For today's Messianic Monday email, we are bringing you an excerpt from Jerusalem Secret, the sequel to Identity Theft, my fictional account of one Jewish man's discovery of the REAL identity theft of the Jewish Messiah, Yeshua.
If you want to read either or both books for FREE, click here. Both are theological, historical novels. Please consider sharing them, especially with a Jewish friend!
Enjoy!
Rabbi Goodman agreed to meet with me, but our meeting location made me a little nervous. I’d hoped for a more casual setting like Starbucks—neutral territory where my questions would not be considered blasphemous or even challenging. In the end, I agreed to meet in his office at the synagogue—our congregational building.
It was unusual to see the synagogue so empty and dark, save the dim lighting from the windows. I paused before the holiest place of the synagogue, the Aron Kodesh—the Holy Ark. It was here that the Torah scrolls were kept and opened only for special prayers or for reading the Torah during Shabbat services and the holy days. The Aron Kodesh was intentionally placed on the eastern wall of our synagogue so that every time we prayed we faced the holy city of Jerusalem. I paused and briefly prayed that I would find what I was searching for during my talk with Rabbi Goodman.
Prayer had become increasingly important to me lately. I remembered as a boy my grandmother, Bubbie Gershom, took me to her synagogue prayer services. All of the people in Grandma’s synagogue swayed back and forth, a new phenomenon for me. When I asked her why they did that, she said, “Why, David, think of yourself as the flame of a candle, flickering back and forth as your soul reaches upward to reach God with your prayers.”
It was a nice picture. But we didn’t sway back and forth at my parents’ synagogue. For some reason, I never really thought about that until now. Was our candle extinguished? Of course we were Conservative, not Orthodox. There are three main types of Judaism. We have Orthodox, which is very religious, where your entire day, week, month, and year revolves around Jewish tradition. Conservative respects the traditions, but expresses itself primarily inside the synagogue, not at work or in the supermarket. And there is the Reform, where Jewish tradition is interpreted in the most liberal, progressive ways—even to the inclusion of gay and lesbian rabbis and cantors. From a religious or traditional point of view, I was very content as a Conservative Jew. However, from a God point of view—I was lost.
I made my way around the bimah, the podium in the center of the sanctuary, through the side door to the rabbi’s office and knocked.
Rabbi Goodman extended his hand and greeted me warmly. “Please, David, take a seat.”
I recalled the softball games when Rabbi Goodman showed up in his jeans and sneakers to cheer for me and my Little League team. He was tall and thin, with dark hair and beard, and he wasn’t shy on the sidelines!
Unlike many Orthodox Jews, his beard was groomed, but I could see it had grayed some in the last few years and he sported a pair of wire rimmed glasses that sometimes slid down his nose as he read the Torah or read his sermons. Today, as men, we greeted one another in dress shirts and ties. As a journalist, I rarely wear a tie, but I had an event later that day. The rabbi was an old family friend, a good man. That is why it took some time for me to work up the nerve to request this meeting.
He motioned to a black wingback leather chair and pulled up a matching chair and sat across from me.
Nervous, I cleared my throat a little. “Rabbi, thanks for meeting with me. I was hoping you could shed some light on a few questions that I have. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately about religion. Well, about God.”
“I have noticed that you started attending the Ma’ariv prayer services. That was unexpected, but certainly welcomed,” Rabbi Goodman responded. He crossed his long legs, folded his hands, and smiled warmly.”
I didn’t mention it, but I chose the third prayer service at dusk simply because it worked well with my schedule. I was able to leave work and come to prayer before heading home to see Lisa and the girls. But it was a new effort, because something inside me somehow needed to connect further with God.
“For some time now I have been seeking to find deeper meaning in life. Yes, I have a great life. I love my family, my career is moving in the right direction. But a nagging thought has persisted for many months now—is there is more?”
“Okay…” The rabbi was listening.”
“I have always believed in God—or at least that there is a God, but I never felt the need to go any deeper. But what if He has put us here for a purpose? What if I have some responsibility toward Him that I am not aware of? How can I just go on living life without seeking that out?”
“That is some seriously deep thinking, David. And good thinking!” responded the rabbi.”
I relaxed a little and stretched my legs out in front of me. “Well, of course I began my search or investigation in the synagogue—in Judaism. Like you said, you have seen me at the evening prayer services. And sometimes I even come to the Shachrit services—but with two kids I don’t like to leave the house that early. I have to be honest here. I haven’t just been looking in Judaism.
I paused to see his reaction.
“O…kay,” he said, eliciting emotions of curiosity, concern, and maybe a little confusion. “So, where have you been searching?”
“I started investigating some of the Eastern religions. I read a few books, but they all seem a bit too mystical. To be honest, I began to read the New Covenant.”
Rabbi Goodman sat straight up. His hands gripped the arm rests. “Why would you do that? That is a dangerous book, David.”
“Well, that is what I thought, but—”
“There is no but David. The people who follow that book are the same people who have persecuted us for two thousand years. They have killed us in their Crusades and threw us out of Spain during the Inquisitions.”
Well, this is not going according to plan.
“Are you willing to throw your life away—your heritage—your family? And to join the people who hate us? My God, David, your grandfather and his sisters survived the Holocaust. And you would consider joining his oppressors? Your grandfather would turn over in his grave.”
I looked down at my shoes. I never saw my rabbi so upset. Deep inside, I knew I couldn’t press the rabbi further.
“David I can appreciate your desire to find a deeper meaning in life, but you won’t find a deeper meaning by becoming a traitor to your heritage, your religion, your family, and the memory of your grandfather and the six million that died before him!”
A traitor?
“Well, I was just investigating, but now that you put it that way—”
“David, your parents would be humiliated,” he interrupted. “Are you willing to put them through that?”
“Well no, of course not. I guess I didn’t think it through.”
Rabbi Goodman stood to his feet. “I’d say not. Why don’t you come to the Shabbat services next week? You know that it is said that when the congregation takes out the Scroll of the Torah to read it—
“—Heaven’s Gates of mercy are opened,” I finished for him. Obviously, the rabbi thought I needed God’s mercy after this line of questioning.”
As I drove home, I couldn’t get one word out of my mind. Traitor. I shuddered. The last thing I wanted to do was betray my family heritage. Hopefully the rabbi wouldn’t mention our conversation to my dad.
If you are still reading this testimony, then clearly you know where this search led me. An angel. An explanation. An experience. Only to lead to a terrifying accident, when my father suffered a stroke while driving to work the very morning of my visitation. The entire Jewish community was grieving over what appeared to be the end of Harvey Lebowitz. However, my journey had only just begun. Can I continue?
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