"They Didn't Even Know His Name" (fictional story) Chapter 1

 "You could have been a doctor; you could have saved lives!" the young woman in the doorway had angry tears streaming down her face. "But instead, you chose this!" She regretted the words as soon as she said them, but her brother looked at her with a silly smile and the same mischievous twinkle in his eyes that had caused her to blow up irrationally on many occasions during her teen years. She thought she had matured. She thought she could come here and be sane and reasonable. She had come to listen, yet here she was lecturing!

"Yes." he answered softly- barely audible over the sounds of the hospital room "I chose."

Mabel collapsed in the chair next to the bed. She had rushed here as soon as she heard. She pushed back thoughts wondering how she would ever pay for the last-minute motel room, food and gas. Or, how she would ever find her way around Seattle. Gerald had a way of stretching her beyond her comfort zone. 

"You know I'm not a city girl."

He laughed. "You'll be okay."

"How long can you stay?"

"Two weeks. Do you think you'll be okay by then."

Gerald stopped smiling and closed his eyes. "I don't know."

Somehow, she doubted that. If there was one thing she knew about her brother, he knew a lot more than he ever admitted. Which is EXACTLY why she had tried so hard to encourage him to use the inheritance from their grandparents to go to medical school. The deal was, they would each receive $21,000 when they turned 21 years old. There were ten grandchildren. Some bought land, one started a business and several got degrees. Mabel had used hers to put a nice downpayment on a beautiful farm in the Multnomah valley, near where they grew up. 

"We bought sheep last year." she randomly said- changing the subject to something more pleasant.

"So, now you're a shepherdess?!" Gerald said it as if it was a joke, but she didn't get it. She never got his jokes. He laughed. She glared at him. They would forever be four and eight-year-old siblings.

The doctor came in, glad to see a family member had shown up. Gerald suddenly became 32 and politely introduced his sister. He didn't even stick his tongue out when he said her name. 

"Gerald, did you tell your sister anything yet?"

"No. Go ahead and tell her..."

"Oh sure, make me be the bad guy." the doctor teased, lightening the mood.

"Gerald has sepsis. We plan to keep him on IV antibiotics for 5-7 days and then he can return home. He will need someone to care for him for another 1-2 weeks."

Mabel appreciated him getting straight to the facts. 

"I guess that'll be me."

"Thanks." Gerald mumbled.

"Be nice to your sister!" the doctor teased on the way out. You're going to need her the next few weeks.

Mabel sat still -suddenly exhausted.

"Are you going to be okay?"

"Of course."

"So, what happened?"

"Didn't they tell you? "

"No. That's YOUR job! They just said you were at the hospital in critical condition. No one else could get time off work. It's a good thing it isn't lambing season and the kids are home," she was rambling again. Her thoughts were all a jumbled mess. Somehow, as a grown adult she SHOULD know what to do- what to say -how to act. But suddenly she felt like this was her first day on earth and she needed her little brother to hold her hand.

"Well, I was hooking a car up to my truck after a fender bender. I guess there was a piece of metal sticking out because when I got home, I noticed my pant leg was torn, and my leg was all bloody." 

"What?! You didn't know you had gouged your leg?"

"No, but it was fine. I wiped it with a paper towel and put a bandage on it."

"Gerald! What part of all this looks like it was "fine?!"

She could see his dimples even in the dim lighting of the hospital room. "Well, it WAS fine for the rest of that week."

"So, you walked around on it for a whole week?"

"Almost. On Friday, when I got to work, I fell getting into my truck. Then, I was talking funny and the guys drove me to the hospital. I guess that's when they called you. They thought I was having a stroke at first."

"I'm so glad it didn't happen when you were at your apartment." Mabel said.

"Ya. I was thinking. Tomorrow, I want you to help me write my will. I have a guy coming over and I want you to be here too. -just in case. You know."

"Sure, little brother. I can do that. IF I can find my way to the motel and back."

"You'll be fine. Seattle is a lot safer than most people think!"

She laughed. "Hey, I finally got one of your jokes, little brother!"

He grinned.

She wasn't sure if he was serious. She was never sure,

My Second Shabbat in Israel

 It has been over a year since I returned home from Israel, yet the day I am finally sitting down to write about has been replaying in my head nearly every Sabbath. Hopefully, I can remember the experience correctly, because it was the most transformative day of my journey. I have hesitated to put my thoughts on paper, because it seems to do so will minimize the profound experience. 

It started out as many Sabbaths have, for me. I slept in and ate a cold breakfast in a quiet house. I really wanted to experience a Jewish Shabbat. I had been too lazy to go to "Shul" the first Sabbath, so I really wanted to go this time, even if it was for a few minutes. Aunt Sheryl had told me where to go, and the door that would lead to the women's section, and where she would be. I wandered out into the crisp, February sunlight and took the sidewalk down to a building. I worried I was in the wrong spot for a second because there weren't any cars parked next to the building. In America, we drive long distances nearly every day. Large parking lots filled with cars is the norm. If I am going to a meeting, or a party, and am not sure exactly where it is, sometimes I will scan the area for where the most cars are parked. But it was different here. The custom is to honor the Shabbat by not driving, unless it's an emergency. It seemed the whole neighborhood paused on this day. 

I opened the side door and walked up the steps. I was welcomed warmly and guided to a seat next to my aunt. How was it that easy? How could I, a gentile, be allowed to just walk in here like this? Someone handed me a book with English on one side and Hebrew on the other. As Aunt Sheryl pointed the verses out to me, I read the English translation of what I was hearing in Hebrew. It was some of the most powerful scriptures and some of my favorites. They read passages from several parts of the Bible. ...encounters on the mountain, a train filling the temple... I'm sure you know them and love them too! What was so profound at this reading was I was hearing the story read, in Hebrew, by descendants of the very people who stood by that mountain and heard and felt and said what was being heard by my ears that day. I felt so humbled to be allowed to listen in.

"Go up to the edge of the balcony!" my aunt urged. I saw another woman there, so I shyly stepped forward and looked down. The men are all from different groups. You can tell how observant they are by the size of their kippa and the length of their pe'ot hair curled, or not. Some men wore a kippa the size of a silver dollar, and sat next to each other in one section. Other men, and boys, wore kippas that nearly covered their whole head. But, on this special day, they all come together and read the torah and pray. "This is how it should be." I thought, as I pictured the towns in my country with a different church on each corner. 

There was a box like structure in the center of the room where a few men stood and read from large scrolls. My cousin was there. He stood tall and quiet. Was this the same little boy who ran through the woods reenacting the Civil War with us so very long ago? "He wrote the Torah used in this Shul." I heard my aunt say. It took him years to write it, by hand, with a special pen. Carefully copying each jot and tittle exactly... precisely. The responsibility of preserving The Word is taken very seriously. I wondered about all of the people throughout time who had been scribes- like my cousin. carefully, painstakingly, with two witnesses looking over their shoulder making sure it was perfect! They wrote through times of war, captivity, peace and prosperity. If even one generation had decided not to continue, what might have happened? What would the world be like without ....

My thoughts were interrupted by a ruckus. My aunt told me they do this often. They were debating something. They spoke in a language I could not understand, but I heard something ancient. Brothers debating the word. I could name some of them from thousands of years ago. We can still read some of the arguments they had. Here were their descendants- iron sharpening iron. My cousin stroked his beard. "He doesn't like it when they argue." my aunt explained. I smiled. My peace-loving cousins. Ah, but there is nothing wrong with a hearty debate. Soon they would all embrace and break bread together at one very long table.

I looked at the rows of men and boys, all from different sects, yet all together. I saw an empty row and pictured others there so very long ago. "Why did they leave?" I knew why. "What would have happened if they had stayed?" I wondered, but I know it wasn't meant to be. What about me? Should I be here? Why did they let me come in? Don't they know that I am a Christian? I heard they would spit on us and kick us out. But they didn't, they fed me. 

"Keep watching." my aunt encouraged. "They are descendants of Aaron!" I looked down - in the front of the building- where the stage would have been if it was a church- a young father and his son stood. I presume the boy was 13, thought he looked younger. "They are putting the scrolls away into the ark." She explained. I had no idea they still had an ark that they kept the scrolls in! And to think, these men had been told by their ancestors, generation by generation who they were. They taught their sons the prayers and rituals during many years of wandering, exile, foreign lands. At least, I presume they did, but I don't really know. Perhaps these two descended from some of the few who stayed and held onto the traditions all of these years until now, when this shul was full of people returning from many lands.

I looked at the faces of these precious people- direct descendants of those I had read about my whole life. Everyone says the Bible really comes alive when you visit the Holy Land. There they were: Moses, Aaron and little Ithamar... and then Miriam smiled at me. "I loved watching you." she said. "I wondered what it would be like to experience this for the first time." she explained that it's easy (as it is for all of us- in our own routines) to go through the habits and forget the wonder of what we are experiencing. She wasn't really Miriam, I don't think, but she was a mother in Israel just the same. Her ancestors had danced and sang behind Miriam after the parting of the Red Sea! And here she was in the promised land that Miriam never saw with her own eyes. 

It was a deeply poignant experience. I suddenly felt disconnected from my own roots. What an honor to observe such a rich cultural experience. What have we lost here in this wonderfully diverse melting pot we call America? I don't know what songs my ancient ancestors sang, or the prayers they prayed. I pretended some of them were in that mixed multitude that left Egypt with the Hebrews and witnessed the power and awesome miracles right alongside them. But I don't really know. One thing I do know is, that hundreds, or maybe even thousands of years ago, a Jew, from Israel, shared the Holy Scriptures with someone who eventually told my ancestors. If it wasn't for them preserving the knowledge of God for so many generations, where would I be? What would life be like for me and my family? I felt indebted to these people who have endured so much and given their lives to preserve the knowledge of God for their posterity and the world.

I had gotten to the shul late, so it was soon time to go. We had four homes to choose from for lunch. These were the "boys". The cousins close to my age. They lived near the Kinneret. The body of water I knew as the Sea of Galilee. This was on my list of an area I wanted to visit. I was so happy to learn that so many of my cousins lived here! What a beautiful area. I can't put my finger on it, but it kind of reminded me of Yakima valley, Walla Walla and the Dalles -oh, and California too. A fruitful, sunny place. 

We had wonderful times of fellowship with all of the relatives. The children sang joyfully around the table and reminded me of so many Sabbath afternoons as a child singing songs together. The homes were brimming with happy children, good food and warmth. Everyone seems so happy there. I wonder if the independence and isolation we are accustomed to here in our society is maybe not so good for us. They seem so happy living in such close proximity. Out here we don't want to see our neighbor's house, or we are too close! 

Near the end of the Sabbath, we went to my cousin's house who is the scribe. His wife reminded me so much of my friends here. Homeschooling Mama asking the same questions we ask here about so many things happening in our world today. "I feel the same way..." "I've wondered about that too..." Then, I did something I have been wondering how to tell you about all these months. Here I thought I had done my research. I thought I knew a little bit- enough that I could be respectful of the culture I was a guest in. Yet, I made a fool of myself.

I presume everyone reading this knows me, but in case you don't know, I live in the woods of the Pacific Northwest. I love foraging for wild plants. So, I was particularly interested to see what plants grew wild in the Israeli countryside and if I could identify any of them. So, at one point I said I was going to walk around and look at the plants. I think someone said something like, "Just look, don't pick!" I presumed they were teasing because that's exactly the kind of thing we say around here. If someone says they are going swimming, we might say, "Okay, but don't get wet!" So, I wandered out to the side area where there was quite a variety of dock and other common weeds growing. I tore a leaf off of a plant and the children giggled and nudged each other nervously. I was confused. "Feel this one, it's smooth, and this leaf is fuzzy." I suggested, but they shook their heads, "No." I took the leaves back and asked the parents about them, but they said they didn't know and didn't seem to be interested in identifying weeds. My cousin held his hands behind his back and finally said, calmly and gently, "I don't touch things that have been harvested on Shabbat." Little children hung from the trees listening and watching. Suddenly, I understood. My heart sank. "Harvesting- on Shabbat!" It hadn't occurred to me that plucking a leaf off of a weed would be classified as "harvesting". Several conflicting emotions ran through my head, and then a passage from an old prophecy- something about the land not getting to rest, and the people wouldn't be allowed to return until it had enjoyed its Sabbaths. That prophecy seems to have been fulfilled long ago, and now people have returned and are filling the land once again. But here I was, a foreigner, barging in and doing whatever pops into my head without thinking. The Orthodox Jews are being so careful to follow God's ways. They meditate on His word day and night. Zealous for God. And yet, here I came and violated the Shalom that could be felt here in this place. I should have known! Wasn't there an entire story about this in the Bible I had at home, that I had read so many times? "You're going to visit the Pharisees." my aunt had prepared me, yet somehow, I was still so ignorant. What should I do now? What would the proper procedure be to rectify this wrong? I thought about taking the leaves back to the plant and apologizing, but that seemed silly. Little eyes were watching me, but I didn't know what to do. I don't remember what I said, but I think they could see my remorse. 

Later, at the table, my cousin said something about how they believe women should be honored because we are spiritually minded, or something like that. I wish I could remember exactly what he said. It was so different from what I have ever heard before. 

As night fell, we went back to the house we were staying at. I thought back on the events of the day. My first week in Israel I noticed many things that are similar to life in the USA, but the second week I became increasingly aware of how naive and ignorant I was of life in Israel- anywhere outside of the good ole USA for that matter! "I don't think I could live here." I thought as I blushed. I would never be able to remember all these rules! Everyone was so kind and patient with me, but I was a typical American- thinking I knew stuff that I really was clueless about. I kinda wanted to go back to my little woods and hide again. But I still had a lot to explore, and I wanted to stay much more than I wanted to leave. It's strange that conflicting emotions and feelings can occur at the same time.

My First Journey to the Holy Land: Alliance Church International Cemetery

 Our new friend and tour guide, Judy, took us on a tour of the Old City on our way to the cemetery where my Great-grandparents are buried.

As we maneuvered through the narrow streets, she pointed out things that might interest us. That little truck is the modern version of a camel. The narrow Jeep behind it replaced the donkey. I would have rather seen a camel 🐫 and a donkey 🫏. 

"This is the Armenian section" she stopped to explain. She told stories of greed and misunderstandings, and then, the times we are living in.

 "First, they come for the Saturday people - that's us. Next, they come for the Sunday people - that's you." Judy said sadly. "But, we keep Sabbath!" Aunt Anita explained. Judy didn't hear. She was on her way again, pointing out important sites near and far. "Where does that put us?" Aunt Anita and I looked at each other and shrugged. God will give us strength for whatever is coming. Usually, fearful and worried, I felt encouraged and hopeful. Whatever is coming next, with God's help, we will get through it. In that brief moment, maybe for the first time in my life, I felt confident that I was on the right team. The "team" isn't as exclusive as some of my ancestors believed. Neither, is everyone on earth on the same team.  The way I saw it at that moment, there are exactly TWO groups of people. (You know, sometimes it is super hard to tell goats and sheep apart, yet they are VERY different.) So, I guess we can't always tell by looking at someone which team they are on: LIGHT or DARK. Death or life. 

Soon we were on a short bus reserved for driving the narrow streets of the Old City.

As our bus wove through the streets of Jerusalem, Judy pointed out many sites:

 -where Mike Huckabee will live when he arrives (He is there now, but he wasn't there yet when we were there.) 

- the "Hill of Evil Counsel" that now supports the United Nations building 🤔

- Schindler's grave

- the Valley of Gehenna 

My nose was glued to the window, trying to retain at least some of the information flowing through my brain. I think I talked less those two weeks than I have since I was a toddler! There was so much to hear, learn and experience. I didn't want to waste a minute talking! 🤣

"Get ready! Our stop is next!" Judy warned us. We grabbed our bags and stood up. 

We chatted like old friends as we walked towards the cemetery. At one point we got lost. We asked a few people if they knew where the "Christian cemetery" was, but no one knew what were referring to, or where it was. Finally, I pulled out my phone. First, I searched for Effie Dugger on the very helpful website:  www.findagrave.com. This gave me the full and proper name for our destination. The older ladies were impressed with my skills. 😜 I am sure my children would have been proud of me!

Soon we found ourselves before a large metal door - locked. A stone wall kept us from even peeking at the graves. We tried the phone numbers printed on the wall, but no one answered. 

"Are you wanting to visit the cemetery?" A lady stepped onto the curb near where we were standing. "Yes!" We answered expectantly. "It's only open from 10-12. Come back tomorrow morning at 10:00." 

We thanked her for that information, but we wouldn't be able to return "tomorrow". This was already our second try to visit and tomorrow we needed to be at Aunt Sheryl's house to prepare for traveling to the Galilee region. 

She kindly offered to call the caretaker, whom she happened to know personally. He allowed his Sunday dinner with his family to be interrupted. He hopped on his bike and rode over to let us in!

I felt like I was in one of my Great- Grandpa's stories! Just another day in Jerusalem, I suppose. Soon other people came, and each one seemed to have been sent our way. We had a prayer meeting right there in that cemetery. Someone was in the hospital and others had needs too. We sang a verse from the song Great-Grandma Effie wrote. We hugged like it was a family reunion. 

We didn't want to keep our new friends too long. Judy told us the Jews have a habit of placing a rock on a grave of a loved one to show they had visited. We took a rock from the bucket of smooth, colorful rocks and placed them on the graves of our ancestors. I didn't feel the least bit sad. I felt... I'm not sure... maybe like I was a part of something or connected. Like I was where I should be at that moment. 

Judy still had plenty of energy, but this was her neighborhood, so it was time for us to part our ways. She escorted us to the bus stop and waited with us for the correct bus back to the Old City.

As we climbed onto the bus Aunt Anita whispered, "Look back. See if she is still there. She might have been an angel!" I looked out of the window a bit disappointed that she was still standing at the bus stop smiling and waving. I waved back. 

"We should have paid her for her time." I thought, but knew better. She wouldn't have accepted it. The Jews love to do good deed for others. It brings them joy. The way I can thank her is by doing something good for someone else. 

If I go back to Israel someday, maybe I will go to the House of Prayer for All Nations (the place of worship Judy attends). Maybe I will see her there. I like to imagine that, but I know it probably won't happen. 

It gives me such hope to know that people from many different cultures and nations are worshipping our Creator 24/7 in that Holy City. And not only there, but all over the world! What a wonderful time to be alive! I wish I could see what is happening in the Heavenlies! Can you imagine? 

My First Journey to the Holy Land #10 (Sunday in Jerusalem)

 After church, our Jerusalem Mama, Eva, invited us to the Cafe next door. It felt odd to go to a restaurant after church! I kept reminding myself it was Sunday.

Her good friend, Judy joined us for lunch.

I sat at that table enjoying this moment of fellowship. Time went by, but I reminded myself that I was prioritizing people over places. For some reason I was at this table at this time with these people. Maybe it wasn't just coincidence.

These women, who were strangers to us a few hours ago, were instantly our sisters. Arab, Jewish and American ethnically. Yet all Christians. We sat at one table, eating and laughing. None of us were in a hurry to leave. A little taste of the Kingdom of God.

I had 2 more things to check off my list before the day was over: souvenir shopping and visiting the cemetery. So, we had to end this moment of beautiful fellowship. 

Judy offered to be our tour guide and show us where the cemetery was. Her face glowed with the love of God. -full of life, this Jewish lady in her eighties guided us through the narrow streets of the Old City - her home and the home of her ancestors.  

She took us to the Armenian section of the city. She explained that the Armenian Christians were often misunderstood and treated unfairly. I don't remember hearing about them before. I wonder if my ancestors had friends who were Armenian. 

Then we came to a souvenir shop owned by Judy's Armenian friends. We were treated warmly by our brothers whom we had never met. They spoke our language. I spent all of my souvenir money in their shop. They hadn't had much business because of the war.

 I sat outside the shop while I waited for Aunt Anita and Judy. A tour group from Nigeria walked past and we greeted each other joyfully. I'm from the USA, I said proudly! Nigeria! -they announced proudly! I thought I would be embarrassed, but everyone seemed so happy that we had come, all the way from the Americas, during this time of war. I thought about Zechariah chapter 14, I think it is. This is how it should be - Jerusalem. This little city. Yet all nations come here. And, somehow, we all belong. These were my brothers and sisters, my cousins, my friends. This place was my home. "Walk with your head high." I remembered Aunt Deb's advice. "I'm a Christian! I'm an American!" I confessed. Why do I feel like I have to apologize for who I am? I'm sorry that Christians have hurt you in the name of Jesus. I'm sorry America is so arrogant... -that was in my heart. But suddenly it didn't need to be said. Maybe it was because I was here: -sitting on the streets of Jerusalem during war, yards away from a group of IDF soldiers. I was welcomed. -even though I didn't deserve it. I didn't have to be perfect. I didn't have to speak Hebrew. I took my head scarf off and tucked it in my pocket. I'm not sure why. It just seemed like the right thing to do. Why was I trying to hide my identity? Often we misunderstand each other.

 What if we could be more like Judy? The dear Jewish lady who ate with her good friend - an Arab? -who embraced her good friends who were Armenian? -who offered to spend all afternoon guiding American strangers all over her city? Maybe I caught a glimpse of Jesus on those streets of Jerusalem that day. 

My First Journey to the Holy Land #10a: Christ's Church

  

Sunday, February 9, 2025 was a day of divine encounters and brand-new experiences for us- two poor Mama's from the USA.

As you know I am a country girl. But this day I planned to brave public transportation, in a foreign country, without Aunt Sheryl. I had a hard time sleeping the night before. Aunt Sheryl (who is often up at night) sat down with me and patiently explained the route. Finally, I slept. 

Aunt Anita and I got up early, so we could catch the bus that goes directly to the Jaffa gate. We were prioritizing "people over places" on this trip, and that included friends -old and new. On this day, Aunt Anita and I wanted to experience worshipping with fellow Christians in Israel. We didn't want to give up time with our family, but it ended up that everyone was busy that day and we were well-rested from the wonderful Shabbat. This was the day to cross 3 things off of my list: meet Eva at her church, visit my great-grandparents' graves and buy souvenirs. Miraculously, it all got done, and I am not using that word lightly. The miracle wasn't THAT it happened, but HOW. What is this place? Jerusalem. Is it really different than other cities? How could it be? God's presence is everywhere. I've felt Him, experienced Him. But this day was different from anything I had ever experienced- yet "just another day in Jerusalem".

We got on the crowded bus and managed to get off at the correct stop in spite of not understanding Arabic, or Hebrew. "Jaffa Gate"? We asked. People are so helpful in Jerusalem. They acted like we were their sisters, or aunts- pointing us in the right direction. I breathed a sigh of relief as we stepped off of the bus. We had arrived! Now, if I could just find the church. I had studied the route on google maps a month before- using "street view" to try to familiarize myself with the area. If we hurried, we should get there 5 minutes before church started. "Eva said she sits in the front row." I chatted nervously with Aunt Anita. "We'll recognize her from her picture. She said she will be there. The church should be right past this cafe. Wait... somewhere around here..." "Where is Christchurch?" I asked a random stranger. He smiled, "You are almost there!" We followed him through a gate and around a corner and there it was. I took a deep breath. I remembered the stories my Great grandfather, Andrew Dugger, wrote about his experiences in Jerusalem. Once he walked into the post office (I guess the one right next to this church) and happened to meet the very person he had been corresponding with from America! I wished I had his faith. The faith that could travel with his wife and three little children, for three months, on a boat, with not much more than the clothes on their back and trust that God would lead them and provide for them! And He did! We didn't have an important mission, but here we were, doing the little bit we could.

We had a cellphone to deliver to an Arab-Christian lady. Her family had been friends with the Dugger and Fauth families for many years. Aunt Anita had met her stepdaughter, Beatrice over forty years ago!

We walked into the cold, stone church, past the sparsely filled rows of chairs to the front row. Aunt Anita recognized Beatrice right away, so we knew the lady next to her must be Eva. She smiled such a warm smile and called us her daughters!

 It was time for church to begin. 

The service wasn't what I am used to. I attend a small home-church on Saturdays, and we are very laid-back. This church met on Sundays and they follow- I think it's called a "liturgy". (They gave us a piece of paper that told us what to say at different times.) Yet, I wasn't there very long before I felt right at home. -in this cold, stone church, with traditions that weren't mine.

 We began singing songs that ministered to my soul. Songs directed to God, praising Him, worshipping our Creator. Songs of Moses and the Lamb. Songs about eternity! I closed my eyes and let the tears fall as the small congregation sang.

 "Right here!" I told myself. "It's all going to happen right here!" The Mt. of Olives was very close. "I wonder if these walls will crumble when our Messiah's feet touch the mountain. Or if people will be able to see right through the wall! Jesus asked if he would find faith on this earth when he returned. Will there be anyone here, or will this church be empty?  Here we are singing, in earthly Jerusalem, what is being sung in heavenly Jerusalem! It all seems so real. It's really going to happen!  Yet, Heavenly Jerusalem is even more real than this!" 

I knew I must savor each moment of this precious hour. Perhaps the only time in my life I would sing with other believers in Jerusalem. 

I am used to singing songs in multiple languages and was happy to see they did that here. But, instead of Spanish words appearing on the screen, it was Arabic. My heart melted as I did my best to sing the unfamiliar words, standing next to a dear lady whose mother tongue was Arabic. How important to sing songs about life and peace in this language that is often used to spread hate. 

"People from EVERY tongue..." Even Arabic! "People from EVERY nation..." Even, Israel! ".. stand before the Throne of God singing Holy, Holy, Holy is the LORD God Almighty who was (during Biblical times), is (right now during this war), and is to come (Eternity)!"

Everything seems more intense in this place, so close to Mt. Zion. 

This was only the beginning of my first Sunday in Israel.

I'll go ahead and share this now and write more later. 

It's real, my friends. The Bible is true and Jesus is really coming back. I don't know when. But things are happening in the spiritual realm.

 -things I do not understand, but caught just a glimpse of

And yet, I felt at home and so very safe and loved in this place that is like nowhere else in the world. No wonder my Great-grandparents decided to move here. No wonder my Grandma Orabelle talked so much about this land that was just pictures of dusty hills to us. 

"...the mother of us all " Words my great-grandma sang many years ago, in this very place. I pondered these words as the service ended. I breathed deeply, trying to capture this moment. -making it a part of me.

 -something I can hold onto when hard times come, and it feels like God is far away

 -when it feels like the Enemy is winning.

I will close my eyes and imagine myself within those stone walls, sheltered from the craziness of this world, and I will sing!

My First Journey to the Holy Land: #9 (Shabbat)

  Near the top of the list of things I wanted to experience in Israel was Shabbat.

As many of you know, I come from a long line of Sabbath keepers. We take a break from buying, selling and working from Friday night sundown to Saturday night sundown. So, Shabbat isn't a foreign concept to me. I love the Sabbath very much, but I still have much to learn. 

Friday was almost exactly like it is at my house. Everyone was busy cooking and cleaning in preparation for the weekly holiday. My oldest cousin flew in from the country of Georgia. It was fun reminiscing about our childhood. He is a grandpa now and reminds me a lot of our uncle Tim: --same sense of humor --same storytelling skills -same smile --same shiny scalp.

Then, maybe an hour before sundown, my aunt directed my attention to the Shabbat candles.

They looked nothing like I expected. I thought I had "Sabbath candles".

 -two short candlesticks on my kitchen table

But my candles look nothing like this!

***********************************""****

My sweet cousin's husband came home early, as is the custom on Fridays. He walked in, weary from his long, 6-day workweek. 

What do you think he said when he opened the door?

"How can I help?" 

"I need olive oil for the Shabbat candles. This oil isn't pure. It is mixed with another oil. I can't light this." She explained. 

He agreed and patiently went right back out to buy the oil before Shabbat. 

This is the moment I began to realize how much honor is given to women in this culture. 

Everyone who walked in the door that afternoon came to serve the woman of the house.

 - her brother, niece, husband, children... 

She didn't seem stressed like my mother and me often are on Friday afternoons. She accepted that whatever didn't get done today could wait until after the Sabbath. And no one expected anything different.  

When it came time to light the candles, it just happened, smoothly, like part of life. The women lit 2 candles for their family and 1 additional candle for each child. They spent some time in prayer. They didn't announce what they were doing. The children continued to play. But, when they were done praying, work stopped. It was time to REST.

My cousin, Sara, had a quiet confidence that I later saw in other cousins the next Shabbat as well. Not shouting instructions, but calm. 

Soon the songs began and suddenly everything was new and intriguing, The singing was done by the men and boys. It was in Hebrew, but my Aunt interpreted for us.

The man of the house sat at the head of the table. He wasn't formidable. He smiled at his wife, who was at the other end of the very long table. She smiled back with reassurance. He blessed the juice and took a sip and then passed it to his wife. Everyone passed that first cup, not taking a sip, all the way to the woman of honor.

Then, it was time for the bread. Blessings were said and songs sung. The first piece was cut and passed to the Mama of the house. 

I wondered how long these traditions had been practiced. The Bible came to life as I pictured Yeshua as a child, watching his parents serve each other and joining in the songs based on Proverbs 31 blessing his Ima. 

So often throughout the evening I would think of a verse that suddenly had more meaning now that I could see it portrayed in front of my eyes.

I know many of my readers have been to Israel. Everyone says that the Bible really comes to life there. I kinda thought it wouldn't be that way for me so much. I'm not sure why I thought that, but you all were so right. What an amazing experience.

At one point there was a knock on the door. A neighbor lady found herself alone on the Shabbat and wanted to join the festivities. Of course she was welcomed in. There was something inside me that I can't quite explain. How amazing to be here where everyone in this neighborhood celebrates Shabbat. The streets close and the children play in the streets. Neighbors share with neighbors. Everyone is family. How strange to me, an American, coming from where we celebrate diversity and barely know our neighbors. My heart ached a little as I realized what we are missing by being so independent minded. I do love my solitude. In fact, as I write this I am alone in our motorhome, the rain gently falling on the roof. It is peaceful. I love quiet moments when I have plenty of time to think. Who would have thought I would long -just a little bit - for an apartment full of neighbors who have similar moral standards and beliefs? It would feel safe. My Aunt explained that Jews have always lived close to each other, because they feel safer in large groups. That hit me. This way of life wasn't chosen because they are social people who enjoy crowds. It's how they have survived. Everywhere they go, even in Israel, there are people who don't want them to exist. I'm so thankful I live in a country where we have the freedom to live how we choose and believe what we want to without being attacked. Sadly, that seems to be changing. But I'm enjoying it while it lasts.

(Sorry for rambling. I'm not sure what to cut out of that last paragraph, and I really need to get this posted, so I will leave it for now.)

...the neighbor lady talked about the times we are living in and her belief that it is time for the Jews and Christians to unite against our common enemies. She was happy to meet Christians from America. She was a Jew from Germany. 

Someone told me, years ago, that the Jews want everyone to become Jewish, but I didn't meet anyone who even hinted that we convert. (Except my aunt, of course, but even she isn't pushy.) We were the American, Christian relatives and everyone was okay with that. 

"Tzirel told me her Christian relatives from America were coming!" The neighbor greeted warmly. 

...and this became a common lesson on this trip until it climaxed with a realization I had at the airport while we waited for our flight home: I should never apologize for who I am. 

Normally, if I am somewhere and I am the only one who does, or doesn't do something, I begin with an apology: "I'm sorry, we don't eat pork." "I'm sorry, it's our Sabbath, so we can't..." But here I was far away from my family, surrounded by people who have very different beliefs and customs than I do, yet feeling at home. How peculiar... But here I am rambling again...

Sabbath was mostly a rest day for us. Aunt Anita had been sick and we both needed extra sleep. I wanted to visit the "shul", but I was too tired. 

We ate, visited and then napped. Then ate and visited some more. It was wonderful and refreshing. The main meal had several courses. I wasn't sure where all of this food came from! The table was covered with a sheet of plastic. Most of the dishes were disposable, so cleanup was easy. They just wrapped everything up in the table cloth a laid a new sheet of plastic down for the next meal. I noticed lots of coverings: The bread had a covering, the women had head coverings, the table had a covering. It was easy to overthink. So much depth of meaning in every little tradition. 

****

Let's see if I can remember all of the courses:

Juice

Bread with hummus and other dips

Soup and salad 

Fish and bread

Meat and potatoes and cooked veggies 

More bread and juice 

Dessert 

Something like that. It was a lot. In between all of that the men sang and prayed and blessed their kids and wives. They sang about the Sabbath and the many blessings of God. They thanked God for their wives and children. The women sat at the other end of the table and visited. It was so nice. I could see the benefits in all of these rituals. It kept the men at the table focused and gave the women a much-deserved break from serving everyone. Maybe it's just the men in my family, but they always get done eating first and get bored quickly. This gave the women time to eat and feed the little ones without the men getting restless. 

The pictures below this blog post are from Friday afternoon. We didn't take pictures on Sabbath out of respect for the Holy Day. 

There are a lot of things they don't do on Sabbath, but it didn't feel burdensome at all. It felt freeing and restful. The children seemed happy too. They ran in and out as much as they wanted to and seemed to really delight in the Sabbath.

Here in America church day can be boring for kids. Over half of the people living in Beitar, Israel are children so it is very kid friendly. The children aren't forced to do anything. They are encouraged to join in, but they are free to go outside and play too. Part of the blessing of God, (the promises for what this moment in time would look like as described by the prophet Zechariah), is for children to be playing in the streets. So, a big part of Shabbat is that the streets are empty of cars and buses so the children can play freely. Children are a blessing. The old saying, "seen and not heard ' is not said here! On the contrary! The children are encouraged to ask questions and sing and play! On Shabbat they are free to be kids!

As the end of Sabbath drew near I asked to go outside and see the sunset. My Aunt and several of the kids walked us out to a place we could see past the apartment buildings to the valley below the fence line. My Aunt pointed out a lush green area on the next hillside. She explained that that area was kept undeveloped so the Arabs could bring their herds of goats through to graze. But, after October 7th, the people in that neighborhood didn't feel safe having Arabs wandering through the neighborhood, so they closed it off. Now it is overgrown with olive trees and grass. It was lush and beautiful when we were there. We could only see it from a distance though. It is still reserved for the Arabs when more peaceful times return. 

How we long for peace and that 1,000 -year- long Sabbath when there will be no more tears, war, or pain. The Lord of the Sabbath will reign from Jerusalem on that great day. My Jewish relatives talked about it too. What will it look like? "Do you think the temple will be rebuilt?" I asked my Aunt. "How would that be possible?" She asked. "There is a mosque on the Temple mount?" She's right. It would be impossible. 

I kept the rest of my thoughts to myself as twilight fell, the beginning of a new week. I wondered what the future held, yet realized today, right now, is all I really know. We walked down the street lined with tall buildings made of strong rock walls, with bars on the windows. Quiet. Safe. Secure. We walked up the stone steps and inside the foyer. The many Psalms about God being our fortress ran through my heart. Children's laughter and warm light greeted us inside. They touched the mezuzah on the door, but I didn't. It is meaningful to them and I respect them for it. It would be good if we also had constant reminders of who we are. It's so easy to forget and lose our focus. How quickly we let down our guard and allow ourselves to be vulnerable to the enemy. How often we stray from the protective covering of our Creator. 

My First Journey to the Holy Land: Entry #8 (The Old City: Jerusalem)

 Finally, I am sitting down to write the post we have all been waiting for: Visiting the Kotel! 

"Kotel" was a new word for me. Most of you, who have been to Israel many times, probably know that it is also known as the Western Wall or Wailing Wall.

"You should do everything you want to do at the beginning of your trip!" Aunt Sheryl advised. "Don't wait, or it just might not happen."

It was something she had learned on her travels. - wise advice, especially with our limited time in Israel as well as limited energy. Also, this trip wasn't a typical tourist vacation. It was a family reunion! With dozens of cousins to meet we planned to prioritize people over places.

So, after a day of rest, we were ready to explore. "You might want to bring an umbrella. It's supposed to rain." Aunt Sheryl suggested. "What kind of rain?" I asked. I live in rainy, western Washington and my coat always does just fine keeping me dry. But the rain in Jerusalem, Israel just might be different than what I am used to! 

The Old City of Jerusalem was #1 on our list. And the Western Wall was first!

Some people say it really wasn't part of the temple, especially not Solomon's temple. But it IS a very old wall, very close to where the temple once stood. People have been praying at that wall for a very long time. Some of my ancestors visited that very wall, and now I was really, actually going there! 

Aunt Sheryl pointed out places of interest as we drove past hills and valleys. It wasn't long until we saw the walls of Jerusalem: 🎶 "Shalom, shalom Jerusalem!", "Pray for the Peace of Jerusalem"

Songs and Psalms I had been singing since childhood ran through my head...

The Gate

As I stepped off the bus, I remembered Aunt Deb's advice (Luke's Aunt). She told me that I don't need to think of myself as a visitor on this trip. I should walk with my head high as the daughter of the King! So, I did. "I belong here." I told myself and I walked through a gate and entered that glorious city!

I stood there for a minute drinking it all in. "I can't believe I'm here!"  I turned around to see which gate we had just walked through. It was called: Dung Gate. I giggled. I am entering the Holy City, for the very first time, through the gate once used to remove the poop?! 🤣

The Wall

Soon we came around a corner and there was THE WALL!!!

It wasn't as big as I imagined. Does the city stretch when more people visit?! I wondered, as I remembered the many pictures I had seen of concerts and celebrations at The Wall. There weren't very many people there the day we went. -probably due to the war and the storm. We went to the women's side. I found a chair and got comfortable. I pulled out my little Bible (Yes! The one from my great grandma) and a prayer I had carried from home, that my husband wrote. I also jotted down prayers for a couple of other people. I took a deep breath, prayed and left the crumpled pieces of paper in a crevasse in the rock.

"I'm not superstitious, God. I know YOU are everywhere! I know you can hear my prayers from Washington State just as well as you can hear them from in front of this wall. You don't dwell in a temple made with hands. BUT I also know that this place is special to you. Many miracles have happened within these walls. You chose Jerusalem. You chose Israel. So much happened right here! Jesus loved this city. This is where his family, his brothers, sisters, and his disciples walked. This city, still called: "The City of Peace", in spite of all of the wars that have been fought here... Help me to love her too."

I wasn't there long. Aunt Sheryl wanted to show me a better, drier place for praying long prayers. We followed her through some doors, but they didn't lead into a building. There were tunnels! We followed the path around and she took us to a place that was special to her. It was right outside of a room that some archaeologists believe is very close to where the Holy of Holies was. They weren't open for tours though, so, we went up to a room where Jewish women were praying. Below them, Jewish men were praying and holding classes for the soldiers. I think it was Psalm 122 that I read in that room. Aunt Sheryl said we could leave, if we were ready, but she wanted to stay longer. So, Aunt Anita and I went back into the tunnel. I found a private little side tunnel, as close as I could get to the Holy of Holies. And there I sat and lingered. I sang songs about the Holy place and Psalms David wrote about longing for the sanctuary. David said he would be happy just to be a doorkeeper in the Lord's House. It was here! Maybe not this exact spot, but very close! I prayed for all of the people on my heart and left the burdens, I had brought, right there in that little cubby. It was a beautiful, intimate moment. When I came out, my aunts were waiting for me. Aunt Sheryl was touched by my tear-stained cheeks. She held me close to her heart and I sobbed. It was good to be home. I mean HERE! It was good to be here. Visiting this place. I wasn't home. My home was on the other side of the world... "You're not a visitor." I remembered Aunt Deb's cheery voice saying. I decided not to try to figure it out. I'm okay with mysteries being left unsolved sometimes and just embracing the awe of not understanding everything. -trusting that the King of Kings knows everything. He was, is and is to come. 🎶 "...take the coal, cleanse my lips, here I am..."🎶

[I would rather linger and embrace these moments in a few special places than rush around and try to see everything. Now that I am home, I keep thinking about other sites I didn't get to visit, and would have liked to, 😔but I know we didn't have time. I'm glad we went at the pace we did.]

Aish HaTorah Center

Then, we walked to a building with a tall, locked gate. For ten shekels they let us in. We walked up steps and meandered around until we came to a large rooftop balcony. We could see the Wall, the Temple Mount, Mt. Olives and all around. There was a model of Solomon's temple as well. 

I looked at the clouds above that hill covered in olive trees - a large cemetery on one side. That's the spot! There is the valley below! I'm a terrible photographer. So, I just enjoyed the view. My mind shifted to Zechariah 14:4. I tried to picture my Lord appearing in those clouds and the mountain splitting. Wow! What would that look like?! This would be a great spot to watch it all go down! Kind of like Johnston Ridge was a good spot to view Mt. St. Helens erupting, maybe, but an awesome view all the same! (I think it was called Aish HaTorah Center. I would highly recommend it. It's an amazing view. I will add my pictures, even though they aren't very good.)

I enjoyed the model of the temple. I don't know where it stood, exactly. I tried to imagine it on the hill behind the model. I'm sure the terrain looked a lot different during Solomon's time!

It had been raining a bit off and on, but soon it started to pour! I had the image of the temple fresh in my mind as we walked down the steps with water trickling in little rivulets between our feet. I wished I had memorized Ezekiel 47. As we meandered through the little streets and the rain increased in intensity, I imagined it was deeper than it was: -"to my ankles" We stopped to get something to eat. I didn't feel hungry. My aunts were excited for me to try everything, so I got a salad with a falafel AND shawarma! I was stuffed! The sun came out for a bit, and we continued walking. We came across a menorah and I asked for a picture next to it. I guess it is supposed to be a replica of the one in Solomon's temple. I recognized the area behind it from some videos I had watched in preparation for this visit! I don't know what the area was called, but it's pretty cool to see it in real life. Soon it started raining again. -"to my knees" We ducked under the Jaffa Gate hoping the downpour would slow down. It didn't. We decided to brave the downpour and make a run for the bus stop. The road was wide on the other side of the gate -"to swim in"! I thought, as I imagined the water was as deep as it was wide. "Rain is a blessing!" "Water flows from the temple"... "out of our bellies...." ...knowledge of the Lord will cover the earth as the waters cover the sea..."  I wasn't sure where all of those verses were located, but they happily flowed through my brain. I hoped I had remembered to put my Bible back in the plastic bag. I was soaked, in spite of my waterproof coat. I wasn't sure how water resistant my backpack was. But I didn't feel cold. 

We explored Jerusalem late into the night, going to a few shops... we located the cemetery, but it was locked. This is the day we visited the hospital too.

I think that's about all we did that day. I guess I should mention it was Wednesday, February 5, 2025.

Oh, and everything in my backpack stayed dry! Thank you to my neighbor for giving me the backpack. It was perfect! 

Psalm 122

Here is Psalm 122 KJV so you don't have to look it up. I feel like I could have written something similar on that Wednesday, over a month ago.

1- I was glad when they said unto me, Let us go into the house of the LORD.  

2- Our feet shall stand within thy gates, O Jerusalem.

3- Jerusalem is builded as a city that is compact together:

4- Whither the tribes go up, the tribes of the Lord, unto the testimony of Israel, to give thanks unto the name of the LORD. 

5- For there are set thrones of judgement, the thrones of the house of David,

6- Pray for the peace of Jerusalem: they shall prosper that love thee.

7- Peace be within thy walls and prosperity within thy palaces.

8- For my brethren and companions' sakes, I will now say, Peace be within thee.

 

9- Because of the house of the LORD our God I will seek thy good.

Conclusion 

I will leave you, my dear readers, with a question: Is Jerusalem holy? If so, what is it that makes it holy? The earth is the LORD's! He made all of heaven and earth. If it isn't holy, why do so many people want to control it? 

Many people say we are living in "Biblical times" meaning we are living in a time when prophecies are being fulfilled before our very eyes and miracles are happening that are very similar to the ones recorded in the Bible. 

The thing about miracles is: Hard times come first. If times are good, there is no need for a miracle. 

Keep watching and praying friends!