By Esther Korson
It was way back in 1975 when I came to know the Lord, having made the amazing discovery that ‘Christianity” was not a religion, but a real relationship and friendship with the Lord Himself; that Jesus (Yeshua) was actually the Messiah that God had promised to the Jewish people so many centuries ago; and that as a Jewish person, I did not become part of another ‘religion’, because it was all Jewish anyway! Then I learned the equally astonishing news that God actually loved the Jewish people; that it was a miracle of His grace alone that we had survived as a people at all after hundreds of years of dispersion across the face of the globe; and that it was by His hand that we had become a nation again after 2000 years. In 1976, at His direction, I moved to Israel and in 1977 He called me to serve Him full time. In the years that followed, I had many adventures in His service and experienced His faithfulness and the greatness of His love for people countless times and in countless ways. One of those adventures I would like to share with you today.
It began early one morning in 1984 during my daily Bible reading. Suddenly the Lord seemed to underline one line in the many verses that I read that day: “I will move you to a large place…”
I had no idea in the world what it meant, but in my heart of hearts I knew that I had heard from Him. It wasn’t to remain a mystery for long! That evening I was attending a prayer meeting in Jerusalem—the city that I have had the privilege to call ‘home’ for almost 40 years now—when suddenly the Lord prompted me to give the $100 that I had with me to an Arab named Ibrahim who was sitting in front of me. So I tapped him on the shoulder and when he turned around, handed him the money in obedience to the Lord.
Since he knew many people at the meeting, it’s possible that I wouldn’t have talked with him at all afterwards. But because I had given him the money, he came up to me at once and said, “Thank you for your wonderful gift. My wife wanted me to bring medicine home for one of our sons as well as some food, and I was worrying about it the very minute that you handed me the gift!” We smiled together. And then he said, much to my surprise, “Do you know anyone who wants to rent a large house?” The Lord reminded me at once of the Scripture He had given me that morning, and so I answered with a startled look on my face, “Well, um—maybe me!”
And that is how the adventure began. I ended up moving, with my two teenaged sons, to a large house behind the Mt. of Olives close to the ancient village of Bethpage and near a path to Bethany. We lived there for three years. It was an unusual move, since we were the only Jewish family in a totally Arab neighbourhood! (It was before the first and second Intifadas, a time when Arabs and Jews got along well, probably the only time that it would have been possible to live there). We became close friends with our neighbours, especially with the family next door. The mother and I had no language in common—she spoke no English or Hebrew and my Arabic was rudimentary at best. But we spoke with our hearts and truly loved one another. I also had a wonderful friendship with their children, as did my two sons.
We spent lots of time together and really received an invaluable insight into the Arab culture. There was an Arab Christian family behind our house, and every once in a while a jolly priest would come to visit. We loved being invited, because he would drink scotch-on-the-rocks and invariably had us in stitches.
During our 3 year sojourn there, my father came to visit from the States to attend my oldest son’s high school graduation. He was horrified to discover that we lived as a Jewish family in a primarily Moslem area, and it made him really angry. But guess what happened? Their love for us—and for him—won him over, and he was deeply touched by it all.
We are still friends until this day!
So last week, when 16 year old Muhammad Abu Khdeir was senselessly murdered by Jewish extremists, I was deeply saddened, as was the rest of Israel. When we heard that some busloads of Israelis were going to the Arab neighbourhood of Shuafat to the mourning tent of the family to offer condolences, my oldest granddaughter, my daughter-in-law and I boarded one of the buses.
The outreach was sponsored by an Israeli grassroots NGO called ‘Tag Meir’, created two years ago to combat Jewish hate crimes. Seven chartered buses arrived at the tent of mourning, from both Tel Aviv and Jerusalem. A total cross section of the Israeli public turned up, from Chassidic to Orthodox to just regular people. An olive branch is considered a symbol of peace, and it was touching to see that one person climbed on our bus with a whole potted olive tree to give to the family!
When we arrived at the mourning tent at last, the men of the family were lined up and we filed by to offer each one of them our heartfelt condolences. The family knew that we were coming, and hundreds of chairs had been set up. As soon as I saw them standing there, it brought back so many memories and feelings from the days when I lived amongst the Arabs, and the love that I had felt then was certainly still there.
After passing through the line of men, the three of us went around the back and onto the porch of the house where the women of the family were sitting, including Muhammad’s heartbroken mother. We were offered seats. While sitting there, I heard one of the relatives, who spoke fluid English, addressing a group of the women who had arrived on the buses. She was angrily spewing anti-Israel propaganda. As I listened, I realized that she thought that we were all against the settlements, etc. without grasping the fact that most of the nation of Israel from every political perspective shared in their grief. Not just left-wingers! Finally I went over to her and interrupted her tirade to say, “”You know, we’re all here because we are truly sorry about what happened and to express our love for you.” We talked for a while and it helped her to calm down. When I returned to my seat, a reporter from the National Public Radio (US) asked if he could interview me. I told him about the time before the Intifadas when Israelis and Arabs were on friendly terms, and that a spark of that friendship was still alive. That was the only hope for peace, that person-to-person contact that we used to have. At the end of the interview, the reporter began to criticize Israel for the air attacks that were being conducted in Gaza against the terror infrastructure. So I said to him, “Every one of those rockets is meant to kill innocent civilians. Can you imagine any country in the world putting up with rocket attacks on its civilian population? Do think the American government would stand idly by if rockets were pouring into Texas?”
After the interview, I spoke again with the woman I had addressed earlier. I told her how I had lived for three years in an Arab neighborhood before the first Intifada, and how I had loved the people I knew there.” “Did you feel safe?” she asked me. “Yes, at that time I certainly did.” We talked for a while like old friends and hugged each other. The second time we hugged, she said, “You remind me of my mother. Whenever I see her, she gives me a hug!” We both smiled at one another with tears of understanding in our eyes.
It was very sad when we went over to offer condolences to Muhammad’s mother. There is really no consolation for a mother’s broken heart. But we were at least able to offer love and to say we were sorry that it had happened. I won’t easily forget the pain in her eyes when we looked at one another.
A while later, we all re-boarded the buses. The three of us were grateful for having been a part of this Israeli outreach to that mourning tent in Shuafat.
I just wanted to share our experience with you…
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