My son, the Christian?!
CHAPTER 1: You've done what?!
At this point
let me introduce my mum. Her name is Phyllis, though I call her Grizzles,
for a reason lost in the mists of time but not difficult to figure out.
She will now give her response to my words, 'Mum, I've become a
Christian.'
PHYLLIS
It was a perfect afternoon for a walk, but unusual for Steve to ask me to
go with him. When he blurted out, "Mum, I've become a Christian",
I nearly died. "My son, the Christian!?"
Standing back now I ask, why was I shocked? I wasn't a practicing Jew,
hadn't brought the kids up in a strict Jewish home, only did the
traditional things that most Jews do, such as barmitzvahs and synagogue on
Holy days only. Jewish food and lots of Jewish friends and humour. That's
what made me a Jew, wasn't it? So why did his words bother me? But they
did. I felt fear, bewilderment and confusion. Where did I go wrong? I
cried inside, as a feeling of sadness swept through me. It was as if all
my Jewish ancestors were crying out in me for something that I felt had
been lost.
STEVE
She felt all of that in the space of a few seconds? What a woman. Only a
Jewish mother could make such a melodrama out of a little thing like
swapping your religion! (I'm joking, of course). Come to think of it, I'm
surprised she didn't throttle me. Actually she did take it all quite well.
My mum was quite tolerant of new ideas at that time, open to all sorts of
things like Yoga and Astrology, and I remember thinking at the time that
her curiousity was as aroused as her cultural outrage. Now my dad was
another story, but more about him later!
PHYLLIS
He quickly followed this revelation with his reasons and how it had
happened, but I wasn't listening, not really. I was trying to appear calm
and untouched. He tried to explain, not very convincingly, how this had
not affected his Jewishness. Although this was important to me I didn't
understand what he was saying. His words were spilling out but not making
sense to me. I loved and respected him, he was always the clever son who I
looked up to. So I tried to collect my thoughts and follow his
conversation.
STEVE
I could tell that she was only half listening. I think that, deep down,
she'd half known that there was something up with me for some time. She'd
known about the Evangelical Christian girl I had fallen for at University
some years back, the spiritual pilgrimage to Israel and, then, the nice
Christian girl, from a Catholic (and a German Catholic at that) background
that I had married. She'd even vaguely known about the reasons for our
move to Plaistow, having something to do with a community we wanted to be
a part of (based on a 'church shaped' building we were now living opposite
to). Given all of those clues, you didn't have to be an Einstein to figure
out that I had some sort of sympathy with things Christian!
PHYLLIS
When he suggested that I look into it myself, I mumbled something like
'I'm too old, I'm not into religion, no it's not for me. It may suit you,
Steve, but not me'. But then he said a strange thing. 'Pray for something,
anything that is on your mind. Pray, mum, and God will answer you within a
week'. Me pray? I was a walking heathen who had no concept of God. But
...... how did he know that I had a problem, a pressing problem ..... ?
Anyway, more of that later on. First let me tell you a bit more about
myself.
I was a horrible child, so my mother told me. I was always crying and
always having to be amused. I was brought up in the East End of London.
Jewish people like to cling together (not so much now), but those were
days when Jews felt safe only when among their own. The way of life, the
shops, the homes, the food. The language Yiddish was understood by all.
The Jewish way of life was shared by every family. I could write lots
about life then in the 1930s, but many more articulate books have been
written, far better than anything I could write. It was the slums,
families crammed into tiny rooms, all living on top of each other. This
was surprisingly comforting, as no-one had any more than the other. All
were in the same financial position. Families were big. Hymie (my husband)
has four brothers and two sisters, though I just have two brothers.
The tiny work-shops, or sweat-shops, were the livelihood for most of the
families. Most men were tailors, though they all seemed to be more out of
work than in. The wages were small and the hours long. Many women took
work home. My mother was a felling hand (hand sewing). Until the day she
died in her 80s she could stitch a hem faster than anyone I know. I can
remember the smells, the pickled herring, sauer-kraut, cucumbers, hot
beigels and spices. In some of the most unhygenic places, I can remember
the big tubs of herrings in which huge hands would pluck out the fish and
hand them to you with some cheese.
Hymie looks back on those days as the best days of his life. In fact most
Jews of my agegroup, nowadays, when asked 'What is a Jew', would associate
this background with being a Jew. On Jewish holidays each family would
dress up and go to the synagogue. It wasn't necessary to understand the
reasons why they were going, but it was a secure feeling of togetherness.
The teaching from the Rabbis was strict. Hebrew was learnt from an early
age and you were told to keep kosher homes. You obeyed the Rabbis and
followed what they taught. What a shame that they didn't use this devotion
to show God as a person to love. What a pity they didn't always translate
or explain the Hebrew that they taught. Of course, as a girl, none of this
was for me anyway, only the men had the privileges of such education
although women weren't exactly forbidden to follow in their footsteps. It
was not quite so bad as in the film 'Yentl', set in the last century in
Eastern Europe, in which Barbra Streisand had to dress up as a boy to
receive a full education.
My father was a professional boxer in his youth. He was also a gambler
and, we believe, a womaniser. When he married my mum he settled down (a
little) and he became a tailor. As he would gamble a lot of what he
earned, my mother had a tough life. She was a quiet, timid woman and was
not very worldly. All she knew was her work and her children, that was it.
She was not a happy person and all my childhood memories were of her
weeping. Usually she was beside the window waiting for dad to come home.
He was always missing, maybe gambling or perhaps a woman. He was a person
who I never got to know very well because of his detachment from his
children. I don't think he was a bad man. When he had money he was kind
and generous and we had toys, comics, all that a child could want, but
most of the time the money wasn't there and there was no food in the
house.
As I grew up I discovered I was artistic and I went to art school for a
while, though I didn't take it too seriously. I had no direction, I just
drifted into the usual things, dances, clubs, boys. I was totally without
ambition. As a Jewish family we did not celebrate the Jewish holidays at
this time. The only religious thing was that Mum lit the candles on Friday
night. Although it gave me a glow inside to see the shining candles it did
not mean a great deal to me. My Mum would stop my two brothers and I from
doing certain things on Friday night (the Sabbath). No cutting nails, no
writing, no knitting. I accepted this, I never questioned it. She would
close her eyes as she said her prayers. What did she pray? Maybe she
prayed for my dad to bring home a full wage packet.
We were English Jews, secular Jews. I only went to synagogues for
weddings, barmitzvahs or Holy days. My friends were both Jew and Gentile,
although my club was Jewish. This club was a haven for us, it was an
opportunity to mix with kids of the same age, or, should I say, Jewish
kids of the same age. I always knew that my husband would be Jewish, and
so he was! I met Hymie and we married. Hymie was (he is now retired) a
cab-driver (what else did you expect, a doctor maybe?) Because of his
background he was very aware of the need for security. He was hard
working, making sure we had a secure home, with the fridge always full.
Because food was so scarce in his childhood, he hated waste. The kids got
bored with his stories from his childhood, 'Yes dad, we know you had to
make do with only half a banana, but we want a whole one. No, I don't want
bread with it!' (they had everything with bread in his youth, as it was a
cheap way to fill the stomach). He also had (has) the patience of a saint
living with me. I was the restless one. He didn't need a lot, wasn't
forever seeking for new things, like me. So long as food was plenty, bills
paid, and I was not moaning, then his life was complete. Everyone loved
him, as he was (and still is) a practical joker. Always hiding or
distorting the truth with a joke, so that people never knew whether to
take him seriously or not.
Anyway, my life eventually revolved around home and our two children,
Stephen and Michele ...
STEVE
At last, I wondered when I was going to get a mention! She's got more to
say but we'll leave the wilderness years, the mid-life crisis, the caring
years etc. until later, when they're more relevant to our story. I suppose
that this is a good a place as any to say a little about my own formative
years.
I was a horrible child, so my mother told me (where have you heard that
before). In fact I took after her, so my dad still tells me. I was
antisocial as a child, more at home with test tubes than with people.
Forget Raquel Welch, give me a bunsen burner any day! Tottenham on a
Saturday afternoon was a place where I bought my chemistry equipment,
football (and all sport) was a complete mystery to me. I was a loner. I
misbehaved on purpose, just to get sent up to my room early. My early
years were quite boring really. I looked at my friends (the few that I
had) with envious eyes. Why couldn't I have the excitement of family rows,
parental splits or the odd beating? Home life was quite average and
uninteresting.
As far as I could remember the only thing Jewish about us when we gorged
ourselves with food at Uncle Syd's at Passover time. We even had a
Christmas tree at my Nana's house every year, though I don't recollect us
actually going as far as singing carols. In fact, I was the only religious
person in my family, as far as I could see. For as long as I could
remember, up to my thirteenth birthday, I was blessed (or cursed?) with
the weekly visit of Rabbi Jacobs. He was the one who taught me to be a
Jew. I became the World authority on Deuteronomy 12. I could read it
forwards and backwards, sing it, even yodel it. My whole reason for being,
in a Jewish sense, was to learn that passage until it permeated every pore
of my body. And the whole reason behind that was that, on some fateful day
in Spring, in some far-off time, I would be able to stand up in confidence
at the front of a Synagogue congregation at the time of my Barmitzvah and
sing that passage with the unwavering voice of a pre-pubescent Cantor. And
the whole reason behind that was that my dad, a few rows ahead of me, and
my mum, hidden among the hats in the gallery, could get that warm glow of
satisfaction that only comes from the knowledge that you've brought up
your son in a proper Jewish manner. That's what being Jewish was to me. I
could say that with confidence because, the day after my Barmitzvah, there
was no Rabbi Jacobs, no Hebrew lessons, no Deuteronomy 12 (I never
understood what I was learning anyway, as I was never shown the English
translation!). At last I didn't have to be Jewish anymore, I could be like
everyone else!
PHYLLIS
Forget what he's just said, this is my side of it. Stephen's barmitzvah
went well. I was so proud of him on that morning when he read his portion
of the Torah. But was it meaningful? No. I was more concerned with my hat
that kept slipping. I was more interested in the congregation. Looking
round to see who had made the effort to see my son do his "bit"
(I kept a mental note of those who hadn't made the service, so that I
would do the same on their day). As Stephen said, it meant little to him.
It was really just an excuse to have a big 'do' afterwards. Once I went to
another Barmitzvah, an orthodox Jewish one. It was delightful. I sensed a
difference, a truthfulness about it, as if this was the real thing. They
sang Hebrew songs and there was a real joy present. In all the many, many
Barmitzvahs I've been to, that one stands out in my memory. It was honest
and I knew it. Mine and all the others I had been to were just playing the
part with no true feelings.
As my children grew, so did I. I started using the brain I was born with,
and I found out that I didn't always see eye to eye with Hymie. I felt, in
some way, that I was following the sheep without thinking things through.
I started to ask questions. Why go to a synagogue service without
understanding a single word of it? God was not presented as approachable
but as a stern, frightening Holy God. Certainly I did not feel that God
was any part of my life, and I wasn't attracted to Him.
I decided that I'd had enough of religion. I felt a hypocrite, just
play-acting. It started with the Jewish New Year cards sent out every
year. We did not buy them, oh no, we had them specially printed in gold.
Enough was enough, what was the point of these cards? They were either
sent to people I never see, or to people who I didn't like, or to people I
saw every day! I stopped going to the synagogue, again questioning why I
was going. Bit by bit I stopped trying to be a good Jew. Being Jewish was
something that you inherit, like my brown eyes, and that was enough for
me. It was not important that I was a Jew, in fact, among Gentile
strangers, it was usually a good thing not to mention that we were Jewish.
STEVE
I must say that, in my own way, I came to the same conclusion. Deprived
of Jewish friends from childhood, due to having a private Hebrew tutor as
I mentioned earlier, I drifted more towards Gentiles. Anyway, I was more
suited to the quieter type of person, most Jews I knew at that time seemed
to me to be brash, aggressive and over-bearing - I think I just met the
wrong ones! But then I was the shy sensitive type, hiding behind the chair
whenever a Dalek appeared on Doctor Who, while my contemporaries were busy
beating up 'darker-hued people' on buses. I went to a minor public school,
entering it friendless, being the only one from my primary school to go
there, and left it seven years later in virtually the same state. To me
they were wasted years socially, spiritually and intellectually. I didn't
respond to the environment, partly due to the fact that these were the
'swinging sixties' and I became very much a 'drop-out', not that I was
caught up that much in the Spirit of the Age. Sex, drugs and rock and roll
were all the rage, though they were overrated in my opinion, especially as
I was totally clueless and innocent about two of them and hopeless about
the third (I played a bit of guitar). But we played the part, us
schoolkids of the late sixties. We picked flowers on the sports field and
put them in our (long) hair before being rugby tackled mercilessly by the
more military minded and bristle-headed sportie types. I played guitar at
parties, partly to look cool and partly to avoid smoking one of those
sweet smelling cigarettes. We crammed into smoky cinemas in afternoon free
periods to see the latest 'X' film, after choking on our halves of cider
in the pub round the corner, then frantically strained our minds to think
up credible excuses for our lateness as the film finished an hour later
than expected. These were carefree days, and I, for one, was glad to see
the back of them!
If it was up to me I would have hidden my Jewishness under a bush at the
school entrance. As things were, my religion was down on the register. I
was excused RE and worship in the chapel, being given far more interesting
things to do such as learning braille and corresponding with blind kids.
We occasionally had to sit through the odd RE lesson, though, curiously, I
can't remember anything about religion being taught. My only recollection
was a discussion in class about various sexual problems, being conducted
by a rather flushed and excited teacher, sweating profusely from his
dog-collar. Of the Jewish boys in my class I was only friendly with two of
them, one a committed Zionist, no doubt by now a respected settler in
Israel and the other a rabid Athiest, probably, by now, a vicar in the
Church of England (I jest!). The others were more typically Jewish and at
least two of them grew up to become very high achievers. One is now a
highly acclaimed Q.C. and the other a nationally known journalist (you
know who you are!).
At eighteen I left for University. At last real freedom and this time I
not so much left my Jewish identity behind as buried it 12 foot
underground. It wasn't without a great deal of shame, and, later, regret,
that I went through my three years at college as a WASP (White Anglo Saxon
Protestant, or, in my case, Weak Anti Social Person). This was OK until
the last month, of my last term, of my last year, just after Finals, when
I inexplicably fell for a Christian girl and I was introduced to this
invisible Jesus, as a love rival and my life was never to be the same ...
PHYLLIS
Come on Steve, you're hogging the limelight now, it's your mother's turn
to speak. I was now in my 30's and my life took a new course, when I
discovered that I had a talent for painting. And it started a new and
exciting road for me, which Hymie, with his usual tolerance, accepted. My
eyes were opened to the beauty of creation. I met many new people,
artists, teachers, students, people from every walk of life. And we were
all different, our skills in art were different, as were the way we
expressed our feelings through our art. I exhibited my work and sold some
of it. But I didn't paint to sell, if I did it was a bonus. I wasn't that
good but I had a certain boldness in my work that made folk want to look
at it. I had lots of publicity in the local rag, it shows you how
desperate they were for stories! I had lots of fun and burnt many a
saucepan when carried away with an inspiration. The kids and Hymie took
this all in their stride.
The years passed. I continued to paint, but only when the mood took me.
It didn't become my life, I filled my life with many different projects.
There was dressmaking, market trading, making dolls, hats, beachwear and
lots and lots of things that I can't even remember. By now Steve was at
University and Michele was getting restless with life. Hymie and I were,
at this time, going to many parties. We had lots of friends and enjoyed
drinking and bopping the night away. But that didn't last for long. While
I enjoyed the build-up to these parties, having my hair styled, nails
varnished and new clothes, I was always the one who got bored out of my
mind at the party. Again the bubble had burst. All I could see around me
was a lot of drunk people jigging about, saying meaningless things to one
another. In the morning I'd be grumpy and flat. Hymie would get irritated
with my moods. I was never satisfied, I always felt that something was
missing.
"What are you looking for?", he would say to me. "What do
you want?" I didn't know, I couldn't put my finger on it. I didn't
have peace, I knew that there was more to life.
STEVE
So here I was, on graduation day. Supposedly my parent's proudest day,
after my Barmitzvah. Only, it wasn't. I was in a grumpy mood, it was the
hottest day in 40 years and I was wearing a black gown and hat. But worse
than that I hadn't washed my hair, my trousers kept slipping down and my
shirt was hanging out. Now to you and me that wouldn't mean much, but to
my dad, forget the rewards for three years hard slog (well, 2 month's last
minute cramming!) and the educational achievement, I was the scruffiest
person there and a disgrace! It was the worst day in his life.
That was OK by me, as it was also the worst day in my life. I had lost
the girl of my dreams (though I've found a better one now, Monica!) to an
invisible spirit who had died on a tree in Israel 2000 years ago. I was
angry and depressed. But I was also curious and was determined to find out
more. I buried my head in various books (including the Bible) in August
1976 and didn't emerge until August 1986! In the meantime I worked on a
kibbutz in Israel, got a job, married and produced a couple of kids. On
the 26th of August 1986 it all clicked into place and, shouting 'Eureka',
I ran down the street (figuratively speaking) secure in the knowledge that
I had found the secret of the Universe. The invisible spirit, Jesus, had
become real to me and I was changed forever.
PHYLLIS
Then I got a very special job, at the age of 50 , working in a hospital
as a Voluntary Services Organiser. My job was to enrol, train and support
volunteers who worked in the hospital. It was hard and draining work, but
exciting. I had my own office, complete with filing cabinet, typewriter
and all sorts of office equipment. This was a joke as, when the stationery
department phoned to ask what materials I needed, I did not have a clue! I
knew that I could do a good job here, but not from an office. I liked to
communicate with people and that's what this job was really all about. I
used the phone, I didn't write memos (I couldn't spell). In the two years
I was there my biggest achievement was in starting a charity tea bar,
which grew into a snack bar, raising big money for the hospital. I also
organised a show for the patients. Of course it was the World's worst
show. Everything went wrong. The stage lights fused, an entertainer
slipped, they missed cues, curtains opened at the wrong time and the
electrician rowed with a patient in a wheel chair, accusing him of
tampering with the wiring. It was hilarious.
After two years of this, enough was enough. I was bored again. To amuse
myself I started knitting. Nothing very exciting, you might say, but these
jumpers were different and original. To me they were an expression of art,
each one a blank canvas that I would cover with an exciting design.
Michele had married Tonino by now, with two year old Francesca. I
suggested to her that, to earn some pocket money for herself, that she
should go out and try to sell some. They sold and the shops cried for
more. I couldn't knit them quick enough. So Michele and I became partners
in this knitwear business. Michele had never sold a thing in her life
before. Now she was a saleslady, selling to such places as exclusive shops
in Knightsbridge, with a growing clientele which even included the odd TV
star. They sold for about £150-£200. She would carry these
exclusive jumpers in an old Moses basket that Francesca had slept in, to
the most snooty shops. I was embarrassed whenever I went with her but
amazed at the warm reception that she got.
It was in my second year in this thriving business that Stephen dropped
the bombshell that was to turn my whole world upside down ...
STEVE
.... which brings us back to the story. So I've just challenged her and
told her to pray for any particular problem she had. Looking back I don't
know why I actually put a timescale of one week on her getting an answer
to this unknown prayer, but it clearly wasn't my idea at the time! But it
was obviously the right thing to say, given the events that were to happen
next.
Now although I wasn't to know at the time the affect my disclosure would
have on my Mum, it was also to spark off a journey of my own, a journey
that was long overdue. For me now an interest in personal identity was
kindled. Secure in my own faith in the Messiah, Jesus, I'd never really
considered the 'Jewish question'. A few years back when I'd embarked on my
intellectual search for the truths of Christianity, I'd reached the
position of understanding, when my intellect was happy with all of the
answers and Christianity had justified itself to me on a 'head' level. Yet
my heart was troubled. I had an instinctive, yet false, feeling that
Christianity was not for Jewish people. I honestly believed, with all of
my learning and intellect, that it was physically impossible for a Jew to
become a Christian. I saw the promises and assurances that these
Christians had, I saw their purposeful lives. I was living proof of that
verse in the Book of Romans which talked about 'provoking the Jews to
jealousy'. I was jealous of these Gentile Christians. I wanted what they
had and sincerely felt that God would not accept me in the same way.
Anyway I eventually got over it (with God's help) and became a believer in
Jesus the Messiah, such is the power of God and His faithfulness and have
not looked back since. But it wasn't easy.
But now, looking back many years later and watching my Mum going through
similar doubts of her own, I felt that I needed to know more. Why is it
difficult for a Jew to become a Christian? What's so different about being
Jewish? And who are we, anyway?
