Wings of Refuge

by Lynn Austin

  “Is that why we’re not celebrating Passover with Aunt Devorah and Uncle Ben this year, like we always do?”

  “Sort of. I wanted to celebrate it with just you and Ari so I could explain what I believe and what this celebration now means to me. I wanted to take you through the process, step by step. I didn’t think the others would understand.”

  “What makes you so sure I’ll understand?” Hannah said. “Do you understand it, Ari?”

  He looked from Hannah to Rachel and back again. “I’m . . . eh . . . trying to keep an open mind.”

  “Will you do the same, Mama?”

  “Of course. But why are you even celebrating Passover if you’re no longer a Jew?”

  “But I am still a Jew! I haven’t given up any part of our faith or our heritage. I don’t have to. Yeshua the Messiah is the fulfillment of the Jewish faith.”

  Rachel had moved the table into the living room so they would have more room to relax while they ate. As they proceeded with the Passover seder, Ari, as head of the household, read the words of the liturgy. After he completed each portion, Rachel explained the familiar rituals in a new light.

  When Ari held up the Unity cloth with the three pieces of unleavened bread, Rachel explained how the Godhead was a unity of three-in-one—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—‘unleavened,’ without sin. When Ari removed the middle piece of bread, broke it, and hid it away in a shroud for a portion of the meal, Rachel explained how Yeshua left heaven and descended to earth, where His body was broken and hidden in the grave. They later sang the Passover hymn—From the rising of the sun to the place where it sets, the name of the Lord is to be praised—and Rachel told them, “Yeshua’s redemption is for the whole earth, just as God promised Abraham that all nations would be blessed through him.” And as they ate the meal itself, Rachel said, “When our ancestors ate this meal for the first time in Egypt, the blood of the lamb rescued them from death, just as Yeshua, our Passover lamb, rescues us from death.”

  Afterward, when the hidden piece of bread was found and “bought” with silver, Rachel told them that Yeshua’s betrayal had also been bought with silver, as Zechariah had prophesied.

  “When Yeshua got to this part of the seder,” Rachel said, “on the night of His last Passover meal, He took the bread that had been hidden, gave thanks, and broke it just like we do, passing it to His disciples, saying, ‘Take and eat; this is my body, broken for you.’ It was like the fellowship offering of His day—the sacrifice that brought peace with God was also eaten by the worshipers.” She held up a flat square of unleavened bread. “Look, Mama. It’s striped and pierced, just as Isaiah said the Messiah would be pierced for us, and by His stripes we would be healed.”

  Throughout the meal, Ari poured each of them four cups of wine, each cup representing one of the promises God made to His people in Exodus. “This third cup is the cup of redemption,” he said when he reached that part of the seder. “It represents God’s promise that ‘I will redeem you with an outstretched arm.’”

  “Yeshua took this third cup,” Rachel said, “and when He gave thanks He offered it to His disciples saying, ‘Drink it. This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for the forgiveness of sin.’ You know that God’s covenants are always signed in blood. For the old covenant, that blood was sprinkled on the people, but this blood they drank, symbolizing that the new covenant is internal. His laws are written on our hearts, not tablets of stone. Passover was the commemorative meal of the old covenant, but it became the commemorative meal of His new covenant, the one promised in Jeremiah 31. It’s the meal that Christians call Communion.”

  After Ari filled the fourth cup, the cup of praise, Rachel said, “Yeshua didn’t drink this fourth cup. He said He wouldn’t drink the fruit of the vine again until He drank it in God’s Kingdom. That’s because His Passover sacrifice hadn’t been made yet. Our redemption hadn’t been bought. He couldn’t drink the cup of praise—where God promises to make us His people, His Kingdom—until after His resurrection.”

  Nearly four hours after the meal began, they sang the final hymn—The stone the builders rejected has become the capstone— and Ari said the closing prayer.

  “When Yeshua’s Passover feast ended,” Rachel told them, “He prayed, ‘Father, the time has come. Glorify your son that your son may glorify you.’ Then He went out to the Garden of Gethsemane where the priests arrested Him. Before that Passover Day ended at sundown, they had crucified Him.”

  Hannah had said very little throughout the meal, overwhelmed by Rachel’s passion and by the enormous amount of research she had done. But now her daughter turned to her, waiting for her reaction.

  “Well, you were right, sweetie,” Hannah managed to say. “If someone did invent this religion, they worked awfully hard to make everything fit.”

  “But some of those things were beyond human planning, Mama. The Romans could have set Yeshua free. They didn’t have to pass the death sentence. They could have crucified Him on any other day besides Passover. He died on that day by God’s design. As the sun was setting, they laid His body in the tomb. You know as well as I do that the next feast, the Feast of Unleavened Bread, begins as the sun sets on Passover. Yeshua was buried on the day that we give thanks to God for the bread He provides from the earth. Yeshua said, ‘I am the bread of life.’ And He also said, ‘Unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds.’ He died so that the Kingdom could grow through us.

  “But that’s not all, Mama. According to the historical record, Passover fell on a Friday that year, and so the Feast of Unleavened Bread was on a Saturday. The Feast of First Fruits is always celebrated on the first Sunday after Passover, so that year the three feasts fell on three consecutive days. You know that only occurs every so many years, because Passover can fall on any day of the week. Yeshua rose from the dead on the Feast of First Fruits. He told the people that a sign would be given, the sign of Jonah, who was in the belly of the fish for three days. Isaiah wrote, ‘After the suffering of his soul, he will see the light of life and be satisfied.’ Yeshua was the first fruits of God’s new Kingdom. We will all share His resurrection life.”

  “All right,” Hannah conceded, “I can see that it would have been pretty difficult to orchestrate all those things.”

  “There’s more if you want to hear it. Fifty days after Yeshua rose from the dead, on the Feast of Pentecost, God’s Spirit was poured out on a group of early believers. It was the fulfillment of Joel’s prophecy where God said He would pour out His Spirit on all people. Remember how Moses said he wished the Lord would put His Spirit on all the people after the seventy chosen elders prophesied? God’s new covenant was for all people, not just the leaders—from the least to the greatest. The Feast of Pentecost celebrates the day the Law was given, and Exodus says that three thousand people died on that day. But on the day God’s Holy Spirit was poured out, three thousand people who witnessed it became believers and His Law was written on their hearts.”

  Ari leaned forward and took his wife’s hand. “You should have been an attorney. You present a pretty impressive case for this Yeshua fulfilling all the Messianic prophecies.”

  “Not all the prophecies,” she said. “There are three Old Testament feasts that still haven’t been fulfilled. But the prophets say that the Lord is coming again in judgment when the trumpet sounds. And what are the next two feasts of the Jewish calendar? The Feast of Trumpets and Yom Kippur. That fits what Yeshua said, too. When the harvest is over, when all nations have heard the Gospel, He will come again for the final judgment. Then, when the earth is redeemed from the corruption of sin, we’ll celebrate God’s rest—the last feast, the Feast of Tabernacles. Zechariah prophesied that in the last days the whole earth will celebrate that feast. Remember how Abba read the book of Jonah to me on Yom Kippur? He said that God establishes His Kingdom in His people in order to bring His redemption to the whole earth.”

  Wh
en she finished, Hannah and Ari looked at each other. “I have to admit,” Ari said, “it does all seem to fit together in one pretty impressive design.”

  “Just like a mosaic,” Hannah murmured. She sat back in her chair as memories of Jake drifted into her thoughts. She wondered what he would think of all this. Would Jake also have become a believer in Yeshua? While she was still deep in thought, Rachel went into the kitchen and returned with dessert—a layered chocolate torte made from matzah.

  “No more lectures tonight,” Rachel said. “I promise.”

  Hannah wiped imaginary sweat from her brow. “Phew! That’s good news. I can barely absorb what you’ve already said.”

  Rachel cut them each a piece of dessert. “We have another announcement to make, Mama. One I think you’ll like a lot more than the first one.”

  Hannah looked at her daughter and smiled, already guessing what she was about to say.

  “Ari and I have decided to start a family. We’re trying to make a baby.”

  Hannah beamed as she lifted her cup of wine. “Mazel tov, sweeties! I’m so happy for both of you! But please, tell me you didn’t invite me here to share that process with you, step by step! I forgot my camera.”

  Ari was still laughing five minutes later.

  CHAPTER 19

  TEL AVIV, ISRAEL—1994

  Oh, sweetie . . . look!” Hannah’s voice was hushed with emotion as she watched the shadowy form on the ultrasound monitor. She gripped Rachel’s hand in her own. “Your baby!”

  Starting a family hadn’t been as easy as Rachel and Ari had hoped. But after three years and many specialists, Rachel was pregnant at last, just starting her fourth month. Hannah stood beside her in a clinic in Tel Aviv and watched her unborn grandchild on the screen, heard the reassuring sound of its heartbeat.

  “I wish Ari could see this,” Rachel said tearfully.

  “Don’t make him feel any worse than he already does for missing out. He accepted the offer to speak at that conference before you were even pregnant. Besides, his loss is my gain. I’m so glad I had the chance to see this . . . this miracle!”

  The technician smeared more gel on Rachel’s stomach and studied the monitor as she slid the instrument around. “There,” she said suddenly, “that’s an excellent view of her.”

  “Did you say . . . her?” Hannah asked.

  The technician’s face reddened. “Oops!”

  “It’s all right,” Rachel said. “I want to know, and so does Ari.”

  “Yes, it’s a girl,” the technician said, smil-ing.

  The baby’s face and tiny nose were in profile. Hannah watched her granddaughter lift spidery fingers and begin sucking her thumb.

  “Oh, Mama, I can’t wait!” Rachel cried. There were tears of joy in both of their eyes. When they finally emerged from the clinic, Hannah pulled Rachel toward a department store down the street. “I feel like going on a shopping binge,” she said. “Let’s buy a ton of pink ruffles! What do you say?” They emerged two hours later looking like pack mules, burdened with bags of baby clothes. But when Hannah tried unsuccessfully to hail a taxi or even a seven-passenger sherut, she knew they had shopped too long. It was now the height of rush hour.

  “Never mind, let’s just grab a bus,” Rachel said, flagging one down as it approached. They climbed aboard, and an Orthodox gentleman graciously gave them his seat.

  “Whew, I’m exhausted,” Hannah said. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m excited! I can’t wait to show Ari these ultrasound pictures when he comes home!”

  The short ride seemed to take forever as the bus stopped at nearly every corner to let people on and off. Hannah grew impatient. She should have tried harder to find a taxi. But Rachel didn’t seem to mind the delay as she pulled tiny pink shirts and sleepers and ruffled hats from her bag of baby things, examining them one by one.

  “Look,” she said, showing Hannah a pair of white satin booties with delicate pink embroidery. “I can hardly imagine a pair of feet this tiny, can you? Her toes would be the size of pearls!”

  “Your feet were once this small,” Hannah said, taking the booties from her. “I can still remember how Jake would hold one of your little hands or feet in his own and just silently marvel at the wonder of it.”

  “You know what absolutely amazes me when I see how small and vulnerable a baby is?” Rachel asked. “The fact that the Almighty One would become a baby with hands and feet that were tiny enough to fit into those booties. Yeshua was the very fullness of God, yet He squeezed himself into a defenseless human body with tiny hands and feet. The psalmist said we are engraved on the palms of those hands. Isaiah said that they were pierced for us.”

  Hannah heard the awe in Rachel’s voice and saw the passion of her beliefs shining in her eyes. After listening to her daughter talk about Yeshua for four years, Hannah found that she was almost convinced, in spite of her arguments to the contrary. She lifted the delicate booties to her cheek and brushed the soft satin against her skin as the bus stopped, once again, to take on passengers.

  “Mama, do you know what Yeshua said as they drove those nails into His hands and feet?” Rachel asked.

  “No, sweetie. Tell me.” Hannah glanced up as a young Palestinian boarded the bus. Their eyes met. The naked hatred she saw in them made Hannah draw a breath as she instantly perceived his intent. She never had the chance to scream.

  “Allah Akbar!” he shouted, and the world erupted in a deafening blast of fire and heat. Hannah’s entire body absorbed the impact of the explosion. The force of it lifted her, flung her tumbling through the air, then slammed her down again with heedless fury. She lay stunned, half conscious, numb and racked with pain at the same time.

  She opened her eyes. Instead of the bus there was sky above her. High, thin clouds blew past like wisps of tissue paper. The smell of hot metal and burning rubber and flesh filled her nostrils. She heard the roar of the ocean in her ears, the clamor of a thousand bells.

  Suddenly a dark figure blocked her vision, a man Hannah didn’t know. He crouched beside her, his expression dumb with disbelief. Dark blood oozed from a gash on his forehead near his hairline, his face bloody, his shirt torn. He seemed unable to speak, but he removed his belt as if in slow motion, and Hannah felt him slide it under her thigh and pull it tight. She wanted to ask him what he was doing and why, but before she could make herself form the words, the man was gone.

  For a long moment Hannah simply lay there, trying to understand what had happened and where she was, trying to remember where she was supposed to be. On a bus . . . going home . . . with Rachel . . .

  But Rachel was no longer beside her.

  She struggled to her elbows and looked around. The montage of images that met her gaze was from Sheol itself—smoke and fire and terror and death. The street resembled the black-and-white photographs she’d seen of Europe in the aftermath of bombing raids, only this scene was in brutal color—the twisted wreckage of seared metal; a dangling tire, vainly spinning on its axle; a blasted storefront, gaping with glass and debris; shattered bodies littering the road like pieces of a broken jigsaw puzzle.

  “Rachel!” Hannah yelled her name, but it was as if she called from the bottom of the ocean. Her voice was lost in the shrill of screams and sirens.

  Then a small movement caught her eye, fluttering on the ground behind her. Something yellow, like the blouse Rachel had been wearing. Hannah twisted around, ignoring the pain, and saw Rachel’s head and one outflung arm. Her dark hair was glossy with blood. The rest of her lay buried beneath twisted pieces of the bus. Shards of glass all around her twinkled like diamonds in the sun. Hannah tried to crawl to her and nearly blacked out from the pain. Her own leg was pinned beneath the seat they had been sitting on. She stretched out her arm and touched Rachel’s face, caressed her cheek.

  “Rachel . . . sweetie . . .”

  Rachel turned her head and met Hannah’s gaze. Her eyes were dazed with pain, but there was no fear in them. “Abba . . .
” she whispered.

  “No, Rachel, it’s Mama . . . I’m here. Hang on, sweetie. Help is coming.” The wail of sirens grew louder.

  “Abba . . .” Rachel whispered again. “Abba, forgive them . . .” Her eyes closed. “No!” Hannah cried. “Rachel . . . no!” She struggled to roll onto her side, desperate to crawl to Rachel, to hold her. But when she moved, the pain in her leg was so overwhelming, so unbearable, that the world instantly went black.

  * * *

  Hannah opened her eyes to bright lights. Chaos. Shouts. Screams. A man in green hospital scrubs was looking down at her, talking to her. The white ceiling above her was moving . . . or was she moving?

  “Can you hear me, ma’am?” the man asked. “We’re taking you into surgery.”

  Hannah closed her eyes to signal that she had heard, that she understood, and awoke in a white-draped bed in a dark, shadowy room. Everything was quiet. Too quiet. As her vision cleared, she saw Ben and Devorah standing over her. For a moment she didn’t know what had happened or where she was. Then she remembered the young Palestinian, the look of hatred on his face, his strangled shout cut short by the deafening blast. A shudder of horror rocked through her.

  “Oh, God . . . No!” She tried to move, to flee, but her body was heavy and limp, unresponsive to her commands.

  “It’s all right,” Ben soothed. “Shh . . . hush, now . . .”

  He stroked her cheek, crooning as if she were a baby. Hannah remembered Rachel’s baby, the comforting sound of her steadily throbbing heartbeat, the softness of her tiny satin booties. Hannah had held those booties in her hands only a moment ago. She looked at her hands, but they were empty. An IV tube snaked from one of them. Her heart pounded with fear. She heard the echo of it beeping rapidly on the machine beside her bed.

  “Rachel! Where’s Rachel?” Ben took her hands in both of his and gripped them tightly.

  “She’s gone, Hannah.” His eyes filled with tears. “Rachel’s gone.”