I am an Arab Christian. I hold dear a loving command given me by an exceptionally gifted Jewish peacemaker. It changed my life forever.
Hedy Schliefer, with her husband Yumi, led the local chapter of the Foundation for Mideast Communication, a national fellowship of Jews and Arabs working the challenging dream of Mideast peacemaking. We focused first on the difficult process of peacemaking among ourselves, chipping away at encrusted biases.
The Christian history was clear. We had badgered Jews from day one, insisting that they be baptized, and if they refused our Crusade, well, we’d find ways to deal with them. One Jewish friend, Sarah, suffered a basic alienation: “I will never say the “J” (Jesus) word.” Her remark hurt but summed up the history.
I loved these friends, their famous hutzpah, their zest for passionate dancing. Not nominal Jews, most were in love with the richness of Judaism. I was swept away by the Christian connections to prayerful Friday night Shabbas meal, the Hebrew songs. Wasn’t their religion Christianity’s parent? Shouldn’t we be celebrating faith together?
Hedy was a brilliant counselor and humanitarian. I couldn’t resist the comparison: “You’re more a loving Christ than many of my Christian friends.” Without missing a beat she quipped: “Hey, Adele, don’t forget! He’s one of our boys.”
But with these new friends, could I ever wear mother’s gold cross without signaling past horror?
Leading the night’s meeting, Hedy notes my raised hand, “What’s up?”
“I’ve got to say something.” I swallow hard. Hedy’s outstretched arm gestures me up, covers my hand with hers.
“What do you want to say?” giving me a smile that broke down my terror.
I noted the staring faces, the hard wooden floor, the backdrop of blue painted walls with a fluorescent light over a lone ficus plant. Could I say it?
These friends knew my background as a former nun. They knew that my Christian faith didn’t stop at the door. They recognized I had no need to convert anyone anymore.
“Well, frankly, I carry a deep embarrassment about being Christian. I want to be a proud of it. Jesus is my friend. But it’s hard in front of you guys.”
My final line bubbles out and totally amazes me. “I want you Jews to know that Christ is the light of my life.”
Without a blink or even a moment’s reflection, Hedy charged: “Go! Look each Jew in the eye and tell them just that.”
I stared at her, wide-eyed. I had no choice. It was a direct order from God!
I circled the room to every Jew only, bending down to look directly into their eyes, finding only warm welcome. I begin with Hedy’s Orthodox husband, who had lost two sisters in the Holocaust.
“Yumi, Christ is the light of my life.” I move on. “Louise, Christ is the Light of my life” and on until every Jew witnessed my confession.
Suddenly the room bursts into applause. Tears of joy and relief. I was free.
Blessed Sarah approached and wrapped me in a long hug.
That night, I dial every close Catholic friend. “Listen to what just happened.” One responds beautifully: “This is good gospel. It has to be shared.”
And so it was. As part of our peacemaking efforts, I had asked my pastor if Hedy and I might present our work to the Sunday congregation. His answer came back, kind but firm: “Okay, but make it quick!”
Before the final blessing, Hedy and I walked up the altar steps and stood looking at the sea of faces. Quick-witted and confident, she grabbed my hand and held it high: “Adele represents my double enemy. She is Catholic. Growing up in Belgium, I ran from Catholics because they threw stones and called me “dirty Jew.” She pauses, looking from one side to the other. “Adele represents another enemy. She is Arab. My people and hers have yet to make peace.”
