We are in Israel now. I will write more about our time here, and our last city, but for now, I just want to get a few things out.
Israeli law forbids cruise control in cars. (If you saw how they drive sometimes, you’d understand why!)
Israeli law also mandates that all new homes be built with a bomb shelter. As tensions between Israel and Iran don’t diminish, some of us are starting to sense what it must be like to live here. Every day, as you try to live your normal life, you have the fear that the sirens will go off. From the time that the siren goes off to the time that the bomb hits totals twenty seconds.
We met a couple here who were telling us about their time in the north of Israel a few years ago, when bombs hitting their town wasn’t something rare. Children couldn’t go outside and play, because twenty seconds doesn’t afford them enough time to get back inside to the safety of the bomb shelter. Children were being diagnosed with hypertension, because they were so stressed about the situation. Families were fighting, because most Israeli houses aren’t that big to begin with, and having several children plus parents stuck inside together gets hard pretty quickly.
Please be thinking about these situations. As one man here said, “It’s sad when you turn on international news to see what’s going on, and the world news is your local news.” Peace here may at times seem impossible, but the people suffering are the ones who just want to see their children grow up, to see their sons and daughters marry, who want to go to school or work or the doctor’s office without having to think about where they will hide if a siren sounds while they are in their car. (The answer is: a ditch. You jump out of your car, lay in a ditch and pray nothing lands near you.)
Today was our day off. Some of us went to an art exhibit about the Holocaust. Now, obviously that’s a touchy topic. This artwork was a work of several sculptures, depicting Jesus at his crucifixion, with a man below. This man was originally intended to be a contemporary John, but as the artist worked on the art, it became clear to him that this John was to be different: he was to be a victim of the Holocaust. And so, in the artwork, there is interplay between the gestures and looks of Jesus and this gaunt, bald John.
There are seven panels. Each panel represents one of Jesus’ last seven utterances. And the middle struck me most. It is where Jesus cries out: “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?” A couple things about that really struck me.
1. How many Jewish men and women thought the same thing as they were dying in the gas chambers or being slowly starved or watching their family die off, one by one? Jesus truly understood the depths of our griefs and sorrows. The artist talked about how only God has heard some of the last cries and screams of these people, in the twenty minutes it could potentially take to die in a gas chamber. I couldn’t help but wonder what their cries were, what their souls, in deep agony and crushing despair, called out to God.
2. In the panel, Jesus has taken on the aspect of the John below. In this panel, he is also bald, with the same haunted look on his face. That hit me to the core. But then another thought hit me, perhaps even harder. Yes, Jesus died for all of those who died in the Holocaust. He died for EVERY SINGLE SIN. So, in this relief panel, he could also have taken on the aspect of the German standing outside of the gas chamber… making sure all the screws were tight… burning the thousands of lifeless corpses in front of him. THAT man, Jesus died for that man, too. [And, solely based on that fact, I realize that I have a lot to learn about forgiveness and grace and mercy.]
I’m not sure whether it’s the artwork that is so powerful or the personal stories that come along beside them. One woman, who herself is a Holocaust survivor, began crying in front of one of the panels as the man explained it. “How do you know? This panel is me! This is my story!” She wept as she explained that, at the age of four, her family members were sent to concentration camps, she alongside them. And how, by the age of 8, there was no one in her family left. She was all alone. How this piece of art can transcent cultures and ages and histories and religions and connect people is beyond me, but I am so glad that I was able to witness it. I am so hopeful that it will be used as a catalyst for discussion and healing and forgiveness.
The beautiful thing is that God has NOT forsaken us. He promises he will never forsake us; that He is beside us. The whole work is based on reconciliation and the final piece is a triumphant Jesus hugging the Jewish Holocaust survivor to his chest, holding a cup triumphantly above them both. It’s coming. This peace, this comfort, this love: it’s coming.
Won’t you help to bring it?
“Oh, that my head were a spring of water and my eyes a fountain of tears!
I would weep day and night for the slain of my people.”
[Jeremiah 9:1]
