This article was originally published by The Friends of Israel.
"Ty, I have a question,” he said. “When did Jesus stop being Jewish?” Jacob and I have had many great conversations over the past few years about the Bible, Jewish history, and Israel in God’s plan. But his question took me aback. My dear friend, who was once severely persecuted by “Christian” anti-Semites, essentially wanted to know when Jesus betrayed His people. So, let’s consider the question. When did Jesus stop being Jewish? JESUS WAS BORN A JEW. Every December, the thoughts of Christians turn to the night of Jesus’ birth in Bethlehem. When we study the Christmas narrative, however, we usually brush across the account of what took place after Jesus’ birth, after the shepherds and the gifts and the angels in the highest. What happened after the Christmas story tells us a lot about the Jewishness of Jesus and His earthly family. The Gospel of Luke records that eight days after He was born, Jesus’ parents had Him circumcised and named Him Jesus, in Hebrew Yeshua (Lk. 2:21). The circumcision and naming ceremony is called the brit milah (literally, “covenant of circumcision”). It is a rite given to Israel in the Mosaic Law that binds the male child to the people of Israel, the Law, and God (Lev. 12:3). In addition to the brit milah, the Torah teaches that a Jewish woman who gives birth to a baby boy is considered unclean for a total of 40 days (Lev. 12:2,4). Following this time of purification, she and her husband are to take their son to the priest in Jerusalem, where they are to bring a lamb as a burnt offering and a young pigeon or a turtledove as a sin offering (Lev. 12:6). Jesus was born to observant Jewish parents, who loved God and knew the Tanakh by heart (Lk. 1:46-55). After the 40 days of her purification, Joseph and Mary traveled from Nazareth to Jerusalem and did exactly as the Law commanded (Lk. 2:22-24). From His first day on Earth, Jesus, under the direction of His observant parents, was obedient to the Law. He was born a Jew. JESUS LIVED AS A JEW. We do not have many details about Jesus’ life prior to His ministry; but we do know that He was raised in a distinctly Jewish home. For example, Jesus’ parents, in accordance with the Law, annually took their family to Jerusalem for Passover (Dt. 16:16; Lk. 2:41). In fact, it was after the family observed Passover in Jerusalem and began their return trip to Nazareth that 12-year-old Jesus went missing. When Joseph and Mary backtracked to Jerusalem, they eventually found him sitting in the temple, listening to the teachers of the Sanhedrims (Sanh. 88b) and asking them questions that astonished those who heard Him (Lk. 2:46). In addition to Passover, Jesus, as the Son of God and an observant Jew, celebrated the other feasts proscribed in the Law, as well as the non-biblical Feast of Dedication, or Hanukkah (Jn. 10:22). Additionally, when Jesus was 13, He would have had His bar mitzvah. The term bar mitzvah literally means “son of the law.” Rabbinic tradition dictates that a boy becomes a bar mitzvah at the age of 13, meaning that he is responsible to keep the Law of Moses from then on. Observant as He and His family were, Jesus undoubtedly had a bar mitzvah. We also know that Jesus attended synagogue. He was a regular participant in the life of the synagogue (Lk. 4:16) and taught in synagogues throughout Israel (v. 15). Jesus kept the Torah, observed the festivals, participated in Jewish traditions, and was active in His local synagogue. For all of His 33 years on Earth, Jesus lived a Jewish life. JESUS DIED A JEW. Not only was Jesus born a Jew and lived a Jewish life, He was a Jew when He died, too. Throughout His life, Jesus never distanced Himself from the Jewish people or disavowed them. True, He called out the Jewish leadership for their hypocrisy (Matt. 23) and pronounced judgment on them (v. 36); but so did the prophets throughout Israel’s history. Jesus rebuked His people, cared for His people, taught His people, healed His people, and forgave the sin of His people. At no point in His life or ministry was Jesus anti-Jewish. He was born a Jew, lived a Jewish life, and died a Jew. JESUS WILL RETURN TO EARTH A JEW. For the Jewish people, the thought of living in a world void of anti-Semitism is unfathomable. Persecution and attempts to annihilate them have become a part of the fabric of the Jewish experience. The Bible teaches, however, that there is coming a time when anti-Semitism will be dealt with once and for all by the King of the Jews, Jesus. When Jesus returns to Earth, He will do so as the world’s Jewish judge and king (Matt. 25:31; cf. Is. 9:7). He will gather all the people of the world to Israel, where He will judge them. This judgment is hinged on one factor: How did these Gentiles treat their Jewish neighbors in their time of distress (Joel 3:2; Matt. 25:31–46)? In accordance with God’s promise to Abraham, Jesus will bless those who cared for the Jewish people, and He will curse those who did not care for them. After crushing anti-Semitism, the King of the Jews will become “King over all the earth” (Zech. 14:9). But even then, Jesus and the character of His kingdom will be Jewish. Each year, the nations of the world will convene in Jerusalem, where they will worship the God of Israel and keep Sukkot, the Feast of Tabernacles (Zech. 14:16). On their way to Jerusalem, when they see a Jewish person, they will grab his sleeve “saying, ‘Let us go with you, for we have heard that God is with you’” (Zech. 8:23). Throughout their existence, the Jewish people have perpetually had their sleeves grasped by the Gentiles, almost always to throw them to the ground, oppress them, or even to throw them into concentration camps. Under the rule of the King of the Jews, however, the world will be rid of anti-Semitism, and Gentiles will honor the Jewish people in their role as God’s Chosen People. CONCLUSION So, When did Jesus stop being Jewish? He never did. From His birth and brit milah, to His life on Earth, to His imminent return and reign as King, Jesus has never stopped being Jewish. Both Jews and Gentiles would do well to remember this. Gentiles should never assume God has divorced His Chosen People. Jewish people should not cast Jesus off as a traitor to His people. He never denied the Jewish people, and His message of salvation by grace through faith is for all people, the Jew first and also the Gentile (Rom. 1:16). This article was originally published in Israel My Glory magazine in the January/February 2020 issue.
The air was cool, a hint of dampness pervading it. I stood huddled with my Jewish friends. In front of us lay a massive mound of gray ash. Fragments of human bone protruded from it. As I gazed at the mound, my friends recited the “Mourner’s Kaddish,” a Hebrew prayer praising God and expressing a longing for the establishment of His Kingdom on Earth.1 We were at Majdanek, a concentration camp the Germans built outside Lublin, Poland, where they systematically exterminated an estimated 78,000 Jewish people during World War II. We stood at the memorial to the victims; the mound of ash was all that remained of them. My friends’ low and tearful prayers pulsated in my ears, as I silently offered up my own anguished prayer. Oh, Lord . . . Nothing else would come out. What could I possibly say, or even think, that would express the grief I felt? The ash represented so much: Lives cut short. Human dignity, the very image of God, reduced to refuse. Six million Jewish men, women, and children murdered due to the hatred of one demented German whose degeneracy was sustained by an acquiescent citizenry. The metered sounds of the “Kaddish,” the cement memorial to the victims, the awful heap of ashes—I knew they had all come to symbolize the story of the Jewish people in a Gentile world, a mournful history in a minor key. The Diaspora Jewish people outside Israel live in what they call the Diaspora. The word comes from two Greek words meaning “to scatter across,” and it aptly describes Jewish history. In Deuteronomy 28, Moses told Israel that obedience to His Word would bring blessing, and disobedience would bring cursing. Blessing meant fertile fields, healthy children, and security. Cursing meant dispersion around the globe—the Diaspora. The Jewish people would be plucked from their land, scattered to the four winds, and persecuted. The first dispersion occurred in 722 BC, when Assyria conquered the 10 northern tribes of Israel and scattered them throughout the Middle East, where many of them remained for centuries. But the biggest dispersion took place between AD 66 and 135. After the Roman Empire crushed the great rebellion of AD 66, it destroyed Jerusalem and the Temple in AD 70 and began driving God’s people into other parts of the world. Ancient historian Josephus said a million Jews perished and thousands were sold into slavery. Over the centuries, the children of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob settled on nearly every continent, initially living in close-knit communities separated from their Gentile neighbors. Later, especially in Europe, they sought to integrate into the broader societies in which they lived. Sometimes they were successful, but persecution followed them no matter how embedded they became. Religious Persecution Tragically, much Jewish persecution came at the hands of professing Christians who claimed to believe in the Scriptures and to follow the Jewish Messiah, Jesus. Many saw the Temple’s destruction as a sign that God was finished with the Jews and had replaced them with the church, the “new Israel.” Early Christian theologian Tertullian (c. AD 160–220) claimed Jacob and Esau were allegories of the church and Israel. “Beyond doubt,” he wrote, “through the edict of the divine utterance, the prior and ‘greater’ people—that is, the Jewish—must necessarily serve the ‘less’; and the ‘less’ people—that is, the Christian—overcome the ‘greater.’”2 Tertullian’s terribly flawed theology took root in the Gentile world, and Christendom’s message became clear: The Christians must subjugate the Jews. This anti-Semitic dogma motivated the infamous Crusades. Literally meaning “the war for the cross,” the Crusades were a response to the Muslim occupation of Israel, then called Palestine. In 1095, Pope Urban II called for a holy war against the Muslims “to recapture the Holy Land and ensure safety for Christian pilgrims visiting sacred sites.”3 Muslims were not the only people the bloodthirsty crusaders targeted. According to the dominant theology of the day, the Jewish people were also enemies of Christ and, therefore, fair game. “Christian” armies massacred Jews throughout Europe. For example, Count Emicho, a German nobleman and crusader, led his marauders to attack Jewish communities throughout the Rhineland in 1096. They went from town to town with the message of convert or die. At one point, Emicho and his henchmen exhumed the corpse of a Gentile man who had been buried for a month and claimed the Jews “took a gentile and boiled him in water. They then poured the water into our wells in order to kill us.” Angry mobs gathered “to avenge him who was crucified, whom their ancestors slew. . . . Let not a remnant or a residue escape; even an infant . . . in the cradle.”4 The crusaders killed nearly every Jewish person in the town. Sadly, the Crusades were not isolated movements. Throughout the past 2,000 years, people who claim to follow Christ have been among the most virulent persecutors of the Jewish people in the Diaspora. During the Spanish Inquisition, for example, the Roman Catholic Church hunted down and tortured Jews who converted to Christianity, claiming it was ferreting out infidelity. Today, anti-Semitism is growing. In April 2019, 19-year-old John Earnest, a member of an Orthodox Presbyterian church, entered a Chabad synagogue in Poway, California, and opened fire, killing one person and injuring three others, including the synagogue’s rabbi. In an eight-page manifesto, Earnest based his hatred of Jewish people partially on his flawed understanding of Scripture. Referring to Jews as “one of the most ugly, sinful, deceitful, cursed, and corrupt” races, he gave 15 “reasons” for his action, including, For their persecution of Christians of old (including the prophets of ancient Israel—Jeremiah, Isaiah, etc.), members of the early church (Stephen—whose death at the hands of the Jews was both heart-wrenching and rage-inducing), Christians of modern-day Syria and Palestine, and Christians in White nations.5 The Muslim world, too, has been cruel to the Jews. Abdelmohsen Abouhatab, a Philadelphia imam who live-streams anti-Semitic sermons on YouTube, delivered a sermon in 2019 in which he called Jews “the vilest people” and “enemies of Allah.” He also accused the late prime minister Menachem Begin “of slitting the stomach of a pregnant woman as part of a ‘bet,’” timesofisrael.com reported.6 Abouhatab also spouts lies about so-called Jewish money and power, a tactic people have always used to justify anti-Semitism. The Islamic Resistance Movement, known as Hamas, is among Israel’s greatest enemies. Its charter declares its intent to fight the “warmongering Jews” and states, “Israel will exist and will continue to exist until Islam will obliterate it.”7 Hamas’s efforts to annihilate Israel constitute a primary source of terrorism in the Middle East today. Political Persecution Not all persecution is religiously motivated. Jewish people also have been targeted for political reasons. One of the most emblematic manifestations of political anti-Semitism is the work The Protocols of the Elders of Zion, published in 1905 and proven to be a hoax in the 1920s. It purported to be the secret minutes of meetings of Jewish leaders, the Elders of Zion, and their plans for world domination. The Black Hundreds, an ultranationalist Russian organization, blamed the Jewish community for the Russian Revolution of 19058 and used the Protocols to justify their hatred, which eventually resulted in a vicious pogrom in Odessa that year in which more than 300 Jews were killed and thousands injured.9 As bad as the persecutions were, nothing equaled the politically motivated persecution led by a disgruntled painter named Adolf Hitler. His ultranationalism and Germany’s defeat in World War I fueled his hatred. Despite Jewish patriotism (more than 100,000 Jewish men fought for Germany during World War I),10 Hitler and many other Germans felt the Jewish people had cost them the war. Hitler’s “Final Solution” for dealing with European Jewry resulted in the deaths of millions. In 1918, Europe’s Jewish population was about 9.5 million. By the end of World War II, it was only 3.5 million.11 Today college campuses are hotbeds of anti-Semitism, and mainstream society isn’t far behind. The Anti-Defamation League recorded 1,879 anti-Semitic incidents in the United States in 2018 alone. Of these attacks, 39 of them were physical assaults, a 105 percent increase over 2017.12 One, called “the deadliest attack on Jews in the history of the U.S.,”13 was conducted by a white supremacist at the Tree of Life Synagogue in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and left 11 people dead. The Hope to Come Despite their tragic history, God has not abandoned His ancient people, whom He has loved “with an everlasting love” (Jer. 31:3). I thought of His love for my friends as they concluded the “Mourner’s Kaddish” at the Majdanek death camp. Then we sang “Hatikvah” (“The Hope”), a 19th-century poem that is now the national anthem of the State of Israel: As long as in the heart within, The Jewish soul yearns, And toward the eastern edges, onward, An eye gazes toward Zion. Our hope is not yet lost, The hope that is two thousand years old, To be a free nation in our land, The Land of Zion, Jerusalem.14 Scripture exhorts us not to forget the hope—Hatikvah—that remains for the Jewish people because of the Lord who loves them: I will make a covenant of peace with them. . . . They shall be safe in their land; and they shall know that I am the LORD, when I have broken the bands of their yoke and delivered them from the hand of those who enslaved them. And they shall no longer be a prey for the nations, nor shall beasts of the land devour them; but they shall dwell safely, and no one shall make them afraid (Ezek. 34:25, 27–28). When that future day comes, Israel’s story will be in a minor key no more. ENDNOTES “Jewish Prayers: Mourners Kaddish,” jewishvirtuallibrary.org [jewishvirtuallibrary.org/the-mourners-kaddish]. Tertullian, “An Answer to the Jews,” newadvent.org [newadvent.org/fathers/0308.htm]. Joshua Levy, “How the Crusades Affected Medieval Jews in Europe and Palestine,” myjewishlearning.com[myjewishlearning.com/article/the-crusades]. Cited in Phyllis Goldstein, A Convenient Hatred: The History of Antisemitism (Brookline, MA: Facing History and Ourselves National Foundation, 2012), 67. Michael Davis, “The Anti-Jewish Manifesto Of John T. Earnest, The San Diego Synagogue Shooter,” The Middle East Media Research Institute, Memri.org, May 15, 2019 [tinyurl.com/y2cpfufm]. “Philadelphia imam calls Jews ‘vilest people,’” timesofisrael.com, March 9, 2019 [tinyurl.com/yy54p7zt]. “Hamas Covenant 1988,” Yale Law School, avalon.yale.law.edu [tinyurl.com/y4qkper5]. “Anti-Semitism: History of the ‘Protocols of the Elders of Zion,’” jewishvirtuallibrary.org [tinyurl.com/y66tcxw4]. “Odessa” [jewishvirtuallibrary.org/Odessa]. Goldstein, 260. Ibid. “Audit of Anti-Semitic Incidents: Year in Review 2018” [adl.org/audit2018]. Ibid. “Hatikvah—National Anthem of the State of Israel,” Knesset.gov.il [tinyurl.com/y6xoqv9p]. This article was originally published by The Friends of Israel Gospel Ministry.
Let’s face it—Christmastime may be the most wonderful time of the year, but it’s also one of the most confusing times. Who would want their true love to give them eight maids-a-milking or six breeds of fowl? And why do singers of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” so rudely demand their figgy pudding? What is figgy pudding, anyway? Then there’s the pop culture theology of the Christmas season. For example, while Frank Capra’s It’s a Wonderful Life is a Christmas classic (and my favorite movie), its angelology, epitomized in Zuzu Bailey’s immortal words, is decidedly not biblical—“Teacher says, every time a bell rings, an angel gets his wings.” And the meme floating around social media of Santa Claus bowing at the manger is downright cringeworthy. It’s not just the secular world that muddles Christmas theology, though. Consider the popular song “Mary, Did You Know?” It’s a beautiful song filled with references to the life and ministry of Jesus, but the title’s question is one we can answer authoritatively from Scripture: Of course Mary knew. What Did Mary Know? In his book They Called Her Miriam, Dr. Victor Buksbazen points out that in the whole New Testament narrative, there are only 23 references, both direct and indirect, to Mary (or Miriam, as she would have been known in Israel). She is portrayed as a common, young Jewish woman betrothed to a common Jewish carpenter in Nazareth (Mt. 13:55; Lk. 1:27). What is extraordinary about Mary, however, is that she knew quite a bit about the Messiah, her baby, because she evidently was a young woman who knew the Scriptures. Mary’s statement of praise (her “Magnificat”) following her initial meeting with her pregnant cousin Elizabeth demonstrates her familiarity with the Hebrew Bible. She references passages from Genesis, the Psalms, 1 Samuel, Isaiah, and Habakkuk. Although surprised that she would be the mother of the promised Messiah, Mary was not baffled by the pronouncement that there would be a Messiah. In fact, when the angel Gabriel told her that she would be the mother of the coming King of Israel, her only question was, “How can this be, since I do not know a man?” (Lk. 1:34). Mary knew her Bible, a remarkable feat, considering individuals, especially poor individuals, did not have their own copies of the Scriptures, like we do today. The young woman would have heard the reading of the Scriptures at her local synagogue each week and hidden the words in her heart, which is how she knew about the Messiah to come. Given Mary’s familiarity with the Hebrew Scriptures, she likely knew a great deal about the identity of the Messiah, particularly His miracles, His deity, and His offer of salvation. He Would Perform Miracles “Mary Did You Know?” asks if Mary knew her son would perform miracles. The answer is yes. She would have known Isaiah’s prophecy of the Messiah’s Kingdom, where “the eyes of the blind shall be opened,” “the ears of the deaf shall be unstopped,” “the lame shall leap like a deer, and the tongue of the dumb sing” (35:5-6). In fact, years later, Jesus cited this verse as proof to John the Baptist that He was indeed the Messiah. “Go and tell John the things which you hear and see,” He said. “The blind see and the lame walk; the lepers are cleansed and the deaf hear; the dead are raised up and the poor have the gospel preached to them” (Mt. 11:5). Yes, Mary knew her Son would perform miracles. He Would Be God in the Flesh Mary knew her Son would be more than merely a miracle-worker. Throughout Israel’s history, God performed miracles through His prophets (Ex. 14:21; 1 Ki. 17:17-24). Although it must have been a mysterious thing for her to contemplate, Mary knew that her Son was God Himself. As a student of the Scriptures, Mary would have been familiar with Isaiah’s pronouncement that the Messiah would be “called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace” (9:6). She would likely also have known that the promised King of Israel would be called “The LORD our Righteousness” (Jer. 23:6). Not only would Mary have known about Jesus’ deity through the Hebrew Scriptures—a messenger from Heaven told her directly. When the angel Gabriel announced to Mary that she would be the mother of the Messiah, he told her that the child would be “called the Son of the Highest” (Lk. 1:32). The “Highest” or “Most High” is a common reference to God throughout the Hebrew Scriptures (cf. Gen. 14:18; Ps. 47:2, 91:1; Dan. 7:18), so the message to Mary was clear. Yes, Mary knew her Son would be God in the flesh. He Would Save The expectation of Israel, Mary included, was that the Messiah would save them from their enemies. Indeed, the Hebrew Scriptures teach that the Son of David would “execute judgment and righteousness in the earth” and that “[i]n His days Judah will be saved, and Israel will dwell safely” (Jer. 23:5-6). The salvation Jesus would offer, however, would go beyond the political. It would be personal, too. Mary knew this, because she had doubtlessly read Isaiah’s description of the Messiah, who would bear the grief and sorrows of the Jewish people, the one on whom the LORD would lay the sins of Israel (53:4, 6). Additionally, after Mary’s time of purification, following giving birth, she and Joseph took Jesus to the temple to dedicate Him to the LORD. At the temple, they met an elderly man, Simeon, who God had promised “would not see death before he had seen the Lord’s Christ” (Lk. 2:26). Simeon held the baby and praised God for allowing him to see the Lord’s salvation. He described the baby as a light “to bring revelation to the Gentiles, and the glory of Israel,” and as the one who was “destined for the fall and rising of many in Israel” (vv. 30-34). Yes, Mary knew her Son would save. Mary Knew, and So Can We Christmastime can be confusing, but it doesn’t need to be. Throughout the Scriptures, God made clear what the Messiah’s life and ministry would be like. And while not every detail was revealed to Mary, she knew that the little baby she would soon carry would be a miracle-worker, the Son of God, and her salvation. As believers, we should join her in praising God for His revelation to man of Himself and the gift of the Messiah. “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit has rejoiced in God my Savior” (Lk. 1:47). This article was originally published by The Friends of Israel Gospel Ministry.
It wasn’t a large toad: maybe two, two-and-a-half inches long. I was in the yard with my grandma when we found him hopping alongside the house. We caught him, put him in a Mason jar with holes in the lid, and dropped some grass inside for comfort. The next day, I took him with me to preschool for show-and-tell. This promised to be the best thing my fellow 4-year-olds had ever seen! As I waited with my mom in the small foyer outside the classroom door before class started, I slid the jar underneath my jacket, so no one could catch a glimpse before the great reveal. I stood there, proud of what I had found and so excited I could hardly wait. As it turned out, I wouldn’t have to wait long. Just as the door to the classroom opened, I lost my grip on the jar. It went crashing to the floor, shattering into several pieces. I’m sure my eyes were the size of saucers as I realized what had just happened. My toad friend went hopping crazily around as parents and children alike screamed and made quick jumps around the small foyer to avoid stepping on him. It was pandemonium. Eventually, my toad friend—shaken, but unscathed, after his fall—-was recaptured in a paper cup, and I showed him to the class. They loved him. I laugh about it now, but that memory is clear to me, because it was traumatic. One slip of my hand broke the jar and resulted in momentary chaos. It’s similar to what happened to our world and to the human race in the Garden of Eden. Things were good when Adam and Eve were created—very good. But when Adam sinned, it ushered sin and death into the world (Rom. 5:12). Poverty. Homelessness. Broken families. Confusion about gender and sexuality. Abortion. Economic tumult. Pollution of the creation. Greed. There is chaos and brokenness everywhere we look in our world today. What do we do about this? Many in the Jewish community seek to remedy these and other problems according to the rabbinic teaching called Tikkun Olam. Literally meaning “world repair,” at its root, Tikkun Olam assumes the world is broken. On a practical level, synagogues, religious and non-profit groups, and Jewish individuals regularly take part in hands-on activities that seek to carry out Tikkun Olam. They want to make the world a better place by taking part in humanitarian work that benefits their neighbors and the world. The Jewish community is not alone in this desire to bring healing to the broken world, though. Christians, too, are exhorted to alleviate suffering (Jas. 2:16), to care for the disadvantaged (Jas. 1:27), and to speak up for those without a voice (Prov. 31:8). Throughout history, the Lord has used believers to minister to the physical needs of others, believers such as William Wilberforce, Amy Carmichael, and modern evangelicals who lead the fight against sex trafficking and the abortion industry. As good as it is to seek to alleviate suffering, we must never forget that the Scriptures teach there is only One who will bring lasting healing to the world, and that is Jesus the Messiah. John, the beloved apostle, records the vision he saw of the day ultimate Tikkun Olam becomes a reality, when the new heaven and new earth are here: And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away.” Then He who sat on the throne said, “Behold, I make all things new.” And He said to me, “It is done! I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. I will give of the fountain of the water of life freely to him who thirsts” (Rev. 21:4-6). Seeking to make the world a better place and to alleviate suffering are noble and good things to pursue. But ultimately Tikkun Olam—world repair—will come when God Himself makes all things new. Like the jar my toad called home, this world and all its suffering will be disposed of, the chaos will be over, and the world will be permanently and wholly repaired. In order to take part in this, though, each person must drink of the fountain of the water of life by trusting in the finished work of redemption Jesus accomplished on the cross. So, what about you? Will you experience lasting Tikkun Olam? This article was originally published by The Friends of Israel Gospel Ministry.
"Do you support Israel because you want Jesus to come back?” I had been asked this question a handful of times before by Jewish friends but never in this setting. Riding on a tour bus through Poland, I was the only Gentile and, as far as I know, the only follower of Jesus on the bus. We were all part of an educational trip on the Holocaust. He was seated next to me on the bus when he asked me the question. “No,” I answered. “I genuinely love Israel and the Jewish people, no strings attached. And I don’t believe Jesus’ return to Earth is dependent on anything I do. Why do you ask?” The man went on to explain that the evangelicals he knows told him they support Israel and want the Jewish people to return to the land because they believe doing so will hasten Jesus’ return. He was understandably dubious of Christians like myself who say they support Israel. Although it saddened me to learn that the Jewish people had been taught that believers in Jesus support Israel for selfish reasons, I was glad my friend felt free to confront me with these questions. It showed me that such misconceptions were common, and it gave me the opportunity to explain why I support Israel and love the Jewish people. Why do Christians support Israel? To be sure, not every Christian supports Israel. There are Christian organizations, such as Christ at the Checkpoint, that are actively opposed to Israel on political grounds. Many Christian denominations, too, hold to Replacement Theology—the theological concept that the church is God’s new Chosen People and that the Jewish people have no future. Sadly, there is not much love for Israel in these circles. Thankfully, though, many evangelical Christians do support Israel and believe the Jewish people have a historic, God-given right to the land of Israel in perpetuity. Those of us who believe this way are called Christian Zionists. So, why do Christian Zionists support Israel and love the Jewish people? 1. We recognize that God has chosen Israel as His unique people. Christians believe the Bible, both the Tanakh (Old Testament) and the New Testament, is the inspired Word of God. All throughout the Bible, God makes it clear that He has formed and chosen the Jewish people (physical descendants of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and the twelve tribes) to be a special people for Himself (Isa. 46:13). To be sure, this doesn’t mean He loves Jewish people more than Gentiles—the Bible teaches He loves all people (Jn. 3:16). But God loves Israel in a unique way and has chosen to reveal Himself to that nation and to work through that people in a way He does not with anyone else (Rom. 9:4-5). 2. We are indebted to Israel. Paul, the Pharisee-turned-Jesus-follower, described Gentiles as those who are “aliens from the commonwealth of Israel and strangers from the covenants of promise, having no hope and without God in the world” (Eph. 2:12). That’s a pretty stark picture of those of us who are not Jewish. Indeed, part of Israel’s role as God’s chosen servant was to be a kingdom of priests to the world (Ex. 19:6). A priest is one who mediates between God and man. As a kingdom of priests, Israel was to represent God to the goyim, the nations. Today, the majority of Christians are Gentiles. We, though “aliens from the commonwealth of Israel,” have come to know the God of Israel through the Scriptures He gave to the Jewish people. We believe that Jesus is the Son of God, the promised Messiah of Israel, a belief based on the Hebrew Scriptures. By faith in the Messiah, we “who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ” (Eph. 2:13). We are indebted to the Jewish people for their transmission and preservation of the Scriptures and for the gift of the Messiah Jesus by Whom we have been brought near to God and have hope. 3. We understand God has promised to bless those who bless Israel. Further, He promised Abraham that He would bless those who bless Him and His descendants and He would curse those who curse him (Gen. 12:3). In fact, God says that aiding the Jewish people in their distress is the same as aiding Him (Matt. 25:35-40). Conversely, harming the Jewish people is the same as doing harm to Him (Zech. 2:8; Matt. 25:41-45). As Christians, our desire is to bless the Jewish people, not only for the great blessings we have received through Israel, but also because it reflects God’s heart. This article was originally published by RebelFolio, a publication of the University of Nevada, Las Vegas's Hank Greenspun School of Journalism & Media Studies.
It’s a warm summer day in Las Vegas, but the heat in the house is set at 80. Clad in light blue button-down pajamas, a gold Torah scroll on a chain hanging from his neck, 90-year-old Marton Ackerman sits back on his deep, black leather sofa. On the coffee table in front of him is a glass of Coke, a landline phone, cell phone, medications, and a calendar marked with dates with doctors. He carefully lifts the Coke from the table and takes a sip through his bendy straw. He prepares to go back in time. “We were very poor, and luckily I had a loving family,” he says. “We never went to bed without getting a kiss from my mother. And that’s what I remember from early days.” Ackerman was born in Mexico to Hungarian Jewish parents in 1929. His parents split up when he was very young, his father staying in Mexico while his mother took the three children and went back to Hungary. When Hitler invaded Hungary in March 1944, Marton was 14 years old, living on Kiraly Street 6 with his mother, older brother, younger sister, maternal grandmother, and two aunts. “The place was a huge building with apartments in it,” he says. “We were on the second floor. On the first floor was the temple, a Jewish shul. We lived in 3-bedroom house, 3-½, I think. … It was a tenement. My mother and all of my aunts worked for a textile factory repairing the bad parts of the whole sheet of material. They would bring it to us, and I remember that the living room was almost up in the ceiling with textiles, and we kids used to go up on a top and—” Marton makes a sliding sound with his mouth, as he demonstrates with his hand how they would slide down the stack of cloth. He stares down at the coffee table in front of him, looking through it to a distant time and place. “I had a happy childhood for a while,” he says with a smile that doesn’t quite make it from one side of his mouth to the other. Indeed, Marton’s childhood years were marbled with moments of beauty and tragedy. He played in the streets of Pest, the poorer half of Budapest. He sang in a choir at the synagogue with his boyhood friend, Tibi. He fished from the banks of the Danube River and brought his catches home for his mother to fry. “The non-Jewish friends that I had way back, I never went to school with them, but we gathered together in the park and we played together ... football or climbing the hills of Buda,” he tells me, smiling as he talks. “And they were okay with me, you know. But when this started, I think it was...well, antisemitism always was there, but it got worse.” For Marton, rumblings of the persecution Hungarian Jewry would eventually experience began years before the Nazis occupied his homeland. In the 1930s, the Arrow Cross Party, which shared the anti-Semitic and nationalistic ideologies of their German counterparts, formed in Hungary. The hatred they spewed permeated Hungarian culture, including that of young people. “[Young people] were trying to spying on us when we were getting out of our school,” he says. “I remember the stores in Budapest had metal curtains they would pull down over the windows. The only reason I remember them is because the … young people would shove me into them and my head would hit the metal.” Marton endured these beatings, while the young people, students of a local Catholic school, threw racial and religious slurs at him, calling him “dirty Jew” and other names. Although Marton cannot remember the exact year when these things happened, he does know that it was shortly after these beatings that he dropped out of the 8th grade, due to the family’s financial difficulties. “I went as an apprentice to a furrier, where they made fur coats and all that,” he says. “It was at that time that they started to deport the older Jews. They sent them to work camps and some of them to concentration camps. But my family, we were okay for another year.” On April 5, 1944, the decree was made that all Hungarian Jews were to wear a yellow Star of David on their clothing. Marton remembers that time. “We had to wear yellow stars,” he says. “We were restricted on what time we could go out and when we couldn’t. But in the building there were quite a few Jewish kids, and—stupid us—we decided to take off our yellow stars and go to the movies. We sneaked in, because no one had money. But there were always ways for kids to get into the movies.” Life for the Ackerman family changed drastically in the fall of 1944. On November 29, the Royal Hungarian Government ordered all Jews to leave their homes and to move into the newly formed ghetto. “Well, they just came in, you know,” he tells me of the morning Nazi officials came to his family’s apartment. He stares at the fireplace across the room from where he is sitting. “They didn’t ask us permission. And not just our [apartment], but everybody who was Jewish there. And evidently they knew who was [Jewish], because there were other people [living there], too; not just Jews.” Before moving into the ghetto, the Ackerman family was first taken to a horse-racing track, where the men and women were divided into two groups. “My brother and I went to one side and the other part of my family went on the other side,” he says. “This was the first time I was away from my mother.” At the race track, 15-year-old Marton encountered the complexities of human nature and of the war, in particular. After being ordered to hand over his wallet by a member of the Arrow Cross Party, something strange happened. “I gave him my wallet that had only my Mexican birth certificate and a picture of the Belzy Rebbe that my grandmother gave me,” Marton tells me. “I told him it was my grandfather. He gave me back my wallet with the birth certificate and the picture. Surprisingly, this man gave me 100 pengő. It was a big sum at that time for me, at least. I never seen a 100 pengő. He said, ‘Good health. Good luck.' To this day, I do not know why he did that, but it helped me survive the war. I later used it to buy apples and potatoes from the farmers.” Marton and his brother, Gene, along with many of the other Jewish males, were moved from the race track to a brick yard, and then eventually from the brickyard to the ghetto. In the ghetto, they were put to work doing hard manual labor. “Incredibly, we were once out working on a house, demolishing it, getting the dangerous things off of the top,” he says as he lifts his glass of Coke off of the coffee table and takes a drink. “When we finished that work, we came down and we could hear the sirens, meaning it was an air raid. You won’t believe this, a bomb fell down just a short distance from where I was.” When the bomb hit the ground, he saw it bounce into the air. When it came back down, it detonated upon impact with the cobblestone street, sending his brother flying through the air and through the display window of a nearby store. The explosion forced Marton violently to the ground. Metal shrapnel hurtled through the dust-laden air, one piece embedding itself into the back of his scalp, another piece lodged in his earlobe, where it remains to this day. “It was chaos,” he says. “I don’t know where the guard was, but ... lots of people died there, and when I woke up from the blast, first thing I saw was a man’s leg away from his body. And the guy pleading, ‘Everybody, please help me!’” Miraculously, Gene was unharmed by his crash through the display window, but Marton was injured by the shrapnel. “A young Nazi grabbed me and took me someplace where they couldn’t see us,” he says. “And he had a satchel on, I don’t know what you call it, and he took out a bottle of liquor. And gave me a shot. He felt sorry for me, I guess.” Surprised by the kindness of the Nazi, Marton and his brother began searching the streets for someone to help stop the bleeding from Marton’s head. “So we went to the Red Cross,” he says, “and believe it or not, the Red Cross refused to tend to me because I was Jewish. The Red Cross center was supposed to be an international place, but they would not accept this Jewish kid.” He slowly shakes his head. “They never did apologize for not taking in the Jews during the war.” (The International Committee of the Red Cross has made belated statements acknowledging and regretting its broad wartime failure to assist Jews and other persecuted peoples.) With the Red Cross refusing to help Marton, the brothers began their search for someone who would. “[We] walked the streets until we found another doctor who accepted me,” he says. “I was bleeding profusely. He cleaned me up and put a clamp on my skull. He said, ‘I’m going to make you a turban. You don’t need it, but maybe it’ll save you from going to work up on the buildings, and maybe they’ll start treating you right.’” News of the advancing Russian Army motivated the Arrow Cross to march their prisoners to Germany, where they would be used as forced labor to help the rapidly declining war effort for the Nazis. “We walked and walked,” Marton tells me. “And if you couldn’t walk anymore, you were shot. I saw it with my own eyes. They shot an old man. He didn't fall down. He just slumped to his knees. He was dead. I don’t know how many they killed that time, but the march went on.” This “death march”, as it was called, continued its bloody and merciless journey, until one day a motorcycle pulled up alongside the ragged band of marching prisoners. “A messenger on a motorcycle stopped the column,” Marton says. “Then he asked if there was any foreign-born in the column, or something to that effect.” Marton and Gene, as Mexican citizens, made the decision to step forward. “We were in shock, and we didn’t know if they picked us to kill us right there,” he says. “But the situation was bad, and many times you wanted to die. We didn’t know what was going to happen, but as I told you, it didn’t make any sense to live like that.” It turned out that the Ackerman brothers’ decision to step forward probably saved their lives from almost certain death, either on the march or in Germany. Those who had foreign passports were sent back to the ghetto, where they were put to work again. Unbeknownst to Marton and Gene, while they were working in the ghetto, Swedish diplomat Raoul Wallenberg was working to establish more than 30 safe houses in the ghetto for Jews with certificates of protection from neutral nations. “In December,” Marton tells me, “somebody came to the ghetto and told me that my Aunt Lenke was taken to Auschwitz, and my Aunt Malvin, Grandmother, Mother, and sister Piroska were living in a safe house. If I wanted, he would help me and my brother to escape from the ghetto and take us to the safe house.” The brothers readily agreed. Living in the ghetto was a young man—Marton refers to him as “this smart kid”—who advised the brothers that an escape from the ghetto would require them to clean themselves up, so as not to appear like prisoners. “That day,” he says, “my brother, this guy, and I walked straight, like we knew what we were doing. We just went ‘Heil Hitler!’, while looking stern, and they let us out.” Marton and Gene were reunited with their family at the safe house, where they lived for the duration of the war. Budapest was liberated by the Soviets on February 13, 1945. Although the traumatic events of the Holocaust Marton endured are nearly eight decades in the past, the memories of those days are fresh in his mind. “I still have nightmares about it. I wake up screaming,” he says. He adjusts his position on the couch and looks at me. He sighs. “So I don’t know. It was bad times, and I don’t like to think about it, you know. It hurts, even after so many years.” Despite these haunting memories, Marton carries with him an indomitable happiness. “Always smile,” he says. “I survived the Holocaust, and yet I smile.” This article was originally published in Israel My Glory magazine, published in the July/August 2019 issue. The scorching sun beat down on Obadiah as he walked the arid path, each step sending a swirl of dust upward. It had been years since rain had fallen on the once-lush Samarian countryside—ever since Elijah the prophet had pronounced judgment on the land for King Ahab’s despicable acts. Now the entire northern kingdom of Israel was suffering.
As Obadiah continued his trek under the relentless Middle Eastern sun, he thought of the king’s order to search for well-watered areas for the livestock. Such foolishness! Ahab had disobeyed God’s commands by marrying Jezebel, a Sidonian princess and evil-hearted woman who championed idolatry. The king worshiped at Baal’s feet and even built a temple for the worthless idol. The drought and famine were the fruits of national sin. Like all man-made deities, Baal was only as powerful as his followers. Queen Jezebel, the nation’s chief worshiper of the chunk of stone, led the massacre of the faithful prophets who dared to speak out against Baal in the name of the Lord God of Israel. Their blood flowed like water in the streets, a poignant reminder of the price of discipleship. Despite the withering heat, an icy chill ran down Obadiah’s spine. He thought of those men, many of them his friends. He thought of his own life, hanging precariously in the balance. It seemed that Ahab still trusted Obadiah; but how long would it be before the king, or worse yet, the queen, discovered he had secretly hidden 100 prophets of Yahweh in wilderness caves and had been feeding them and taking them water? Suddenly, there appeared next to him a man roughly dressed. A hairy garment hung on his sinewy frame, a leather belt around his waist. The man’s hair and beard were long, scraggly, and dusty. His appearance was otherworldly. Trembling, Obadiah fell to the ground. “Is that you, my lord Elijah?” he asked (1 Ki. 18:7). “It is I,” the prophet replied. “Go, tell your master, ‘Elijah is here’” (v. 8). “How have I sinned,” Obadiah asked, “that you are delivering your servant into the hand of Ahab, to kill me? As the LORD your God lives, there is no nation or kingdom where my master has not sent someone to hunt for you; and when they said, ‘He is not here,’ he took an oath from the kingdom or nation that they could not find you. And now you say, ‘Go, tell your master, “Elijah is here”’!” (vv. 9–11). Obadiah lamented that the Spirit of the Lord would carry Elijah away so Ahab could not find him, and the king would think Obadiah a liar and kill him. But Elijah insisted he would see Ahab. SECRETS FROM ANCIENT PATHS The meeting between king and prophet was not cordial. Ahab called Elijah the “troubler of Israel” (v. 17), to which Elijah replied, I have not troubled Israel, but you and your father’s house have, in that you have forsaken the commandments of the LORD and have followed the Baals. Now therefore, send and gather all Israel to me on Mount Carmel, the four hundred and fifty prophets of Baal, and the four hundred prophets of Asherah, who eat at Jezebel’s table (vv. 18–19). The contest of contests was about to begin. ‘That This People May Know’ Ahab did as Elijah ordered. The nation, including the prophets of Baal and Asherah, gathered on Mount Carmel; and Elijah threw down the gauntlet. Looking at the crowd, he shouted, “How long will you falter between two opinions? If the LORD is God, follow Him; but if Baal, follow him” (v. 21). “Let it be known this day that You are God in Israel and I am Your servant, and that I have done all these things at Your word.”No one said a word. Elijah challenged all 450 prophets of Baal to demonstrate their god’s power by sacrificing a bull on an altar and calling on Baal to consume the sacrifice by fire. “O Baal, hear us!” they cried (v. 26). They screamed and leaped about the altar that held their sacrifice of a dismembered bull; but nothing happened. Boldly, Elijah taunted them: “Cry aloud, for he is a god; either he is meditating, or he is busy, or he is on a journey, or perhaps he is sleeping and must be awakened” (v. 27). Then the false prophets took knives and lances from their belts and slashed their bodies. Blood gushed from their veins in an attempt to elicit a response from their god. Nothing. At the end of the day, Elijah gathered the people together. He repaired the dilapidated altar to the true and living God using 12 large stones, “according to the number of the tribes of the sons of Jacob” (v. 31). Then he dug a trench around the altar’s base, laid wood on top of the stones, and prepared the bull for sacrifice. Turning to a group of men standing nearby, Elijah demanded, “Fill four waterpots with water, and pour it on the burnt sacrifice and on the wood” (v. 33). Then Elijah ordered them to do it twice more until altar, wood, and bull were sopping wet. Water dripped from the bull’s lifeless body into the pool that had formed in the trench below. “LORD God of Abraham, Isaac, and Israel,” Elijah shouted. “Let it be known this day that You are God in Israel and I am Your servant, and that I have done all these things at Your word” (v. 36). The prophet’s voice reverberated throughout the Jezreel Valley below. “Hear me, O LORD, hear me,” he shouted again, “that this people may know that You are the LORD God, and that You have turned their hearts back to You again” (v. 37). “Hear me, O LORD, hear me,” he shouted again, “that this people may know that You are the LORD God, and that You have turned their hearts back to You again.”At that moment, a terrifying roar came from the altar. A mass of white-hot fire consumed not only the bull, but also the wood, stones, and dust, as well as the water in the trench. Tears may have streamed down the prophet’s face as he turned to see the Israelites prostrate on the rocky ground. “The LORD, He is God! The LORD, He is God!” they shouted in unison (v. 39). The victory was God’s. Elijah commanded the people, “Seize the prophets of Baal! Do not let one of them escape!” (v. 40). Then the prophet marched the followers of Baal to the Brook Kishon, where he executed them. The Tiny Cloud The prophet and his servant made the ascent back up Mount Carmel, where Elijah bowed to the ground. It hadn’t rained in Samaria for several years. Everything was dried up. Food was scarce, and the animals were dying. “Go up now, look toward the sea,” Elijah told his servant. The man went up but saw nothing. “Go again,” Elijah said (v. 43). Six times the servant went to the west side of the mountain, looked toward the Mediterranean, and returned with the same answer. But the seventh time, he noticed something far off. Excitedly, he ran back to his master and shouted, “There is a cloud, as small as a man’s hand, rising out of the sea!” (v. 44). “Go up, say to Ahab, ‘Prepare your chariot, and go down before the rain stops you,’” said Elijah (v. 44). As the servant ran to Ahab, Elijah looked to the sky. A deep rumble shook the mountain and valley alike, the sky blackened dark as pitch, the wind began to blow, “and there was a heavy rain” (v. 45). Although most believers today do not find themselves surrounded by Baal worshipers, all of us live in cultures that worship objects other than the God of Israel. In the West especially, materialism is the god of this age; and it tempts Christians, as well as unbelievers. Like Elijah, the church must be willing not only to stand against such 21st-century Baals, but also to remind those around us that a choice must be made: “If the LORD is God, follow Him; but if Baal, follow him” (v. 21). Faith in the Lord Jesus Christ alone is the only way revival, personal or national, will occur; and when it does, we, too, will feel the effects of the refreshing rains of repentance. ![]() This article was originally published by The Friends of Israel Gospel Ministry. Many centuries ago, King Solomon wrote that “The glory of young men is their strength, and the splendor of old men is their gray head” (Proverbs 20:29). Unfortunately, that youthful strength and aged splendor seldom come into meaningful contact with each other. Much has been written about the Western culture’s obsession with youth and its loathing of age, which undoubtedly contributes to this ever-widening gap between young and old. Our young are kept busy with the cares of the moment and our elderly are sequestered away in their retirement communities and nursing homes, and never the twain shall meet…well, almost never. A few years ago, I met Marton, a slight, blue-eyed, gray-haired man with a thick, Hungarian accent that often slips into Spanish, inadvertently. (Don’t we all have that problem?) Born in Mexico City to Jewish immigrants from Hungary, who moved to Mexico for work, Marton’s life has not been an easy one. When still a very young boy, his mother fled Mexico, taking him, his older brother, and their unborn sister back to Budapest. There they lived with Marton’s grandmother and shared in her deeply-rooted Jewish traditions, as well as her poverty. In 1944, Nazi Germany occupied Hungary, and Marton’s life changed forever. He and his brother were separated from the rest of their family, and experienced the tragic realities of the Holocaust. From the starvation that accompanied life in the Budapest ghetto to death marches across the the Hungarian countryside, Marton lost his innocence and his faith during this trial. Given Marton’s tremendously difficult past and my comparatively privileged life, not to mention the six-decade age gap, our friendship is an unlikely one; but friends we are. We play endless rounds of Uno, which Marton almost always wins, much to his delight. We go to events in the Jewish community and attend gatherings of other Holocaust survivors. And we go to lunch, always to lunch, where we talk about current events, politics, the Holocaust, God, the Bible, and—Marton’s favorite topic—my unborn daughter, Charlotte, to whom Marton will be “Zeyde” (Yiddish for “Grandfather”). As Marton ages, and as his mobility becomes increasingly limited, I have the privilege—and I mean that—of caring for him in various ways. Trips to the doctor, drop-offs and pick-ups at the pharmacy, reminders for him to take his medications, and even eye drop applications. Marton is quick to thank me for helping him in these ways, and does so often. But the truth is, his friendship has benefited me a great deal too, and has brought great joy to my life, as the Lord has used my friendship with Marton to teach me more about Himself. The apostle Peter reminds us that we should cast all our care upon the Lord, because He cares for us (1 Peter 5:7). In a small way, we are able to understand a bit better the love God has for us when we care for other people. When those we love need our help, there is no question of whether or not we have the time to care for them. We make time. We do it, even if it involves some small sacrifice on our part. We invite them to cast their cares upon us. From assisting with routine things like driving to doctor’s appointments and putting in eye drops, to more weighty matters, like listening to a friend whose haunting memories of the Holocaust make for sleepless nights, caring for others also reminds us of our own deep, spiritual frailty and weakness. The Scriptures remind believers that there was a time when we “were without Christ…having no hope and without God in the world” (Ephesians 2:12). The Lord cared for us in our hopelessness by demonstrating “His own love toward us, in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us” (Romans 5:8); and we, “who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ” (Ephesians 2:13). There is, indeed, a surprising joy that develops in your heart, when you have the privilege of caring for another person, for in doing so, you are reminded of both your own helplessness and of the One who cares for your soul. And I can think of no better way to cultivate such a joy than for the strength of youth and the aged-splendor of the gray-headed to come together. Originally published by The Friends of Israel.
Awhile back, I was listening to a radio broadcast in which Joel McDurmon, a prominent leader in the evangelical world, argued that the Jewish people have no divine right to the land of Israel. Of the Jewish state he said, “I don’t see them as any different than any other secular nation….It makes sense that there would be at least some group of Jews who believe that they’re entitled to that land, and would work for it politically….That’s exactly what happened at the turn of last century…a group of proto-fascists and communists…started a movement to have a national, Zionist state.” Unfortunately, McDurmon’s view of Israel, despite its contortion of Scripture and history, is growing increasingly popular among young evangelicals today. Always rooting for the perceived underdog, many of my fellow Millennials have rejected the unconditional support for Israel of their parents’ generation in favor of a social gospel that views the Jewish state as an oppressive regime that stole land from the Palestinians. We Zionists, however, are still around. A Zionist is one who believes the Jewish people have a right to live sovereignly and securely in their historic homeland. As one who believes the Scriptures, I am a Zionist. Allow me to give you three reasons why… 1.) God gave the land of Israel to the Jewish people forever, unconditionally. I recently attended a large, pro-Israel conference in Washington, DC. Outside the convention center where we were gathered, a sizable group of people protested the conference, many holding signs with anti-Israel slogans on them. One of those signs caught my eye. It read: “God is not a real estate agent.” Of course, this sign was meant to counter the argument of people, like myself, who believe Israel’s right to the land is God-ordained. But it betrayed the sign-holder’s unfamiliarity with the Scriptures. The fact is, God has given the land to the Jewish people forever, no strings attached, and He has made this fact abundantly clear in His Word. In Genesis 12, for example, God tells Abram to leave his country for “a land that I will show you” (v. 1), a place we later learn is the land of Canaan. Upon arriving there, God tells Abram to look around him in all directions “for all the land which you see I give to you and your descendants forever” (Genesis 13:15). This promise is reiterated to both Isaac (Genesis 26:3) and Jacob (Genesis 28:13), and confirmed in the New Testament (Acts 7:4–5). The land is given to Israel. 2.) Biblical Zionism glorifies God. That’s right. Biblically-rooted Zionism brings glory to the Lord. While it’s true that God promised the land to the Jewish people, He also delineated stipulations for their staying in the land continually, all of which depended on Israel’s obedience to the Lord (Deuteronomy 28:36). Scripture and the historical record both inform us that Israel did not obey, and their disobedience resulted in several deportations from the land (Ezekiel 36:19). This was not to be Israel’s end, though. God has promised that, though the Jewish people have been scattered throughout the nations for their disobedience, they will one day also be regathered to the land for His glory. For I will take you from among the nations, gather you out of all countries, and bring you into your own land….Then the nations which are left all around you shall know that I, the LORD, have rebuilt the ruined places and planted what was desolate. I, the LORD, have spoken it, and I will do it. (Ezekiel 36:24, 36) While this prophecy has not yet been fulfilled entirely, the Bible-believing Zionist can rejoice at the existence of the Jewish state after more than 19 centuries in exile. Truly, the nations must admit, even if grudgingly, the miracle that is the modern State of Israel. God has spoken it, has done it, and will do it. 3.) Jesus is a Zionist. Somewhere in the midst of the “Christian” anti-Semitism of church history and our stained glass images of an Anglo-Saxon Savior, the identity of Jesus as the Jewish Messiah of Israel has been diluted in much of Christendom. This is unfortunate, since both the Old and New Testaments affirm the Jewish identity of Jesus. Think about it. He celebrated Hanukkah (John 10:22), quoted Jewish prophets (Luke 4:18–19), attended synagogue (Luke 4:15), and even “schmoozed” with Jewish leaders at the Temple (Luke 2:46). As if that is not enough, His entire ministry was done within the borders of Israel! The inextricable link Jesus had with both the Jewish people and homeland during His First Advent will be in no way diminished at His Second Coming. At the end of the period the prophets call “the time of Jacob’s trouble,” the Jewish people will call to the Messiah in faith (Matthew 23:39). At that time, He will seat Himself on His throne in Jerusalem (Psalm 132:13–14), and He will enter into judgment with the nations of the world, rewarding or cursing them based on their treatment of the Jewish people (Matthew 25:31–46). Yes, the baby in the manger, the carpenter of Nazareth, the Suffering Servant of Calvary will return as the promised King of Israel. With His Jewish brethren given hearts of flesh in place of stone (Jeremiah 31), the enemies of the Jewish people subject to His rule, and His throne firmly established in Jerusalem, the eternal capital of Israel, Jesus is and will continue to be the premier Zionist. Contrary to what Christian anti-Zionists, such as Joel McDurmon, may say, Israel is not like “any other secular nation.” Are they in the land largely in unbelief? Yes. Is the Messiah on His throne? No. But to be a Zionist, to believe that God has given Israel a unique right to live securely and sovereignly in its historic homeland, is as biblical as it gets. I’m proud to be a Zionist. How about you? |
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