And he spake many things to them in parables, saying, …
As he rode the bus to work each day, the young man scanned the car lots for the perfect car. He knew his life would be changed for the better if he could find the right car, so each day he scanned the car lots as the bus moved past them. Then it happened; one car caught his attention and he knew that car was the car he needed to get where he was going. He promised himself that he would get that car, and the next day he rang the bell, requesting the bus stop at the stop immediately in front of the car lot. Nervously, he descended the bus and approached the lot.
He knew he needed a car but now, he wasn’t sure if this was the right car. A salesman approached him as he circled the car, looking in the windows. “Want to look inside?” the salesman asked. “Sure,” came his nervous reply. “How does it run? Can I start it? Can I take it for a drive? What about a warranty? How many miles?” he nervously asked in rapid fire succession without giving the salesman a chance to answer. Finally, the salesman got a chance to reply, “Yes, yes, yes, yes and we’ll have to see the odometer. Let me get the keys.”
Buying this car was a big decision because the young man knew it would change his life. Sure, it would take some work to get it and keep it up, but whatever it took to get it would be worth it.
When the salesman returned with the keys, what the young man knew to be true was, in fact, proved to be true. It was the perfect car for him. He knew it would be, and it was!
After negotiating the price, which was not cheap, the young man agreed to the deal. “Let’s go inside and do the paperwork” the salesman said with a smile. Inside the office, the salesman began to gather a stack of papers that had to be completed in order to finalize the sale. As each document was pushed across the desk, the young man thought to himself, “This is silly. I don’t need to do all this stuff.” Once, he accidentally let his private thoughts slip out as he mumbled, “I don’t think I really need to do all this paperwork.” The salesman smiled a knowing smile and said, “I understand that it doesn’t make sense, but we’ve collected and organized the paperwork in a way that helps you get everything done, so that you can own the car. Trust me, I’ve done this a lot of times, and although it doesn’t make sense to you now, in the end, you will have the car you want.”
The young man haltingly went along with the salesman. He filled in most of the requested details … multiple times on multiple forms. He also signed most of the places marked by an X. He skipped some details here and there, since he knew those details couldn’t be that important. As the salesman looked over the papers, he noticed the deficiencies and asked the young man to correct those “oversights.” “Really?” the young man thought to himself. “This is getting overbearing; this stuff just isn’t necessary.” The salesman noticed how indignant the young man was becoming with each additional request. “If you haven’t ever done this before, I know it seems crazy, but believe me, every page of the paperwork is necessary … if you want the car.”
Almost finished, the salesman was required to explain in detail the terms of the loan, including the amount of the monthly payments, the due date for those payments, and the date of the final payment. On the 5th of each month, for the next 4 years, the loan required a payment of $427.38. “Sign here, accepting the terms of the loan, and we’re almost done” said the salesman. The young man scribbled his signature with the flair of a new car owner.
Then, the salesman said, “One more document. We need to complete the title transfer document so the car can be put in your name.” “Nah, I’m done. I’ve signed enough papers and I’ll make the payments on time” said the young man. With that he got up and walked across the lot to the bus stop. He got on the next bus, paid his fare and went to work.
On the 5th day of each of the next 48 months, a check in the amount of $427.38 arrived at the bank. And five days a week for the next 40 years, the young man rode the bus past the car lot, remembering the car that he bought but never got.
For those with ears to hear, let them hear.
Israel’s Holocaust Remembrance Day
In honor of Yom HaShoah, Israel’s Holocaust Remembrance Day, I am re-posting this article.
Beniko Gihon #137010
Working with tour groups in Israel is [almost] always a blessing. It’s exciting to see visitors’ faces when, as they say in Hebrew, “the coin falls.” In other words, when “the light comes on” or the connection between a certain event and place happens. I love to see the joy of discovery, especially as it relates to the Bible. But my groups generally have modern cultural and historical interests, too. Every group is different, and I’m regularly on the look out for things out of the ordinary and not on the itinerary that will make my group’s visit to Israel more special than it might already be. For this group, I found that special historical gem in the breakfast line.
As I approached the special-order egg line, I noticed the tattoo on his arm, 137010. Immediately, I knew he was a holocaust survivor because I’ve seen these tattoos in the museum, and probably a dozen times in person. However, I never had the nerve to ask the bearer to share his/her story; I just imagined what it might have been.
This time was different. I took a deep breath and asked the elderly gentleman a) if he spoke Hebrew, and b) if I could ask a question. “Yes,” he answered to both questions. I was hesitant, but I proceeded to ask if he would tell me the story of the numeric tattoo that appeared on his left forearm. I was afraid he would be embarrassed, but he wasn’t. In fact, he seemed pleased that I asked.
Beniko Gihon #137010
Interacting with my inquiry about his tattoo, he said, “My name is Beniko Gihon; in Germany my name was changed to 137010. I am a Jew originally from Greece.” He continued with a moving, two-minute version of his story. His family had been rounded up in Thessaloniki, and he was the only survivor. Over the course of five years, he was systematically transferred to/from Auschwitz-Birkenau, the Warsaw Ghetto, and Dachau. He had a variety of jobs, but mainly focused on his work in the crematoria.
I was translating his story for a man from my group and noticed that others had started to lean in closer to listen in on our conversation, which indicated that they found this interesting, too. After a couple minutes, his eggs and mine were ready, so, unfortunately, we had to bring this encounter to a close. I thanked him for sharing his story, we shook hands, and parted ways.
I found a table near my group and sat down by myself. To say that his story was gut wrenching would be an exaggerated understatement. But, his story wasn’t the thing that affected me the most. It was the question he posed: “Why were the Christians so quiet?”
I wanted my group to hear Beniko’s story, but I wondered if that would be asking too much. As I ate my breakfast, I kept an eye on him from across the room and wondered whether I should ask him to speak on the bus. Since he didn’t seem to mind my initial inquiry, I decided to go for it, and the outcome was just what I had hoped.
After my group boarded the bus, I brought them up to speed on what was about to happen, then I introduced Mr. Beniko. He climbed the stairs and stood proudly in the front of the bus and began to share his story.
Beniko, which is the Greek version of Benjamin, started with some details of his family and how the Nazis came to Greece and killed so many. The rest were taken to the labor and death camps in Germany and Poland, which is where he learned to speak German, and where his name was changed to 137010.
His story lasted longer than I had given him, which I knew it would. But, seeing him standing in the front of the bus and hearing his biography was worth every minute.
Some specific details that pierced my heart:
Beniko’s story, made the horrors of the Holocaust real and personal for us, impacting each in a slightly different way. I tried to give some current perspective to his presentation because the easy thing would be to say, “I wasn’t there” because none of us were. I reminded the group of the words of James 1:27 that pure religion is to care for the widows and orphans, which I understand to mean “take care of those who can’t take care of themselves.” I also think that being born again demands that Christians have an active interest in “the least of these” (Mt 25).
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