November/December 2002
My Menorah
The Little Tree of Life
by Judith Hayes
| I felt very confused about my roots as a Jew. Who and what was I? How could I reconcile my birth as a Jew and my new belief in Jesus? |
As a little girl I can remember searching for God. My mother was severely mentally ill and abusive, and my father was barely hanging on trying to support our family and stay sane himself. I remember praying alone at times during my childhood, crying softly on my bed, hoping a God, if he was real, would come to love and rescue me from my loneliness and fear.
In 1973, when I was just 23 years old, an old friend invited me to a small church meeting. It was that night I first heard men and women worshipping God, and I felt a peace I had never known before. Soon after that experience I asked the Lord Jesus to come live in my heart. I knew he did, yet some hard struggles lay ahead for me. I was born and raised as a Jew, and now I had a new identity as a "Christian." My conversion to Christianity greatly angered my father, who felt betrayed, and it deeply hurt my mother. In my parent's eyes I was disloyal to my heritage.
I felt very confused about my roots as a Jew. Who and what was I? How could I reconcile my birth as a Jew and my new belief in Jesus? How could I explain my new spiritual beliefs which hurt my parents, and still cherish my rich ancient heritage? The answers would come slowly, in God's timing.
One warm Sunday afternoon my husband and I went for a drive, looking for an interesting way to spend the day together without leaving Los Angeles. We decided to visit The Museum of Tolerance. I became so anxious and afraid that I almost asked my husband to turn the car around and go someplace else. He sensed my uneasiness and took my hand to comfort me.
| Now, 27 years later, I am able to see that I have not sold my heritage, but followed it to its prophetic conclusion. |
Before the tour started, our guard invited us to explore exhibits outside the entrance to the museum. I strolled through the museum's gift shop. It was filled with artistic and religious items from Israel. Suddenly I spotted a table filled with an assortment of menorahs. Some were ceramic and painted with bright colors. Others were more traditional and made of metals. My eye was drawn to a little menorah that looked like a small silver tree.
I picked up this little menorah and quietly held it in my arms, remembering a distant time in my childhood. Although raised in a non-religious Jewish home, I was carried back to our celebration of Hanukkah and the small and simple menorah my mother always filled with colorful candles. My younger sister and I were allowed to light a new candle each night for eight nights. It was a rare and joyful time for our family.
As my mind returned to the present, I found I was holding the little silver menorah close to my chest and warm tears were trickling down my cheeks. I decided to buy the menorah. I would not fully realize it until years later, but that purchase symbolized the first step in my repossession of my birth as a Jew. It was an amazing moment for me. Twenty-eight years earlier I had run away from my unhappy family life, from my past and my Judaic heritage. I was 18 at the time and did not realize that I had run away from my roots and my beginnings. Three years later, I married a quiet, loving, young Episcopalian man with a nondescript name to match. I hid behind that name and used it as a mask that would shield me for 25 years.
Now, as we toured the museum together, we came to a case filled with the personal belongings of an exterminated Jewish family from Poland -- aging baby photos, an infant's shoes and a large china platter with the lovely little girl's face in the center. I felt like an intruder sifting through the precious remains of an unknown family.
Suddenly I realized that those Polish Jews were not strangers at all. In a touching way, we were connected by our mutual heritage as Jews. The little girl's face strongly resembled our own older daughter, Sasha. At that moment, as I looked into the face of that innocent Jewish child, two opposing forces within me met for the first time in my life. It was as if the past and the present were face to face, and I felt complete. I no longer needed to struggle and hide, but I opened my heart to integration, and to peace. As we continued on the tour we saw walls covered with photos of many gentile people who sacrificed their own lives to help hide Jews from the Nazis. I learned a powerful lesson about heroism that day also.
No longer will I casually dismiss the events of the Holocaust, or the many souls who perished in vain. I will never again be ashamed to call myself a Jew, a member of a strong, surviving people called the "Chosen of God."
Now, 27 years later, I am able to see that I have not sold my heritage, but followed it to its prophetic conclusion. My marriage to a Christian before I knew the Lord was anything but a mistake. My God was guiding my path. Now we are blessed with two God-fearing daughters, both married to Christian men, and both expecting their first babies. As an added treat for my soul, my only sister also accepted the Lord. Now, that is a legacy and a heritage!
This Hanukkah my husband and I will once again light the candles of our menorah. It is my way of saying to all those who died in the Holocaust, I promise you will live on in my heart and never be forgotten.
Judith Hayes and her husband live in Chatsworth, California.