I became a believer in Yeshua in 1983 at the age of 32.
I had searched for truth about this amazing man my whole life prior to that night in ’83.
Who could He be? Why did so many in the world follow Him? But also, why was there so much persecution of my people in His name?
It was very confusing to me, but being so intrigued by Him, I pressed on to find TRUTH, no matter what the consequences.
Pioneer Girls
When I was around 7 years old, I began to understand that there were Christians who loved Jews. However, I found them to be few and far between. My friend from across the street, Joan Sladen, invited me to come to her church on Wednesday night to attend ‘Pioneer Girls.” Surprisingly, my parents agreed.
That did not last long. I suppose that my speaking the name of Jesus in my home put a stop to that. But at least I was introduced to the Creator of the Universe at a very young age. I believe that God had His hand on me – even then.
Moving to a more “Jewish” area (We thought)
I had been born in D.C. and when I was 5 years old, my father moved the family to a city in Maryland in which we Jews were in the vast minority. I learned all manner of anti-Semitic names in that place:
Dirty Jew, Kike, Christ killer, Penny pinching Jew were just a few names I was called.
God’s Incredible Sense of Humor
Although very thin, God had given me an unusual gift. I could throw a football better than any of the boys in my neighborhood – a beautiful spiral right to the receiver. The boys fought over which team I would quarterback.
There were two boys who called me despicable Jew-hating names. Being thin and wiry, I was also very strong. I would warn the boys that if they continued to call me those names, I would beat them up. Not heeding my warning, the boys would continue and I would make good on my promise. They would run home to tell ‘mommy’ what I had done. Their mothers would come outside and scream at me. They would call me the same names.
At least I knew where the boys learned the ignorant behavior.
My name was like a bullseye
My last name was Rosenberg. I had to endure teasing and being disparaged with remarks like: “You don’t look Jewish”……”You don’t act Jewish” etc etc.
When I would dare ask what they meant, then the door opened for their hateful responses. It was always worse on the first day of school each year when our names were called out. It was just something I had to live with, but I must say that being hated like that was very hard.
Holocaust images and laughter
My history teacher was teaching on the Holocaust and showed a documentary which included the piles of dead bodies of my people. I could hardly breathe.
A few boys in back of me began to laugh at the images. My teacher scolded them but I ran out of the room – I didn’t want to cry in front of them.
Elsa – the German Girl
I got permission to go to a home of a friend I had made in school. I rode her bus home with her. In a while her father came into the kitchen with us. He asked Elsa to leave the room to talk to him.
Elsa came back out alone, and told me that I had to leave. She helped me gather my school books and sent me out the front door. I don’t even know how I got home that day. I had no idea where I was. Miraculously, I was walking in the right direction and saw part of my neighborhood. God at work in my life – again.
My swim team and the Championships
Most swim clubs in our area were “Restricted” and that meant NO JEWS – NO BLACKS. So, the Jews got together and built their own swim club. It was not ‘Restricted’ but no Gentiles would ever want to be around us.
Each year, the county had a swimming championship and invited all swim clubs – yes, even ours. Each team had an area in which to sit. We were placed at the back near the entrance gate.
We were not supposed to go into their cafeteria. Our team jackets had our insignia on them – so they knew who we were. I decided to go in anyway. The looks I got! OY VEY! But I felt a sense of accomplishment that day. I felt strong.
Tried to become Catholic!
In my twenties, I found a Catholic Church near to my home. I thought that perhaps these people were the holiest and I might find Jesus there. I met the priest and he asked me if I would like to come to Catholic instruction. I said yes, but each week as I showed up for this class, the priest acted as if he had never met me. He was quite old, but I thought to myself ‘how many Jewish girls came there wanting to be Catholic?’
I stopped going.
If I put in this article every Jew hating event in my life, the reader would become bored and not read to the end! Perhaps I should write a book….
So I will end here. I hope that this has given some readers a glimpse into what it is like Growing up Jewish!
