Identity Theft (27 page)

I turned onto my street. I was still basking in His presence. Tears were still welling up, as I was filled with such gratitude and deep satisfaction. I had never experienced such peace and contentment in all my life. Yet, it made no sense. My life was about to get crazy. When the Jewish community of Philadelphia discovers that
David Lebowitz
—son of Harvey Lebowitz and grandson of Holocaust survivors Tuvia and Edith Lebowitz, the
Philadelphia Inquirer
columnist—now believes that Yeshua is the Messiah, they are
not
going to be happy. And yet, there I was in my car, just as unworried as one could possibly be. While I didn’t want to lose any of these relationships—I loved my wife and my parents—I had found the meaning of life. I later found this passage that described perfectly my new willingness to sacrifice everything in order to have my name written in His book of life:

The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field. When a man found it, he hid it again, and then in his joy went and sold all he had and bought that field. Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant looking for fine pearls. When he found one of great value, he went away and sold everything he had and bought it
(Matthew 13:44-46).

I had found Life itself and He was a Jewish man. I watched Him suffer as no one has ever suffered. Yes, it will be hard, but how can I turn my back on the One who would do that for me? I was willing to lose everything; friends, family, career… if it ever came to that.

And then I heard His voice speaking inside of me.

Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me. For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will save it. What good is it for someone to gain the whole world, and yet lose or forfeit their very self? Whoever is ashamed of me and my words, the Son of Man will be ashamed of them when me comes in mis glory and in the glory of the Father and of the holy angels
(Luke 9:23-26).

No, I will never be ashamed of Yeshua
, I thought. Then, as if an alarm had just gone off, I suddenly I remembered something. The entire time I was with Ariel, he and others kept telling me that I had a special purpose—a particular task. What is it I am supposed to do? Am I to tell other Jewish people about the Messiah? Will I write books about this?
I am a writer—a trained journalist. Would anyone publish me?

I chuckled at the thought of asking my Jewish bosses to get behind such a project. Well, whatever His purpose for me was, I was willing. I hope no one will try to boil me in oil. I smiled, knowing that was a very unlikely scenario in Philadelphia, but whatever comes my way, I trust He will give me the strength to deal with it.

Who would have thought when I woke up that morning, with the grand plan of going to Starbucks, reading the paper, and working on my column, that I would meet an angel—not to mention John the Baptist and Shimon Kefa—that I would travel through time and watch Abraham almost kill his son, listen to Isaiah prophesy, and witness the Last Seder and resurrection of the Jewish Messiah? Not to mention, having a ringside seat to the spiritual battle over my own soul and getting a Master’s degree in
truth
. Yet, the most amazing event of all that I witnessed was the act of selfless love that divided history, that was planned even before Abraham became father to Isaac—Yeshua’s death on the Cross as our Passover Lamb.

As I neared my house, a peace flooded my soul and I recognized that life as I knew it was over. I also knew my quest was over. Ariel was right. The moment I said those words,
I believe
, something changed inside of me. I would later read this passage: “Therefore, if anyone is in [Messiah], he is a new creation; old things have passed away; behold, all things have become new” (2 Cor. 5:17 NKJV).

Yes! I was a new creation! I am sure that if God had opened my eyes, I would have seen an angel swoop down and cut me loose from the darkness I had walked in all my life. Maybe it was Ariel himself—my angel, my teacher, my friend. The blood of the Passover Lamb was now on the doorpost of my soul.

The spiritual battle for my soul might be over, but a new battle was about to commence once it became public knowledge that David Lebowitz was now a friend of Yeshua. I knew my faith could not remain a secret. I had to tell others. I also knew that it would touch every area of my life, from my family to my vocation.

Yes, it was beginning to make sense. God clearly had something special for me to do—an assignment. I again recalled how Kefa and Jacob seemed excited, even honored to meet me. What was this assignment? Something about exposing the
Identity Theft
, the angel said.
All in good time,
I thought.
For now, I just want to enjoy every second of being in His presence
. At that moment, I assumed I would be enveloped in that peace the rest of my life.
I was wrong.

I turned into my driveway to find my wife, Lisa, frantic, running to the car, tears streaming down her face.

“David, where have you been? We have been calling you!
There’s been a horrible accident!
”

“Don’t you ever say that you
used to be Jewish! You are still Jewish and always will be!”

Like an Old Testament prophet, complete with boney finger in my face, Ziva, an Israeli believer, rebuked me, because when I greeted her, I said, “I also
used to be Jewish.”

I was a brand-new believer and Ziva was the first other Jewish believer I had met. Until this time, I had considered myself cut off from Judaism. It was a painful price to pay (and one I would discover later that I didn’t even have to pay!), but Yeshua had radically changed my life and I loved Him for it, no matter what the cost.

Erroneously, I assumed that to believe in the Jewish Messiah was to renounce Judaism—my religion, my heritage, my culture, and my people. The very statement seems strange, right? If He is the Jewish Messiah, why would I consider myself
cut off?
To understand that, you need to know what it was like to grow up Jewish.

Mr. and Mrs. Christ?

“I was about twelve years old when I first learned that
Jesus was Jewish,” writes Dr. Michael Brown in his book The Real Kosher Jesus
.
¹
In the same chapter he also shares the story of our mutual friend Jeff Bernstein, who grew up thinking that Jesus was the son of Mr. and Mrs. Christ!
²

I can relate to both of their experiences. I too thought for the longest time that Christ was simply Jesus’s last name. We are taught, if not directly, that one of the very definitions of being Jewish is that
we don’t believe in Jesus.

I have a strange memory of a phone call I made when I was about ten years old. I saw a sign on a car that read, “I found it!” In fact, if memory serves me correctly, I had seen this phrase in different places around Richmond; however, this time I jotted down the phone number and called it when I got home. I was curious to discover just what he had found.

The person on the other end of the phone was excited to inform me that he had indeed found Jesus. I hung up the phone. Had I been cleverer at the time, I might have quipped, “I didn’t know He was lost!”

When I did “find” Him for myself in 1983 as an eighteen-year-old freshman in college, I assumed I had “left” Judaism. I was now a Christian. I didn’t like this term, mostly because everyone I grew up with—except for my Jewish friends—claimed to be one and yet it didn’t seem like any of them lived like Christians. It didn’t take long for me to realize there were
cultural Christians
and
true believers
. There were people who claimed to be Christians because they grew up in homes where their parents told them they were Christians or because they went to a church on Sundays—and there were those who truly had a relationship with the Living God. In fact, growing up, most of the Jews I knew simply defined Christians as non-Jews.

Even though I did not dare call myself a Christian, I was still quite sure I was now separated from my people, my religion, and my heritage—cut off. If there was one thing I had learned growing up Jewish, it was that Jesus and Judaism don’t mix! I couldn’t explain everything we believed as Jews, but I could sure tell you exactly what we didn’t believe! In my mind, I was now outside the camp.

I Am Still a Jew?

However, when Ziva shared those amazing words with me—
You are still a Jew!
—it changed my life! This was a revelation to me. I am still Jewish? I am still part of the people of Israel?

Of course this would have seemed a very strange revelation to the very first followers of Yeshua, whose Jewishness was never in question. They struggled with the question, “Do Gentiles have to become Jewish in order to believe in Jesus?”—not their own Jewishness. (See Acts 10 and 15.)

Ziva also told me of congregations of Jewish believers who met on the Jewish Sabbath and worshiped Yeshua. Again, I couldn’t believe my ears. Jewish synagogues where they believe in Jesus? One year later when I walked into Beth Messiah Congregation in Rockville, Maryland, tears filled my eyes as I saw the largest number of Jewish believers I had ever seen worshiping the Messiah.

For a guy who grew up thinking Mary was Catholic, John was a Baptist, Peter was the first Pope, and the New Testament stories took place in Rome, I was stunned. I began to read the New Covenant for myself. The more I read it, the more astonished I became at how
Jewish
it was. This story didn’t take place in Rome, there is no mention of the Vatican or a pope, and the word “Christian” can only be found three times in the entire book! These people were not starting a new religion—they were Jews who believed they had found their Messiah.

Moreover, I discovered:

   Jesus’s Hebrew name is Yeshua, which means “salvation.”

   Mary was an Israelite called Miriam, a Jewish name, like the sister of Moses.

   John was a not Baptist, but a Jewish prophet in company with Ezekiel, Jeremiah, and Isaiah.