“The LORD is compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in love.” — Psalm 103:8 NIV
As El Al Flight number 027 to Tel Aviv pulled back from the gate in Chicago, my wife and I were pleased that no one had taken the third seat beside us in our row. It meant that we could stretch out a little during the long flight that was before us to Israel. It would be six thousand four hundred and thirty six miles to be exact, and over thirteen hours in the air, not counting a layover in Newark, NJ. But it was a free trip and we were excited at the prospect of our first trip to the Holy Land.
The layover in Newark was fairly brief but as people began to board the plane, they kept coming and coming and coming— until every seat, including the one next to me was occupied. We began to wonder if the Boeing 777 could ever get off the ground. It did, of course—and that’s when I met Jonathan, who was now squeezed in the seat next to me. So much for our anticipated comfort.
Jonathan was an Hasidic Jew or more commonly referred to as a “religious or orthodox” Jew. They are hard to miss because of their distinctive dress—black hats, white open collar dress shirts and black jackets and pants. Some had untouched straggly beards, some were shaven. All had tallits (prayer shawls) and some had a little curl (payos) of one shape or another hanging from the side of their heads. These were cultic Jews, the Pharisees of our day, who were bound (as we were soon to discover) by rules, regulations, and ordinances that many believe their beloved Torah (the Law) never commanded.
Before we began our push out from the gate in Newark, there was suddenly a considerable commotion across the aisle from us. One of the religious Jews was refusing to be seated. After several warnings by the flight attendant and then a security agent, he finally exchanged seats with someone and we were on our way. Naturally, we were curious as to what the problem was so this gave me an opportunity to introduce myself to Jonathan and ask him if he knew what it was all about.
He spoke impeccable English. “Yes,” he replied. “That man’s seat assignment was next to a woman. His
orthodox religious views do not allow him to sit next to her in a public setting. He had been demanding that she get up and move even though she was a cripple and could not.” One of the passengers spared the lady from further embarrassment by exchanging places with him. “O Jerusalem, Jerusalem . . .”
About three hours into the flight, after we had eaten dinner, I began another conversation with Jonathan. You know how it begins. “Where are you from? What do you do? Are you married? How many children do you have?” Jonathan asked me what I did and I replied, “Well, I’m a Christian church pastor. That’s kind of like a rabbi, I suppose, and I’m going to the Holy Land for the very first time. I’m from New Mexico. Do you know where that is?” He didn’t. “What do you recommend we see In Israel?” And we were off and running for the next hour.
Sitting next to a pastor seemed to peak his interest in Christianity so our conversation eventually led to our mutual beliefs about God and Jesus. He was not offended when I shared my views with him but he had two concepts that were very disturbing to me. One was his idea that all Christians hated the Jews and thought they were under a curse. I told him that I couldn’t speak for all Christians but that my wife and I loved the Jewish people for several reasons. One is that Christianity came out of Judaism. Jesus was a Jew and so were his followers and we believed that he was the Messiah who was promised in the Hebrew scriptures (the Old Testament).
I told him that the apostle Paul, was a converted rabbinic Jew, who became one of the greatest of all Christian teachers. He said there was a distinct advantage of one being a Jew, and that was that “they have been entrusted with the very words of God” (Romans 3:2). If indeed they were under a curse, so were the Gentiles who refused to believe in the Messiah.
Then I asked him what his belief was about God. “Who is God to you, Jonathan?” He said that he believed God was a force or a presence, so to speak, who spoke through the Torah (the Law) but was unapproachable and required many works to gain his favor and even then there was no assurance of forgiveness.
“Does God hear your many prayers that you are required to say several times a day?” I asked. He said he was not sure but he hoped so. It was then that I opened my Bible to the Old Testament and Psalm 103. A psalm of their beloved King David. He consented to read the first fourteen verses together.
“Praise the LORD, O my soul; all my inmost being, praise his holy name. Praise the LORD, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits—Who forgives all your sin and heals all your diseases, Who redeems your life from the pit and crowns you with love and compassion, Who satisfies your desires with good things so that your youth is renewed like the eagle’s. The LORD works righteousness and justice for all the oppressed. He made known his ways to Moses, his deeds to the people of Israel: The LORD is compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in love. He will not always accuse nor will he harbor his anger forever; He does not treat us as our sins deserve or repay us according to our iniquities. For as high as the heavens are above the earth; so great is his love for those who fear him; As far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us. As a father has compassion on his children so the LORD has compassion on those who fear him; For he knows how we are formed, he remembers that we are dust.”
“Jonathan, does that sound like an unapproachable, impersonal God or force to you?” He looked at me kind of strangely—I think he was surprised that I knew the Hebrew scriptures. I sensed he was also not very familiar with that Psalm. He seemed to be struggling for an answer so I took the pressure off of him by continuing,
“Jonathan, your scriptures tell us that the LORD, is a personal, loving, forgiving and compassionate God. That’s the way he revealed himself to Moses the psalmist says, and that’s the way he shows himself to his people. And that’s the way he has showed himself to my wife and me. And I believe that’s the way he wants to reveal himself to you.”
It was past midnight when we both became silent along with most of the others as our bodies began to beg for rest. Sleeping was difficult so I silently prayed for Jonathan that he would ponder our conversation and especially Psalm 103. “Oh, God, let him see you as you really are and draw his heart to your son Jesus” (John 6:44).
We were just two hours from Tel Aviv as the sun began to rise and the light came in through the windows of our plane. The older religious Jews, as if on cue, began to get out of their seats and put on their kippahs (a skull cap), their tallits (prayer shawls), phylacteries (leather straps wound around the arm which served as prayer symbols) and frontlets (little leather pouches containing scriptures). Taking their Hebrew bibles they stood in the aisles and went through their morning prayers in clear sight of all of us in the cabin. Some were fervent, parading around the aisles of the plane while some were casual. Others appeared to be simply going through the motions. Some seemed to be putting on a show.
Jonathan didn’t participate that morning. I didn’t know why—and I didn’t ask. But I did open up my Bible and began my morning reading in the Psalms which on that day began with Psalm 51. But I couldn’t get past verses 14-17 that morning. It was David’s prayer of repentance:
“Save me from my bloodguilt, O God, the God who saves me, and my tongue will sing of your righteousness. O Lord, open my lips, and my mouth will declare your praise. You do not delight in sacrifice, or I would bring it; You do not take pleasure in burnt offerings. The sacrifice of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.”
That became my morning prayer in behalf of my new friend, Jonathan. As we left the plane together in Tel Aviv, he said how he hoped to see me someday in New Mexico. I said that would be nice. But I thought to myself as he disappeared into the terminal, how much nicer it would be to see him in heaven. Maranatha.
— Pastor Don Kimbro
