I grew up in a sea of antisemitism. My father who is still alive fought against Adolph Hitler who had a worldwide mission to annihilate and exterminate all Jews throughout the world . My grandfather had to change his name from Jacobs to Landry so he could get a job in Boston because business owners would not hire Jews. I was accosted, confronted, ridiculed throughout my childhood for being a Jew. Antisemitism prevailed. It has not disappeared, it has just gone underground somewhat .
Yom Kippur. The most sacred Jewish holiday. The pinnacle of Judaism. The highlight of the entire year. The one day that all Jews gather and pray and stop working around the globe. They gather and confess sin together as a group, to pray and mourn with each other. The one day that every Jew refrains from working and turns to their creator in humility.
In college I studied religions. I had never read the new testament. It was the story of a rabbi Yeshua. He was also persecuted. I didn’t really like religion. Neither did he. He hung out with ordinary people. Those were the people I liked to hang out with. He worked as a carpenter….my great grandfather was a wood carver. He interested me. I began to study and read his story and ask questions. Why were Jews forbidden to read this mans story? Why had people persecuted his own people in his name throughout the centuries. Made no sense to me.
Re-reading my Bar-Mitzvah led me to Zechariah 2-3. “Sing and rejoice oh daughter of Zion…I will be aroused from my Holy Habitation and come to earth and dwell among your midst…and the Lord of Hosts will send me unto you” . God was to come to earth. He was to dwell among us.
An entire host of religions…Catholicism, Protestants, Methodists, Episcopalians, Lutherans….Most all my friends fell into one of these. Jews were outcasts. Foreigners. The president of our country whom my father had served under really was not concerned about their destruction. He was pressured into the war. He had known years before what Hitler was doing. It really did not concern him.
I attended church because the pastor was from England. I liked the English accent. The English always sounded so intelligent. I did not feel intelligent. I was from Quincy. A blue collar town outside of Boston. A town of workers. A town of heavy drinkers and brawlers. A salt water town. Smells of the sea, listening to the fog horn throughout the night. Hearing the subway train in the distance soothing you to sleep at night. I wanted to hear more about this Jewish man who claimed to be the Messiah. I liked the people at the church. They had a small group Bible study on the 3rd floor at Webster the dorm I lived in at UMass. I was interested in this other book that gave the accounts of this Jewish man Yeshua who claimed to be the Messiah whom the Jews were hoping would come.
Why was there never a word about Yom Kippur? Why did they hate Jews so much? Why were these religions so against Jews and yet their leader was Jewish. Why were they so anti-Semitic??
Yom Kippur. A time to dress in your best clothes. To walk to Temple Beth El. The wealthy and important Jews sat up front in the nice cushion seats. We sat in the back in the uncomfortable metal card chairs. Most of the service we stood. We sung and confessed sins together. We prayed and swayed and cried deep down. We knew most everyone there. The Bernstein’s, the Michaelson’s, the Katz’s, the Goldfarb’s, somehow we all seemed related and had similar stories of how our grandparents or great-grandparents got kicked out of some country because they were Jewish and ended up in Boston.
He was Jewish. He attended synagogue. He went to Yom Kippur service every year of his life.
He knew who he was. He was to be the Sacrificial Goat and the Scape goat. He was Yom Kippur. He was to be the eternal High Priest standing before God for his people. He understood Yom Kippur. He was to be the Ransom. He was to be our Yarmulke . He was to to be sent into the wilderness with all our sins upon him. He was to suffer separation and isolation. He was to be Issac. He was to be the Ram. The holiday was about Him. It was Him.
They were thrilled that a Jew had come to believe in Yeshua. They wanted me to become a member. I always felt uncomfortable. I never really liked religion. They talked about Baby Jesus. They liked huge crosses. The bigger, the better. This Jew had to die. It was their doing. The Jews rejected him and now he is ours. He is no longer Jewish. He is now baby Jesus. And Christmas trees and Tinsel and Eater Eggs and Fun and not Jewish anymore. Yeshua was not Jewish anymore.He had become a Christian.
“Behold I stand at the door and knock….if you hear me and want to know who I am let me in and I will come into your life and reveal myself to you”
I confessed my sins. Yom Kippur, Passover, they all made sense. It was about Yeshua. He rose people from the dead. They never found a body. He came to show us truth about the future. He came to give us hope. He loved his people and came to his people. When I asked him to come into my life and to show me if he was real my life changed. I could not deny this. I began to read Torah. He gave me life and understanding.