104 - Stuck in the States (August, 1986)

   After spending about 6 weeks traveling to Houston, Denver and Seattle, we returned to Louisville with the expectation to fly Zimbabwe via Johannesburg.  The first leg of our return  was booked on El Al for late August.  But, before we could finalize our plans, we needed to hear from our Indian businessman friend who was securing our residence permits with the Minister of Home Affairs.  We should have heard from him by now!

We kept chasing him on the phone, but every week we were told by his secretary that he was on a business trip to Europe and was expected back the “next week”!  The agony of frustration and helplessness stretched out over several more months with us rescheduling our booking with El Al over and over again!  

All we could think about was our return to Zimbabwe.  We had our beautiful Abigail, solid and significant support from America, South Africa and a network of coworkers and supporters on the ground in Zimbabwe.  I would resume my role at the Church Growth Support Centre and we had our friendship with the Deuschles at Rhema, our close relationship with Felix and Spiwe Mukonwengwe, as well as strong connections to Howie and Michelle Silk, Dave and Maxine Broom, the Ron and Dorothy Davies, Dave and Jen Hess as well as the farm churches that we had left under the tutelage of Norman Kalilombe. The only thing standing in our way was our residence permit.

We had a reliable car with air conditioning, my twelve string Yamaha guitar, and even a Cavalier Spaniel puppy awaiting our return.  Our hearts were in Zimbabwe and we were stuck in the USA.

Finally, I was able to speak with our Indian contact’s wife in Harare.  She said that he had been delayed for all of this time due to an illness while in Europe from which he almost died.  Ultimately, I spoke to him while he was finishing up in London.  He said that he had not been able to speak with the Minister of Home Affairs while out of the country.  However, he was confident that he would be be able to obtain our residence visas after we arrived.  So, we would enter Zimbabwe once again on a 30-day visitor’s visa.  But, we saw that as good news—we could finally get unstuck.

We packed up our possessions—now mostly baby things and made ready to return.  I called El Al and finalized the reservations.  We were finally on our way!

103 -- Abigail! (June, 1986)

    After a week touring Israel we were once again back in Louisville.  Prior to our encounter with Zimbabwe immigration we had expected to give birth to Abigail at a private hospital in Harare.  We didn’t have health insurance in the USA, but we did have a close friendship with Tom and Marcia Benninger whom we had met at “The Meeting” [See chapter 62—The Brothers In Responsibility [https://confessionsofawanderingjew.blogspot.com/2009/06/brothers-in-responsibility.html].

Tom had a thriving obstetrics-gynecology practice.  He not only offered his medical services gratis, but also arranged for us to prepay the hospital delivery costs for only $800 dollars.  (Other friends who supported our work in Africa opened up their homes to us during our stay in the States.)

Pegi and I were in our mid-30s and had been married for 10 years when Abi was born.  We knew that she would change our relationship and our lives, but had no inkling of how she would impact our spirituality.  In the meantime, we reveled in parenthood and turned our thoughts to returning to Zimbabwe where we expected to live out our futures.

As soon as Abi was old enough to travel we began visiting supporters across the country.  Louisville and Houston were the main hubs of that support, so we rented a car and drove to Houston where we met up with Ken and Jill Duckman as well as those supporting us at Lakewood Church under John Osteen.  Lakewood was already a megachurch in 1986 and provided us with housing on their large “campus” in the industrial section of Houston—not the ideal place to be, but a place for us to stay.  Houston in the summer is no fun and even though our bungalow was air-conditioned, the carpeting, drapery and furnishing were musty with a constant smell of pesticide to fight back the cockroaches which are endemic to life in Houston.  In addition, the industrial section was a 45-minute drive to the familiar residential areas of Houston where we had lived and where Pegi had grown up.  We felt really isolated.  This was long before the advent of cellphones.   

At Lakewood, our only contact was with Bill Dearman who was their missions director.  We only “saw” John Osteen at regular weekly worship services.  We didn’t feel like guests and we weren’t invited to share our experiences with the congregation or anyone else.  Lakewood was all about the Osteens.  No other notoriety was permitted.  Even God was a tool employed in service to keeping the Osteen ministry going.

This was not a surprise.  It was just a more mature version of what we experienced with the Deuschles in Africa.  It was disheartening.  Instead of promoting the kingdom of God, these Christians were focused on on their own kingdoms.  Could it get any worse?  We were about to find out.

Tom Deuschle had arranged for us to meet his parents in Denver and then fly to Seattle to visit the ministry of Casey Treat, a charismatic pastor with a megachurch ministry that was supporting Tom.  Tom thought that Casey was doing innovative stuff that might be applicable to Rhema-Harare.  

We caught a ride with Dave Broom who was a former partner of Tom at Rhema. Dave had come to Houston to pick up a twin-engine Cessna that had been donated to his ministry in Africa by the charismatic superstar, Kenneth Copeland.  Dave flew us to Denver where we spent several days with Tom’s parents.  They were generous with their time and drove the three of us on a tour of the Rocky Mountains near Denver.  They couldn’t have been nicer.  I didn’t get the impression that they were committed to the charismatic extremes of the Rhema/Word of Faith movement as was Tom.  They were pleasant hosts to their son’s associates.  They didn’t broadcast their faith.  I am not even sure they shared anything other than a nominal Christianity.  They were so pleasant and normal!

Flying commercially to Seattle was a lot more relaxing than squeezing into the rear seats of a Cessna being piloted by Dave and his pilot instructor!  We were greeted at the Seattle airport by one of Casey Treat’s lieutenants.  He dropped us at the home of the leaders of one of 20 or so “cell groups” (small home-groups).  

That evening they were having their mid-week meeting in their home to “shepherd” around 10 couples.  It was supposed to be a casual Bible study, but it quickly became obvious that the only sharing would be from the couple who were hosting us.  It was an unannounced structure to the event that you could feel.  It was not a good feeling!  There was just something odd going on.  It seemed very cultish to me as certain individuals in the group seemed to be following an unwritten script.  However, at one point I jumped in with a comment based on my biblical knowledge and experience.  It was like a thick cloud enveloped the group.  It was obvious that my contribution was not welcome!  It was really uncomfortable.  It seemed cultish to Pegi and me.

The next day we were taken to their Ministry Center, were introduced briefly to Casey Treat and shown around the facilities and the auditorium before the evening “worship.”  At 3 months Abigail was never separate from us.  This seemed to make Casey and his staff uncomfortable to have a nursing child in their big fancy ministry machine.  The offered to let us leave Abi in the care of the nursery that was fully staffed for the employees of the ministry.  It was clean, bright and colorful.  The nursery workers seemed friendly and attentive.  We met with Casey for about 30 more minutes as he explained his philosophy of ministry.  This was followed by the evening worship service/Bible study led by Casey.

It became clear that we had learned all that they had to show us of their “innovative” ministry.  I didn’t think it was innovative—I was worried that it was just a modern cult in the making.  There was this feeling of compulsion in the atmosphere.  

Everything was about doing things Casey’s way and he was very particular.  Apparently, he had been a rock drummer and would play the drums as part of the worship group.  There was a buzz among his minions (especially among the young women) that “Casey is going to play tonight!” He didn’t play all of the songs—just enough to establish some sort of authority over the whole proceeding.  His red hair was carefully coiffed and he dressed in expensive business attire with long sleeves and expensive cufflinks.  He seemed to suffer from some sort of lisp and condition that caused him to constantly daub his lips with an expensive silk handkerchief.  His whole “shtick” seemed carefully curated to give him aura of celebrity and authority.  It was really creepy!  And the worship service itself was really vanilla charismatic pablum.  Casey’s drumming wasn’t noteworthy and his “teaching” was psychological rather than spiritual.

Pegi was getting antsy being separated from Abi for so long, so we went back to the nursery to pick her up.  We got some pushback about that, but we were not their property and I insisted that they return Abi to us.  I was tall with a black beard and could be intimidating.  It became clear to them that I wasn’t going to be messed with—and you better not mess with my wife or daughter!  I wasn’t going to cower before a Muslim on the Temple Mount and I wasn’t going to be intimidated by some cult functionary!  I can’t remember the specifics, but Pegi and I had a suspicion that Abi was not being attended to properly.  Something was very weird here. 

The next morning we were invited to join Casey and some of his lieutenants for a Fellowship of Christian Businessmen luncheon at a restaurant in downtown Seattle.  We were instructed to leave Abi at the nursery.  That wasn’t going to happen.  By now I was suspicious of Casey and the whole operation.  Had Tom sent me there to get my insights into what Casey was doing that could be relevant to Rhema-Harare?  Or maybe he had sent me there to indoctrinate me.  I already felt that whatever was going on, Casey could not be trusted.  Apparently, Casey was supplying Tom with $5000/mo support.  So, he probably figured that since he “owned” Tom that he also owned us!

The luncheon was all about Casey and his ministry.  These “businessmen” were potential financiers of his ministry.  Casey seemed really off his game with Pegi, a quiet baby Abigail and me sitting at the table observing.   After the meal one of the minions mentioned that Casey was “not pleased” that Abi had been with us.  I realized we were messing up his carefully crafted pitch to his moneymen.

As we were driven back to the home where we staying, I was asked what I thought of the whole experience—the Casey Treat experience.  I spoke frankly to say that I was concerned about the communal nature of the home groups and the aura of authoritarianism that I sensed.  I connected it to the Shepherding/Discipleship Controversy that had plagued the early charismatic movement in the 70s-80s under the ministries of Bob Mumford, Charles Simpson, Don Basham, Ern Baxter and Derek Prince (a British evangelist who made his home in Jerusalem of all places!).  Obviously, my thoughts were not exactly well-received!

I never did have a chance to discuss with Tom Deuschle our pleasant time with his parents or my concerns about the authoritarian and cultish atmosphere of Casey’s ministry in Seattle.  I  wondered if Casey would send a negative report about us to Tom.  At the time, I was still operating on the premise that Tom had sent me to scope out Casey’s ministry and see what could be adapted for use at Rhema.  It would only be after our return to Zimbabwe that Tom would treat us as “out of sight—out of mind.” 

From our perspective, our road trip was coming to a successful end.  We flew back to Louisville to attend to some final details before returning to Zimbabwe.  We had no idea that we would find ourselves stuck in the States for several more months.

102 - Another 7 Days in May—This Time in Israel (May, 1986)

    On previous returns to the USA we had used South African Airways (SAA) from Johannesburg to Houston to New York.  Sanctions against South African had made that option less appealing and more expensive.  Our last few trips had been on KLM Dutch Airways connecting from Johannesburg to to Amsterdam and to New York.  For this trip, there was a new option that would take us from Johannesburg to Tel Aviv and on to New York via El Al, Israel’s national airline.  

We flew into Tel Aviv as Pegi was 33 weeks pregnant.  We would spend a week touring Israel and then continue to New York.  That would be her 34th week—the limit of eligibility to fly internationally.

I had considered moving to Israel to serve in the IDF in the early 1970s before Pegi and I married in 1976.  [See 23 — Honeymooning in a War Zone).  I had abandoned that idea when I realized that my current involvement in Christianity would not go over well in Israel.  

We landed in Tel Aviv in May of 1986 one year before the First Intifada which brought a wave of terror bombings from December 1987 until September 1993.  Israel had emerged from the ruins of the Holocaust and the founding struggles after 1948-49, the Suez Crisis of 1956, the 7 Day War of 1967,  the Yom Kippur War of 1973 and the Entebbe Raid of 1976 as a fertile and vital nation.  Jews had called this land their home since Abraham had been directed there by God in the 19th century BCE.  But with two major expulsions by foreign empires in the 6th century BCE and 1st century CE, the surviving indigenous Jewish population was a small and politically insignificant minority.  

In the late 19th and early 20th centuries there was a small but steady return of Jews mostly from Eastern Europe as a result of increasing antisemitism and community wide persecutions.  When Hitler and his engineered Holocaust resulting in the death of 6 million Jews (almost one-half of the world Jewish population) had been crushed, waves of European Jewish survivors sought return the land that had been home for almost 4000 years.

To experience the emerging modern nation made up of Jews who had returned from over 100 nations was an eye-opening experience.  Pegi and I thought that we had found meaning and purpose serving the God in southern Africa and fully expected to return to our work there, but there was something speaking to our hearts about Israel that was even more powerful.  We didn’t quite know what to make of all of this then.  Looking back however, my Jewish identity was beginning to awaken.  From that “7 days in May” was another significant event that would frame our future. [See chapters 4-12 for the first 7 days in May.]

We checked in to the Sheraton on the beach in Tel Aviv to rest up after the long trip that started with a 12-hour drive from Harare to Johannesburg, South Africa followed by a 10-hour  flight to Ben Gurion airport outside Tel Aviv.  Modern Tel Aviv was a stunning city that rivaled anything we had seen in our travels.  The Sheraton was a five-star hotel overlooking the the beach and the blue mediterranean waters.  

After changing out of our wilted travel clothes, we took the elevator up to the rooftop restaurant.  The maitre d’ asked what type of dining we preferred — handing us a couple of menus.  I selected a juicy hamburger from the beef offerings. I was hungry for a really good hamburger.  The beef in Zimbabwe was great, but you couldn’t find a good hamburger anywhere in southern Africa.  Since Sheraton was an American-based hotel, I figured that they would have something more like what I was hungering for.  Pegi, at almost 34-weeks, selected from the “dairy” side of the menu saying she wanted something lighter.  The maitre d’ frowned and said that meant we would each be sitting in different sections of the restaurant.  I had forgotten that Israeli restaurants would follow kashrut (kosher) guidelines.  We opted for the front of the menu with both of us selecting meat options—so we could sit together!

The next morning, we rented a car to tour Israel on our own.  I didn’t like organized tours—I still don’t.  As you can tell from just about every chapter in this story, I like to find my own way—discovering things for myself before fully embracing them.  Our exploration took us to Jerusalem and the Jewish Quarter where we had falafel for the first time.  We did end up accepting help in the old city from an Israeli who offered to show us around.  After about 30 minutes with him, we found out that he was a tour guide and we were now his clients.  So, he wasn’t just being nice—he was engaging in his regular business.  It was only as he was leaving us at the Western Wall that he revealed that he was expecting to be paid.  We negotiated a reasonable payment of US$20 which he was happy to get rather than Israeli shekels, although he gave us the impression that he normally got more!  

After he left us, we explored some shops and found ourselves at a large gate guarded by two Israeli soldiers.  It was an entrance to the Temple Mount/Al Aqsa Mosque plaza.  The guards saw that we were obviously tourists and said, “It’s okay.  You can come in!”  So, we did!  They obviously didn’t think that we were Orthodox Jews who would not walk on the former Temple grounds.  I was unaware of this Rabbinic prohibition at the time.  After all, I was Jewish by birth, not education.  There were innumerable customs of which I was unaware in Jewish practice.  And I was totally ignorant of Muslim beliefs and practices.  This was two decades before I would begin my studies of world religions and my PhD. 

We climbed the stairs that led to the plaza which was virtually empty that time of day.  As we  wandered around trying to imagine where the various buildings of the Temple complex would have stood, we held hands as we normally did in public.  Pegi was in the late stages of her pregnancy and we were alone and in a very strange place.  It was natural then that Pegi would cling a bit more strongly under the circumstances.  As we were preparing to exit the plaza, I saw a man gesturing at me frantically and shouting something I couldn’t make out.  I assumed that were walking somewhere that we shouldn’t.  We approached him since he was near the exit and he continued to gesture and shout at us.

I finally understood as he shouted, “You must not hold hands!  This is a holy place.  You defile it by touching a woman!”

I replied, “It’s okay, she is my wife.”

He shouted even louder as he drew closer, “I don’t care if she is your sister!  You can’t touch a woman in this holy place!”  

Then he reached out to try and pull our hands apart.  This made Pegi hold my hand more securely.  I explained that we were leaving, refusing to allow him to pull us apart.  He kept screaming at us until we exited through the gate.  Interestingly the guards who had invited us in were nowhere to be seen.

The man who had reprimanded us was undoubtedly a Muslim.  And we were defiling the second most sacred place in Islam.  We didn’t mean to offend.  We were just totally ignorant of local beliefs and customs.  It would only be years later when I realized the offense we had given him.  Thank goodness he didn’t know of my Jewish descent.  We could have stirred up and real hornet’s nest:

• After all, I was a descendant of Abraham’s son Isaac whose mother was Sarah.  Muslims trace their spiritual heritage to Ishmael—Abraham’s son by Hagar.  Strike one!
• I was a Christian, therefore an idolater.  Strike two for Muslims and Jews!
• I was an American tourist.  Strike three!
• Potential Breaking News:  Apostate Jewish-American member of Christian cult sparks tensions on sacred Temple Mount.

I guess it was a good thing that he probably recognized we were simply ignorant tourists.  And we were!

We decided we had seen enough of the Old City.  We had hotel reservations in Tiberius on the sea of Galilee.  We spread out the road map of Israel that we had been provided by the car rental agency.  It showed two main roads leading to Tiberius:

1. We could drive back to Tel Aviv and follow the coastal road along the Mediterranean toward Haifa and then east to Tiberius. 
2. We could drive straight north out of Jerusalem and take the road through the Judean hill-country into Tiberius.  I reasoned that it would be the most biblically scenic route.

It hadn’t occurred to me that we would traveling through the heart of the West Bank Palestinian Territories.  There were no checkpoints or signage that I saw marking off this territory in 1986.  This was a year before the 1st Intifada began.  We just followed taxis and limos as they had proceeded down the road.  I was concerned that there had been no highway number signs or street names in view.  There were just the occasional signs pointing to Nazareth. I guessed that maybe this was deliberate with potential enemies on every border and dismissed my worries.  But, I had not considered the rough mountain roads and the discomfort Pegi would endure as pregnant as she was!

We came to a fork in the road where there was a sign pointing to the left for Nazareth.  Yet, all the taxis and limos went right.  I decided to follow the sign to Nazareth which we later discovered was misplaced and pointing the wrong way!  We went to the left and found ourselves approaching some small farms.  The main road we were on had all kinds of rocks and boulders obstructing it.  We turned off onto a side road to one of the farms—really small farming plots each the size of a football field.  I saw some workers and asked them if they spoke English.  One person responded.  I told him we were lost and he gave us directions back to the fork in the road telling us the correct road had been to the right.  “You should just follow the traffic!”  I thanked him and we were on our way.

After a long and bumpy drive, we arrived exhausted at our quaint 4-floor hotel in Tiberius.  It was the middle east and the temperature was almost 90 degrees.  We had booked an air-conditioned room, but instead of an air-conditioner, there was a hole in the wall where and air-conditioner had been!  Apparently it was out for repair.  The front desk said that it was the only room left!  So, we checked-out and drove to a nearby modern hotel that overlooked the water.

This hotel was at least 15 floors and had all the modern amenities.  We rode the elevator to our room which was already comfortably chilled.  It was just like what we had experienced in the Sheraton in Tel Aviv.  We were ready for a meal and a good night’s sleep!  However, it was  about 5:00 pm on a Friday which meant that the hotel kitchen was already closed for Shabbat.  All room service could offer us was vanilla ice cream.  Well, at least the ice cream would be cold!

Nevertheless, we needed something more nourishing than ice cream.  We had experienced a similar experience when we first arrived in Rhodesia in 1976.  [See chapter 24 - “Two eggs Boss?  You sure?” https://confessionsofawanderingjew.blogspot.com/2009/03/two-eggs-boss-you-sure.html]. So, we took a walk along the lake where we found a Christian-owned restaurant still open that served fish—probably expecting to see other hungry tourists.

I really don’t remember what we did the next day or the remainder of our car tour, except stopping to pick up an Israeli soldier at a bus stop.  He was heading back south to the Tel Aviv area on leave from his national service.  He didn’t speak any English, but it was reassuring having him with us to give us directions back along the coastal route!  Oh yeah, there was a stop to see the archaeological remains of Jericho where we found a petrol station where we found our favorite South Africa beverage, Appletizer (carbonated apple juice).  And, there was the kosher hotdog stand outside Tel Aviv—yummy!  

Here I was, a Jew in Israel for the first time and I only remember ignorant mistakes I made and the food we ate!  I really had very little idea of Jewish life.  What I did know was the the reality of the Shema:

שְׁמַע יִשְׂרָאֵל יְהוָה אֱלֹהֵינוּ יְהוָה אֶחָד׃

Sh'ma Yisra'eil Adonai Eloheinu Adonai echad.

Hear, Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord is One.

בָּרוּךְ שֵׁם כְּבוֹד מַלְכוּתוֹ לְעוֹלָם וָעֶד

Barukh sheim k’vod malkhuto l’olam va’ed

Blessed be the Name of His glorious kingdom for ever and ever.

[And the rest in English]

And you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your might. And these words which I command you today shall be upon your heart. You shall teach them thoroughly to your children, and you shall speak of them when you sit in your house and when you walk on the road, when you lie down and when you rise. You shall bind them as a sign upon your hand, and they shall be for a reminder between your eyes. And you shall write them upon the doorposts of your house and upon your gates.

I didn’t know it at the time, but the next major life event would trigger the rediscovery of my Jewish soul — the birth of Abigail.

101 -- Harare We Having Fun Yet? (January, 1986)

     When I left off writing in June 2014, (98 - Time to Ponder & 99 - When All Seemed Promising), we had begun our move back to Harare.  Having seen the need for indigenous-led congregations in the largely neglected rural areas (formerly Tribal Trust Lands) we turned our focus to the Church Growth Support Centre in the industrial section of Harare. 

Tom Deuschle’s ministry at Rhema in Harare had acquired an IBM AT (the first IBM personal computer with a hard drive).  It had been donated by Rhema Bible Church in Johannesburg, South Africa.  I had spent the years of 1980-1983 selling and programming the personal computers for small businesses in Louisville.  This computer had some malfunctioning software installed on it that was supposed to streamline managing the business and membership of Rhema.  It was pretty unwieldy and of limited use to the administrative staff at Rhema.  Tom knew of my familiarity with microcomputers and asked if I could do something about it.  I cleaned up the programming and added new functionality that did not require the users to do anything other than make selections from a menu of options.

I also created a database with a list of 500 churches in the surrounding countries (Zambia, Mozambique, Botswana, Malawi and rural Zimbabwe).  These were fledgling African churches currently without trained leaders or support from mission organizations or the prominent  European/American ministries.  I sent out a letter soliciting students.  Tuition and housing would be gratis.  They only needed to pay for their travel and personal expenses.  I created the curriculum to be completed in one year.  In the end, we ended up with about 12 students—a good start for a first class.  

I taught from 8:00 until noon 5 days a week, spending the afternoons doing administrative work.  The students spent their afternoons helping refurbish/maintain the campus buildings and grounds.  There was a lot of painting inside and out and roofing had to be replaced as it had developed many leaks over the years as Salisbury Evangelical Bible Institute (SEBI) after its American missionaries left with in 1979 with the beginning of the transition from the white minority to African majority rule.  The place was a mess and we had only the US$500 donated from Rhema-South Africa to do everything.  Rhema-Harare would only invest their prestige!  Tom had to get credit for everything without actually contributing to the effort.

But we were loving every minute of this!  On weekends Pegi and I were part of the worship team at Rhema.  The music was the best part of Rhema and what seemed to really attract the most attention.  Bonnie Deuschle’s voice and song-writing were the heart of the ministry.  [Of course, Tom was at the center of everything.  I wonder if he knew that people really came to hear Bonnie rather than him?]

Pegi was radiant on the stage with her smile and her tambourine.  It soon became apparent that there was another reason for her radiance — After 10 years of marriage, she was pregnant. Everything seemed to be coming together for us.  God was blessing us and we were ecstatic.  We moved out of our apartment in Avondale to a nice furnished home in Marlborough—just a few minutes away from Tom and Bonnie’s home.  We were pleasantly settled in to a comfortable life with a new car (a used Peugeot 404 with a temperamental but usable air conditioner), a life filled with meaning and preparing for the birth of Abigail expected in June of 1986.

We were so happy and fulfilled!  I titled this chapter, “Harare Having Any Fun Yet?” — a pun for “Are we having any fun yet?” Yes, we were having a lot of fun!

A few weeks into the school term, after my morning classes, I was informed that I had a visitor waiting for me in my office.  Waiting for me was an African gentleman in a coat and tie who had some questions about the school.  It was not unusual to have visitors to the newly refurbished campus and I had been having a series of meetings with the leader (“Apostle”) of an indigenous church group of over 100 churches in Zimbabwe.  He was wanting to send his young pastoral candidates to our school.  Not only would this fill up our dormitory and classrooms, but he would also be contributing financially.  

I thought that maybe today’s visitor might be one of his church “elders.”  He began asking about the school and then about my role there.  I explained that I was volunteering as the Dean and lead teacher, but not drawing any salary or living expenses, since I was in Zimbabwe on a temporary visitor’s visa. He revealed that he was an official from the Ministry of Imigration.  He insisted that I follow him in my car to his office where I could make a statement in writing.  

This was not a happy moment.  I wrote my statement and he informed me that we would not be allowed to renew our visitor visa any longer.  We had been using visitor visas for 3 years, making renewal trips to South Africa every three months.  We were in the process of trying to get a residence visa like we had in 1976, but when he heard that Pegi was pregnant, they slammed the door shut on us, saying that we would have to make that application from the USA.  We would have to leave the country before Abigail was born.  The undercurrent here was that if Abi was born in Zimbabwe, she would automatically be a Zimbabwe citizen.  That would entitle us as her parents to get a residence visa.  

March-June 1985 was the period when Mugabe passed a law that allowed him to to declare anything legal or illegal.  Parliament had also enacted a series of actions to eliminate whites from the country under the guise that they were opposed to the new government.  We were unaware of any of this as we NEVER read the local papers or followed any type of politics!  How could we have been so uninformed?  We were so occupied with ministry that we didn’t even read the the local newspapers!

None of our “friends” white or black advised us that any of this was going on.  It is likely that  the crackdown that led to this visit of Immigration was a result of this anti-white pressure.  Pegi was 34 weeks pregnant when we came back to the US after having just met an Indian Christian businessman who had an “in” with the Minister of Home Affairs.  He assured us that would be able to facilitate our residence visas while we were in America.

Okay, this wasn’t fun, but it seemed as if God was working on a solution for us.  We could make a trip back to the States, have the baby and return a few months later with everything in place.  Yeah, that was optimistic thinking!

100 - Starting Where I Am Again!

 July 4, 2024

 

We returned from living in Israel two months ago.  Since then, we have been asked, “What is it like there?  Is it nice?  Weren’t you worried?  Of course, you came back because of the war--didn’t you?  What do you think of Netanyahu?  What do Israelis think of Netanyahu, the war with Hamas, Iran, what about the Haredi Jews, are you Orthodox?”, etc.

I think about these things all the time too, but I don’t have a good answer for any of these.  I can say that whatever opinion or answer is stated is…somehow wrong!  You just have to be there and then you still can’t give a good answer—neither can I.  Anything I say—I would say is somehow wrong!

To quote a lyric from a Groucho Marx routine, “Whatever it is — I’m against it!”

All I can tell you is what I experienced.  And when it comes to what I have experienced in life, all I can tell you is what happened to me and my perspective on that.  As the days go by, my perspective on what I experienced changes—so, I reserve the right to disagree with myself, whether it is what I have already written, or what I am about to write as once again pick up my metaphorical pen and put it to paper.  

I share these things with you to give you a window into my experiences.  You will have your own thoughts about my rhyme, reason or resolution.

 I have been away from writing my story for almost a decade, and I fully intended to start writing again after making Aliyah (“to go up” — refers to Jews living in the Diaspora immigrating to Israel).  Then there was the medical emergency that overturned our lives in Israel and led to our return to the USA for treatment.  

It started with a simple trip and fall on the bumpy sidewalk in front of our Jerusalem apartment.  Pegi simply tripped and fell.  What should have been a run of the mill treatment for a broken shoulder turned into a major metabolic crisis and the necessity to seek specialized treatment back in the USA.  The details are really unimportant.  The overall impact was the not the shattering of a few bones which could be repaired, but the shattering of a shared dream of no longer wandering--finding our home in Israel after 48 years of marriage.  That dream was shattered. But Pegi is my dream and she is my home!

So, here we are in Newnan, Georgia—about 40 minutes south of Atlanta.  What does it all mean?  I don’t know, but it makes to sense to me that if we go back and look at how we got here, we can begin to see what our future here may hold.  So, I plan to go back to describing my wanderings with the hope of discovering the questions that might illuminate some answers.  Whatever I discover—I reserve the right to disagree.  “Whatever it is, I’m against it!”

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If you are new to this blog, you will want to view this in the webpage version.  From there you can view the introduction and subsequent recounting of my wandering.  The mobile version of this blog will automatically take you to the most recent blog which is out of context by decades!

Since I am starting writing again after over a decade's hiatus. I thought it would be helpful to post some of the introductory matter here.

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Tuesday, June 3, 2025

Well, it took another 11 months to actually get back to writing!  It isn’t so easy to get your life up and running when you are in your mid-70s!  There were a lot of doctors’ appointments and physical therapy sessions, but Pegi is making substantial progress in recovering from surgery on both shoulders.  And there has been a lot of activity wrapping up our lives in Israel and reestablishing ourselves in a Georgia near our daughter and grandson.

So, enough excuses, it is time to get back to the story!

And just as I wrote the last line, I got another the almost daily warnings of rocket and missile fire threatening our residence in Jerusalem—probably the Houthis in Yemen again!

Monday, February 16, 2009

1 — Starting Where I Am

One of the advantages of being a "wandering" Jew is that I can just start where I am.  I should have started 9 years ago, and there have been a few aborted beginnings, but beginning has always been the problem.

I don't want to start with my publication (Messianic Jewish Congregations:  Who Sold this Business to the Gentiles?  Lanham, MD:  University Press of America, 2000.  That was just a point in time, and although it represents something of where I was in 1997—well I have wandered since then.  I could have started with my childhood and bored everyone!  There will be time for that.  I sure couldn't start with the chapter about me in Robin Moore's 1977 book, Rhodesia.  I only slightly resembled his characterization of my military adventures in Africa at the time.  I remember he put some words in my mouth that I don't understand to this day.

Should I start with my late teenage years as a secular Jew raised by a Reform mother and Orthodox father?  Or should I start with my LSD and teargas experiences as a University of Wisconsin-Madison student in 1967?

Where do you start the story to explain how a nice Jewish boy from Louisville ended up as a Christian missionary in Africa?  And then how do you begin to explain how the birth of my only child, Abigail, in 1986 began the path that would end my association with Christianity, my career as a seminary professor, and bring me back to be a practicing Jew?

And how did I get stuck working for AT&T for 9 years?  Who cares—I am actually happy to be one of the 12,000 who were just "canned" as a part of the current economic crisis.   The result is that this is where I am—call me retired, call it my retirement career, call it what I should have done 9 years ago instead of taking that "temporary" job with AT&T while I looked for a teaching position at a secular institution.

This is where I have wandered and it is where I will start.  I will probably upset Jews and Gentiles alike as I tell my story, but hey what are you going to do—fire me?  Too late for that—AT&T beat you to the punch!

In each context I try to accurately reflect the thoughts and feelings that I had at that place and time.  

Thursday, February 26, 2009

A Word of Caution from a Wondering Wanderer —[formerly blog #6]

A word of caution here before we progress.  I have been putting off writing this part of the story for the last 10 years.  The reason for this is that 10 years ago I walked away from a 30 year focus.  

I have been hesitant to tell this story because I am sure that it will cause offense to many.  I was concerned that it could even have a negative impact on my family's relationships and especially my daughter as she navigated her teen years.  

But I am working on my 60th year and my wife and I have been on this journey together for 33 years.  My daughter is an adult with her own son to raise.  Both my wife and daughter have been encouraging me to get this into print for some time now.  And, if I don't tell this story, no one else will be able to explain it to my grandson!  

This is a pretty wild story that will take us from my childhood in the USA, to Africa, southeast Asia, Israel, and back. It includes my time as a soldier in African army and my return to work side-by-side with my former enemies.  It is a pretty wild ride, but that is not what caused me to hesitate.

The Cause of Hesitation

The next few installments in this saga detail a course change that would cause me to "wander" for three decades.  Because I wondered as I wandered, I would end up completely overturning the life choices I made during my “7 days in May.”  

This is not to say that 30 years were a total bust, but my conscious motivation for the entire period would be overthrown.  Because I always wondered as I wandered, I would eventually find an underlying motivation that would lead me to reject my conscious motivation.

Now does this seem confusing to you?  Let me make this plain.  Over the course of 7 days in May 1969, I would wander away from my Jewish faith.  I had already dismissed my Jewish upbringing as being inadequate for the course of my life.  

Now I began to take a course that was definitely not Jewish.  I would begin to become interested in Jesus—although this was a much different Jesus than the one in traditional Christianity.  I would start as a "Jesus Freak" on the outside of organized "churchianity", but eventually would find myself as a pastor, missionary, and even a seminary professor right smack in the middle of a well-established Christian denomination.  But, because I wondered and because I was always questioning everything (one element of my Jewish heritage that never abated), I was always in trouble with some religious "authority."  The more trouble I got in, the more I wondered.  At the end of 30 years progressing deeper and deeper into Christian religion, I walked away from it and returned to my Jewish faith.

So, in the next few segments I will detail how I wandered into Christianity.  Later we will document how I wondered my way back to Judaism.

My story will relate the challenges I faced, both theologically and experientially.  If you stick with me as I narrate this journey, you will probably be challenged too.  Whether you are Jewish or gentile, religious or irreligious, a faith adherent or agnostic/atheistic—you are likely to be frustrated with me.  But if I am to tell my story, I have to be open with you.  I hope you can remain open with me as you read.