
As for the other ponderings about my life and how it's turning out, well, that battle belongs to the Lord as well. I confess I have been feeling a bit defeated lately. But you know that David often felt that way as well, crying out to God and asking why the wicked prosper. But it's all in the perspective — like the parable of Lazarus, the rich guy who died and went to hell. He received his reward in full while he was on the earth; but he suffered through eternity after that. Life on earth is just a vapor, just a breath and then we go on. And after that, we go on and on and on—so far that our finite little minds can't even begin to comprehend it. I have to say that although the battle is stong sometimes, I'd much rather receive my reward in heaven than to have it briefly here and then burn for eternity. I just need to keep setting my mind on the things above.
I have so much to be thankful for. I don't know how I dare to complain at all. Forgive me, Lord. Look beyond my imperfection to what You have meant for me all along—that one day I will see You face to face and then I will be as You have intended since before I was formed in my mother's womb. Until then, I'll just keep going, sometimes stumbling and sometimes sprinting, but hopefully always moving on towards You.
I never thought my life would turn out the way it did. That's not regret talking, just me realizing a few things. Actually, my life turned out so much better than I ever thought it would, but there are still some things I definitely feel are missing.
For example, I never, ever thought I would live this long without getting married and having a family. I find myself thinking a lot these days as I'm quickly approaching my fourth decade of life that it's too late. It must not be what God has planned for me. If that is His will, that's okay. It just makes me a little sad. I always wanted six boys. Well, with Sandra's four and one on the way that could possibly be another boy, I guess I can live vicarously through them. But as much as I love them and would lay down my life for them, it's still not the same.
And growing up I never dreamed that I would actually live in a foreign country. And not have a steady income. And not have a car. And feel illiterate most of the time (I used to think I was smart!). And live in a city so frequently threatened by suicide bombers and a country hated by most of the world.
Growing up in the South, I was well acquainted with predjudice against people, especially African Americans (which is not the term we used growing up). But I really never knew how deep the hatred could run until I came to Israel. It goes beyond any logic or reason I can muster in my brain. It just doesn't make sense to me to hate someone just because of their ethnic background. At least that's what I thought until a couple of days ago.
I'm a hypoctrite. I got on the Number 14 bus to go to work out the other day and came face to face with an Arab woman. She was a beautiful, young, smiling woman. And the first thing I did was to look her up and down to try and determine whether or not she could be sporting a bomb. She was pretty slim—no bulging explosives anywhere, so I just made my way past her and towards the back of the bus. My mind just kept reeling with the news stories I had just been reading about young Arab women deciding to join in the fight against Jews and Christians by forming suicide brigades. I kept praying and watching her and trying to figure out what an Arab woman would be doing on that particular bus, going from one Jewish area to another. I had just about made my mind up to get off at the next stop when she got off instead.
So there it is. I was hit hard by my own predjudice, my own media influenced thought patterns. Not every Arab is a murderer. Not every Arab wants to kill all the Jews and Christians. It's just the ones who do want it that make the news. It's so hard. I feel so called to the Jewish people in particular and have tried to educate myself on their history and their culture, and unfortunately with that, I have developed a horrible predjudice against Arabs. I tell myself that I bless those who are called to love the Arab people; and then justify myself by saying that I'm not called to them and want nothing to do with them.
God needs to do some work in my heart. I have no idea how to judge rightly in this situation. I need to have a heart of compassion for these people and I just don't have that right now. I know that they are going through very tough times, and I would truly hate to be in their shoes. I just don't know that I can be neutral. I've always had such a competitive spirit; I don't know that it's in me to not choose sides. Even as I say that, I'm realizing that it's okay to choose sides; I just need to see that the true battle is a spiritual one, and it's easy to take the right side in that. I just have to keep reminding myself that the battle belongs to the Lord. His is the victory, no matter what the battle may look like here on earth, He will reign victorious.
As for the other ponderings about my life and how it's turning out, well, that battle belongs to the Lord as well. I confess I have been feeling a bit defeated lately. But you know that David often felt that way as well, crying out to God and asking why the wicked prosper. But it's all in the perspective — like the parable of Lazarus, the rich guy who died and went to hell. He received his reward in full while he was on the earth; but he suffered through eternity after that. Life on earth is just a vapor, just a breath and then we go on. And after that, we go on and on and on—so far that our finite little minds can't even begin to comprehend it. I have to say that although the battle is stong sometimes, I'd much rather receive my reward in heaven than to have it briefly here and then burn for eternity. I just need to keep setting my mind on the things above.
I have so much to be thankful for. I don't know how I dare to complain at all. Forgive me, Lord. Look beyond my imperfection to what You have meant for me all along—that one day I will see You face to face and then I will be as You have intended since before I was formed in my mother's womb. Until then, I'll just keep going, sometimes stumbling and sometimes sprinting, but hopefully always moving on towards You.
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
are you happy?
I cannot believe how disconnected I have felt, not being able to get on-line at home. But my little MacBaby came home today from the MacDoctor and all is well again!
An interesting thing happened the other day. That day I had been praying that God would direct my steps. I actually try to pray that every day, and so I trust that He will guide me wherever I need to be. So I was walking home at about 6:00ish and a car pulled up beside me and the guy started talking to me in Hebrew. (This is quite common here; people are usually asking for directions.) I told him I didn't speak Hebrew, and he said, "Are you happy?" That took me a little by surprise, but the conversation went something like this:
"Yes, I'm happy."
"Why are you happy?"
"Because I love God with all my heart."
"Do you have time to talk to me for a few minutes before you go shopping?"
"I'm not going shopping, and yes, I have a few minutes."
So I stood there talking to this guy for quite some time. He had gone to the hospital to see someone that day and asked a guy he met there if he was happy. The guy tried to give him some kind of formula for happiness, some penitent recitals and other things to do. This guy didn't think that would bring him happiness. He felt that God was upset with him and so he was not happy right now. And he wanted to be happy.
He asked me where I was from and what I was doing here. I told him that I was volunteering for Bridges for Peace, helping the people of the land. He asked if all of the people there were Jewish. I said, "No, we're Christians." He suddenly developed this shocked look on his face and said, "You're not Jewish?!" Nope. Then very quietly, he said, "I've read the New Testament. But I don't believe it." The street was kinda busy and I could tell that he didn't want anyone to hear him say that. I told him that was okay, I'm not here to try to convert anyone; I'm here to love and help the Jewish people."
The thing you have to know that is the whole time I'm talking to the guy, I'm praying like crazy to the Lord for him! But with Jewish people, it is so easy to turn them away before you ever get started. Their biggest fear is annhilation as a people and they see that it could happen in two ways: 1) they are literally killed off, as attempted by Hitler and the Crusaders and other persecuters through the years, and 2) through conversion or turning away from their Jewishness. This is not a people that you can just rattle off the sinner's prayer to; this is a people who have been butchered and humiliated and persecuted in the Name of Jesus for 2000 years. They will know we are Christians by seeing us walk out our love for Him, them and each other. It's as simple as that.
So I kept talking to the guy and finally agreed to meet him a little later to talk some more. He wanted me to bring my Bible. I did some praying and thinking before I met him, and I realized a very important thing: I am happy (at peace) because I know that I am forgiven; that there's nothing that I can mess up so badly that God is not able and willing to redeem. This is the way that I began my conversation with him and I ended up talking to him for a couple of hours about Yeshua (Jesus). He had great questions and was not trying to prove me wrong, and I wasn't trying to prove him wrong; we were just trying to understand one another. I was really put to the test and I'm not sure how I did. No doubt I didn't do the best job of explaining things, but he could tell that I really believed what I was saying and he seemed to like that. He asked me to pray for him and I did. In the Name of Jesus. Who knows? I may never see this guy again, but I pray that he finds his peace in Jesus, the only Name that is able to save him.
I did feel like I had some insight, but he stumped me on a couple of things. He said that they don't believe that Messiah will be God incarnate. Why would God need to come to the earth? He's God. He's the big boss. How could God be Yeshua's father? God is spirit, not flesh. I had some okay answers... Wasn't that God's original plan in the garden of Eden? To come down to earth to walk with Adam and Eve in the cool of the evening; to fellowship with the humans He created? Once we blew it, He made an alternative plan of salvation/atonement for His children; first through the blood sacrifices in the Tabernacle and then the Temple. Then Yeshua became that perfect sacrifice for us; He shed His blood so we would no longer rely on animals and the law to make ourselves holy; now we could be holy through His sacrifice. And on God being His father? Who was Adam's father? Elohim. Why can He be Adam's father and not Yeshua's? The Prophets foretold that He would be born of a virgin; doesn't it make sense that God would be His father?
On and on we talked. He asked me what I do to prepare for prayer? Do I wash my hands? Where do I recite the prayers from? Do I wear a cross? These questions revealed a lot to me about our differences. I pray constantly, when I get up in the morning, walking to work, reading the news, going to the store, even now as I write. I once read "Practicing the Presence of God" by Brother Lawrence. It changed my life. Basically, Brother Lawrence tried to consciously think about God and talk to him all the time; to try to not go an hour without centering on God. He said he often failed, but would just keep trying when he realized his mind had strayed. This conversation I had made me realize how personal my relationship is WITH God. I think that was a big difference—he was relating TO God, and that in a more impersonal way—by reciting prayers, washing his hands before praying, going to the synagogue, etc.
It totally has to be the Holy Spirit that draws men to believe in Jesus. I can't talk someone into it—it doesn't last that way. But when the Spirit beckons, it's real. I pray so much for God to reveal Himself to the people here. When I walk through the park in the morning and I see workers there cleaning up the trash, or I get on the bus and see so many faces going here and there, I pray God's blessing on their lives. Then I do what I can, whether it's just a smile or giving my seat to someone on the bus. I believe that when Jesus walked here 2000 years ago, He could just melt a heart with one glance of His eyes. We have the same Holy Spirit that He has. We have that power in us, to look through the eyes of love and see beyond what the world sees. And that's the kind of love that will change lives forever. Amen!
An interesting thing happened the other day. That day I had been praying that God would direct my steps. I actually try to pray that every day, and so I trust that He will guide me wherever I need to be. So I was walking home at about 6:00ish and a car pulled up beside me and the guy started talking to me in Hebrew. (This is quite common here; people are usually asking for directions.) I told him I didn't speak Hebrew, and he said, "Are you happy?" That took me a little by surprise, but the conversation went something like this:
"Yes, I'm happy."
"Why are you happy?"
"Because I love God with all my heart."
"Do you have time to talk to me for a few minutes before you go shopping?"
"I'm not going shopping, and yes, I have a few minutes."
So I stood there talking to this guy for quite some time. He had gone to the hospital to see someone that day and asked a guy he met there if he was happy. The guy tried to give him some kind of formula for happiness, some penitent recitals and other things to do. This guy didn't think that would bring him happiness. He felt that God was upset with him and so he was not happy right now. And he wanted to be happy.
He asked me where I was from and what I was doing here. I told him that I was volunteering for Bridges for Peace, helping the people of the land. He asked if all of the people there were Jewish. I said, "No, we're Christians." He suddenly developed this shocked look on his face and said, "You're not Jewish?!" Nope. Then very quietly, he said, "I've read the New Testament. But I don't believe it." The street was kinda busy and I could tell that he didn't want anyone to hear him say that. I told him that was okay, I'm not here to try to convert anyone; I'm here to love and help the Jewish people."
The thing you have to know that is the whole time I'm talking to the guy, I'm praying like crazy to the Lord for him! But with Jewish people, it is so easy to turn them away before you ever get started. Their biggest fear is annhilation as a people and they see that it could happen in two ways: 1) they are literally killed off, as attempted by Hitler and the Crusaders and other persecuters through the years, and 2) through conversion or turning away from their Jewishness. This is not a people that you can just rattle off the sinner's prayer to; this is a people who have been butchered and humiliated and persecuted in the Name of Jesus for 2000 years. They will know we are Christians by seeing us walk out our love for Him, them and each other. It's as simple as that.
So I kept talking to the guy and finally agreed to meet him a little later to talk some more. He wanted me to bring my Bible. I did some praying and thinking before I met him, and I realized a very important thing: I am happy (at peace) because I know that I am forgiven; that there's nothing that I can mess up so badly that God is not able and willing to redeem. This is the way that I began my conversation with him and I ended up talking to him for a couple of hours about Yeshua (Jesus). He had great questions and was not trying to prove me wrong, and I wasn't trying to prove him wrong; we were just trying to understand one another. I was really put to the test and I'm not sure how I did. No doubt I didn't do the best job of explaining things, but he could tell that I really believed what I was saying and he seemed to like that. He asked me to pray for him and I did. In the Name of Jesus. Who knows? I may never see this guy again, but I pray that he finds his peace in Jesus, the only Name that is able to save him.
I did feel like I had some insight, but he stumped me on a couple of things. He said that they don't believe that Messiah will be God incarnate. Why would God need to come to the earth? He's God. He's the big boss. How could God be Yeshua's father? God is spirit, not flesh. I had some okay answers... Wasn't that God's original plan in the garden of Eden? To come down to earth to walk with Adam and Eve in the cool of the evening; to fellowship with the humans He created? Once we blew it, He made an alternative plan of salvation/atonement for His children; first through the blood sacrifices in the Tabernacle and then the Temple. Then Yeshua became that perfect sacrifice for us; He shed His blood so we would no longer rely on animals and the law to make ourselves holy; now we could be holy through His sacrifice. And on God being His father? Who was Adam's father? Elohim. Why can He be Adam's father and not Yeshua's? The Prophets foretold that He would be born of a virgin; doesn't it make sense that God would be His father?
On and on we talked. He asked me what I do to prepare for prayer? Do I wash my hands? Where do I recite the prayers from? Do I wear a cross? These questions revealed a lot to me about our differences. I pray constantly, when I get up in the morning, walking to work, reading the news, going to the store, even now as I write. I once read "Practicing the Presence of God" by Brother Lawrence. It changed my life. Basically, Brother Lawrence tried to consciously think about God and talk to him all the time; to try to not go an hour without centering on God. He said he often failed, but would just keep trying when he realized his mind had strayed. This conversation I had made me realize how personal my relationship is WITH God. I think that was a big difference—he was relating TO God, and that in a more impersonal way—by reciting prayers, washing his hands before praying, going to the synagogue, etc.
It totally has to be the Holy Spirit that draws men to believe in Jesus. I can't talk someone into it—it doesn't last that way. But when the Spirit beckons, it's real. I pray so much for God to reveal Himself to the people here. When I walk through the park in the morning and I see workers there cleaning up the trash, or I get on the bus and see so many faces going here and there, I pray God's blessing on their lives. Then I do what I can, whether it's just a smile or giving my seat to someone on the bus. I believe that when Jesus walked here 2000 years ago, He could just melt a heart with one glance of His eyes. We have the same Holy Spirit that He has. We have that power in us, to look through the eyes of love and see beyond what the world sees. And that's the kind of love that will change lives forever. Amen!
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
war & peace
I'm fine. Mostly. Thanks for asking (all of you who did.)
I haven't been writing here because my Mac at home has decided to be a little obstinate and not work anymore. He got sent to the MacDoctor today. I have to confess that it was a little hard to hand off my baby to a complete stranger who couldn't speak English very well. Sigh. I must remember Who's in control.
I am a little distracted lately. Hmmm. Could it be that the itsy bitsy country that I am living in and love with all my heart is at war? The latest is that foreign airlines are in the process of deciding whether or not to stop flights to/from Tel Aviv. Hizbollah has threatened to give Tel Aviv residents a one-hour warning so that they can evacuate before they start bombarding the city with rockets. I find that very interesting. Since when have terrorists EVER given anyone a warning before terrorizing? Something's fishy there. Of course, if they can get the airlines to stop coming in, it will cripple the already fragile tourist trade here. Or maybe there's something else up their sleeves—who knows? Well, God knows, of course and He is still on the throne and I totally trust Him.
Friday night I went to my friend Racheli's for my first Shabat dinner with a real Jewish family. Her family is religous and so it was quite an experience of new things for me. It was her parents, two brothers, one sister, one Ultra-Orthodox nephew, two (huge) dogs, two cats and about 28 birds of varying species. I love that family so much, even though the communication is still really difficult as most of them speak very limited English and well, I'm slowly working on my Hebrew. Every time I said a word in Hebrew, they all clapped for me. It reminded me of the first time I ever went bowling. After 8 straight gutterballs, I finally managed to get that stupid ball to connect with some of the pins and everybody in the place started clapping for me. I don't bowl anymore.
But I have matured a bit since my bowling debut, and am committed to keep learning the language no matter how much I'm laughed at. It's so hard though. Today when the guy from the Mac repair place came, he called my cell and told me he was at the door (he wasn't). I asked if he was at the car gate and used the Hebrew word for car. I have no idea what he said after that. If you say one word in Hebrew, they assume that you can speak it and then it's all over for me.
So anyway, back to Friday night dinner. There are so many laws that they have to follow! First they started turning out the lights that they wouldn't need on Shabat; evidently it's against the law to flip the switch on Shabat. Then there was the blessing of the wine. They all drank out of the same cup, but gave me my own little, not quite as pretty cup. I felt like I should be screaming "Unclean, Unclean!" Then we had the ceremonial hand-washing and I finally found out what those funny, two-handled mugs were for. Back to the table and the blessing of the bread. That was cool. Then out came the food. And it just kept coming. I haven't seen that much food since Mama used to cook suppper for my brother and his football buddies from college. Her mom pouted a bit because she thought I wasn't eating enough. Good grief! How do they eat soooo much??
It was a fun evening though, and I was glad to get to talk to the nephew some. Ultra-Orthodox guys are not supposed to talk to "goyim," but he finally relented and talked to me just a bit. He's a sweet kid. They wanted me to spend the night, but I suspected that I would be on one end of the sectional sofa and he would be on the other. Not thinking that that would be very prudent, I decided it best to go home. Racheli couldn't take me home because they don't drive on Shabat (Shabat had not yet begun when she picked me up). So I needed to call a taxi; they don't use the phone on Shabat either, so I had to call on my cell. I couldn't pronounce the name of the street they lived on well enough to get the taxi guy to understand, so I finally held my phone up in the air and told them just to say the name really loud. He got it and 45 shekels later, I was home. It was an interesting and fun and relaxing, peaceful evening.
The standard greeting on Friday is "Shabat Shalom" which means "have a peaceful Sabbath". Even in the midst of war, everyone greets one another with peace. There are so many things in this culture that I don't understand. Like I don't understand why it's considered "work" to flip a light switch and not work to clear the table of a million dishes. Ask me which chore I'd rather have—flipping a switch would win out every time. And they can't talk on the phone, but they can talk face to face or towards a phone. I read Exodus and Leviticus all weekend to see if I could catch some insight. Not really. Okay, it says to not light a fire on the Sabbath, but lighting a fire in Moses' day was slightly more work than turning on a burner or flipping a light switch today.
Well, I may never understand. But that's okay—understanding everything is not a prerequisite for loving someone. At least not in my world.
I haven't been writing here because my Mac at home has decided to be a little obstinate and not work anymore. He got sent to the MacDoctor today. I have to confess that it was a little hard to hand off my baby to a complete stranger who couldn't speak English very well. Sigh. I must remember Who's in control.
I am a little distracted lately. Hmmm. Could it be that the itsy bitsy country that I am living in and love with all my heart is at war? The latest is that foreign airlines are in the process of deciding whether or not to stop flights to/from Tel Aviv. Hizbollah has threatened to give Tel Aviv residents a one-hour warning so that they can evacuate before they start bombarding the city with rockets. I find that very interesting. Since when have terrorists EVER given anyone a warning before terrorizing? Something's fishy there. Of course, if they can get the airlines to stop coming in, it will cripple the already fragile tourist trade here. Or maybe there's something else up their sleeves—who knows? Well, God knows, of course and He is still on the throne and I totally trust Him.
Friday night I went to my friend Racheli's for my first Shabat dinner with a real Jewish family. Her family is religous and so it was quite an experience of new things for me. It was her parents, two brothers, one sister, one Ultra-Orthodox nephew, two (huge) dogs, two cats and about 28 birds of varying species. I love that family so much, even though the communication is still really difficult as most of them speak very limited English and well, I'm slowly working on my Hebrew. Every time I said a word in Hebrew, they all clapped for me. It reminded me of the first time I ever went bowling. After 8 straight gutterballs, I finally managed to get that stupid ball to connect with some of the pins and everybody in the place started clapping for me. I don't bowl anymore.
But I have matured a bit since my bowling debut, and am committed to keep learning the language no matter how much I'm laughed at. It's so hard though. Today when the guy from the Mac repair place came, he called my cell and told me he was at the door (he wasn't). I asked if he was at the car gate and used the Hebrew word for car. I have no idea what he said after that. If you say one word in Hebrew, they assume that you can speak it and then it's all over for me.
So anyway, back to Friday night dinner. There are so many laws that they have to follow! First they started turning out the lights that they wouldn't need on Shabat; evidently it's against the law to flip the switch on Shabat. Then there was the blessing of the wine. They all drank out of the same cup, but gave me my own little, not quite as pretty cup. I felt like I should be screaming "Unclean, Unclean!" Then we had the ceremonial hand-washing and I finally found out what those funny, two-handled mugs were for. Back to the table and the blessing of the bread. That was cool. Then out came the food. And it just kept coming. I haven't seen that much food since Mama used to cook suppper for my brother and his football buddies from college. Her mom pouted a bit because she thought I wasn't eating enough. Good grief! How do they eat soooo much??
It was a fun evening though, and I was glad to get to talk to the nephew some. Ultra-Orthodox guys are not supposed to talk to "goyim," but he finally relented and talked to me just a bit. He's a sweet kid. They wanted me to spend the night, but I suspected that I would be on one end of the sectional sofa and he would be on the other. Not thinking that that would be very prudent, I decided it best to go home. Racheli couldn't take me home because they don't drive on Shabat (Shabat had not yet begun when she picked me up). So I needed to call a taxi; they don't use the phone on Shabat either, so I had to call on my cell. I couldn't pronounce the name of the street they lived on well enough to get the taxi guy to understand, so I finally held my phone up in the air and told them just to say the name really loud. He got it and 45 shekels later, I was home. It was an interesting and fun and relaxing, peaceful evening.
The standard greeting on Friday is "Shabat Shalom" which means "have a peaceful Sabbath". Even in the midst of war, everyone greets one another with peace. There are so many things in this culture that I don't understand. Like I don't understand why it's considered "work" to flip a light switch and not work to clear the table of a million dishes. Ask me which chore I'd rather have—flipping a switch would win out every time. And they can't talk on the phone, but they can talk face to face or towards a phone. I read Exodus and Leviticus all weekend to see if I could catch some insight. Not really. Okay, it says to not light a fire on the Sabbath, but lighting a fire in Moses' day was slightly more work than turning on a burner or flipping a light switch today.
Well, I may never understand. But that's okay—understanding everything is not a prerequisite for loving someone. At least not in my world.
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