I Heard a Voice

      Once upon a time,
      There was a story that would
      Change my night to day.
      A story of a
      different way,
      Beginning to perceive
      What we believe.
      This changed my life.

      How could this be true?
      It is the story of an ordinary Jewess.
      The story about how
      You came to me.
      The story about who I
      Came to be.
      You're in my heart.

      I heard your voice
      When no one else could hear.
      You made your choice
      When you brought me near.
      You gave me wisdom
      Beyond my years.

      There's no one I will fear,
      'Cuz you'll be there for me.
      There's no one else
      Who really cares for me
      The way you do.
      I love you too.

In the summer of 1988, I was walking down a cobblestone street in Jerusalem with my baby girl in a stroller, on my way to our neighborhood grocery store. We had serious financial problems at the time, on top of which my husband, now my ex, was also stingy. He refused to pay the tab we owed the grocery. I was ashamed to go there and face them, but we were out of bread. Every day I prayed to God to help me. "Hashem, save me! Give us food, if not in my merit than in the merit of my two innocent children." (Hashem is the name we call God when we are not reading from the Bible or prayer book.)

I barely had enough money to buy a loaf of bread when I met another American Jewish woman whose name was Barbara. I was a twenty-eight-year old married Orthodox Jewish woman and mother of two; a five-year-old boy who was in school at the time, and a little eighteen-month-old baby girl. When the baby and I arrived at the store, it was closed because of a death in the storeowners' family. Barbara arrived at the grocery store the same time I did. She was also discouraged because the store was closed, so we started up a conversation. She invited me up to her apartment, and I went up with my baby.

When I walked in the door chimes rang. I looked around and saw dolls on the mantles and on the bookshelves. Two of the dolls were Chinese woman with Buddhist dress sitting in a lotus position. The atmosphere felt thick and low key. The dolls were not there for a little girl to play with. It felt like a place idol worship. I wondered if Barbara was into prohibited mystical or magical ceremonies. I was a little scared. She took me into a room with a massage table and told me she healed people by touching them. I knew a lot about natural medicine, vitamins, and herbs, but back in 1988, I had never heard of hands-on healing. She gave me a free treatment and told me that I was going to become a great healer. I was pleased, but I couldn't imagine that it could ever happen.

A few days later, I told Barbara about my sister-in-law Suzanne who didn't feel well. We called her, and she made an appointment with Barbara. Suzanne came with me a few days later for her appointment.

Barbara liked me and lent me books to learn what she was doing. What I remember most, is a book on kinesiology. Kinesiology today is a very popular way of diagnosis, but was almost unknown at the time. Barbara instructed me to hold up my arm and resist while she pressing downward. According to how strongly I was able to hold my arm against her force, she was able to tell me what happened to me in my past and diagnose my physical health. With her encouragement, I started practicing what she taught me right away.

During the same period, my neighbor Rachel started visiting me at my home. Rachel's husband was friendly with my father. I hadn't seen him for five years, since the birth of my son. Rachel told me that my father was crying day and night and he yearned to see me again. She insisted that I should reconcile with him.

My husband, Jacob, convinced me to sever contact with my father after the birth of our son. I had disclosed to Jacob how my father had physically and emotionally abused my brother, sister, and me when we were children. Jacob feared he would be a bad influence our children.

I kept dismissing Rachel until my father finally wrote me a letter. In the past, I had asked my rabbi for permission to meet with my father without my husband's knowledge. The rabbi did not consent. He told me to try to convince my husband to allow me to see my father without the children. My husband still refused. I didn't insist, argue, or complain about it, even though my father was really sorry about his past, I understood Jacob's point of view.

My father's letter was very dramatic. He closed the letter by imploring me to see him or his blood would be on my hands. I was very moved by his letter, and I thought that in no way was I going to be a murderer by refusing to see him. I discounted the lack of approval and consent from the rabbi and my husband. Taking the initiative, I decided to clandestinely meet my father and mother in a nearby park. I took my little daughter, Gila, in the baby carriage while my son was at kindergarten. I shook with fear. I was afraid that my husband would catch me. I was also afraid to meet my father. More than these fears, the fear of what might happen to my father if I didn't agree to see him conquered all.

This was a big breakthrough for me. I decided that I didn't care what anyone said; I wouldn't be the cause of my father's early demise. I got the courage and conviction to conquer my fears and followed through with my plans to meet my father. Even so, I was trembling the whole way down to the park and was shocked when I saw him.

Daddy had lost at least forty pounds, he was emaciated and his beard had turned white. My mother did not appear to have aged as my father had. They were very nice to me, and I was friendly too. I remember showing them the kinesiology that I was learning.

The next week we met again, same time, same place. This time my father's mother came with my parents. My grandmother was a psychic. When she was three years old, she had dreamed that an angel came down like a flame and told her that Arabs were planning a riot in their town in Turkey. At that time Turkey was Moslem but the majority of...