Easter...My Jesus Story

I love Easter, even though I am not religious. I love all the little goodies that go with this holiday -- egg hunts, pictures of bunnies and chicks, chocolate bunnies, bunny stuffed animals...you get the idea. But what is wrong with this picture? Is this See's Candies laden holiday really more about spring and little animal babies, perhaps? Today I want to share a personal story. It did not happen on Easter, specifically, but it is about the main character in the Easter story: this is how I first learned about Jesus.

I was a typical junior high school kid growing up in Los Angeles in the 1970s. Sonny and Cher, Love American Style and That Girl were my favorite TV shows. Like many middle schoolers, I was awkward, acne prone, and shy. My best childhood girlfriend had "dumped" me to be with a group of "cool" girls who were more popular with the boys. Sigh!

Meanwhile, one of my older brothers (I'll call him Dan to protect the innocent) had joined the Army. I missed him terribly, as both of my brothers had flown the coop and I, the baby in the family, was alone with my folks. Scary! Luckily, however, my brother, Dan, finished his first two years of the Army and came home for a short visit. I was so happy to see him! Being the thoughtful person he was, he had a small gift for me: a brand new abridged copy of The New Testament.

My family is reform Jewish. Not religious by any means. My grandparents had been Orthodox Jews from Russia; when they migrated to this country, both my parents rebelled and became more atheist than anything. While in the Army, however, Dan had met and spent his days with Christians. Over time he converted to Christianity -- in those days they called people like my brother "Jews for Jesus." And now, he had his sights set on converting me.

I was definitely interested in the ancient world of miraculous healing, loaves of bread and fish, apostles and Romans. I had never read anything like it, and I was mesmerized. I'll never forget the cover with a smiling Jesus, arms outstretched, with a glowing halo around his head. Geez, he looked happy! After I read the book in its entirety, my brother and I sat up late one night talking. He asked me if I could accept the Lord into my heart. I said, "I don't know." We talked about God, and what He might look like, etc., and then suddenly, for some unknown reason, I got scared. I felt as if there was a ghost or something in the room with us. All this talk about God was new to me, and I just freaked. I ran to my mom and told her about our discussion. She was never one to interfere, but she saw that I was distressed, so she told Dan to take it easy on the sermonizing. Something was starting to brew in our house.

The brew boiled over shortly after that strange night. A few days later I took a bad fall at school while playing basketball. I landed pretty hard on the asphalt and my legs were skinned deeply. The school called home and Dan came to pick me up. So there I was at home, legs bumped, bruised and skinned, lying on the sofa in pain, when my dad comes home early from work. Dad took one look at the New Testament I was rereading, and without a blink told me I had to throw it out. "That book is not allowed in our house," dad said. "We are Jewish."

I tried to talk to dad, but if you knew my dad, you'd know how futile it was to try and rationalize with a stubborn mule. Our "discussions" were more like him telling me what to do. There was no way around it, I had to toss out the book. Well, that was one bad day for me! Hobbling in pain, crying, I went to our third floor apartment trash chute and tossed my beloved New Testament. Down it went...clunk, clunk, clunk...I could hear it make its way down to the big trash bin below. Shall I call it hell?

When my brother discovered that my dad had made me throw out the book, he was livid, to say the least. An argument ensued, and my brother stormed into his room and literally put his fist through his door. (No kidding, he put a hole in the darn door!) Somehow, I felt responsible for the whole mess. If only I had hidden the book from my father...if I hadn't really thrown it out, but kept it in a secret place...But it was too late. Or was it? Dan finally came out of the room and whispered to me that he was going to go down to the basement and see if he could find the book in the trash bin. I didn't say anything. I didn't know what to say.

Dan and I snuck out of the house to the basement. My poor brother lifted himself up and over into a huge garbage bin (we lived in a large apartment complex) and sifted through tons of garbage. It was dark and stinky down there, and his efforts did not pay off. The book was lost in a sea of trash. We both cried.

Over the years my brother became less religious. He ended up serving in the Army for 20 years -- jumping out of planes, getting his Masters degree in Human Resources, marrying, raising a family, and traveling all over the world. I love him. I rarely see him. I love how he tried to rescue my book. That effort was his small sacrifice for me that spoke volumes about his humanity. I have, in turn, developed a deep respect and pride for my Jewish heritage. But I will also have a place in my heart for the Jesus I read about over thirty years ago. To my dear Christian friends, Happy Easter!