Several days later, on the fist day of the week, we were invited to go with Captain Raymond to Sulet.   There, the beautiful Pastor San’Vile has a precious congregation. This was the place we spoke at, some three years prior;  the day where we all carried a great big heap of rocks to build an altar in the center of an unfinished church building… The day when Paul and Andre were miraculously brought back to health, from being deathly sick… The day we saved the old Canadian boat that caught on fire… The day we rescued the stranded missionary from the islanders who thought he was a drug runner… Yes, the day when I sounded the shofar and Captain blew off the top of a palm tree…   So many amazing things took place the day we were last at this place, I was certain something amazing was about to happen now.  And my wonderful family would be there to witness it all.  

After the formal introductions, the speaker was introduced… I almost got up, but then I realized my name is not brother James…  Brother James???… Brother James!!!… Yes, brother James was called up to preach.   Yes, the brother James who told me he wanted nothing to do with my “Jewish feasts”.

Brother James took about four minutes to unravel a clothes line, then he tied it from one post of the hut church to another.   He began speaking about Mians who used string to tell history stories…

“Some people had a long string in history…”  I think, was the translation given to the perplexed audience.

“I’m going to use this string to tell you a history story.”  Brother James continued.   “In the beginning, there was the glory of God…”

Brother James then spent some time rummaging through a bag of different colored rags.  He then took out a small yellow and white checkered cloth and tied it at one end of the string.

“This cloth is the Glory of God!… Then God said ‘let there be light.’   And He began creation.”

Once again, brother James rummaged through  his bag of rags and brought out a green cloth.

“This cloth is creation…”  He explained while tying the green cloth after the yellow and white checkered cloth.

“But then sin came…” Continued brother James looking into his bag of rags.   Out he came with a black cloth and tied it next to the green.

“So God sent the flood to cleanse the earth…”   Out came a blue cloth…

“Sin continues, so God will have to cleanse the world again, but this time it will be by fire…”  Brother James tied an orange cloth on the string, while the translator shushed the people who’s attention span went out the window after the green cloth was tied on the string.   

“And in the end, all that will be left is the Glory of God.” Explained brother James as he tied another yellow and white checkered cloth to the end of the string.

“But God had a plan somewhere in the middle.  He shed His blood to save us.”   Brother James tied a red cloth in the middle of the string.  “So that the beginning and the end will be the same; the glory of God!… That is the most important part; the beginning and the end, but with out the blood, the most important part would not be possible.”

Brother James continued speaking about how Haitians  should allow their young couples to get married in order to keep them from having premarital sex… Not sure how that was connected with the string of time, but the congregation seemed to focus a bit as they all chuckled and the old lady’s blushed.

When it was over, I asked brother James: “Can I have one of the cloths on your string?”

“Which one?…” He asked.

To be continued

I crawled to the nav station and turned the sailing lights on, then I laid motionless on the floor.

“That’s it, I can’t take it… I’m going to throw my body overboard and fill my lungs with water!”  Announced Lisa.   “Wait, first let me turn my phone on and see if I can pick up a signal out here.”  Lisa picked up her phone.   “Oh my goodness… We have five missed calls from Captain.  I have a signal!!!” exclaimed Lisa.

Then the phone rang.  “Rabbi!… Where ya’ll are?… My gaaaash, I’d been tryi’n to call ya’ll for two days. Ya’ll need to answer your phone!…”

“Well Captain, it sure is good to hear your voice.” I mumbled, “We are completely spent with no way to start the engine, and nothing but a headwind and current coming against us.   We have to sleep here for the night, then we will figure out what to do tomorrow.” I explained

“Rabbi, ain’t nothing to figure out tomorrow that can’t be figured out right naaa!”  Captain ordered.

“Trust me; there is NO WAY we can get this engine started, I have absolutely no strength, and I’m burnt from getting sprayed with scalding engine cooling water;  I wouldn’t just be saying that we are done for the night if there was the slightest hope of getting out of here…” I explained certain I could make him understand.

“Brother, I’d been there.  Ya’ll need to find some strength and get on down he’a now.  And answer your phone! Maaaa gaaaash, no one can ever reach you!!!”  Captain complained.

“You don’t understand Captain! I have done EVERYTHING!!! This motor just won’t start.  I’ve been charging these batteries for two days, but when I press the ignition button, the electricity in the entire boat drops… The engine won’t even turn over.”

“Ignition button???… Take a jumper cable from the batteries and jam it right into the starter… Or take a screwdriver and stick it on there.  It will spark like the fourth ‘o July, but it will start. That’s all there’s to it. Stop mess’n round with the hot water, and fo’ goodness  sake Rabbi: answer your phone! Maaaaa gaaaash!!!…”

Captain just didn’t get it.   Never the less, I got a big screwdriver and jumped the connection at the starter.   Sure enough, it sparked like the forth ‘o July, and something else; the engine who had been silent for a couple of days, started right up!

We were all beside ourselves.  Although we had absolutely no strength at all, joy opened up a reservoir of strength we did’t know existed, and before long, we were motoring straight to Ile a Vache.  Though the night was as long as every other night, this was by far the best night we had in approximately one year.  

This would be the last night of our long journey.    Every minute brought us a little closer to our destination.  In the morning, we enjoyed motoring in zigzags, bringing sodas to all the fishermen in our path.  

“Bonjour…” Waved Gabriel after tossing cans of Mello Yellow into the ocean next to the dug out canoes. “merci! merci!…” Shouted the beautiful fishermen, waving the white palm of their hands.

Noah was stuck at the helm, while Lisa and Stow slept soundly.   We came around the last tip of the south coast of Haiti, and there it was right in front of us:  Ile a Vache!!!  This was the moment I had dreamed of for, exactly 363 days since leaving everything we’ve ever had in Rhode Island.  I wanted so much to wake Lisa up to show her the place where we would finally rest from our journey… but she was resting, so I let her sleep. 

About one hour before entering Port Morgan bay, the entire crew of Aleph Tav woke up.   No one said much.  Lisa, Gabriel, Noah and Stow sat on the fore deck taking in the moment.   We were entering the same bay that the great Captain Morgan entered some ….. Years prior, to bring all his treasures and retire; except, we were entering having lost everything to bring a Torah Scroll and begin our full time work in Haiti.  Oh, and one more thing: captain Morgan’s Ship never made it to shore.   It was shipwrecked about a mile off Ile a Vache’s coast where it rests to this day.  Aleph Tav however, despite the countless times it could and should have been shipwrecked, coasted safely into the harbor to meet up with Hazak (Strength), and La Victoria (The Victory).  

We arrived exactly 363 days from our departure out of Cranston Rhode Island.    Exhausted for several days, we did nothing but rest in a very messy Aleph Tav.  I was curious as to the number of days it took to bring a Torah scroll that survived the holocaust, to the nation who’s vote helped the rebirth of Israel.   What I discovered was not surprising, yet astonishing none the less…

To be continued 
 

How do you properly communicate when your stuck in an engine room, with a screaming diesel shooting boiling water in all directions, and you need something done; and I mean like NOW?…    Perhaps a better question would be: how can someone at the helm properly understand what a scalded, screaming, maniac is communicating, when all they hear is, “DOWN!!! DOWN!!! DOWN!!! DOWN!!!”, coming from a smoke filed engine room?…   To Gabriel, and perhaps to any one in a similar circumstance, this could only mean: “Shut the engine DOWN!!!”.   What I actually meant, due to the fact we could not restart the engine, was: “Turn the throttle DOWN!!!” 

There we were yet again stuck, 10 hours away from the very end of the longest and most difficult journey of our lives.  No wind, no ability to start the engine, and no radio contact.  

Evening came, and the few faint lights on the shore became brighter as darkness fell.   Or perhaps because we were drifting toward the shore?…  A quick check on the chart plotter revealed we were drifting half a knot, at a slight angle toward the south coast of Haiti, backward… 

There were two concerns.  One, the depths on this part of Haiti went from very deep, to rock cliffs, so anchoring to avoid drifting ashore was out of the question.  Second, this part of Haiti had very little civilization, and was well known for piracy.  Being stranded close to shore would make us prime candidates to being boarded by folks who were not exactly happy to see us for the same reason we were happy to see them.    Exhausted, I set a thirty minute timer to sleep, and keep watch through yet another long night.  I may have heard the alarm once or twice, the rest was lights out.

  The next morning, we were about three miles off shore and we had drifted back about seven miles.   None of us had the strength to pull lines, crank winches, or adjust sails.  My hands and knuckles were so sore that I could barely open and close them.  All my joints reminded me we had all been pushed way beyond our limits.  My skin stung with throbbing waves from the boiling water that covered me the previous day.   Yet, with no other way to move the vessel, we somehow found the strength to raise the sails as a strong “headwind” came.

For those who are not familiar with sailing, I will explain why I placed the word headwind in quotes.   A headwind, is wind that comes directly from the direction you are traveling to.  It is impossible to sail into a headwind, but you can sail at an angle, 20 to 30 degrees to ether side of the headwind.  By making long zigzag paths, you are able to gain ground toward the direction you need to head to.   This is called tacking.   Tacking is lots of fun when you go sailing for about one hour… Not so much fun when you have been trying to get to your destination for almost one year… 

With no other choise, Aleph Tav heeled to starboard, and we shot out quickly away from shore at about six knots.   We would have to sail on a long and wide tack hoping to hit the last turn of the main island of Haiti and head into Ile a Vache.   The longer we sailed away from Haiti, the more the wind shifted, hindering us from making the tack we had hoped for.   Worst yet, we were now getting pummeled by heavy beam seas, causing Aleph Tav to sway so strongly that everything in the vessel got tossed every where.  It was impossible to gain any ground in the direction we had hoped, so we turned back to shore where at least the ocean was calm.

With our last bit of strength, we lowered the sails and sat there adrift about seven miles further back from the point we had left out of.   Once again the sun set.   We could hear a very faint call over the radio.   It was Andre.   He was desperately trying to help, but there was nothing anyone could do.

“Honey, I’m done…” I explained,  “I’m turning on the sailing lights, then I’m going to sleep.   The Angels will carry this boat where ever they will carry it…”

To be continued

The relentless darkness of the night was finally swallowed up by the dawn; something we learned to appreciate this entire journey, even long for. Every sunrise just seemed to changed everything, even though everything remained the same.  It had been ten hours since our last contact with Hazak, and as if the stormy night was not hard enough, we were now at the entrance to the Windward Passage.

The Windward got its name due to the high winds, heavy seas, and strong currents that occur on this stretch between Cuba and Haiti.   Aleph Tav was reefed and ready to hunker down for another 14 hour beat down.

I didn’t know when we would hear from Hazak, yet I had peace since I accepted the fact that they were not in my, but rather in G-d’s hands.   We motor sailed hard for several hours in the morning.   Then way out in the distance, we saw a tiny white triangle appear and disappear in the waves.   Some time later we finally made contact.  Sure enough it was Hazak.   They were beat.   Compleatly exhausted, they decided to sail fast and hard through the windward in order to end their suffering.   We were safely reefed, and as a result, were unable to keep up with them.  

Another day and long night of hard sailing in heavy wind and seas came to a joyful end when the sun rise lit the coastline of Haiti.  

“Land ho!!!” I announced with great joy.  

We could smell the charcoal burning near the shore, and see the fishermen bobbin in their dugout canoes.    It was difficult to believe we were actually seeing Haiti while sailing on Aleph Tav.   Now that we were out of the Windward, the sea was calm with a very light breeze.   It truly was surreal.  

Hazak was about a half day ahead of us in a dead calm.   Andre motored slowly to conserve fuel.   We were all thrilled.   It was over.   This long and epic journey would finally end with a sweet and peaceful cruise.

I was so exited, I decided to bring our RPMs up a bit.   At this rate, we would catch up to Hazak, and head into Ile a Vashe together in approximately ten hours.   Thankfully, our diesel motor could run without electricity, so the fact we had lost our alternator  somewhere along the way, didn’t affect us at all.   That is, as long as we kept the motor running.   Of course this also caused our batteries to be extremely low.   Some beautiful brothers from Pastor George’s congregation, had blessed us with funds to get a wind generator.   However, having to fill our fuel tanks with diesel took precedence over that.

Even though the temperature gauge read perfectly normal, I decided to check and see that there was enough water in the cooling system.  And so I did what I had done countless times on this journey; perhaps for the last time.   I removed the companionway ladder, rolled back the salon rug, opened the floor hatches, and climbed down into the oily engine room.   I pushed the cooling fill cap down and turned it.   Inside the cooling tank, the water level was ok, but I decided to add some water…   Without warning, a geyser of steam and scalding water shot up into the salon, raining over me and everything else.

“DOWN!!! DOWN!!! DOWN!!! DOWN!!!” I shouted from down below.   Gabriel who was at the helm, promptly pulled the shut off cord, and the motor went silent…

“Nnnnnnooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!”  I yelled with my burned hands in the air.

To be continued

With Gabriel at the helm, I hung off the side of the boat flashing a spotlight.  “Hazak, Hazak… Do you see us?! over…”

“Negative!… Negative!… Nav instruments soaking wet… (fuzz)” came a faint reply.

At this point we were about ten hours from reaching the end the Cuban coastline, where we would then enter the Windward Passage.  The serious concern was not only the inexperience of Hazak’s captain and crew, but the fact that they were in a rainstorm, with zero visibility, about to loose their navigation instruments, while running two to three miles off a rocky Cuban coastline.  

“Watch your magnetic bearing… 130!…  130!… 130!… STAY AWAY FROM THAT SHORE!!!” I shouted over the radio.

“Bad copy… Bad copy… Bad copy… (Fuzz)…”  Came a faint response.

I tried desperately to communicate with Andre and his crew for several hours with no success.     We too, had our own serious issues to deal with, but they paled in comparison to loosing Hazak in the middle of the stormy night.   Lisa had fallen asleep due to sheer exhaustion, and I wouldn’t dare wake her up to share what was happening.

Navigation instruments use GPS to show your global location, as well as your heading, speed, ocean current variance, depths, etc… With the possibility of having his nav instruments shut down, Andre would have to remember what bearing would bring his vessel safely past the Cuban coast line.   And the only way to do that was to use his magnetic compass.   Many experience captains had gone down under similar conditions.   

What else could go wrong!!!!   Was this the epidemy  of Murphy’s law? Heck NO!… I would take Murphy’s law over anything we experienced on this journey.   At least, that law says: “anything that can go wrong, will.”  What we were experiencing since the beginning of our trip was: “Anything that can’t possibly go wrong will, and then it will get worse.”

On top of all we had suffered to get to this point, I was now contemplating the possible loss of our first born son, our nephew, and our daughter in law…   I was sick at heart.

Then, amidst my desperation, a memory came to me.  Andre was in his teens and getting into all kinds of trouble.   At the time I was at a complete loss as a father, not knowing how to reach him.    I cried out to Ad-nai for help.   I remember taking a copy of Psalms 91, and set it on fire in a desperate attempt to send up a prayer on his behalf.  The paper caught on fire and burned until there was a small piece left.  That piece would not burn, though I put it back in the fire several times; It just twirled in the flames and fell back to the ground next to the fire.  Curious, I picked it up… On this small remnant of paper were the last two verses of Palms 91:   “He shall call upon Me, and I will answer him: I will be with him in trouble; I will deliver him, and honor him. With long life I will satisfy him, and show him my salvation.” 

Suddenly, I had peace.  Not because the dark night got brighter, or the rain and the winds subsided, but because G-d’s promises are irrevocable.

To be continued

“… And this is the Scroll.” I explained while handing it to them.  They took it as one who has found a priceless fragile treasure.   

Thanksgiving came, and Pastor George had an amazing spread of food waiting for us.   At this time, Kerah’s family had ended their tour so they join us as well.  We had a wonderful time of fellowship, lots of delicious food and song.  Considering the fact that the Hanes’, the Oliveiras, and the Hages are all musical families, we had lots, and lots of song.

“Rabbi was a preacher man, he held the Torah in his hand…” Was part of the lyrics sung by Pastor George’s wife, Kim and her mom and dad. We laughed, and ate, and loved.

Then the day came.   It was a sad and happy day.  We were sad to say goodbye to our new family, but happy to finally set off on a journey that had started almost one year prior.

Before setting sail, I went to the Friendship  Chapel one last time as I had promised.  There, on the right side, I inserted the Scroll into the mezuzah, and nailed it to the door post.  Pastor George touched it with his hand.  Kim disappeared for some time, then came holding a small box.  

“This is from Jerusalem, it was a gift that has meant so much to me… I want you to have it now.  It is a reminder of the Spirit that goes ever before you in your journey.” She explained with tears in her eyes.   Inside, there was a little dove made out of mother of pearl.

We traveled without incident back to Marathon Florida.   Hazak was finally sailing and motoring on her own, due to the countless hours that Kerah’s dad spent rebuilding the atomic four.  In addition, Hazak was blessed to have an on board mechanic and an extra psalmist, as Mark and Shimrit, Kerah’s parents, joined the crew until Marco Island.

By the time we arrived in Marathon, La Victoria was just about ready to set sail to Haiti.   They had left Steinhatchee about one week ahead of us.   We hoped to have our autopilot fixed before setting sail, so we waited a couple of days, but unfortunately it was to old and we could not find parts for it. Back to holding the helm 24-7, “ugh…”

We headed out mid afternoon and as soon as we left the Keys, it was clear we were no longer on the gulf side.   With a wide open Atlantic in front of us, it was back to wind and swells.  Wind and swells, meant no good cooking, no hanging out down below, and little or no rest.  The positive thing was that the wind was coming from the north, giving us an exhausting but very direct line.   Hazak kept up perfectly.   In fact, she stayed ahead of Aleph Tav most of the time, as we were reefed due to the strong winds.  

Several days into the trip, we were all exhausted, sleep deprived, and weak with little or no appetite.   We had a brief moment of joy as we passed the place where we had turned back on the previous journey.   Shortly after, dark clouds covered the sun while it was yet setting, and the rain came. 

There is only one thing worse then being behind the helm through an endless night, vomiting, exhausted, sleep deprived, and weak with little or no appetite, and that is; being behind the helm through an endless night, vomiting, exhausted, sleep deprived, and weak with little or no appetite, in a torrential rainstorm that will not stop.   Actually there is something even worse; there’s being behind the helm through an endless night, vomiting, exhausted, sleep deprived, weak with little or no appetite, in a torrential rainstorm that will not stop, when you lose site and communication with your son and his crew who are fairly inexperienced sailors.

“Heavy rain… (Fuzz) can’t see anything…  (Fuzz) Instruments are getting soaked…”  came a distant broken up message from Hazak.

To be continued

Six months after having to return to the US we were close to having the funds to make our trip back to Haiti.  But first, there were a few more blessings in store. 

Although we were several months away from Passover, Friendship Chapel was delighted to have us host a Passover seder.  

Then, as if we had not been blessed enough, Pastor George and his wife arranged for us to stay at Miss Rhoda’s beautiful riverfront vacation house fully furnished with everything, including a boat dock.

At the time, we had no idea how necessary this blessing would turn out to be.   This allowed us all to leave the boat so we could make repairs without being in each other’s way, and prepare Aleph Tav for the journey, right there outside our large screened in porch.

Several days later, some one brought us a very large shipment of medicine, from a pharmacy that closed down. Thousands of dollars worth… Priceless in Haiti… Lisa, Kerah, and the boys spent several days removing bottles from boxes in order to be able to fit this amazing cargo in Aleph Tav and La Victoria.

“This ‘hea is pastor San Luke from Haiti, and brother James.  The’ll be crew’n with me in La Victoria.” said Captain Raymond as he motored his dingy past Aleph Tav.

“Great! Have them come over this evening for an erev Shabbat meal.” I invited.

That evening we had a wonderful time with Pastor George and his family, along with pastor San Luke and brother James.   It was a perfect time to reflect; how amazing it was that we spent some six months in desperate misery; so bad that we would have most likely given up, had we had a home to return to.  But then, an Amish man prophesies over us, and Ad-nai not only re-establishes  our Rabbinic call, He fills our vessels with a bountiful cargo, and on top of it all, bathes us in an amazing love.

After lighting the candles, doing the baruchas, and enjoying a wonderful meal, brother James approached me.  “Can I have a word with you?” He asked.

“Sure.” I responded.

Brother James walked outside and motioned for me to follow.   “You may be Jewish and all, but keep me out of it. I want no part of your feasts!” He instructed.

“… Uh, …all righty then.   Not sure what I can do about that.   Make believe today is Monday, or Tuesday, or what ever day you wish it to be, and make believe this is just a nice meal…  I’m a Rabbi, this is what we do to celebrate Shabbat and thank Ad-nai for the blessings of His rest.   We simply wanted to bless you, that’s all.”  I explained doing my best not to appear bewildered.

Brother James promptly pulled out his tablet, swiped his finger over it and said: “Here, read this!!!”

“Read what?” I asked.

“Read it!!!  It’s the word of God!…” He said as he taped the tablet with his finger.

“I’m not reading anything… You are welcome to stay and enjoy yourself, or leave, but I’m not reading anything!” I assured him.

“You won’t read the word of God?… Then I’ll read it…” He insisted “…call NO MAN RABBI!!!!” He demanded.

“Are you serious?…” I asked no longer able to conceal my astonishment.  “Call me jack ass, for all I care, but if you are going to make an issue of titles, then address me by my proper biblical title.  King… For that is what I AM.”

At that moment pastor George unaware of what was happening, joined us.  “Oh halleluyah, this is so amazing; I can’t believe I am celebrating Shabbat with my King.”

“Ha, Ha, Ha,” cheered pastor San Luke as he wandered outside, “…my King AND my Rabbi!…  Yes, this has been an AMAZING evening.”

We left brother James outside pondering, and returned to the AC Shabbat celebration.

About ten days later, the time came to say goodbye, but before we did, we had a gift for the pastor’s family and friendship chapel.   We had hoped to bring this to Haiti, and in a million years, we would not have imagined leaving this priceless possession in Steinhatchee…

To be continued 

…while jumping up and down, I began to feel something in my pocket.  (I continued telling the story to the captive audience) …the more I jumped, the heavier and louder  it got.  I reached into my pocket and to my astonishment, I had a very large keychain full of keys. 

My memory immediately flashed back to several days prior, when we were all squished in a tap tap (a crude Haitian taxi), bouncing through the streets of Cap Haitian.   Miss Debbie pulled out that same key ring full of keys and said:   “Who gets these keys?… I hate carrying keys.” 

I reached out my hand and she placed the keys in my hand, then said:  “There… your in charge now!”

It’s hard to believe, but she kicked us out on the street with all the keys to the new property, and in Haiti, he who holds the keys is the person with the authority.  (I explained to the men as they listened intently)

I began jumping up and down like I meant it, shouting with the children: “We’ve got the VICTORY!!! We’ve got the VICTORY!!! We’ve got the VICTORY!!!”  for over an hour.

…Two days later, those children with their over sized shoes, and clothes that do not match, marched boldly into that new property shouting: “We’ve got the VICTORY!!!”

The inmates burst out into cheer…

Then I told them:  “Brothers, you may be in this place, and it may seem like all is lost with no hope.   But you are here to learn how to be free.  Free from prejudice, free from jealousy, free from hate… Free from what ever has made you bound.  Free to look at any man and see the face of G-d, who is our Father.”  

I walked up to a black inmate and said: “If we deny you as our brother, we are denying the face of G-d, and miss out on the gifts He has through you.”  I did the same to other men of different ethnic groups who were sitting together.   “If we deny you…” I said to a red headed white man, “…we miss out on the fiery red expression of our Father and our G-d.”  

At this point, most of the men were in tears as a supernatural key appeared to have unlock the iron gates of their heart.

“You may be behind these prison walls at this time,” I continued, “but there is One who holds the key, and when He opens a door, no one in this world, no one in hell below, or Heaven above, can shut that door!… He’s name is Yeshua (Jesus), and He is dancing with our orphan children in Haiti, showting: We’ve got the VICTORY!!! We’ve got the VICTORY!!! We’ve got the VICTORY!!!    …He dances HERE in this place, right now.   Will you dance with us?…” I began to jump.

At that, there was a victorious roar, with double fists pumping: “We’ve got the VICTORY!!! We’ve got the VICTORY!!! We’ve got the VICTORY!!! We’ve got the VICTORY!!!”

The shout echoed throughout the prison, vibrating the metal bars.  The guards looked at one another not knowing if they should call for back up, or join in.   In the end, one by one, they hugged us in tears as they returned to their cells.

How amazing that amidst our most devastating setback, G-d had plans to restore a young man’s heart, set captive inmates free, bathe us in love by an entire congregation, and do so much, much more.

Back in the Steinhatchee river, we had a surprise visit. It was my Mom and Dad.  My Mom actually got in the dingy with my Dad, and saw the inside of Aleph Tav for the first time.

“Mom… You’re in the dingy!!!”  I said, trying to communicate with my mouth what my eyes could not believe.

“Aiiii Pirro, don’t tell me dis!…”  She pleaded with her eyes hidden under my Dad’s arm.

Wow, I thought; getting keys from your enemies in Haiti, “We’ve got the victory” marches, sailing though blizzards, inmates shouting and weeping… All of it was miraculous, but my Mom in a dingy???… That was beyond supernatural.

To be continued 

  Suddenly, with relentless determination, DeMarcus shredded the long list into little pieces.  How amazing that the incredible weight of those horrible and tormenting memories was outmatched by a forgiving heart.   “…Father, forgive him, for he knew not what he was doing.” Repeated DeMarcus, as I guided him through a forgiving prayer.  

“Now if these memories come back, they will simply be a reminder of what you have forgiven.”   I explained.   

“Yes’ir…” Responded DeMarcus, wiping streams of tears from his eyes.  On that day, he was given a new name: Ben Teskil (son of success).    I would later take that shredded list and toss it into the sea on our way to Haiti. 

  Another one of the many amazing moments we had with Pastor George, took place in prison.  Both he and Ben Teskil’s Grandfather have a prison ministry, so they invited me to go.

“Wa’sup!…” Greeted the men with a challenging stare as they entered the prison mess hall.   We men tend to have protective walls to mask our vulnerabilities, and in that cold and echoey prison mess hall, these walls appeared to have an unpenetrable thickness.

Pastor George spoke briefly the only way he seams to know how; with the kind of love that disarms every stronghold.   Then he introduced me.

I shared the story of my experience in Haiti, when we were staying at the house of a missionary woman who was in charge of a new orphanage property that had no children.  We on the other hand had children but no property.  Thus a merging of ministries would be a blessing. But then I shared how torn I was when I began to realize how terribly condescending and mean spirited she was toward the Haitian people.

“…can I have a word with you miss Debbie?” (I continued telling the story.)

“What is it?…” She replied as if she had no time for small talk.

“It’s the way people are being treated… My heart grieves.” I explained gently.

“Get to the point!… Tell me who’s treating you bad and I’ll deal with it so you can move on!…” She responded harshly.

“It’s not me, it’s the Haitians who are being treated badly, and the person treating them that way is you.”

At that she demanded we be thrown out on the street, in the middle of the night.  The large iron gate slammed shut behind us.   There we were, unable to speak the language, unable to find our way, and worst of all, we had no idea what on earth we were now going to do with our children who had two days to move out of their home.  We were devastated.  (I continued telling the story.)

  Someone recognized us and gave us a ride to the orphanage.   As we arrived, I could hear a faint cheer in the back ground.  It was the children; they were singing “we’ve got the victory… we’ve got the victory… we’ve got the victory…”  This was the song I taught them to sing when everything seems hopeless.

I tried to stop them… This was no time for cheering.   We had to pray and figure out what on earth we were going to do in two days when we would have to leave that place, and have nowhere else to go.   But they just wouldn’t stop cheering  “we’ve got the victory… we’ve got the victory… we’ve got the victory…” 

“What on earth am I suppose to do???” I cried desperately to G-d.

“You could join the children…” I felt Him say.

“Fine!!!” I was so upset and angry that I began jumping up and down yelling “we’ve got the victory…” In a sarcastic way… 

(By this time, everyone in that prison mess hall was on the edge of their seat. I continued telling the story…)

To be continued 

There on the dessert table were numerous little pots of dirt with a leaf coming out of the center.   “I figured, if we eat it, it will be easier to understand the revelation of what we are… Here try some!” Offered Precious. 

I was reluctant, but I went for it.   Wow, what an amazing dessert. 

For the next six weeks, both on Wednesdays and Sundays, Pastor George had me speak, as a revival broke out.   The congregation was thrilled to learn about the biblical festivals, and every week, they raised a love offering for us.   By the end, their love offerings, together with our congregation’s help, provided us with the necessary funds to head to Haiti. 

I would not be able to fit all the amazing things that happened in those six weeks in this story, nor would I be able to mention all the wonderful friends we made, and the things they did for us. 

I do want to mention a beautiful young man formerly named DeMarcus.  The very first time I met DeMarcus, he asked me some question about being holy.  I explained to him that the word holy in Hebrew, means unique, set apart, unlike anything else. “…Like your hair.” I explained while rubbing his head.  He frowned, with a curious smile, trying to figure out what I meant by that.   I realized right away that DeMarcus was himself “holy”, unique, set appart, unlike anyone else. 

  Behind that beautiful frown /smile,  the endless questions, that amazing giving heart, was a young man who’s childhood was robbed by a nightmare of ruthless emotional and physical abuse.   At some point, I must have mentioned the blessing of bringing the first born offering to the house of the L-rd, and his Grandfather was delighted to have a first born redemption ceremony for DeMarcus. 

  “Will these horrible memories go away once I am redeemed?”  Asked DeMarcus with tears in his eyes, having come out of being shut down.  

“I don’t know… But I want you to write down every single memory on a sheet of paper and bring it to your first born ceremony.” I instructed.

When the day of the ceremony came, DeMarcus came up to the front with a list three to four pages long.   It was clear that writing this list was very difficult.   He wanted to read the list out loud, perhaps to vindicate himself, or maybe to vent his sorrow.

“No!..” I instructed as he was about to read.  “Before you do anything… You are about to become a redeemed first born; you have the authority to hold on to that list, in order to condemn the person who hurt you… Or, you can destroy it, forgiving that person and setting them free.”

There was a pause.   DeMarcus frowned.  His eyes flooded with tears.

To be continued