Last Sunday night, I was on the phone with a friend in New York City. She was retelling the evident work of God in her tiny corner of the city: increased prayer, changed hearts, and other miracles — a litany of sheer joy — when Israel’s Memorial Day began. Two minutes is a long time to listen to an air-raid siren: an eerie sound that makes earthquakes in some hollow place inside me.
In a Massachusetts-sized nation, everybody knows somebody who died — in war or terror. Maybe that’s why there are no picnics here, though America’s Memorial Day means flags and bands and barbeques.
Those came on Monday night, when Israel’s birthday began. (This nation keeps holidays from sunset to sunset). After hot dogs and popcorn and brownies, we began telling — as we often seem to do in Jerusalem — of the latest in God’s story. So I repeated the news from my friend in New York, we prayed, and as a further prayer, we sang. We all — Americans, Canadians, and one lone Finn — sang “God Bless America.”
We saw fireworks as we drove home — and within the hour, there were fireworks of a different kind in Boston. Three friends of mine were in, or were watching the race. Three loved ones live and work in the city. All safe.
Tuesday was so surreal. Happy 65th, Israel! Oh, Lord: Boston. The scenes on the news: so familiar from Israel’s recent past — but not in Israel at all.
I heard specks of God’s story: The folks who ran into danger to help. The disaster-response training at a local hospital, given just two years before — under the expert tutelage of the Israelis. Even the New York Yankees breaking their hundred-year feud with the Boston Red Sox with class and kindness.
Friday came, and my housemates had the live news on for much of the day, as police hunted down the — well, what is he? A monster? A skinny teenaged boy? I hid in the kitchen making challah and prayed. But only in short bursts. “Pray for those who despitefully use you” ran through my head. (Thank you, wise friend who reminded me). And Oh Lord: Boston.
I went to bed with the outcome still in doubt. And rose to check the news and breathe a sigh of relief. Here, people fight violence by going back to normal, just as soon as they possibly can. In America, the end of the siege meant cheering and singing the national anthem. I watched a clip of that scene, and instinctively leaned away from the computer screen: there was just too much and too many emotions.
Now an Israeli doctor in Boston tends the wounds of the suspect, just as they do here: side-by-side with the victims. “We have heard that the kings of Israel are merciful kings.”
In this cacophony of puzzlements, I don’t know very much — but I do know this:
This world is broken,
but
Jesus is here.
We are in this together.
And there’s much more to His story.
Elisabeth Adams 