Identity Theft (2 page)

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ISBN 13 TP: 978-07684-4217-5

ISBN 13 Ebook: 978-0-7684-8606-3

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D
EDICATION

This book is dedicated to all the indirect victims of this
Identity Theft
—the lost sheep of the house of Israel. I implore you to take a fresh and honest look at Yeshua (Jesus) the Jew.

I think you will be surprised.

In defending myself against the Jews,

I am acting for the Lord. The only

difference between the church and

me is that I am finishing the job.

—A
DOLF
H
ITLER

It happened a year ago. He came in a vision. I have never fully shared this with anyone, except my wife, and at first, she didn’t believe me, but I felt it was time to put my testimony on paper.

After all, I am a writer and He chose to send His messenger to me. People must know the truth. Christians must know the truth. And by all means, Jews must know the whole story.

Is that it?

Three words that turned my life upside down: “Is that it?” It wasn’t that I was unfulfilled. On the contrary, I was extremely content. I was five years married and had two amazingly cute little girls. At twenty-eight, with only a bachelor’s degree, I had risen in the ranks. I already had a daily column in the
Philadelphia Inquirer
and a well-read blog. Life was perfect.

And yet
that
was the problem—what if there was something I was missing? Maybe there was a God out there who expected something from me. Maybe not, but the truth is,
I had no idea
. What keeps my heart ticking day after day? Who makes sure that it continues to pump blood through my veins?

I had taken all of this for granted. It suddenly hit me that we spend entire lifetimes working and planning just to make sure we are comfortable when we retire, which is a very short period of time. Yet we rarely consider what happens after retirement when we die. Is that it? Six feet under and never another conscious thought? Or is there life beyond the grave? And if so, where would I spend eternity? I had no idea.

I was determined to find God
. I was full of questions and I had no clue where to begin. How do you
find God?
It’s not like I could just Google Him as I had learned to do for everything else.

Where to start?

Being Jewish, I began to go to synagogue and even attend afternoon prayers, the Mincha service, when I could. It felt great when nine men were waiting and I showed up to complete the
minyan
(a quorum of ten Jewish bar Mitzvah’d males required to begin the prayer service). As a last resort they might grab some poor just-over-thirteen-year-old out of his studies to reach the required number, but then I would show up, saving the day.

While that made me feel good about myself, I didn’t sense any personal connection with the Almighty. It was more a satisfaction that I had performed some religious duty, than actually feeling His presence. I began to study other religions and actually began to pray—not in a formal sense like in the synagogue, but I simply asked God to show me if He was real and what He expected from me.

To be honest, I was drawn to Jesus. His message of salvation was so different from any other religion I had studied. Every single one of them put the emphasis on what I did.
Do this on Friday. Do that in the morning. Be a good person. And by all means, never do this.

But the message Jesus preached conceded that my case was hopeless. There was nothing I could do to please God in light of all I had done against Him. That was why He came; in order to give His life as a sacrifice; to take my punishment—or so they say. It was the only philosophy that didn’t stress religious obligation, but instead presented me with the opportunity to accept the fact that 1) I was a sinner; 2) I could not save myself; 3) Jesus had taken my punishment; and 4) through faith in Him, I could have eternal life.

You may be thinking,
So what’s the problem? Buy into it!
It’s not quite so easy. You see, being Jewish, I was convinced that to believe in Him would be to deny my faith, my heritage, and my community. Everyone knew that to believe in Yeshua was to betray the Jewish people—a people who had suffered more than any other, and had so often suffered in the name of the very One to whom I was attracted.

Also add to that the fact that the whole Jewish community knew my father was the son of Holocaust survivors. Surely they would all turn on me. And it seemed to me that they would be right. What kind of a Jew takes sides with the descendants of the Crusaders? When I went to my rabbi to confide in him, he nearly bit my head off. He told me to drop my pursuit and never bring it up again—“For the sake of your family.” I was completely and utterly confused and immobilized.

And then he came. His name is Ariel. I was at Starbucks sipping on double-shot espresso. I have never been a Venti, non-fat, no-foam, no-water, six pump, extra-hot, chai tea latte kind of a guy—just strong espresso. That was all I needed to get my creative juices flowing in order to write.

I was sitting there reading the paper, getting ready to start on my column, when suddenly the entire room became white. In fact, it was so bright that
white
seems like an understatement. Everyone was gone—the girl behind the counter, the tattooed hipster listening to his iPod, the student on his computer, the couple that appeared to be going over a business plan…
all gone!

I was terrified. Suddenly a man appeared…
an angel
. He introduced himself. “I am Ariel, an angel of the Most High.” He was about six feet tall, quite fit, with dark hair, dark skin, and a short beard. He was wearing a white robe, interestingly, just as I would have imagined an angel to be dressed.

I said nothing. “David, you who are highly esteemed, consider carefully the words I am about to speak to you and the lessons you will learn, and stand up, for I have now been sent to you.”

When he said this to me, I stood up trembling.

“I have been sent to give you understanding. You are a confused Jewish young man, but you have found favor in the eyes of Adonai.”

I knew Adonai was Hebrew for
Lord
. Even though I had not been very religious, going to Hebrew school three times a week during much of my teen years had not been a complete waste.

He continued, “I have come to take you on a journey, to show you the past, the present, and even the future. At times you will beg me to stop, but in order for you to understand the truth and help others to understand, you must experience it—you must experience
all
of it.”

I found my voice, but could not think of anything to say. Before I knew it the angel grabbed my hand, and suddenly we were flying through time. It is very hard to explain on paper, in words, what I was experiencing, which is one reason that it has taken me a year to begin this testimony.

I somehow knew that we were going back in time. It was thrilling and yet petrifying. I could see scenes in time, but from a distance. And then everything suddenly grew bigger, as when a plane lands. As though watching a timeline, I could see that we were in the second century, and then the first. Things grew really close, as if we were zooming in on Google maps. The Middle East, Israel, Jerusalem! And then, we passed right through a roof and gently landed inside what seemed like an ancient synagogue from the second Temple period. Only there were several rows of seats, like in a modern movie theater, and a massive screen. Torches lit up the room, as it was night.

There were other angels there. Two were above me and there were two at every entrance. They said nothing and Ariel didn’t even acknowledge them. It appeared they were standing guard. Then I thought,
Am I in some kind of danger?
It reminded me of the first time I visited Israel. The armed soldiers at the airport made me feel safe and deeply concerned at the same time. From what and whom were they were protecting me? And now the question that plagued my mind was,
What dangerous spiritual force is seeking to bring about my demise?

“What is going on? Is this a dream?” Words finally found their way out of my mouth. I knew this couldn’t really be happening and yet I was quite sure I was awake. The only thing missing was Morpheus offering me a blue pill or a red one.

“David, your journey will begin here. You will watch events in the lives of four Jews, all from different time periods during the past 2,000 years. You see, David, you are struggling with the idea of
being Jewish and believing in Yeshua.
You don’t mind if we refer to Him by His Hebrew name, do you?”

It was more of a statement than a question. He continued, “You feel that to believe would be a betrayal. But that is only because you do not know that the Yeshua you imagine in your mind is not the Yeshua who walked the streets not too far from where we are right now.”

“So, we are in Jerusalem?” I asked.

“The Old City, to be exact. The year is 35
CE
, a time when the Messiah was understood in the context in which the Jewish prophets described Him. The multitudes who followed Him during this period were all Jews.

“Over the years, that has changed. His message has touched nearly every nation…and that is a good thing. However, in the process, the nature and identity of the Messiah has been tampered with, even altered, by those without the authority to do so. In short, there has been an insidious case of identity theft.

“Long before computer hackers and credit cards, the most destructive, most horrendous case of identity theft occurred, and the victim was the Messiah Himself! Today, we will uncover it, and then you, young man, will expose it to the world.”

This was getting interesting!

“Sit down. Let’s begin,” instructed Ariel.

Feeling completely confused and utterly intrigued, I sat in what was the most amazingly comfortable chair I had ever sat in, immediately forgetting the burden that he had just placed upon me—“You will expose it to the world.”

I waited to see what would come next. Ariel picked up a remote, pointed it toward the screen, and pressed a button. The torches in the room faded, until it was completely dark. The film began to play.

Words emerged on the screen:

27
CE
, Capernaum, Galilee

Then a woman appeared and began to talk, as if she were being interviewed:

“I am a Jewess and my claim to fame is that my story, wonderful in and of itself, was recorded—at least the most important part—for posterity, by not just one, but by
three
ancient writers!”

As she continued to talk, I watched her story unfold like a movie.

“My name is Chaya. I spent my childhood playing on the shores of the Sea of Galilee. And each evening my father would come home after a day of fishing, bringing fresh tilapia with him for dinner. Now I know that the smell of fish isn’t everyone’s favorite, but for me it conjures up precious memories of my hardworking father who loved and provided for his family. My mother worked hard as well, taking care of the home and her children, using all her ingenuity to feed and clothe us. But no matter how hard they worked, there was never enough after paying the crippling taxes imposed by the nation’s Roman overlords.

“Like most Galileans, we longed for the day when the Messiah would come and free us from the tyranny of the Romans. Every Shabbat we would go to the synagogue, in the center of our village, to hear the Torah read and to pray. It was a constant reminder to us all that God had saved our people once before when we were slaves in Egypt—surely He could do it again, and the sooner the better.