A couple of months before I set out with the New Jerusalem Players on tour, I looked at our schedule and noticed that we would be spending a week in Boston . I remembered that I had some relatives there, so I took their address with me when we left.

The closer we got to Boston , the more uneasy I felt about contacting them. I hadn’t seen or corresponded with them in nearly ten years. Consequently, they didn’t know I believe Jesus is the Messiah, nor did they know I have been on the missionary staff of Jews for Jesus for almost three years.

Despite my concern, and after much prayer, I called them when we arrived in Boston . They were surprised to hear from me, and right away they wanted to know why I was in Boston . At first I only told them I was traveling with a drama team called the New Jerusalem Players. When they wanted to know where we were playing and if they could come see us, I knew I needed to explain. I thought these cousins, who had fled Europe just before the war and were old enough to be my parents plus, would be appalled. Instead, they calmly said that they had heard of Jews for Jesus, and we made arrangements to get together.

When we finally did get together, they were immediately curious about when, where and how I had come to believe in Jesus. I explained briefly, and I found myself explaining several more times as different ones joined us for dinner. I never seemed to bring up the subject; they always did.

One of my cousins took me aside and told me that she was blown away” that I had come to visit. She has many “born again” Christian friends who have been talking to her, and she has been reading the New Testament. (It was my turn to be “blown away.”)

I told her I didn’t think it was a coincidence that I had come to Boston then. She agreed she didn’t think so either. She told me she had been searching for something more than just the “us and them” distinction of being Jewish. She wanted more depth of meaning and purpose in life . Needless to say, we talked as much about Jesus as time would allow. She said she wanted to believe, and her “psychic” told her it felt right. (That was the way she described her mysterious inner feelings.) I told her that the Spirit of God worked in my heart to convince me of the truth and to give me the faith to step out and accept it despite the circumstances or consequences. She nodded, as if she understood what I meant. I laughingly said, “You know, if you decide to believe in Messiah, the rest of the family will blame me.” She laughed, too, but soberly said she didn’t think they would blame me, because she had already told her mother she thought Jesus might be the Messiah. “How did she take that?” I asked. “Well, ” she said.

That seemed to be the word to describe everything that day. They accepted my belief “well.” “Well, it sounds like it has been good for you.” “Well, you certainly do know what you are talking about.”

“Well, I need to go home now, but I want to ask just one more question.” And, “Well, you just may have me convinced one of these days.”

The best thing I heard that day, though, was near the end of the visit. With many tears of joy they said , “You are one of us; you’re just like us; we love you so much.” Please pray with me for my family. There are open doors for further communication and much love to be shared.