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I was born into a Jewish family, and for twenty-seven years I never heard of the Messiah who died for me at Calvary. I am writing this word in the hope that a searching, seeking heart somewhere might find that blessed hope and eternal joy that I now have. 

My parents were wonderful people. They tried to bring up my sister and me in the Jewish tradition. We went to the Temple for Yom Kippur and Rosh Hashanah. We lit candles every Friday night, and I went to Sunday School for some years. But always, there was an emptiness, a longing to know God better. I never read the Bible. I would pray when I had a need but never found fulfillment. My marriage at a very young age to a Roman Catholic broke my parent’s hearts. They always considered me a rebel, and this marriage was the last straw. My husband was not a religious Catholic. We lived together, raising our children, making materialism our god, forever seeking to accumulate more, thinking things would bring true peace and contentment to our lives. 

After ten years of married life, my husband began searching. Something was missing in our lives, but what? One evening our lights went out and we had no choice but to listen to our transistor radio. A Gospel preacher was on. He gave a message that spoke to my husband’s heart. After all these years, we suddenly found out that God had sent His Son to die for our sins so that we might have eternal life with Him. My husband responded immediately. He fell on his knees, and cried his heart out and promised God that night to wholly dedicate his life to Him. I also heard the same message, that the Jews were going to hell if they didn’t receive the Messiah, but I rejected all of this as nonsense. I had been taught that Jesus Christ was not to be mentioned in our home. I was almost repelled at the sound of His Name. 

The following months proved to be terrible ones for me. My husband meant business with the Lord, and it got so difficult for me that I told him that he had better give all this nonsense up or I would take our two children and leave him. I was expecting our third child at the time. He, of course, had no intention of giving up this newfound joy. 

I went back to my parents. The following weeks were a nightmare. We tried to have my husband put in a mental institution, but, praise God, he was delivered. 

I was constantly miserable. Finally on Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, when I thought I could not go on another day, I got down on my knees. I told God from the very depths of my soul, “Dear God, if Jesus is the Messiah, show me.” By mid-morning the Lord showed me this truth through the Scriptures, and I received Him as my personal Savior. 

I telephoned my husband and told him that we were now one in Christ and that I was coming home. When I told my parents, they didn’t understand. I took my children and we flew back to my husband, and ever since we have had a blessed life in Him. 

We decided to give our lives to telling others of God’s wonderful Grace. We have had many trials, heartaches and difficulties. My people think I have deserted the Jews and my husband’s people think he has deserted “the one, true church.” But friends, we haven’t deserted anyone. God says, “For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God.” Our heavenly Father has provided a way for us to be reconciled to Him, through His Son, the Promised Messiah of Israel (Isaiah 53, Psalm 22). 

It is not the church that saves; it is personal acceptance of Him. All through the Old Testament God speaks of His Son. How I pray that other Jews, Roman Catholics and Protestants might ask God to reveal this truth to them so that they too might experience this same wonderful joy that has been ours since receiving Him. He has met our every need. Our days are filled to overflowing in this new life in Christ, which grows more precious year by year. 

Psalm 116:8 is my testimony, “For Thou hast delivered my soul from death, mine eyes from tears, and my feet from falling.”

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