The Jewish Cultural Center was festooned with twelve colorful banners draped across its facade, depicting the ensigns of the sons of Jacob. It did not take me long to pull my car to the curb.
Out in the field beside the building they had set up a make-believe kibbutz. A tent pretended to be the kibbutz synagogue. A crowd had gathered and was listening to a man I discovered was a rabbi.
As I joined the group, a woman was asking: “What tribe do you belong to?” no doubt motivated by those banners displayed on the building.
“Oh,” replied the rabbi, “I’m from Judah. We’re all from Judah. That’s what Jew means. All of the other tribes were annihilated.”
“I didn’t know that,” responded the woman.
“Excuse me, sir,” I ventured, “but these Jews recently returned to Israel from Ethiopia, I believe they are said to be from the tribe of Dan.”
“No, they’re the offspring of King Solomon and the Queen of Sheba,” he said matter-of-factly, as if merely saying it made it so.
“Well, sir,” I continued, “I know you don’t recognize the New Testament, but when it opens, it tells about John Baptist’s family from Levi, and Anna from Asher. And Paul is from Benjamin…”
“Well, we don’t accept the New Testament.”
“But your own prophet, Ezekiel, stated that the twelve tribes will be restored to the land…”
“Sir,” retorted the somewhat ruffled rabbi, “I want to make one thing clear. We are not biblical Jews; we are rabbinic Jews. We do not follow the Bible; we follow the teachings of the rabbis.”
“Just one more question, sir. Who did the rabbis follow? If you follow them and they follow the Bible, wouldn’t you be following the Bible, too?”
“No further questions!” Just that abruptly the session was over. The crowd dispersed and, feeling it somewhat chilly in spite of the September Georgia weather, I retreated indoors.
There were various interesting displays–on the lower level, a suq, or Middle Eastern market, and on the upper level a room dedicated to fund-raising for returning Jews to Israel, another room about the Dead Sea scrolls, and one displaying the Feasts of Jehovah. I saved that for the last.
When I eventually entered the Feasts room, a young Jewish woman was finishing with a group of school children. She invited me in with a smile.
“I notice you have only displayed the biblical feasts,” I began, thinking of my rabbi friend.
“Yes, the important ones,” Hannah replied.
“I’m so glad. Because when you add to the Word of God, you take away from it.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“These feasts are God’s blueprint for history. When God made the world, He rested on the seventh day and hallowed it. Then there are seven high sabbaths–these feasts. There was a sabbatical year every seven years. And a jubilee every seven times seven years. There was a seventy-year rest (she didn’t remember) when Israel failed to give God’s land its rest. And then there’s Daniel’s 70×7 equaling 490 years, of which 483 years are used up. Now it could be just a coincidence, but that 483 years stopped the day the Jews rejected Rabbi Yeshua at Passover time.”
“What are the other seven years?” she asked.
“The time of Jacob’s Trouble. You remember Jacob went a long way from Bethel, the house of God. How far did he have to come back? Every step he had gone away. Now you know that your people have gone a long way from God.”
“Yes,” she admitted sadly.
“Well, God is going to bring them back to Himself. It will take a great deal of tragedy until they are ready to receive His Messiah.”
“You’re one of those born-again people, aren’t you? Could we have lunch together? I’ve never understood what you people believe.”
I was glad to oblige. Sitting in the suq, I told Hannah about her own feasts and their prophetic significance. I wish I could tell you she received her Messiah that day. I cannot. But often I pray for Hannah, and thousands like her who cling to their shadows when they could embrace my Saviour.