“Anti-Semitism in Europe is part of the redemption,” my cab driver in Jerusalem said, while smoking a cigarette and covered in tattoos.
“How do you figure?” I asked.
“In the army we used to have a saying that either we would learn to accept what our commander said with our head, or we’d learn with our feet; either we would listen to him the first time he said something, or we would run laps for hours until we were ready to listen.”
“What’s the connection?” I asked the driver, as we swung around the curved cobblestone streets of the Old City, overlooking the Mount of Olives.
“God told us thousands of years ago that Israel is the only home for Jews. Either Jews around the world will listen with their head and come home, or they will have so much anti-Semitism that it will force them out by their feet.”
“Got it,” I said, shocked by his bluntness, but not completely able to disagree.
“Besides,” he said, taking a drag of his cigarette and turning the rock song on the radio a little louder, “until you have experienced Shabbat (the Sabbath) in Jerusalem, you’ve never really experienced a taste of heaven.”
“Agreed,” I said.
As I left the cab, I looked into his eyes. “Thank you,” I said, with all of my heart.
“For what?” he asked me.
“For reminding me never to judge a book by its cover, to always speak my heart when it comes to truth, and to always see things through God’s eyes,” I told him.
“There’s nothing but God,” he said. “And us being here is the proof.”