Short Stories

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“A certain man went down from Jerusalem to Jericho and fell among thieves..,” (Luke 10:30).

Beit Immanuel -Tel Aviv 8pm

“Are you Rami?”
“Yes,” I replied.

For as long as I remember, wrapped gifts and presents have fascinated me. The sense of excitement, anticipation and surprise. The yearning to discover what lies beneath those layers of coloured paper, or within the secret box. The joy of knowing that someone cares; that one is neither forgotten nor alone. Weddings, birthdays, holiday seasons; each is made that much more special as gifts are freely shared and their contents revealed. I like to think that everyone enjoys receiving presents. But there is also the alternative; the blessing of giving. Giving to friends, strangers and foe alike.

Many centuries ago a certain wise man wrote a profound statement. ‘God made man upright, but they have sought out many schemes (Ecclesiastes 7:29). I was encouraged, rather reluctantly, to contemplate on how relevant this thought was to the concept of ‘Giving and Receiving’ gifts in modern day Israel.

The staff volunteer at the reception in Beit Immanuel reached under the table and handed me a box. I studied it carefully. It was brown about twelve inches by six, and wrapped with tape. I thought hard. I was not expecting a gift from my friends.

“Who gave it to you?” I queried.
“I don’t know. He just handed it to me and asked me to give it to you. He wouldn’t tell me his name!”

My suspicions were aroused. Packages delivered without plausible explanations were to be treated with a certain amount of suspicion in modern day Tel Aviv. One just did not pick up nor open a parcel left unattended, without knowledge as to its origin. It might contain an unpleasant surprise. I carefully thought through my response, as I gently placed the box on a nearby table. Perhaps someone wished to harm the inhabitants of Beit Immanuel. A number of foreigners lived there and could be in danger. On the other hand if this turned out to be a genuine gift, I might have aroused unnecessary and costly security procedures.

I looked up at the girl standing in front of me. Her disarming smile, set me at ease. She was from England. Now and then young men and women from different countries of the world, helped the nation of Israel by volunteering their time and services in such places as Beit Immanuel, a hostel and worship center which is situated close to Jaffa. As I gazed into her blue eyes, I wished she would never have to suffer such precautions at home. Unfortunately the evil arm of terrorism, respects no boundaries.

My fears were well founded. The Christian community in Israel is not immune to persecution from certain religious organizations. During one Purim, a religious man placed a nicely wrapped package outside the door of a well known Pastor. He and his family, were living not too far from Nablus also known in biblical times, as Shechem. When his fifteen year old son Ami, opened the wicked parcel, he was nearly killed by the explosion and the house terribly damaged. Ami survived, but spent weeks in hospital and had to undergo numerous operations. He suffered damage and burns to his eyes, ears, arms, hands, legs and feet. That he survived is in itself, a testimony to the magnificent Grace and protection of God. The surgeons continue to perform corrective surgery to this day. Ami’s story is a testimony to the miracles of God, in our modern day. Yes, in Israel we do believe in miracles!

I decided to take a chance. “Thank you,” I said taking my leave. I left the building hoping to get as far away as possible before opening this potentially lethal package. I walked towards the beach taking care that nothing upset or jolted my burden. It was night and the promenade was nearly deserted. Two lovers, oblivious to my predicament, strolled arm in arm towards Jaffa. I made my way towards a small knoll near the Etzel museum and sat down. It was one of my favorite spots. Prayer meetings and fellowship activities had been held by Messianic congregations on this very spot. The sea breeze pushed gently against my face as I listened to the waves of the Mediterranean Sea, dash against the rocks. It was a clear night and the stars glimmered in the sky. All would have been perfect, had it not been for this box.

‘Well,’ I mused, ‘this would be as good a place to die as any.’

I turned my head. The Etzel Museum building was to my left. A solitary bulb illuminated its dark, wind whipped walls. The Etzel was one of three main military groups (the Hagana and Lechi completing the group), who fought for Israel’s Jewish inhabitants before the formation of the state of Israel and the IDF (Israel Defense Forces). After 1947, Etzel considered the most extreme of the organizations, joined the official Israeli Army. It was an attempt to turn an illegal outfit into an accepted and legitimate party. Years on, violence still threatened the land and I was now a participant in the nation’s ongoing fight for survival.

I patiently waited, giving the strollers enough time to put some distance between us. I then turned my attention towards the package, and whispered a prayer;

“Thank you Lord for the good times and the bad. May Israel be saved!” I proceeded to open the package…...

Pardess Katz 12:AM.

Pardess Katz is a relatively poor community lying between the city of Bnei Brak- known to be a predominantly religious community, and another city, Petah-Tikva (Opening of Hope). It is home to a mixed community. Both secular and religious Jews, live side by side in an area which although relatively peaceful, is also infamous for its crime and drug related problems. Notorious ‘Mafia’ families live here and the feuding has, during Israel’s short existence, left quite a number of people dead.

But the ‘Mafia’ was far from my mind as I alighted from Bus 66, and climbed the pedestrian bridge over Jabotinsky Street. It was near midnight, and I was in a hurry to get home for a late meal and much needed sleep. I decided to take a short cut. I hoped I would not be mistaken for a criminal on the prowl. A voice called out in the still, dark night.

“Adoni, Adoni!” (Sir! Sir! in Hebrew).
The voice was behind me. I quickened my pace. This was neither the place nor time to stop and indulge my inquisitiveness.

“Adoni!” the voice called again. I decided to run. I could be in real danger. Who could be calling out to me at this hour of the night? Obviously someone up to no good! Thoughts of theft and murder raced through my mind. I placed my hands in my pocket and clutched the few shekels I was carrying. No one was going to rob me of my little earning.

Suddenly a thought jumped into my mind; “I thought you believed in, ‘...though I walk though the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.’”(Psalm 23:4).

“Lord,” I said aloud, “I believe, but this happens to be Pardess Katz at midnight. And there is no one around to help me!”
It was then that I remembered another verse; ‘You shall not be afraid of the terror by night,’ (Psalm 91:5a).

“Oh Lord, I hope this is you speaking and not my mind. Show me what to do!” Yes. I have to admit, I am not such a bold person when it comes to surprises in the dark.

“Adoni, Tazor Li!” (Sir, help me!). The voice broke my train of thoughts and speech. I began to pray in hushed tones, as I turned to face this intrusion to my peace.

I slowly walked towards the man, ready to make a dash of it, should he show any tendency towards violence. He stood shuddering under a street light. His elongated shadow stretched across the road giving him a larger than life image. He wore a white shirt, stained and torn. Blue underwear, which should have been hidden by trousers, now hung loosely from his waist. His hairy legs and knees were bruised and bloodied, and his feet were covered by dirty white socks. He wore no shoes.

“Adoni, Adoni!” Tears streamed down a puffed up, red face onto his unkempt beard. He looked tired and beaten as deep emotions contorted his Caucasian features. I was in for an eventful night.

“What’s wrong?” I asked in Hebrew.
He was a Rumanian construction worker. He and friends had gone out on a drinking spree. He had been attacked, robbed of his money, trousers and shoes, and left badly injured on the roadside. In his now slightly drunken state, he did not know how he was going to get home. I sat him down on the curb and told him I would get help. He needed a pair of trousers.

“Here put them on,” I said taking off my shoes. I ran home to get some help.

There are many things one should be grateful for in this life. One essentially being, believers in the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, who can be relied upon to help in times of critical need. Elias my friend then working in an Embassy in Tel-Aviv, was one such person. But he was in no mood to put up with my unfolding, nightly adventure.

“Rami do you know what time it is?” he complained through the phone. “I am trying to get some sleep! Give him some money, hire a taxi and send him on his way!” He slammed the phone down. I would not give up.

“Ok, Ok! I’m coming! ” he shouted after my third attempt.

When Elias arrived, we helped the man into the car and drove him to the construction site. His friends were waiting and worrying. Their relief at finding him safe and pretty much ‘sound,’ was tangible. Excited Romanian voices expressed their thanks, and I took the opportunity to preach a message on the goodness of God who, in our darkest hour, sent His ‘Good Samaritan’-Yeshua, to save us from our sin and its effects. A number of them prayed the ‘sinner’s prayer,’ and to my delight, showed up in church that weekend.

Elias shook his head as we drove away that night. “I can’t understand it. You always manage to get yourself into impossible situations!”
“Ah!” I replied. “That is why God gave you to me, as a friend. To help me find a way out!”

Two weeks had passed since this incident and I now sat in the dark, by the Mediterranean sea on the Tel Aviv Beach. The half- moon light dispelled some of the darkness. At least they would say I had acted boldly by protecting the public. If I were fortunate, I would just lose an arm and leg. If I were unfortunate, I would lose much more.

I sighed, closed my eyes and gingerly lifted the cover. When I opened them, I found myself staring with measured relief, at a brand new pair of leather shoes. And then I remembered the words:

‘Take care of him; and whatever more you spend, when I come again, I will repay you” (Luke 10:35). May the Living God bless you eternally!

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