Our Stories

Yom Kippur was never the same . . . in a good way.

I continue to celebrate Jewish holidays now that I am a believer in Jesus. But certain holidays carry different meanings for me than they once did.

She gave me a plaque for our wedding that said, your people will be my people. But I didn’t realize how serious she was until after October 7.

I didn’t feel safe at home. Substance abuse and domestic violence seemed to run in my family. God was my only hope—if He would hear my prayer.

A man on the street said he was one of the “Jesus people.” I let him know I was Jewish, and that Jews don’t believe in Jesus.

I’d embraced nihilism which told me all amounted to nothing, that sense of absolute pointlessness and futility drove me to a breaking point.

I was an officer in an elite unit, a leader in the field and during prayer time, knowing all the prayers by heart. Then life took an unexpected turn.

I had turned away from God, and everything seemed meaningless. But while in the IDF, I began to reconnect with God and discovered a new hope for life.

I grew up with Jewish faith on one side and a blend of many religions on the other. That left me with a spiritual identity crisis I had to work out.

I grew up a Soviet Jewish atheist. At 14, I visited a church and heard that God exists and loves me. I couldn’t get over it. Wow! God? Really?

As the Nazis attempted to set their house on fire, Maria huddled in the embrace of her newly adopted family—Jew and Gentile united in fervent prayer.

When I would drive by the Jews for Jesus office, I would curse it. But when I read the gospels, there was no denying that Jesus was a devout Jew.

My 20-year journey in New Ageism started with ‘I can attract whatever I want into my life’ but eventually led me to total spiritual exhaustion.

I grew up in a religious Jewish home. But I considered God too distant and holy to be personally known until I learned about Messiah Jesus.

I wanted to know the God my grandpa Singer prayed to. I was fascinated by Jesus and asked God to give me a sign if he was who I’d been searching for.

I was amazed to see Israelis believing that Jesus is the Messiah. I was intrigued by the love they had for the needy and the community around them.

I read the gospels in the New Testament for the first time. I was dumbfounded to see so much familiarity in it and just how Jewish it was.

I slowly began to realize that I was set apart as one of God’s children, and I wouldn’t find my identity in anything the world had to offer.

I was surrounded by believers, but I kept reminding myself that so many Jews were killed in the Holocaust. I couldn’t betray my upbringing.

When I was five, the Nazis sent my father to the Warsaw Ghetto. Later, they deported all the Jews from Prague, and everything was taken away from us.

God gave me a vision of the face of Jesus. I went home and found Adel. “Something terrible has happened!” I announced. “Jesus is the Messiah”

Jewish faith in Jesus was handed down from generation to generation on both sides of my family, so my parents are Jewish Iranian believers in Jesus.

I expected the New Testament to be an antisemitic book with stories of Santa Claus! But right away the genealogy of Jesus had all these Hebrew names.

I prayed, “God, if you exist, save me from death! I will believe in you all my life!” Suddenly, my sister, Sarah, grabbed my hand and we ran.