“You are no longer my daughter!” His words tore tears from my eyes.
“Please, Father, try to understand.”
“Get out! Get out of my house!”
I picked up my coat and purse and stumbled toward the door.
My mother grabbed my arm. “Why, my daughter? We raised you Jewish, read the Torah, took you to synagogue on Shabbat. Why did you choose this… this Jesus?”
“Oh mother, just let me tell you about Him…”
“Get out I said! You are dead to us!”
A vase smashed on the floor behind me. I felt my Father’s hands shove me into the street. The slamming of the door broke my mother’s gaze.
The night air stung my face, as the reality of my choice settled in my soul. I knew they would never understand, never accept the decision I had made. Where would I go? What would I do now?
“Oh Jesus, please help me. I have pledged my life to you, please help me!”
I turned the corner of the street and ran to my friend’s house.
My disheveled state surprised her.
“What happened to you?”
“I told them. I told them I believed in Jesus. They kicked me out! They never want to see me again! Maybe I made a mistake. Maybe I should not have turned my back on the Jewish religion.”
“Hannah, you know you are not turning your back on your heritage but completing it. Jesus came from God’s chosen people, the Jewish people. He fulfills all the Bible’s prophecies, you studied them yourself. You have chosen the Messiah.”
She saw the grief in my eyes.
“You can stay with me until you get on your feet and the church will help you find a job. You did the right thing telling your parents, now let God work.”
I knew she spoke the truth, the missionary from America. God called her to come to Israel to teach the Jews about Christ, to teach me about Christ.
“I know you’re right. I just hoped…” My voice gave way to sobs as I laid my head on the couch pillow and wept.
The night did not surrender sleep but with the morning came a new hope. I inhaled the crisp air as I began my walk. Memories of the sites I had grown up around, but never seen until a few weeks ago, came to mind. The Sea of Galilee, the Garden of Gethsemane, the Via Dolorosa, the Garden Tomb held new meaning for me. My life had changed with each step I took, I wanted more of Jesus. I wanted to know Him, saw my need for him. My friends rejoiced when I surrendered to Him.
What a contrast to my family’s reaction. My father’s words of disownment echoed in my ears. My mother’s pleading eyes, searching my face for an answer.
An answer to what? Was she looking for the truth, something more than the traditions she knew? She called me daughter and grabbed my arm instead of pushing me away. She wanted to know why I had chosen “this Jesus”.
Oh how I wanted to tell her. How I wanted her to know my Savior.
“Jesus, I have pledged my life to you. Please help me, again.”
The wooden door opened. Circles of darkness weakened her eyes.
“Hello, mother. I knew father would be at work and I wanted to ask, would you take a walk with me? There are some special places I would love to show you…”
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