In my first summer actually living in Europe, in the summer of 2005, I met Dutch believers also volunteering in the same fairly-remote region of Spain that I was. This group of Dutch Christians varied from month to month and even week to week as volunteers came and went from the Oasis Trails Pilgrim Albergue.

I would think I that I knew everyone one Friday night, drive back to the hostal a week later and announce myself saying “Honey, I’m home” only to get blank (and even frighten stares) from new Dutch volunteers who didn’t know me at all! Yes, sometimes my jokes hit a home run and then other days…my jokes fall flat as North Dakota. Anyways, I generally made quick friends with the Oasis Trails volunteers and the coordinators would call me regularly to either invite me and my sister’s family to come over for a meal or just to ask if I could volunteer when they needed me to help to staff the Albergue from time to time. From these relationships I began to learn more about the Netherlands and the seed was planted for a Dutch element in my upcoming historical novel, Shalom on Distant Shores, that begins in Holland and Spain and ends in the West Indies.

The Oasis Trails Organization had more than one backpacker hostel along the famed Camino de Santiago in Northern Spain, though I never visited the other ones, I just knew the one in the tiny village of Villamayor de Monjardin, which wasn’t far from Siete Robles Christian Camp, where I helped to coordinate annual English camps in the Urbasa Mountains, which are sort of the outlying mountains of the Pyrenees.

My time there on the Camino de Santiago goes back to why I write and what I write. We write what we know about and what we care about don’t we? Like many of you, I’ve been in online debates before and I guess I’m at an age (45) where I’m more interested in accumulating written stories and happy memoirs to pass on to my progeny than I am passing them cheap screenshots of me debating current events online. You could say my focus today is on writing something worth preserving. I think it’s important as in my 21 years overseas I keep seeing changes for the worse, where I used to be from and even where I am today. For the gift of journaling, I can credit my middle school English teacher for teaching me how to. I can credit California Baptist University letting me do my Global Service Project with my sister in Europe in 2002, as it forced me to keep a journal that would be read by my professor and would eventually be edited and published by JHouse Publishing of Huntington Beach, California in 2009.

I look back at both eras (2002 & 2009) with such gratefulness at all the people who I have respected who helped me back then become who I am today. Each person is faced with life changing decisions: I think of Abraham altering the course of history in Genesis 22:1-19 by passing God’s test of the only begotten son in verse 2. In faith Abraham went as God instructed him to Mount Moriah and said: “God will provide the lamb.” Genesis 22:8

Today I’m preparing an annual English camp, (a summer camp for practicing speaking English) as I have since the 1990s. One of our themes a couple years ago was called “Life Changing Decisions”.

I think about my own life-changing decisions: the moment I asked out my wife on our first date, the decisions I made to trust God in His calling on my life, big choices I made in college and the moments when I made a decisions, like giving my band a break and going to Spain for the summer of 2002, that defined my life.

When I first read excerpts of John Pipers book “Don’t Waste your Life”, I was grateful that I had good mentors from both my Christian camp and even Switchfoot’s Drew Shirley who personally encouraged me to live for so much more when I was an impressionable teenager in the 1990s.

Piper writes: “The American dream beckons people to spend their lives on trivial diversions, slipping through life caught up with seeking success, comfort, and pleasure above all else. But God designed people for far more than this. God created us to live with a single passion to joyfully display his supreme excellence in all the spheres of life. The wasted life is the life without this passion. God calls us to pray and think and dream and plan and work not to be made much of, but to make much of him in every part of our lives.”

This might sound contrived, but you are worth so much to God and your life is usually shorter than you expect.

CT Studd wrote this while serving in the Congo:

Only what’s done for Christ will last.

Only one life, yes only one,

Soon will its fleeting hours be done;

Then, in ‘that day’ my Lord to meet,

And stand before His Judgement seat;

Only one life, ’twill soon be past,

Only what’s done for Christ will last.

My friend, Mark Mohr, put CT Studd’s poem to music, and on that first summer in Spain, I drove around listening to Mark’s tape! Listen here:

Render your heart

Parashat Korach (Numbers 16:1–18:32)

If you have been a follower of this page any amount of time, you have heard the phrase:

“Reading Moses, Seeing Jesus!”. That’s the title of a book written by an elder at my Messianic congregation, Dr. Seth Postell.

I was surprised when I read Numbers 16: 48 “And He stood between the dead and the living; so the plague was stopped.”

Immediately this verse made me think of Romans chapters 5 & 6. Romans 5:15 “For if by the offense of the one the many died, much more did the grace of God and the gift by the grace of the one Man, Jesus Christ, overflow to the many.” As I child I learned to recite: “For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Jesus Christ our Lord.” (Romans 6:23)

How is this related to Parasha Korach you might ask? In this reading, the high priest ran to make atonement for the multitude. The wages of their sin of rebellion and insolence was death, but they were atoned for by the high priest who stood between the living and dead, and so the plague was stopped. You get it? The sinful multitude were saved by one heroic high priest who cared enough to do what had to be done to atone for their sins. What a great high priest Aaron was, right? An even greater high priest has come.

Chapter 16 begins with jealousy. Jealousy is one of the ancient sins. Satan was a jealous angel, discontent with his high position, Satan lusted after supremacy. People want to be Number 1. Korach, Dathan & Abiram were not content. Moses told them: “Listen here you sons of Levi, Is it a mere trifle that the God of Israel has separated you from the community of Israel to bring you close to Himself? Now you want the office of Priest/Cohen too?

Korach and his Levite kin were not satisfied with their circumstances. Korach’s personal downfall (literally falling) is a warning against pride and victim mentality. Korach focused on what he didn’t have: the position of Moses or the priesthood of Aaron and his sons. We are encouraged to find contentment in their specific callings rather than coveting other people’s position or dwelling on their victimhood. Do your work, whatever it is, as unto the Lord. God dignifies our labor. I’ve lived long enough to know it is a dangerous thing to covet high offices. I’ve seen enough times when a power-hungry person seizes an office and instead of achieving greatness, they cause a calamity. Korach caused a calamity of biblical proportions to teach mankind not to covet leadership or to be insolent, complaining people.

The Prophet, Priest and Judge, Samuel compared rebellion to witchcraft: “For rebellion is as reprehensible as the sin of divination, and insubordination is as reprehensible as false religion and idolatry. Since you have rejected the word of the Lord, He has also rejected you from being king.” 1 Sam 15:23. Covetousness is a dangerous sin.

Equality vs. Sameness in Ministry

This is a big debate, isn’t it? Believe me, it is a big debate. Korach and his followers challenged Moses and Aaron with the rallying cry, “All the congregation is holy, every one of them... why then do you exalt yourselves above the assembly?” (Numbers 16:3). Korach confused equality with sameness. This is often likened to the New Testament concept of the Body of Messiah (1 Corinthians 12). While all believers are equally valued in the Spirit, God appoints different offices (apostles, overseers, elders, teachers, deacons). Rejecting God’s appointed structure is seen as a rejection of God’s order. The Levites did not have a shameful position, the same Parasha says in Number 18: 6 “I, Myself have taken your brethren the Levites from among the children of Israel. They are a gift to you, given by the LORD, to do the work of the tabernacle of meeting.”

Aaron’s budding staff prefigures Yeshua. Numbers 17:5 “The rod of the man of whom I choose will blossom.” After the rebellion, God validates Aaron’s priesthood by making his dry, lifeless wooden staff sprout, blossom, and produce almonds (Numbers 17:8). The almonds are a kind of first fruits of a resurrection. Just as the dry wood was miraculously brought to life, Yeshua’s crucifixion and subsequent resurrection validate His eternal role as our ultimate High Priest after the order of Melchizedek.

If you come visit the Tabernacle at Timna Park, you can get a close up look at our replica of the rod that budded. Maybe I’ll even give you a tour!

When my father, James, was gunned down in Southern California, I was 19 years old and had to figure out how to bury my father (with help from my aunt and other relatives). But really, the burden was on me. My sister was in Europe and my mother was divorced. I was his kin in California and the relatives who helped me were out of state. I got to identify my dad’s body as a teenager. Plan a memorial service. I had to squirm through the sickening defense attorney in the San Bernardino County Courthouse. And I never got an apology from the assailant or his family, only glares of hate. None of this “I’m so sorry I did this. I wish I could take back what happened.” Just a bunch of nothing. Your dad is dead with two bullets in his chest. Deal with it. Nothing.

When I empathize with the grieving families of Auston Metcalf, Henry Nowak, Iryna Zarutska & Charlie Kirk

So this morning as I watch the news, these feelings of being wronged are hard. I need to get in the Word. I need to get rid of all bitterness (again and again and…)

In fact, I need to get rid of this bitterness fast since this weekend I’ll be teaching my congregation’s Torah Portion which this week falls on “Parasha Korach” which covers Numbers 16-18. In this passage we find Korach the Levite unhappy with his circumstances. Korach’s personal downfall is a warning against pride and victim mentality. Korach focused on what he didn’t have: the position of Moses or the priesthood of Aaron and his sons. Believers are encouraged to find contentment in their specific callings rather than coveting other people’s position or dwelling on their victimhood. See there are treasures in the Pentateuch, people just need to spend time there.

This week I’m not preaching to the choir. I’m just preaching to myself.

I have a couple hours to get myself a clean heart and a right spirit within me, because sometimes, the apology is never going to be spoken.

https://www.kwtx.com/2025/04/17/austin-metcalfs-father-escorted-out-karmelo-anthonys-family-news-conference-after-unexpected-appearance/

One thing Sara and I share as a couple is we are both deceptively multi-cultural. We’re both fluent Spanish-speakers and our Hebrew isn’t shabby either. Looks can be deceiving people.

I got my 6’2” frame and blue eyes from my grandfather Roy, who was killed by a ranch-thief when my own father was an infant in 1940. Perhaps as a result of that tragedy, instead of being raised with my cowboy paternal grandparents in Oklahoma or Texas, I was raised with my Spanish-speaking, Sephardic grandparents in California. So culturally I grew up, like many Americans, living with grandparents who were naturalized citizens and who spoke often of the “olde country”.

So too, Sara, born and raised in Baja California, México has a 6’2” German-Lutheran-roots mother from Iowa. It’s a fun story my wife tells often. My mother-in-law went to help at a hospital in Baja in 1974 and she is still there. It’s a pretty amazing family story. If you’ve spent any time in the Mid-West you know the good people I speak of.

By the time I was any fun to talk to, at around 20 years old, my dad and all of my grandparents (but one) had passed away. When I married Sara in 2010, I met her grandparents at our wedding rehearsal and then after our honeymoon we did a road trip out to see them at the Poppe family’s generational farm in Iowa.

In a way, it was like I won another chance at having loving grandparents once I was 30 years old. I was delighted. It was so interesting hearing Grandpa Raymond’s stories about WWII and how his family came from Hessen, Germany, in the 1910s with big plans to do farming and later as ice-cream makers in Iowa. By immigrating they were also spared living under the Third Reich, indeed, Grandpa Raymond and his brother Harvey did the US proud fighting the Nazis and liberating death camp survivors in WWII. Sara’s grandmother, ‘Grandma Poppe’ as we called her, was such a character, so godly and so inspiring, that we decided to name our first-born daughter after her. Grandma Poppe’s mother was another German immigrant who found her way to the MidWest and married an Irish immigrant, James Alexander. It was that farm that we visited in 2010, having been in their family for about a century.

THE OLDE COUNTRY:

In the summer of 2024, my family decided to take a summer vacation in the regions of Germany where Sara’s family had immigrated from a century before: Hessen, Lower Saxony and the cultural region of Rhine-Hesse where the Poppe family emigrated from.

Something that struck me in Germany, apart from it being a very modern country today, is that if we took side roads and avoided the Autobahn, I could see a connection from the farms of the Midwest to the farms in Germany. Order, productivity and innovation while maintaining a connection the land.

I especially saw the connection to the MidWest in the names of places that in the US remind me of people or places (Like Bismark, North Dakota). Everywhere we went we saw names that we recognized from the US, that we hadn’t known the exact original of. Our trip made me remember two guys I went to school with: Michael Frolich and Karl Overholt. Our host, an old friend who is from Lower Saxony, rented a duplex and the other German family next door were the Frölichs, like my high school classmate. Later that trip I kept seeing familiar Germanic-names like Eisenhower and Westerwald.

When I planned the trip, Sara was dreaming of finding a nice cabin in the woods of Germany and boy did I ever find a cabin! The cabin I found on VRBO was at a camp ground on the property of an old mansion and when I say old, I mean this was like a movie-set super-haunted mansion! In fact, if it wasn’t spooky enough walking from the shower-house to our cabin, through a thick fog in the dark of night (when the trail-lights didn’t turn on), there were actually gypsy carriages with things like 40 year old stuffed animals and retro-electronics inside glass-enclosures. It was truly bizarre. My wife assured me if I had tried to find a weirder campground in Germany I would have failed.

But our girls never, ever said it was boring! The campground had a kitchen-haus, horse stables and nearby we did a ropes-course, a zoo and great hiking trails. I even spotted the American bison, grazing in… Germany. This pleased me.

The couple who ran the campground were hard working, unique and it was all too clear that these owners were not the original, high-brow heirs of this estate. They recent owners (meaning less than 2 decades) and entrepreneurs who amazingly turned a dilapidated mansion into a quirky campground complete with a boathouse for rent in a tiny, green pond and my cabin came with a rowboat for rowing around the “guacamole pond” as we called it. Near the pond were actual gravestones from the 18-19 century, helping secure my family’s opinion that the main house was indeed a haunted mansion.

We loved taking a hike one day through the woods of Hessen and imagining the Germany of Sara’s fore-fathers. Being out in nature it was easy to imagine the world that the Poppe family came from with farmers, woodmen, trains and little family businesses operating out in the country.

My wife and mother-in-law are used to being the tallest ladies around in Baja, but Sara went into a Lidl grocery store in Hessen and the checker was taller than her. No lady checker was ever taller than Sara… or her mom in Mexico, but back in the Olde Country, Sara got to blend in. They even spoke German to her. Sometimes it’s fun to go back to the Olde Country.

The sun reflected brilliantly off the canal, reflecting the colors of the nearby fields and buildings. Mordechay winced at the water and then back at his home, a stone’s-throw from water’s edge. Mordechay knew his life here was better than it had been for his forefathers who found their way down to the Low Countries.

“Meneer Hazzan, Alles goed?” called out the canal driver.

“Yes, How was your trip, Joost?”

Mordechay stood at the edge of the water, waiting to give Joost a hand in unloading his goods. Joost nodded and smiled, to affirm that all was well. He was a strong young man, blond and about 17 years in age. The kade, or pier that he was pulling the barge to, was empty at this time of day. Joost and Mordechay had lots to unload from the canal barge. As they lifted heavy reems of newly woven fabric and carried them carefully up onto the kade, the multilingual Mordechay smiled as he thought of a double-meaning expression in judo-español: “Mucha tela” he thought. “Lots of fabric, lots to do.” He remembered his family using the expression when he was a child in Antwerp. Mordechay raised his eyebrows to Joost to get the young man´s attention.

“In Spain,” Mordechay started, holding up one reem of fabric, “they call this ´mucha tela´.

“What does it mean, though?” asked Joost.

“It means lots of fabric.”

“Yea?”

“But it also means we have a lot of work to do before we finish.”

“That´s true, Meneer Hazzan. There is more tela where this came from.”

“That´s right,” Mordechay laughed. “You´ve got it my boy. Mucha tela.”

Back on the canal barge, behind the rolls of fabric, were heavy wooden boxes full of iron fixtures sent from an iron works shop. At the corner was a tower of peat bales from the countryside. And once they were done unloading, young Joost still did have another night run ahead of him, back to their provider, several miles down the canal tow-path, where another set of reems of fabric and a nice, giant pile of peat was waiting to be loaded. Everything had to be ready to be loaded in the morning, when Hazzan family´s ship, Song of Heaven, would dock on the great North Sea Canal, which in Dutch is called the Binnentoeleidingskanaal. Mordechay would be at shul services, but the hired sailors and Joost would know what to do with the cargo.

As they were about finished lifting the iron fixtures out of the barge and onto the dock with the industrial winches that were secured to the pier, Chaya, Mordechay´s wife, came walking to the dock.

“How is the work coming, Darling?” she asked in Dutch.

“Alles goed.” He answered, breathing heavily.

By now both Joost and Mordechay were ready for a drink of water. They took a rest on the kade as Chaya proceeded to tell them:

“Some men came from the Dutch trading company, the WIC, looking to speak with Samueli about working for them.”

“Why would they want Samueli to work for the Geoctroyeerde Westindische Compagnie?” Mordechay asked. “We do our own routes.”

“Those men were talking about how the West India Company needs lots of merchants and merchant ships for their new routes to the West Indies.”

“The West Indies? Those colonies are very far from here.” Mordechay put an emphasis on the word very.

“Would they try to send Samueli as far as the Caribbean and New Amsterdam?” he asked.

“I think they wanted to see if Samueli would be willing to go that far to work for them. It would have had to have been very lucrative to get Samueli´s attention like it did.” Chaya said, grinning.

“Lots of money, lots of danger.” Mordechay answered. “The Spanish are all over the place in the New World. And the privateers and the Portuguese.”

“Tomorrow Samueli will tell you what the men said.” Chaya said, casually watching Mordechay pull himself up onto his feet, as youthful Joost was by now already on his feet and ready to finish the job unloading the barge.

“The Dutch Colonies, the Dutch West India Company. Stadholder protected monopoly.” Mordechay thought deeply about the risks and benefits of working for the colonies and the trading company.

“The colonies will need so many supplies. They will need ships and ships full of supplies, foodstuffs, building supplies. Those WIC governors will require everything necessary to reproduce the comforts of Holland. I hear that they are merchants technically, but since when did merchants build their own kingdoms? On the other hand, if we help them succeed, in return they will give us treasures that are just waiting to be harvested. Precious metals, sugar, salt and coffee. Ganaremos mucha plata, mucha plata, de verdad.” (Double meaning in Spanish, used in Curaçao: “We´ll earn lots of money, we´ll earn lots of silver. Yea really.”)

A few years ago, I started reading up on the religious and civic life of the Netherlands in the 17^th Century. Perhaps it was because I had friends from places like Gelderland and Flevoland from my time working at Oasis Trails Dutch Albergue on the Camino de Santiago in Spain. As I dove into Dutch history, it was incredible to me the value that was placed, during the 1600’s, on freedom of conscience and ingenuity. God’s word was literally a lamp unto their boat and a light unto their waterways. When compared with the incredible religious intolerance that existed in kingdoms south of the Low Countries, The Netherlands were paving a revolutionary way forward with a society that valued freedom, autonomy and clever hard work. I think the DNA of this fresh Protestant Work Ethic made it to Nieauw Amsterdam (later renamed New York City). Even when the British took Haarlem and the fort along Wall Street, Nieauw Amsterdam in 1664, the Dutch blueprint stayed in New York State for some time.

I enjoyed my time researching in Amsterdam about the unique religious confessions like the Waterlander Anabaptists, the Walooners (French-speaking Protestants who fled persecution), Doopsgezinden

Mennonites and the good ‘ole Dutch Reformed Church. I saw how these confessions were economically industrious and members of these confessions were involved in the massive Dutch West Indies Company.

(Now before anyone reminds me that Anabaptists were burned alive in Holland, yes, my argument, an an Inquisition Historian, is that the religious tolerance climate was still better than in southern Europe and the Dutch West Indies Company was happy to take these religious minorities to populate their colonies and trading ports.)

From these unique communities that thrived in the mid-1600s, I began inventing my characters for my novel the starts out in the Netherlands.

Principle of these characters is Johanna Krantz. Johanna was one of those young adult ladies who is bursting with life. She was a curious, expressive, artistically gifted single woman. A weaver and tapestry-maker, who grew up by the calm quays of South Holland, day-dreaming of what was truly beyond the horizon. Johanna couldn´t have imagined the ancient civilizations that she would soon encounter in the Dutch colonies in the New World and the Messiah she could share, in the wild and pristine jungles of New Holland and Suriname.

__________________________________________________________________________

The Netherlands, 1651.

In Rotterdam there lived a young, vivacious Dutch woman. Her name was Johanna Krantz and she was something else. Johanna Krantz was one of those young adult ladies who is bursting with life. She was a curious, expressive, artistically gifted single woman. Joanna had just taken her leave from her employer, as her shift came to a close on Friday afternoon. She was a tapestry maker by profession because she has an artistic eye for detail. If fact, she was something of a bonafide artist as she managed to take inspiring works of art and beautiful images from the painted canvass and she weaved these images into tapestries. Johanna’s tapestries sold for a lot of money. She had a skill that made her something of a weaving genius. Johanna had job security and it isn’t stopping there: she had recently mastered a new interweaving technique and felt that she could produce new tapestry designs using a new weaving method.

Now some folks on here know me in real life and they know that my whole life I’ve loved cultural anthropology and biblical archeology- yes, since I was an energetic teenager. So, when I find a historical location whose history amazes me, believe me when I say there is a reason for it. I had read for years about places of worship besides the Tabernacle and the First and Second Temples on Mount Moriah.

I’ve seen the Samaritans of Mount Gerizim and I’m familiar with the cults that Jeroboam instituted in places like Dan and Samaria. (Not to mention the Gates of Hell and the Temple of Pan in Caesarea Philippi). I even knew about a Jewish Temple for the diaspora Jewish community that operated in Egypt. But either the word Tel Arad didn’t mean anything to me or many people don’t even know about its existence.

It all started when I went camping this week in the Judean Desert.

While camping at Tel Arad, I found out that at our campsite, above us on the mountain, was an ancient Jewish Temple. It is still visibly identifiable on the mountain fortress of Tel Arad that operated in the religiously-loose days of King Ahaz before King Hezekiah shut it down with his reforms to rein in unbiblical practices around 710 B.C. I was astonished that this Jewish Temple has survived 2,800 years atop Tel Arad in the Judean Desert.

Intact one can see a modest altar, holy place and the holy of holies where the priests would have offered sacrifices for the children of Israel of Southern Judah during the reigns of Uzziah, Jotham and Ahaz. We see from 2 Chronicles that sometimes over-zealousness is also a sin. King Uzziah became so proud of his accomplishments as Judah’s monarch, that he attempted to offer incense in the temple, when only priests who were sons of Aaron were appointed and consecrated for that job. At least my imagination can wonder if overzealous and prolific builder Uzziah commissioned the Jewish Temple in Arad. The national park there, at least, said it operating for about a century before Hezekiah centralized worship in Jerusalem. This could easily place this temple in the days of Uzziah. What does strike me about Hezekiah’s reforms, is that he enacted them in response to the horrifying punishment and captivity of the Northern Kingdom of Israel in 722 BC. Hezekiah would have witnessed all of the Assyrian invasion happen during his teenage years. It seems like the God of Israel was getting his attention. Indeed, he ruled during the prophetic ministry of Isaiah the prophet.

On one hand Hezekiah restored proper temple worship on the Temple Mount which is well documented in his chronicles of reforms in 2 Chronicles 29. Verse 35 says “So the service of the house of the LORD was set in order.” Yet, another thing I learned from my trip to the Jewish Temple on Tel Arad is that Hezekiah also saw the need to put an end to un-authorized, unbiblical forms of worship. The Jewish Temple in Arad was, at the end of the day, a way for citizens of the Kingdom of Judah to cut corners in my opinion. It is very curious that it existed and I’m happy that it survived to show the viability of the holy scriptures. Indeed, this weekend was Shavuot, when we remember the 50 days after the first Passover, when Moses received the 10 Commandments at Mount Sinai, which gives the Feast of Weeks another name recorded to the Scriptures: Hag Matan HaTorah.

The Gospels record Jesus cleansing the 2^nd Temple tying this act to Psalm 69:9, “Zeal for your House has eaten me up.” to the zeal Messiah would have for his Father’s House. Jesus himself gave the perfect answer about temple worship when speaking to a Samaritan woman about which mountain was authorized for worship. The Gospel of John 4 records the interaction:

“Sir, I perceive that You are a prophet. ²⁰ Our fathers worshiped on this mountain, and yet you Jews say that in Jerusalem is the place where one must worship.” ²¹ Jesus said to her, “Believe Me, woman, that a time is coming when you will worship the Father neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem. ²² You Samaritans worship what you do not know; we worship what we do know, because salvation is from the Jews. ²³ But a time is coming, and even now has arrived, when the true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and truth; for such people the Father seeks to be His worshipers. ²⁴ God is spirit, and those who worship Him must worship in spirit and truth.” ²⁵ The woman said to Him, “I know that Messiah is coming, when that One comes, He will declare all things to us.” ²⁶ Jesus said to her, “I am He, the One speaking to you.”

____________________________________________________________________________

Camping in the Judean Desert: A lot of funny things happen out there in the desert. At our campsite, my wife and I found a scorpion crawling under out tent, another couple forgot their poles for their tent and had to hang their tent like a marionette, we met Bedouins and watched them prepare rice and coffee. We took a big 12 kilometer hike to Nahal Tsfira where we came across beautiful pools of water from a distance, only to find them full of mosquito larva and other insects! We explored caves and pools of water that David would have run to when he was on the run from Saul’s men (1 Samuel 19 and other references). It was also very easy to imagine Moses leading the people through disappointing discoveries of unpotable water like this!

We had the occasional group member stuck climbing on rocks who had to be helped down, and we stumbled upon an Iranian missile from the war this spring (that was exploded). At the end of the trip on Saturday, we enjoyed floating in the Dead Sea and the gorgeous views of the Red mountains of Edom reflecting on the light blue waters of the Dead Sea. Photos don’t really do the Dead Sea and En Gedi justice.

So with Golda, I have so many thoughts, and perhaps that comes from someone who has been so relevant in my history. Golda, if you don’t know, was like the first effective female prime minister of any country. This isn’t just about her being the fourth Israeli prime minister. Or that Golda, while she had cancer, indeed leukemia, during the Yom Kippur War poured herself out to try to keep the country together. I think my having read so many books about her, like “My Life” and “Golda” and other writings that discuss how Golda lived, thought and worried. Then there are books I have just heard about, like “Lioness” and “Only Woman in the Room”. These last two impress me just by the titles. Golda was often the only woman in the room. She was part of Israel’s parliament (which I was at yesterday) from 1949-1974, when she retired with advanced cancer.

When I got to her grave I was expecting something else, but I felt like I was visiting the grave of a great-aunt of mine. I had an emotional connection to her, as if like to an aunt or a favorite teacher, and I pitied her deeply when I found myself at her tomb-stone. I thought of Golda’s suffering over soldiers she saw sent to battle (1948 & 1967) and the ones she had to frantically call up during the Yom Kippur invasion of 1973. I thought of her suffering during her divorce and her “marriage to politics”, her battle with leukemia while battling to make a lasting peace-treaty with Israel’s neighbors and finally her battle with her tobacco addiction, which reminded me of my late father.

Golda, I wish I could have given you a big hug. I wish I could have had coffee with you and hear about your life firsthand. I wish I could have spoken to you about the most important question in the world, did you ever meet Messiah?

One of the synagogue´s grandfathers, Shmuel Benzaher, was seated and already waiting with his tallit over his shoulders and had his prayer book in hand to get the reading underway from the amud, or prayer lectern. Before much time passed, after many people had greeted each other with Shabbat Shalom and other greetings, the welcome was given and Señor Benzaher took to the lectern began the Shabbat morning prayers of Shahrit, Zemirot, Chanting Tehillim 29, Lecha Dodi, and Mizmor shir leyom hashabbat.

Mordechay by now had kissed his tallit and was sitting in his seat, doing a mental inventory of the cargo that he was shipping this week. He was thinking about the building supplies coming from Bolsward, wondering if the entire cargo was accounted for when they picked it up and he thought about how his cargo had been secured. Mordechay considered how much profit he would make from the building supplies, as he had a habit of fearing the wild sea and the risk factors that the sea imposed on his peace of mind. He pondered what fate his family would have if their ship were to sink in the Baltic Sea? What if Samueli pushes to let the Song of Heaven become a trading ship of the WIC, and it gets attacked in the West Indies? Mordechay made up his mind to think about the things of Hashem and to find the right page, however, as he found the page and focused on the page of his siddur, as he began reading the Hebrew script of the prayer book, his mind went back to thinking about his one year contract with the gentlemen at the Makkum Lime Kiln Company too, of how much quicklime he would need to trade to make his payments to them on time.

“Min haolam, v´ad haolam.”

Mordechay heard the familiar Sabbath words spoken from the amud. And he resolved to concentrate on the prayers.

Old Señor Benzaher continued:

“From everlasting to everlasting, Thou art God. Beside thee we have no King who redeems and saves, sets free and delivers, who supports and has mercy in all times of trouble and distress. We will praise, laud and glorify Thee, and we will bless thy holy name, as it is said of David: Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me, bless his holy name.”

“That was Tehillim 103:1, now we will continue with Devarim 11:13-21.”

the old man began the reading:

“It is a land Adonai your God cares for. The eyes of Adonai your God are always on it, from the beginning of the year to the end of the year.

Mordechay thought: “Your eyes are always on it, Lord? And what about the Song of Heaven? Will you look on my ship with favor if I sail it across the sea?

“So if you listen carefully to my mitzvot which I am giving you today, to love Adonai your God and serve him with all your heart and all your being…

“Tie them on your hand as a sign; put them at the front of a headband around your forehead; teach them carefully to your children, talking about them when you sit at home, when you are traveling on the road, when you lie down and when you get up; and write them on the door-frames of your house and on your gates so that you and your children will live long on the land Adonai swore to your ancestors that he would give them for as long as there is sky above the earth.”

The old man concluded saying:

With a new song the redeemed people offered praise unto thy name at the seashore…O Rock of Israel, arise to the help of Israel and deliver as promised, Judah and Israel.

Mordechay considered the song of the redeemed rising from the seashore of the Red Sea. He too had spent Sabbaths at sea and on seashores. He looked up to watch the cantor take his place for his turn leading the service with the reciting of the Amida.

The cantor, Izhak Senhor da Silva, whose family were from the Portuguese tradition, led davening from the Amida to Adon Olam through to the Shema.

Mordechay´s heart jumped a beat when everyone stood and he realized that he had been starting to doze off a bit. He was very tired and he felt like he was doing a forced routine week in and week out. He felt like he could be asleep for hours and awake and the cantor would still be there davening the day away. He understood that the tradition had its place and its history but he just felt very tired. Mordechay felt the weight of having to make decisions communally. He felt that even decisions concerning his business would not be made solely by him, he had to consult his brother, then the rest of the family, then the rabbi and the community would let their opinion be known. He grimaced as he wondered:

“What if I do need nice long voyage and a fresh start?”

Mordechay lifted his eyes at the young scholar from Poland who was ready to read the Torah.

Today´s Torah Aliyah blessing would be canted by the brilliant Zelig Kalmanovitz, who had come to Amsterdam from Apt in Southern Poland. Young Zelig had been a rising yeshiva student of the Lizhansk Yeshiva, indeed a favorite of the Rosh Yeshiva, before he fled to Amsterdam following a riot that took the life of his only brother during a trip to run an errand for their rabbi. After his crisis from the murder of his brother, Zelig lifted his eyes to the tolerance of the Low Countries. In the Amsterdam Jewish community, Zelig Kalmanovitz found a sympathetic community who knew a thing or two about starting over with nothing, but there was something that the Dutch offered him too: equal rights. Some members found it novel that Kalmanovitz brought the Ashkenazi tradition with him. The men of the Amsterdam Jewish community (in Dutch, Heilige Geemente Israëlietische) like Mordechay and Samueli, could commiserate with those Jews fleeing persecution. It wasn´t that they had lived anything too terrible in Amsterdam, but their whole identity carried the heaviness of being children of the martyr race. Zelig did the Torah Aliyah blessings with his own Polish accent, but with a warmth and sincerity that was engaging to his Sephardic audience. The young man´s passion while reading the Torah portion made Mordechay feel uncomfortable about his own lack of devotion and he just wanted the service to be over.

“Baruch ata Adonai, noten ha Torah, Amen.”

The congregation sang the last words and were seated. Rabbi Eleazer of Antwerp took over the Torah service, and Mordechay couldn´t stop thinking about a long voyage to the West Indies in the Song of Heaven.

On the waterfront, down on the quay, Joost was loading the Song of Heaven and their smaller boat. The Groeneplek had made it back across the Ijsselmeer and Markermeer from the port of Makkum, where they were picking up their shipment of cargo from Bolsward.

Joost unfolded a paper from a leather satchel that had been left for him, along with his pay. He unfolded a note, where Mordechay thanked him for his dedication to excellence and praised Joost as having a brilliant future before him. He asked him to please take this correspondence, a large paper envelope, addressed by Chaya Hazzan in Italian and Ladino, to the ship´s box for mail. Close by, the Groeneplek had just arrived at its wharf from Flevoland, so Joost dropped the package in the correspondence chest that was below deck, then with his youthful energy ran back up the steep stairs topside- and down the gangway and made his way over to the Groeneplek.

The Jewish community in the Netherlands in those days knew the Jewish communities in Italy, in Morocco, and the communities in Salonica and Istanbul within the Ottoman Empire. This relationship helped the shipping business as trade went back and forth from the Eastern Mediterranean up to the familiar waterways of the Low Countries. When the ships returned to port, they brought with them precious correspondence. There were people in these Mediterranean communities who could correspond in Ladino. Some families had a shared heritage of hailing from the same synagogues and Jewish quarters in Portugal or Spain before the catastrophe 150 years before, so there was a common language and tradition that united them. The other communities in Germany eastward were Yiddish speaking, so there existed communication, however because of language, difference in customs, and interpretation of Halacha, there was less correspondence with the Yiddish speaking world at that time. This too, was changing however as the Dutch Republic gained increasing trade opportunities with her neighbors to the northeast up in the Baltic Sea as far as the ports of Königsberg, Helsinki and Riga.

Under the Dutch sun, Joost worked away preparing the Song of Heaven for her next voyage that would make port in Porto, Tangier, Genova and Livorno. The correspondence written in Ladino was directed to a childhood friend of Chaya who was living in Livorno, Italy, whose family were also doing maritime trade. Other hired men came and went as Joost supervised that the cargo was secure below deck.

Later that evening, the Song of Heaven was finally ready to sail, and Mordechay boarded, ready and content to see his ship make her annual voyage that stopped in Italy, Morocco and Portugal. After Mordechay directed the pilot and crew with some final instructions, the ship sailed down the long canal, sailing casually towards open North Sea. Mordechay watched the boat sail slowly through the canal, if nothing more than to see how his pilot managed sailing through the Amsterdam Canal traffic. Once the ship was mostly out of site, he returned home.

IX. Brother Pedro, The Jewish Monk of Moreruela Monastery.

It was May in the Olde Kingdom of Leon, the flowers were in bloom at this time of year, it was Spring Fair season, and around the uncultivated corners of the monastery farm, there were beautiful flowers in shades purple, white and red. At this time of year, after Easter, Pedro didn´t mind his farm duties. It was just gorgeous outside and even cleaning up after the sheep didn´t seem like such a bad job, as long as the breeze kept coming to blow away the farm smells, that is. Pedro took notice as he worked outside, that during this season he could see all kinds of crawling little bugs in different shapes and sizes. Pedro saw the wonder of creation as he watched tiny bugs climb the stems of flowers, flowers which already attracted other tenants, from snails to aphids. He thought of Psalm 8:3:

“When I consider… the work of your fingers.”

It occurred to Pedro, as he considered the Eighth Psalm, that he had been entrusted with the care of these living and creeping things God made. It helped Pedro appreciate his role in caring for the land where he was one of the caretakers. Pedro thought back to the first man, and how it was man´s job to care for the garden from the very beginning of the Torah, in Genesis 2:15. It made Pedro remember seeing his grandfather and other men unrolling a hidden scroll on what they called Shabbat Bereshit, the Saturday when the very first chapters of Genesis are read.

“The LORD God took the man and put him in the garden of Eden to tend it.”[1]

Could it be that his physical labor outside, caring for the garden, was service to God just like his time of study? He thought. Thus, Pedro gave great thought to the spiritual meaning of his morning chores in these Campos de Moreruela.

After a nice long morning of farm work, a bell was rung from the monastery and the White Monks made their way to the Long Hall. Pedro had a drink of cold well water and he cut himself a piece of bread, pan moreno, and made his way quietly to his room. He walked his familiar corridor past the church and over to the residential wing of the monastery. Once he was in his room, he took a deep breath and sat at his desk. Now that he had done his physical exercise, he could enjoy doing his mental fitness. Friar Pedro had been discreetly interested in following the Biblical feasts after he read Deuteronomy 16 sometime before Passover. Now his mind set to decipher what he could find out about the Feast of Weeks from the Bible commentaries available at the monastery. His family had not spoken much about the Feast of Weeks, but then again, they were Crypto Jews, so many things they would not even discuss in front of him when he was small and liable to sing. Pedro was at a point in life where he wished he could go back to Zamora and ask his grandparents about counting the Omer. He knew little besides that it was called Sefirat Ha´omer by the students of Rabbi Yitzak Qampanton of Zamora. This much he could remember had been discussed in the sand-covered bodega of his home. But that was a long time ago and the Zamora Yeshiva had long stood desolate. Pedro thought about it and knew he hadn´t been that interested in what was going on when he was a 10-year-old little son of Marranos. Pedro was interested now, of course, now that he was alone with his thoughts and wanting more answers. He felt always full of memory but not sure what that memory was exactly. Pedro did know, even just from reading his Bible, that he had to be counting the days for seven weeks from Passover to the Feast of Weeks. He didn´t know what day the Feast of Weeks fell upon in the Hebrew calendar, though he knew it had a date. Pedro understood that there were things that he wanted to study that he could not study while living in a kingdom under the watchful and treacherous eyes of the Inquisition.

Pedro quietly slipped out a small, leather-bound book from behind his desk cabinet: He opened the book and folding back the book cover, he produced a few leaflets of paper. The leaflets had been tucked behind the leather cover of the book. On the page, Pedro had written tiny notes of his questions and observations and the relationship between the Roman Catholic Church and the Sephardic Judaism it had so efficiently eradicated and driven from the Iberian Peninsula.

Pedro gazed at his notes in his room as the sun shone brightly on the fields of Moreruela. Pedro sighed again as he desired to just have access to history books. He wanted information, not for debating Judaism and Catholicism, but to satisfy his curiosity, to quench his thirst for answers. Why was it so forbidden in all of Spain and Portugal to discuss the Old Testament or to discuss wrongdoing by the Roman Church? Why was it blasphemy to ask if the Inquisitors were guilty of the bloodshed of many innocent people in Spain? Pedro then thought about the great Biblical feasts of centuries long ago celebrated on Mount Moriah. He straightened his papers on his desk and began to write notes about the Temple of Jerusalem. He wrote of his desire to be able to read how many Paschal lambs were sacrificed at the great Temple when it stood. His following note was: Why did it matter that John the Baptist called Jesus “the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world”?

Pedro sat there wanting to understand all the relationship between the Old and New Testament. He read Leviticus 23:

“Count off seven full weeks, Count off fifty days up to the day after the seventh Sabbath, then present an offering of new grain to the Lord.”

Pedro raised his eyebrows as he thought of more questions that he wished to find answers for. He wrote them down on his page of questions: Why did the 11 Jewish Apostles have to wait in Yerushaliym until Shavuot for the Holy Spirit to come upon them? Why would Jesus involve his talmidim in the counting the Sefirat Ha´omer?

Pedro thought to himself silently: “These are things that going to mass does not answer.” When he thought if the Jewish community would have had an answer either, he thought, “No.” His late, great Iberian Jewish community was fighting so much for survival in the last decades before the Edict, that they wouldn´t have had time for those kinds of questions either.

Pedro then read:

“Éste será un estatuto perpetuo para todos tus descendientes.” (This will be a perpetual ordinance for your descendants.)

Then He thought of several questions all at once and was very pleased with himself.

The Crypto Jew wrote:

“Why did God command that the Jewish people observe these ordinances for all time, but the Roman church prohibits, punishes and puts on trial any descendants of Jacob who observe the perpetual ordinance? Why were the Jewish disciples of Jesus to count the Omer?

Pedro wondered:

“The Pope would never allow this.” he thought, almost laughing by himself in his study.

And so Friar Pedro de Zamora found meaning and joy all by himself.

He felt inspired to write another entry:

“If the Roman church would never allow Biblical Old Testament customs like those found in Leviticus 23, why were the disciples ordered to wait in Jerusalem from Passover to Shavuot? If these holidays don´t mean anything to the Roman church, then why are these Jewish holidays used like a calendar by Jesus Christ, the King of the Jews?”

Pedro sat at his chair and gracefully turned the pages of his Biblia Complutense back to Deuteronomy 16. In the instructions concerning the Feast of Weeks in chapter 16, he found this sentence.

“At the place He will choose as a dwelling for his name.” (Deuteronomy 16:6)

Pedro wrote this down:

“The instructions written by Moses concerning Shavuot explicitly prophesy that Hashem would dwell on Jerusalem´s holy hill. Why did the Holy Spirit, come upon the eleven disciples in Jerusalem, seven weeks after Jesus had been crucified by the Romans on Passover, when Leviticus 23 says concerning Shavuot: “Count off seven weeks”?

Pedro decided he had his leaflet of notes out of its hiding place long enough, and skillfully folded the papers just as they had been back into the flap of the book cover, then he crouched to hide the book in its hiding place.

The monk sat up and looked out the window. After so much thought on Scripture, he felt surprised to see the world around him. He had to remember what kind of holy man he was: He was a friar and not a tzaddik. Pedro could see his familiar brethren walking outside in the distance, going about their daily duties. A White Monk leading a burro pulling cart. Pedro felt he was doing his strenuous duty too: Looking for what Almighty God wanted from him to do.

[1] Genesis 2:15

San Quintin, Baja California, Mexico

March 2017

I’m a big advocate of being knowledgeable about toxic charity and creating dependence in developing areas of the world. In fact I wrote more pages than you care to read on that subject while finishing my MM at Southern California Seminary.

Yet with all that I have written about the downfalls of dependence: unhealthy reliance on aid and charity, there are truly people who could use a hand up out there….sometimes.

House building in Baja! Our venture south of the border was a family building trip, on March 17th, in which 100 people from Trinity Church of Redlands, California, joined forces with the NGO Hands of Mercy to serve, witness to, and build homes for very needy families living in shacks and shelters east of Ensenada, Baja California, Mexico.

My wife and I served as the translators on the work site.

I was invited to share evening talks with the Hands of Mercy trip members staying at Rancho Casitas, which in located about half an hour off the Transpeninsular Highway near Ensenada, Baja California. It was a special time to re-connect with old friends and to make new ones, and share what I’ve learned about making an effective difference in the lives of needy people.

During three days, my family worked along with other families and volunteers transporting, painting and building 3 homes for deserving families. It was the great hope of home ownership. My great-grandfather Dr. John Locke (add several greats in there), the Enlightenment philosopher famously said all men have a right to life, liberty and property. To him, private property rights and home-ownership were a way for families to climb out of cycles of poverty. That is why I am always happy to see the kind of helping, that may make a generational difference in a family that was living in poverty. Owning a home is a life-changer.

As far as the American volunteer team goes, I’m grateful for the good impression and the message that our team was able to have with the recipient family, Alex and Anabel Estafeta, who were in tears as our build leaders J. Fitzgerald and Pastor Bill Born presented the family with the keys to their new home, and family Bible and a solar-powered audio-Bible. This was a young couple who truly needed a hand in getting out of cycles of spending their whole paycheck every month, with no hope of getting out of debt. The Loft-House made a difference, and it was given to them with the greatest treasure anyone could give them: the word of God.

What a great times we had with Alex and Anabel, and also with their Aunt and Uncle Amelia and Jesus. It was Anabel’s uncle, Jesus, who allowed Hands of Mercy to put a house on his property for his niece and her family. Anabel, while watching her 23-day-old daughter, prepared for us a lunch out of her uncle and aunt’s loft-house. It was a very special thing to share this meal with the recipient family. For me, personally, as someone who does get to drive past this area fairly often, when I am on the West Coast, hope to see this family again.

“I thank my God upon every remembrance of you, always in every prayer of mine making request for you all with joy, for your fellowship in the gospel from the first day until now, being confident of this very thing, that He who has begun a good work in you will complete it until the day of Jesus Christ.” Philippians 1:3-6

Originally published on March 21st, 2017

‘So the LORD said to him, “What is that in your hand?” and he said a rod.’

The Torah, Exodus (Sh’mot) 4:2

As I read through Exodus and my commentaries this week in México, I would look out and see the campus of the hospital where I study and I can see the field workers doing primitive labor like in Exodus times. Here in Mexico, we have people who are happily and faithfully serving in their faith community, even when their laboral conditions are almost comparable to the slavery that built Egypt.

This morning we had a prayer meeting early so men can take an old green bus with a yellow stripe, to the fields where they work for twelve hours in the fields. Other members of the church have professional jobs and one family in the church employs hundreds of workers at their ranch that exports truck-loads of berries across North America. In my context, the verse that captured my attention in the Book of Exodus was when God says to Moses at the burning bush: “What is that in your hand?”

Every child of God is given some way to contribute. The poor men who make, literally, fifty dollars a week, can teach those of us from the ‘West’ a lot about faith and about being faithful no matter if we eat or not. Jesus praised the widow’s mite, it was all she had, but she gave more than all the rich men combined. Paul writes at length on the church being the hands and feet of Christ, how all the members have something to offer.

Moses at the burning bush didn’t seem to see how he, a humble man in exile in the desert of Midian, could be God’s great deliverer for the people of Israel. How could that be? Moses was trying to make excuses for himself, to get out of God’s call on his life, but God started with what Moses had with him all that time in Midian, when he asked him, “What is that in your hand?” “A rod” and with that rod and that hand, and the rod of his brother Aaron, Yahweh brought on the ten plagues, parted the Red Sea, brought water from the rock, and Aaron’s rod was laid in the Ark of the Covenant, to remember the great things Yahweh had done in bringing the children of Israel out of Egypt. God has given us all so many talents and abilities. God called his creation good, and he made us each so different and so complex, and he made us in His image. Sometimes we may not see our potential, but God made us and certainly He knows our potential and worth for his kingdom.

Paul & Moses

As I pondered this moment at the burning bush, I just had to see it unfolding in a way similar to Saul the Pharisee on the road to Damascus. Saul, a Jew like Moses, was just minding his own business in the desert (persecuting the Jews who had believed on Messiah), when God appears and terrifies him. Moses was called here in Exodus at Mount Horeb in Exodus 3:2.

Moses covered his face, but Paul and his companions were blinded by the light. God used both men to be his servants and to do mighty things. God saw the potential of the one Israelite who had been raised in Pharaoh’s palace and in the schooling of Egypt to appear before Pharaoh and to record the first five books of the Bible. Paul also was one of the Sanhedrin, a Pharisee of Pharisees. A student at the feet of the Great Rabbi Gamiliel. Paul had to have spent his whole life caught up in Torah study and would have had to have been a “Yeshiva student”, a student memorizing the Old Testament everyday. God knew that Paul was the man with the greatest schooling and ability, like Moses, to help to articulate and record his word in the New Covenant. God used the tools that Paul already had, just like Mose’s staff.

I’ve learned to admire people living in extreme poverty who keep on keeping on. Who stay honest, hard working and still make time to use their gifts for the Kingdom of Heaven.

I think as someone who has been through wars and a few brushes with death, that God uses every prior experience that I’ve ever had, even the negative ones, and he uses every ounce of that experience to make us effective workman for His Kingdom.

My American pastor recently preached through the Book of Jonah, the runaway prophet. In light of the biblical history in Joppa, it was fun to have lunch there in the old harbor, not only where Jonah found a boat to hightail it out of Israel, it is also one of the most ancient harbors in the world.

Dr. Luke records in Acts 10:4 that Simon Peter was staying just behind the building where I had lunch today. When God sent an angelic messenger to a man ripe to hear the good news:

“Cornelius stared at him in fear. “What is it, Lord?” he asked. The angel answered, “Your prayers and gifts to the poor have come up as a memorial offering before God. ⁵ Now send men to Joppa to bring back a man named Simon who is called Peter. ⁶ He is staying with Simon the tanner, whose house is by the sea.”

The traditional location of Simon the Tanner’s House is very much by the sea and right next to the property is the Joppa Lighthouse. Below these buildings is where the ancient city walls stood. Along the marina are water-front restaurants like The Old Man and the Sea, Golda Glida, Fish & Chips and the Sicily Restaurant.

Next to these is the Armenian Convent of St. Nicholas, that even Napoleon Bonaparte visited in 1799 when his troops converted the convent into a make-shift hospital for sick imperial soldiers.

These walls in Jaffa are dripping with history, and the views aren’t too shabby either. Today was such a pretty day, that my wife and I would have been happy to take a dip in the inviting waters of the Mediterranean. We watched a surf-camp being conducted from the bluffs, camps like the ones I hosted in 2006 in the Bay of Biscay and it filled me with memories of contentment from twenty years ago, when my late-sister and I surfed together, the only time we ever surfed together in this life, at Hendaye Beach, France.

Anniversaries somehow make people sentimental. I smiled at my wife. We married three months after Lisa fell to cancer in 2011. Today is a day where we look back at the past and remember, like the glass I ceremonially crushed at my wedding, that at the happiest moment of your life, you don’t forget the suffering of your people.

May 1650. Reino de León, Spain

Brilliant orange, puffy clouds stretched towards the setting sun, as a warm spring day came to an end in León. The friar, Pedro Ecija, sat on the second floor of Moreruela Cistercian Monastery watching one of many perfect sunsets from the monk´s rooms above the cloister. Friar Pedro was in his late-thirties, had a joyful disposition, an honest confidence and was not a tall man. Pedro wore the Cistercian uniform of his time, along with the other White Monks of Moreruela, who managed and administered their enormous monastic farms. The beautiful sun ducked down beyond the nearby hills on the road to Portugal, and brilliant rays shone through the window into the study.

“The Sabbath has begun.” The friar thought to himself.

Before him on his simple wooden desk sat the monumental Alcalá Interlinear Bible, La Biblia Complutense. He glanced back down at the thick book of Holy Scriptures, already open to the prophet Isaiah. Pedro continued reading Isaiah 51:13

יהוה עשך נוטה שמים ויסד ארץ

Pedro pronounced the verse:

“Hashem osecha, noteh shamayim ve-yosed aretz.”

“The LORD, your Maker, who stretched out the heavens and laid the foundations of the earth.”

Then Pedro skipped down a few verses and read to himself:

“I have put my words in your mouth and covered you with the shadow of my hand- I who set the heavens in place.”

Pedro nodded his head in agreement. “Yes, He who set the heavens in place.”

Pedro´s love of God was pure and fierce. He did not take his vows lightly ten years ago. Nor did his mother take him forcefully to the monastery, the way some of the local monks had arrived several years ago, those who struggled passionately on the day of their delivery, to run away before their vows could be spoken. Pedro did not run from a life of religious confinement, nor did he resent his vows. Pedro was a Converso, from a family of Conversos, who did not have a better option.

Since the Edict of Expulsion, 150 years before, the country seemed more anti-Semitic than when people actually knew the Children of Israel who dwelt in their midst. Now that the martyr race had been expelled from the Kingdom of Castilla y Leon and their vast properties and personal possessions had been looted by the gentiles, those who remained faced a hopeless reality. They would live in Spain under continual suspicion, giving a relentless defense of their private lives and a defense and explanation of their Roman Catholic devotion and observance. Pedro did not want to live his life wondering who might be a shameless informant of the Inquisition. He certainly didn´t want to end up like his brethren who were taken to the Castle of San Jorge, never to come out again. The fact that he was the child of Conversos in Spain seemed truly worse to him than being the child of Jews in other parts of Europe. But as far as things made sense to him, he didn´t have any better options. For Pedro, taking his vows was a solution. By joining the Cistercian Order, Friar Pedro could side-step the public eye and accusations of heresy by living a quiet, holy life of relative isolation at the monastery, being protected both by his good-hearted abbot, Dom Antonio Felipe Saavedra y Toledo, and by his Order from Cîteaux.

Pedro sat in his chair, the orange clouds on the horizon began to darken. It wasn´t a time to light Shabbat candles. Not for him anyway. He turned the pages of the Biblia Complutense to Psalm 92.

As he began to read the Psalm, he could hear the voice of his grandmother singing Psalm 92. Yes, in his mind he could hear a melody, and he saw the white sand that covered the floor of the wine cellar. And the friar heard his family extol God´s name together:

“It is good to give thanks to the Lord, to sing praises to your name, O God Most High, to declare your steadfast love in the morning, and your faithfulness by night, to the music of the lute and the harp, to the melody of the lyre. For you, O Lord, have made me glad by your work; at the works of your hands I sing for joy.”

As the friar sat there in the quiet study, he began to hum audibly to himself, then as he hummed all the more soulfully, his lips pronounced these words to the melody:

“Le-haggid ba´boker chasdecha; ve’emunatecha, ba´leilot.”

But Pedro stopped humming suddenly and straightened up his posture. He had caught himself. He looked around nervously. He wasn´t just reminiscing about his childhood. He was doing something all the more dangerous. Pedro let out a sigh and thought to himself:

“They should have taken the road by way of Portugal when they had a chance.” Followed by:

“Yo sabía que escuche algo.”[1]

Pedro stood up fairly carefully and walked slowly across the room and listened by the door, as two of his brethren walked down the corridor, talking about their livestock on the property. He knew their familiar voices:

“We didn´t expect this many sheep to be born last year, when we get to shearing time it´s going to be nuts how much wool we´ll have left over.” Brother Jose Maria said, lightly making conversation as he walked.

The old friar, Eufemio, answered with emphasis:

“La cantidad que estamos recolectando es extraordinario, Fijate.”[2]

Pedro stood silent as the footsteps quietly disappeared. He then thought to himself:

“You don´t hum that here.”

The study of the monastery felt still and the light in the room was fading as dusk began over the fields of Zamora. There were sounds outside the abbey, but they were everyday sounds at Moreruela. The brilliant clouds from before were still beautiful but they faded to black as night set in. It would be time to help make dinner soon. The friar sat and studied in silence.

V ¿Qué hay para cenar? Dinner among Cistercian Monks.

Pedro and the other monks have assembled in the refectory, or communal dining room, which was perpendicular to the sanctuary. A series of long tables run in a straight line through the high-ceilinged dining hall. Out of a large earthen jar, Friar Eufemio is scooping cured olives out and onto serving dishes. From the backdoor emerges another monk with baskets of sliced baguettes that were backed in the adjoining kitchen building. And at a serving counter is a large caldron of fabada, a white bean and chorizo soup. By the large cupboards in the hall, another friar is taking down clay pitchers from the shelves and is filling some with water and some with wine, as another monk takes the pitchers to the tables. When it seemed to all be ready, the senior brother, who serves under the abbot, was seated comfortably and discussing something in the corner by the entrance, smiled and nodded to finish the conversation with Brother Jose Maria and the other man, then the old friar stood up and got the attention of his fellow Cistercians.

He simply said:

“Let´s pray.”

Then, when everyone stopped what they were doing, and had stood up and closed their eyes, he continued:

“Blessed Father and Master of Creation,

Thank you for the bounty of provision that you have given us this evening. Let us receive it with a spirit of thanksgiving. Lead us not into temptation but deliver us always from evil. We ask all these things in the name of Jesus Christ, our Lord, Amen.”

Everyone said “amen” and found a seat to begin their evening meal. There were sturdy earthenware cups for wine and there were pitchers of water along the great row of tables and the monks went about their dinner quite routinely.

Pedro is cheerful and relaxed as he goes through the serving line, having had a good time of study today. He felt joyful from having been deeply submerged in thoughts of the Most High God and with his Holy Scriptures, in fact, he had a certain glow of a man of God about himself. He felt as though he gained so much through the study of the Biblia Complutense as he had spent the day reading the Major Prophets in Latin, Castilian and Hebrew.

As Pedro waited in line with his brethren in the long rectangular hall, and as they spoke of how their day had come together, Pedro began to speak of God with such eloquence and passion that the other brothers raised their countenance and gave attention to how Brother Pedro spoke of their Lord Creator.

There were already men at the monastery who admired Pedro for his academic discipline and serious approach to sacred study, they knew that not everyone there was overjoyed about sitting with books day after day, but Pedro was inclined towards it. Other brothers were just as happy to be shearing sheep and planting green beans outside.

However, the other friars may not have known how deeply Pedro was submerged in reading the actual Hebrew Bible nor did they know Pedro´s secret, how he could use the Hebrew Bible on hand to guide him in his memories of hizun, that is, Jewish canting of songs from a prayerbook. Pedro´s artform had become one of giving a blameless representation of himself as a devout monk while preserving his favorite thoughts of a community life that he had barely lived. The Caro-Aljamin family had to remember their Jewish customs secretly. Pedro´s artform was to present to everyone around him an exemplary monk and thereby shroud his knowledge of Jewish customs and of his mastery of the Hebrew language.

Pedro´s place in line had moved closer to the cook by now and Brother Evaristo took a cue from Pedro to begin talking about the attributes of God, which Pedro was grateful for, as he didn´t want to start monologuing too much about what he studied and then have to answer hard questions or raise suspicions of why he studies the Multilingual Interlinear Bible and not the Latin Vulgate or the Biblia del Oso? Pedro and the others listened contently to Brother Evaristo as they moved forward in the dinner line. It was now Pedro´s turn to hold out his bowl as the cook filled it up with creamy fabada. Back at the table Pedro broke bread and dipped it into the flavorful soup. He smiled sincerely and thought: “I am thankful.” It was the kind of day that made Pedro feel very secure in his decision to assume the uniform of the White Monks of Moreruela Abbey.

When cleanup after dinner was finished and the refectory was cleaned, Pedro exited the building and to his left was the Refectorio de los Conversos, where he often thought of the double meaning in the name. Were these laboring brothers the Conversos or was he? In their separate dining hall, the Conversos ate together as they rested from their labor in fields, the water mills and in never ending masonry work on the monastery’s buildings. Pedro noted that although their service was more taxing than his own, these monks were not given to complaining. Indeed, complaining was punishable at this time. But the Conversos at Morerula knew what it was like to have an ungodly taskmaster in the outside world, and they welcomed the kind words of praise and encouragement from their abbot, Dom Felipe.

As Pedro walked with the other men along the medieval stone pavement of the cloister toward their rooms east of the sanctuary, they had time to discuss the news that had come in on the Ruta de Plata, the north-south road that connects the Province of León to the port of Sevilla. Pedro only listened, but his godly cheer that he had at dinner began to fade as he tried not to frown or react to what his ears were hearing. Friar Alfonso told his fellow White Monks of shocking rumors that would affect them personally. Alfonso said that they might be sent to the West Indies to raise a new Cistercian community.

“But that’s impossible, Alfonso, we belong for life to the House of Moreruela, where we took our vows.” Brother Juanma protested.

“Claro que sí, Juanma, yo sé, yo sé. Pero están hablando de necesidades en las Indias, en el Nuevo Reino de Granada.” (Of course you are right, Juanma, I know, I know. But they are talking about needs in the Indies, in the New Kingdom of Granada.)

“It isn’t saying we would lose any standing with the Cistercians or this Abbey, but we might be needed to raise a new abbey and community in the West Indies, and leadership have the authority to send any of us with this task.”

And this was the case. Father Junipero Tábara y Miranda had received a message from Clairvaux Abbey in Ville-sous-la-Ferté that was carried by hand from Clairvaux, along the Camino de Santiago as far as León, where it had been passed to trusted merchants who knew the monks in Leon, who then journeyed on the Ruta de Plata and left the sealed letter for Tábara y Miranda when they passed by La Granja de Moreruela. When Father Junipero opened the letter, to his utter surprise, he found instructions from the abbot of Clairvaux Abbey.

To Father Junipero Tábara y Miranda

Santa Maria de Moreruela Abbey, Zamora, Reino de Castilla y Leon.

From Dom Odo de Saulieu, Clairvaux Abbey, Ville-sous-la-Ferté

Hello dear brother,

In light of the recent meeting of the general chapter of our order at Cîteaux, I want you to know about some decisions that were made concerning the expansion of the Cistercian Order in the Indies. Representatives of the order conferred with Dom Antonio Felipe Saavedra y Toledo about establishing a new Cistercian house in the New Kingdom of Granada where there is abundant and fertile undeveloped land ideal for the agricultural innovation that we are renowned for. This is going to be possible for the Cistercians because of a new patron, the Baron of Prado, a leader of the colony, is donating this land for a new Cistercian monastery in the Americas, in an area which he described in a letter as paradise.

One objective will be to use education to teach the Gospel and agricultural techniques to the local native tribes of the Cauca Valley.

From Moreruela, you must choose two brothers, one given to academics and one given to building, to investigate undertaking the job of establishing a new abbey on the donated land in the New World. Besides a scribe and carpenter, you may choose to select more brothers, to accompany you. After you have assembled this fellowship, your journey, needs and expenses will be provided for through the Order. You are to travel to this parcel of land near Popayán, in the New Kingdom of Granada, as soon as possible to accept the property in person.

You will find the Baron of Prado, our new benefactor, at the Palacio del Virey en Santafé de Bogotá.

Respectully yours in Christ,

Dom Odo de Saulieu, O.C.S.O.

Father Junipero sat at a wooden desk by a great stairwell in the eastern wing of the abbey. Candles now lit the passageways and the wax seal of the letter glowed, reflecting the candle-light. Junipero stared at the Cistercian Seal and then look around the familiar abbey where he enjoyed working from the desk in the breeze-way, from a place where he could be easily found by the other friars. His mind raced to his first time in this familiar room and how he walked up the stairs as a youth, enjoying the smell of the stone walls and the echo of his steps. He recalled having wonderful days of prayer and fellowship with men he respected. He recalled difficult conversations with the other brothers in this room, and how he sometimes had to take conversations to a more private place, behind closed doors. Junipero’s mind recalled the sound of singing, and the joy of Christmas time in the Abbey, and how he would hear the voices of the Franciscan Nuns from El Convento de Santa Marina arriving for Christ-Mass and bringing with them their renowned assortment of traditional sweets like pestiños and perrunillas as well as artisan breads, baked perfectly by the sisters in time for Christmas every year.

Junipero laughed to himself about all the joys and griefs he had lived at this monastery, and he looked up at the familiar staircase, and wondered who he might have to take along, on such a dangerous journey. He got up and bent under his desk, and pulled out a wooden support for him to pray on. And so, Father Junipero began praying about who indeed needed to be his traveling companions, to trek with him down the Ruta de Plata, to sail down the Guadalquivir River, across the Atlantic Ocean and to trek again into mostly unknown interior of the New World colony, El Nuevo Reina de Granada.

The Converso of Moreruela Monastery.

It was May in the Olde Kingdom of Leon, the flowers were in bloom at this time of year, it was Spring Fair season, and around the uncultivated corners of the monastery farm, there were beautiful flowers in shades purple, white and red. At this time of year, after Easter, Pedro didn´t mind his farm duties. It was just gorgeous outside and even cleaning up after the sheep didn´t seem like such a bad job, as long as the breeze kept coming to blow away the farm smells, that is. Pedro took notice as he worked outside, that during this season he could see all kinds of crawling little bugs in different shapes and sizes. Pedro saw the wonder of creation as he watched tiny bugs climb the stems of flowers, flowers which already attracted other tenants, from snails to aphids. He thought of Psalm 8:3:

“When I consider… the work of your fingers.”

It occurred to Pedro, as he considered the Eighth Psalm, that he had been entrusted with the care of these living and creeping things God made. It helped Pedro appreciate his role in caring for the land where he was one of the caretakers. Pedro thought back to the first man, and how it was man´s job to care for the garden from the very beginning of the Torah, in Genesis 2:15. It made Pedro remember seeing his grandfather and other men unrolling a hidden scroll on what they called Shabbat Bereshit, the Saturday when the very first chapters of Genesis are read.

“The LORD God took the man and put him in the garden of Eden to tend it.”[3]

“Could it be that my physical labor outside, caring for the gardens here, is service to God as is my time of sacred study?” He thought about it. Thus, Pedro gave great thought to the spiritual meaning of his morning chores in these Campos de Moreruela.

After a nice long morning of farm work, a bell was rung from the monastery and the White Monks made their way to the Long Hall. Pedro had a drink of cold well water and he cut himself a piece of bread, pan moreno, and made his way quietly to his room. He walked his familiar corridor past the church and over to the residential wing of the monastery. Once he was in his room, he took a deep breath and sat at his desk. Now that he had done his physical exercise, he could enjoy doing his mental fitness. Friar Pedro had been discreetly interested in following the Biblical feasts after he read Deuteronomy 16 sometime before Passover. Now his mind set to decipher what he could find out about the Feast of Weeks from texts available at the monastery. His family had not spoken much about the Feast of Weeks, but then again, they were Crypto Jews, Anusim, so many things they would not even discuss in front of him when he was small and liable to sing. Pedro was at a point in life where he wished he could go back to Zamora and ask his grandparents about counting the Omer. He knew little besides that it was called Sefirat Ha´omer by the students of Rabbi Yitzak Qampanton of Zamora. This much he could remember had been discussed in the sand-covered bodega of his home. But that was a long time ago and the Zamora Yeshiva had long stood desolate. Pedro thought about it and knew he hadn´t been that interested in what was going on when he was a 10-year-old little son of Marranos. Pedro was interested now, of course, now that he was alone with his thoughts and wanting more answers. He felt always full of memory but not sure what that memory was exactly. Pedro did know, even just from reading his Bible, that he had to be counting the days for seven weeks from Passover to the Feast of Weeks. He didn´t know what day the Feast of Weeks fell upon in the Hebrew calendar, though he knew it had a date. Pedro understood that there were things that he wanted to study that he could not study while living in a kingdom under the watchful and treacherous eyes of the Inquisition.

Pedro quietly slipped out a small, leather-bound book from behind his desk cabinet: He opened the book and folding back the book cover, he produced a few leaflets of paper. The leaflets had been tucked behind the leather cover of the book. On the page, Pedro had written tiny notes of his questions and observations and the relationship between the Roman Catholic Church and the Sephardic Judaism it had so efficiently eradicated and driven from the Iberian Peninsula.

Pedro gazed at his notes in his room as the sun shone brightly on the fields of Moreruela. Pedro sighed again as he desired to just have access to history books. He wanted information, not for debating Judaism and Catholicism, but to satisfy his curiosity, to quench his thirst for answers. Why was it so forbidden in all of Spain and Portugal to discuss the Old Testament or to discuss any wrongdoing by the Roman Church? Why was it blasphemy to ask if the Inquisitors were guilty of the bloodshed of many innocent people in Spain? Pedro then thought about the great Biblical feasts of centuries long ago celebrated on Mount Moriah. He straightened his papers on his desk and began to write notes about the Temple of Jerusalem. He wrote of his desire to be able to read how many Paschal lambs were sacrificed at the great Temple when it stood. His following note was: Why did it matter that John the Baptist called Jesus “the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world”?

Pedro sat there wanting to understand all the relationship between the Old and New Testament. He read Leviticus 23:

“Count off seven full weeks, Count off fifty days up to the day after the seventh Sabbath, then present an offering of new grain to the Lord.”

Pedro raised his eyebrows as he thought of more questions that he wished to find answers for. He wrote them down on his page of questions: Why did the 11 Jewish Apostles have to wait in Yerushaliym until Shavuot for the Holy Spirit to come upon them? Why would Jesus involve his talmidim in the counting the Sefirat Ha´omer?

Pedro thought to himself silently: “These are things that going to mass does not answer.” When he thought if the Jewish community would have had an answer either, he thought, “No.” His late, great Iberian Jewish community was fighting so much for survival in the last decades before the Edict, that they wouldn´t have had time for those kinds of questions either.

Pedro then read:

“Éste será un estatuto perpetuo para todos tus descendientes.” (This will be a perpetual ordinance for your descendants.)

Then He thought of several questions all at once and was very pleased with himself.

The Crypto Jew wrote:

“Why did God command that the Jewish people observe these ordinances for all time, but the Roman church prohibits, punishes and puts on trial any descendants of Jacob who observe the perpetual ordinance? Why were the Jewish disciples of Jesus to count the Omer?”

Pedro wondered:

“The Pope would never allow this.” he thought, almost laughing by himself in his study.

And so Friar Pedro de Zamora found meaning and joy all by himself.

He felt inspired to write another entry:

“If the Roman church would never allow Biblical Old Testament customs like those found in Leviticus 23, why were the disciples ordered to wait in Jerusalem from Passover to Shavuot? If these holidays don´t mean anything to the Roman church, then why are these Jewish holidays used like a calendar by Jesus Christ, the King of the Jews?”

Pedro sat at his chair and gracefully turned the pages of his Biblia Complutense back to Deuteronomy 16. In the instructions concerning the Feast of Weeks in chapter 16, he found this sentence.

“At the place He will choose as a dwelling for his name.” (Deuteronomy 16:6)

Pedro wrote this down:

“The instructions written by Moses concerning Shavuot explicitly prophesy that Hashem would dwell on Jerusalem´s holy hill. Why did the Holy Spirit, come upon the eleven disciples in Jerusalem, seven weeks after Jesus had been crucified by the Romans on Passover, when Leviticus 23 says concerning Shavuot: “Count off seven weeks”?

Pedro decided he had his leaflet of notes out of its hiding place long enough, and skillfully folded the papers just as they had been back into the flap of the book cover, then he crouched to hide the book in its hiding place.

The monk sat up and looked out the window. After so much thought on Scripture, he felt surprised to see the world around him. He had to remember what kind of holy man he was: He was a friar and not a tzaddik. Pedro could see his familiar brethren walking outside in the distance, going about their daily duties. A White Monk leading a burro pulling cart. Pedro felt he was doing his strenuous duty too: Looking for what Almighty God wanted from him to do.

Spring Gregorian chants

Moreruela Abbey, Castilla y Leon, Spain

The bells rang clearly this Sunday morning. The Spanish sky was bright but the air was crisp. Over the surrounding fields of Lahafes and Zabales, across the Dehesa of Lampreana and the pastures of Rubiolos, down to any of the conversos who were busy in the hydraulic mill on the banks of the Esla River, at the sound of the church bells, the message called out that it was time for mass. The sweet clanging called the monks to worship and to all who heard it far off, to hear and recognize that it was Sunday morning.

The cloister was humming with light conversation among the white robbed brethren. Across the courtyard from the church, one could hear the cook, Brother Pepe, giving directions to everyone who had clean-up duty. The sound of dishes and conversations concerning breakfast clean-up could be heard echoing from both refectories.

In the great sanctuary, one could see the continuity and uniformity with the architecture of their Cistercian mother-monastery, Clairvaux Abbey in Ville-sous-la-Ferté, France. Here in Moreruela, the altar boasted seven chestnut colored stone absidioles, which formed seven little chapels making a half circle around the podium and vault of the church. The majestic sanctuary was built from local micaceous sandstone and schist-stone thanks to a regia grant from Alfonso XI, the King of Leon, for the conversos of Moreruela to be allowed to mine blocks out of the Culebra Mountains and thanks to the patronage of the wealthy nobility like the Ponce de Cabrera family who saw their patronage as a way to win God´s favor and from their desire to build a lasting legacy for their family name. This church sanctuary was simple but sublime, it was not overly ornate, but strictly followed “the Rule” of Saint Benedict by valuing aesthetic severity by having neither art nor great statues, but clean columns carved from solid quartzite.

Dom Felipe emerged from the sacristy and the monks had taken their places in the choir. The liturgy was begun and Pedro lifted his voice with the monks to welcome the Lord´s day with Gregorian chants that echoed through the church. When the chant was over, Pedro sat in his chair of carved evergreen oak in the choir, his mind traveled to his grandfather standing in their bodega in Zamora reciting:

“One is our God, great is our Lord, holy and revered is His name. Exalt the LORD with me and let us extol His Name together.”

Pedro gripped his wooden arm-rests with sweaty palms, drawing the attention of Brother Juanma beside him. This was Pedro´s life of syncretism. He genuinely lifted his voice a moment ago in praise of His great God in heaven. He knows in his heart that he has the call of God and the pursuit of holiness, so why did he struggle feeling not quite 100% Cistercian and not 100% Jewish?

The mass proceeded and Pedro was happy when Dom Felipe began reciting Psalm 121 and the white monks joined in unison:

“I will lift up my eyes to the hills—

From whence comes my help?

My help comes from the Lord,

Who made heaven and earth.”

Pedro proclaimed this powerfully, perhaps gaining the admiration of his peers, but he found himself ready to continue the familiar passage with the Hebrew:

עזרי מעם יהוה עשה שמים וארץ

Ezri me’im Hashem oseh, shamayim ve’aretz

When they made it to verse five, Pedro knew the content and the context and spoke much more softly, as if always fearful and aware of the Inquisition´s informants.

“Behold, He who keeps Israel

Shall neither slumber nor sleep.”

Pedro thought as he kept his lips moving at pace with the other white monks:

“God keeps Israel. I know that the House of Jacob is the apple of God´s eye. So… what do you want from me God?”

Pedro felt dizzy and looked around the church at his brethren as he dealt with his internal conflicts. The mass seemed to be going ahead like it always had, so why was Pedro fearful? He thought of his Order´s distinguishing virtues:

“The Rule says I am received with the compassionate understanding of human frailty.” Then he thought of Psalm 121 that had just been on his lips. He reviewed what the last verses meant in his mind:

“The Lord is my keeper. He is the shade at my right hand. He will preserve my soul and my going out and my coming in.”

Pedro was doing open, serious, solemn business with Creator God during Mass this Sunday morning, other monks may have experienced a spiritually meaningful mass that Sunday too, but for the Crypto-jew Pedro Ecija Caro, the case was always a little different.

[1] English: ‘I knew that I heard something.’

[2] English: ‘The quantity that we´re collecting is extraordinary, Just imagine.’

[3] Genesis 2:15

The Bay & Cabo of San Quintín

Baja and the Mexican Border are thoroughly intertwined with my earliest memories as a child. My whole life I have had things to do on the “other side” of the border from San Diego, California, in Baja. This tasty state where both my wife and oldest child were born, is clearly dear to my heart and anything but dull.

Particularly, I want to talk about nature on the Baja Peninsula, and to do justice to the state, for today, I am going to focus on the coast of San Quintín, whose lovely bay is found after a five-hour drive south on Scenic Highway 1, from the San Diego/Tijuana border.

The Cabo of San Quintin, topped by the Monte Mazo Volcano, juts out between the Pacific Ocean and the Bay of San Quintin. By watercraft, the only entrance from the open sea into the Bay is through Cangrejo Passage which makes me wonder how many explorers, fishermen and buccaneers sailed into the Bay of San Quintin when it was truly the wild west. Those who history records exploring the Bay of San Quintin are Captain Juan Rodriguez Cabrillo (who San Diegans are familiar with), who explored this coast of Baja and recorded the location of the Cabo of San Quintin in 1542, only 50 years after Columbus’ discovery. Later came Vizcaino, who mapped the bay in 1602. But it was just Spanish explorers who were interest in the bay, three hundred years after Cabrillo, British investors purchased the entire passage and bay, as at the time there was literally nothing there. This was 1860 on the virgin West coast of Baja. This British investment company ran a mill and a shipping line to San Diego until 1887. The Old Mill is still a place that I frequent when I’m in Baja. My wife and I enjoy taking visitors there, we’ve attended weddings there and even Easter services are held on the docks of the Old Mill.

This is a clip of my wife’s late grandma, giving a talk to a bride and groom on the Old Mill pier.

At the northern elbow of the Cabo, one finds La Chorera Beach on the Pacific, and from here it is possible to park and hike up to a prospect point or “mirador” above the winding “Humedales”. This is a favorite hike of mine, which I have done a few times with my friend Marcos, who is a San Quintin photographer. Now the sight of the zig-zagging green Humedales, spotted with occasional colorful kayaks is something one can imagine being photographed to put on landscape calendars and the setting for motion pictures. Marcos fell so deeply in love with the view, that he (and both his siblings) each bought a lot of land overlooking this gift of creation. I enjoy getting in a little kayaking trip in whenever I can.

There are two basic places to start, the first is starting point Los Humedales Restaurant and Kayak Rentals which is a couple of miles west of Highway 1 on Lazaro Cardenas Road. This is a lovely northern corner of the estuary, and it is possible to kayak into the open bay from here. A couple of years ago, my in-laws came here just to eat (not kayak) and I couldn’t eat any of the menu items that year, as I have a seafood allergy. I drove about a mile down Lazaro Cardenas Road and found a guy with a little taco stand. I ate my lunch there and I was so grateful the next day that I didn’t get sick! (I’m an adventurous eater, and the taco-guy was great, he was just in the middle of no where and I was his only customer, so I was a little concerned that I would get Moctezuma’s Revenge while our kayaking in the bay, but I didn’t!

(This isn’t the tiny taco stand that I found) It is my favorite stop for Birria in the town of San Vicente. Birria is a soup made from goat or beef. Birria is great for breakfast!

The second kayaking dock in the Humedales of San Quintín is just around the corner from La Chorera Beach Parking. This is on the coast on the open sea, close to the oyster farms. Free souvenirs! My children enjoy collecting the giant oyster shells here and painting them! To get your kayak closest to the water, drive to where there is a pin that says Kayak’s Tour next to Playa La Chorera in San Quintín.

Not everyone gets wet, but I have gotten wet before, as my kayak got caught on the bottom of the river-bed in a shallow area and I had to free my kayak. Some folks stay in the kayak and never get wet if they are careful how they paddle and if it’s a pleasant day

Pictured: Coconut Shrimp at Jardines de Baja Restaurant

Seafood in Baja: Around La Bahía de San Quintín, Spanish explorers recording seeing lots of cooking fires when they sailed past the bay. It makes a lot of sense that the Native Indians of Baja ate very well in pre-colonial times, the whole bay is teaming with seafood and the Cabo of San Quintin is frequented by sports fishermen, like my friend Julio Meza, to this day. The bay is full of fish, oysters, Red Lobsters of California, giant Garropa and the Dogfish Shark, (that I eat in the form of fish tacos whenever I am in San Quintin).

Just up the coast in Ensenada, the Japanese fisherman introduced a style of friend fish, which the locals took and made into fish-taco. A local specialty besides the fish taco, is smoked Marlin that tastes as good as it smells.

“Caldo de Pescado Estilo Sonorense” There is a popular local fish soup that makes the most out of pieces of left-over fish, like fish heads and fish marrow, as well as chopped pieces of snook and tilapia.

There are vendors who sell cups of seafood cooked in lemon juice and fish broth, called Vasitos Marisqueros. I have a seafood allergy, so you can ask my wife what they taste like. She went to college in Ensenada, so she got to know all of the best places to get incredibly affordable seafood in town.

On a recent trip to the area, I met with Julio Meza who is a local rancher and a sport fisherman. He took my whole family on a tour of his ranch this December.

Here you can watch Fishing with Julio Meza:

I love the Lobera “Hole” where you can watch sea-lions catching waves and catching some rays on their own protected beach.

La Lobera Video:

I’ve known some folks to fly through San Quintín without a second thought, on their way to some destination further down the Baja Peninsula. They may see just a dusty boulevard and not know about all of the natural wonders in the area. With Baja, there is literally so much to explore, that I encourage people to slow down a little and ask the locals:

What is fun to do around here? Where should we eat?

Sometimes the answers you get take you on an adventure you didn’t expect.

For the most part, folks on the San Quintín Coast are friendly and helpful. If you hang around too long, like my mother-in-law from Iowa, you may never leave. (She’s been in San Quintín for 51 years.)

The Garden Tomb is a unique place in the world. Just outside the city walls of Jerusalem, is the Place of the Skull and next to that, is the Garden Tomb.

The New Testament, in John 19:17-19 reads:

“They took Jesus, therefore, and He went out, carrying His own cross, to the place called the Place of a Skull, which in Hebrew is called, Golgotha. There they crucified Him, and with Him two other men, one on either side, and Jesus in between. Now Pilate also wrote an inscription and put it on the cross. It was written: “JESUS THE NAZARENE, THE KING OF THE JEWS.”

Starting with the gate of the city, It is interesting to see what has been excavated since 1967. I remember the first time an archeologist explained that no one says Yeshua carried his cross out the Damascus Gate. That gate was built by Sultan Sulieman in 1537. But with time the Shechem Gate below the Damascus Gate was excavated, and this is the gate that might have been where Jesus exited the city in the Gospel accounts.

The road to Shechem and Damascus passed right by the Place of the Skull, as one can see in this photo from the 19th century.

“The place where Jesus was crucified was near the city.” -John 19:20

The Garden Tomb property, accessed from Conrad Schick Road (I mention this, as I am fan of Conrad Schick) is full of gardens, as the name would imply, and is adorned with visual scripture plaques reminding the visitor of what was accomplished on the first Passion Week. When I return here about once a year, I enjoy reading all the plaques around the gardens.

When my family made the trip to observe Good Friday in Jerusalem in April of 2026, we found that almost every access point to Shechem Road was closed by the police Ramadan and Easter coincided in 2024. We made all kinds of loops around the neighborhood, trying to find a way to get closer and to be able to park my car. Finally, after over half an hour of circling near the Garden Tomb, I found a place to park in the Northern end of the American Colony that would be a 15 minute walk for my family, so we decided to park and to make the walk there. Once we made it through the security and the barriers on Nablus Road, it was an enormous blessing remembering the sacrifice of the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world. That month, both of my children had taken the step of believers baptism on separate occasions, but for both of them, it was their first time taking the Lord Supper together in the Garden Tomb. I told the Garden Tomb’s director Simon Holland, that the obstacles were the least we could get around in order to honor our Messiah and Savior that Good Friday. Having my children’s very first communion together at the Garden Tomb, priceless.

The Garden’s Tomb mission statement doesn’t try to argue if it is or if isn’t the actual tomb where Joseph of Arimathea laid Jesus of Nazareth to rest, but it points people to the truth of the testimony of the resurrection:

“The Garden Tomb stands as a living witness that death did not have the final word. The stone was rolled away, and Jesus Christ rose in victory, bringing life, redemption, and eternal hope to all who believe.”

Finally, a short walk from the Garden Tomb is the Jerusalem Prayer Center. This is such a special place for my family and it reminds me that there are so many utterly unique places to spend your time in Jerusalem. I think of the JPC as a refuge from the noise and hurry of the capital city, where one can slow down and hear the voice of their Creator.

There are so many things that I love about Jerusalem. In Jerusalem particularly, I am always especially happy once I have gotten off the light-rail or parked my car and can continue on foot. There is actually so much that I love about Jerusalem, that I will have to break this article into parts! Since Today is Palm Sunday, I will start with the Triumphal entry of the Messiah into Jerusalem. John 12:1 says: “Therefore, six days before the Passover, Jesus came to Bethany where Lazarus was, whom Jesus had raised from the dead.”

When Jesus made his way through the Kidron Valley, multitudes came out to greet him:

“They took the branches of the palm trees and went out to meet Him, and began shouting, “Hosanna! Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord, indeed, the King of Israel!” Jesus, finding a young donkey, sat on it; as it is written in Zechariah 9:9: “Do not fear, daughter of Zion; behold, your King is coming, seated on a donkey’s colt.”

I love to see the possible routes Yeshua might have taken down the Mount of Olives. Of course, 2,000 years can change the roads a little bit, but I have an imagination at least.

Part 1 The Kidron Valley & The Mount of Olives

For me, I just love making my way either from the Lion’s Gate or from the City of David, down to the Kidron Valley. This valley is one of my favorite walks in Israel. While my talented daughter’s make big bucks at the city gates, it gives me a chance to explore!

Every rock is full of history in the Kidron Valley. One has the retaining walls of the Temple on one side and the Mount of Olives on the other. This is where Yeshua walked once he and the 12 disciples had sung a hymn (Mark 14:26). I love walking past the ancient monuments and going into the Cavernous Tomb of the Prophets on the side of The Mount of Olives.

Taking in the actual, ancient olive trees at The Garden of Getsemani never leaves me indifferent. It’s a very powerful place to remember where Yeshua spent his last minutes before his betrayal Matthew 26:45 “Behold, the hour is at hand and the Son of Man is being betrayed into the hands of sinners.”

My family likes to observe Good Friday or Resurrection Sunday either at The Garden Tomb, The Jerusalem Prayer Center down the block from the Garden Tomb or at Christ Church (Kehillat HaMashiach) next to the Tower of David in Jerusalem (which has a Museum and Café that my family loves to visit.)

There are several churches along the ridge of the Mount of Olives like the Pater Noster Church and the Church of the Ascension. I went to language school with some of the priests who would join my Zoom class from these two churches.

On the incline of the Mount of Olives there are several ornate churches: The Russian Church of Mary Magdalene, the Chapel of Dominus Flavious and the Church of All Nations within the Gethsemane complex. I have a hilarious video of my daughter complaining and crying all the way up the Mount of Olives. (She really did have fun on that hike.)

Let us remember today the humble King who arrived in Jerusalem on the foal of donkey.

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Fun fact: I filmed all of the B-Reel, or scenery shots, for the Christafari music video “Jerusalem” while taking my favorite walk (over two days of walking the Walls of Jerusalem) Click the link here:

The Roman Emperors born here: Before modern Spain, The Battle of Ilipia was fought in nearby Alcalá del Río between the Carthaginians and the Romans in this corner of Seville Province.

When the Romans prevailed in 206 B.C., they set up a military camp for the wounded Italian troops to recover near the Guadalquivir River. This settlement became known as Itálica, becoming the first officially Roman city outside of the Italy. Itálica grew into a thriving Roman colony by the time of the birth of Jesus of Nazareth and both Emperor Trajon and Emperor Hadrian (Like Hadrian’s Wall :) were born here.

I used to have night class at Al-Andalus Theological Seminary (which borders both Itálica and the Reina-Valera Monastery), and there were a couple of paths, outside of Itálica Archaeological Park, where I enjoyed walking at night. I loved seeing the outline of the ancient Coliseum lite up and the smell of the Azahar (orange blossoms) in the Andalusian night air. Seminary was demanding, but Santiponce had it’s allure.

Itálica Archaeological Park boasts a Roman Theatre, an astonishing gladiator Coliseum and several blocks of ruined buildings from the ancient city. I enjoyed taking friends to see the coliseum and sometimes we were surprised by period actors and historical interpreters.

Monastery of San Isidoro del Campo, Santiponce, Spain

The other big draw in Santiponce is both holy and fascinating to me. It’s the Monastery of San Isidoro del Campo. This is the site of the original translation of the whole Spanish Bible, known as the Reina Valera, which is to this day the most widely used translation of the Bible in Spanish. Father Cassiodoro de Reina first published it in 1569, after successfully smuggling his work from Santiponce to Switzerland. Like any great book from that era, the Reina Valera Bible has had its new editions over the years, for example, in 1960, 1995 and 2015. (Pictured is one of my Reina Valera Bibles with the 1960 revision.)

In my upcoming historical novel, Shalom on Distant Shores, I had to find a way to fit-in the stories of this Hieronymite Monastery, who saw it’s Bible translating scholarly friars burned to death at the hands of the Roman Catholic Inquisition (Their nice Christian neighbors who operated down river from Santiponce, from the Castle of San Jorge in Triana.) For me it is very personal to recognize the sacrifices these friars at San Isidoro made to put the Bible into the hands of the enormous Spanish speaking world, despite the opposition of the Pope and his agents.

Shalom On Distant Shores Chapter 22

Brother Pedro Ecija: All 8 of Pedro’s great-grandparents could have left Spain by July of 1492. Since Pedro cannot dialogue about what happened while on Spanish soil, he is left with his thoughts about the calamity of the 9^th of Av, the ominous date on the Hebrew calendar that coincided with the Edict of Expulsion. In fact, one of his great-grandfathers did participate in the painful trek out of the Iberian Peninsula only to find himself in a worse position a few years later in Portugal. Pedro knows what befell his great-grandfather, and as a converso he knows that he will keep his mouth shut about his Jewish-origin if he knows what is good for him. Pedro is happy to have found a place to pray and to work hard, at Moreruela Abbey in Castille & Leon, Spain.

XXII Seville and the Monastery of San Isidoro del Campo

The three Cistercian monks finally made it down the Ruta de Plata and were in sight of Seville, with the Giralda Tower standing proudly in the center of the city. Father Junipero Tábara y Miranda directed the driver to a monastery along the Ruta where he knew that they would be welcomed. Along the path, Junipero told them that he had been on this road before, it was part of the southern vein of the Camino de Santiago pilgrims trail, and that on their right, where there were visible mounds and massive stone ruins, were the remains of an ancient Roman civilization where two Roman emperors were born.

“What was the name of this place?” Juan asked.

“I think it was Itálica.” The old man scratched his chin.

“Have you been to Sevilla many times Father Junipero?”

“I have traveled around the peninsula, Portugal, Aragón and across the Pyrenees to Clairvaux and Dijon. I went on a voyage to Roma once, too.

Juan asked “You´ve been to Rome? Was it exciting?”

“I´ve been to Rome.” Junipero said, but he became silent.

The cart pulled them up to the Monasterio de San Isidoro del Campo. Pedro and Brother Juan Gomez had rarely left Moreruela Abbey and both monks showed on their faces their interest and awe of traveling outside the old Reino de León. He said to them:

“Este monasterio era de los nuestros. This was a Cistercian Monastery too, now it´s the Hieronymites. Many of the monks here were arrested by the Inquisition.”

Pedro tried not to jump in horror, while Brother Juan Gomez looked bored and ready to see where they were staying. Two different facial reactions one cannot describe.

Father Junipero continued:

“The Hieronymites who took over here, had prohibited books, but behind these walls they were safe, at first.”

Pedro blurted out, unable to veil the fear in his face:

“What happened to the brothers here?”

Father Junipero smiled at Pedro´s interest and said:

“I´m sure we´ll find out more spending the night here in Santiponce. We Cistercians value work, the Hieronymites value silence.”

Father Junipero knocked on the medieval door and waited for the smaller of the two wooden doors to open. The old man spoke with a great smile to the monk on the other side of the door. They spoke for a minute and the signal was given to proceed. Pedro and Juan got to work unloading the cart with the help of their cart driver. Once they had placed their crates within the doors of the monastery, one of the monks who appeared to be in his fifties, offered to show them their quarters.

They passed by two twin-looking chapels and breezed through a Mudejar cloister called Claustro de los Muertos. Pedro admired the Moorish style of the cloister, even the well in the middle of the square had characteristics that made it both Cistercian and Oriental, then they went down another passage in the Cloister of the Evangelists. When they had made their way up some stairs and down a corridor, they arrived at the spare bedrooms for visitors. The Hieronymite monk turned and let them know that at 6:00 in the morning they have readings and lauds in the chapel if they would like to attend before boarding their ship. He asked if there as anything else they needed, Pedro raised his hand shyly.

“Yes, I was wondering…I´m very interested in knowing about the library you have here. I heard that your collection is unique.”

“Que buen idea, Pedro!” (What a great idea, Pedro!) Added Father Junipero.

“Why yes,” said their guide. “It is unique in all of Spain, maybe the world. But are you not hungry and thirsty from your journey? Now let me show you the dining hall.”

The three white monks went with their Andalusian guide to the refectory. The three were greeted by some of the other brothers who stopped what they were doing to see the newly arrived travelers from the north.

“Bienvenidos a San Isidoro del Campo, hermanos Cisterneses!”

The prior, in his sixties, stood up and approached the three with a big smile. “From where do you hail?”

“Santa Maria de Moreruela, cerca de Benavente.” Junipero answered joyfully.

“¿Benavente? Que tan lejos habéis viajado, hermanos. (How far you have travelled, brothers) My name is Father Augustin de Almaden, I am the prior here at San Isidoro del Campo.

“Sentaos, Os voy a traer un refrigerio.” (Please sit down and I will bring you refreshments.)

“Father Augustin, we hear that you have quite the sacred library here.” Junipero continued, making Pedro happy that someone else kept interest in why they had prohibited books here.

“Oh yes, the collection here is very special. Can you keep a secret, brothers? The Augustin asked, raising his eyebrows. The white monks nodded. “We have the Biblia del Oso here.”

Pedro was amazed: “You have a copy of the Biblia del Oso?”

“No, who told you that?” the monk chuckled, looking around if anyone was listening. The he leaned in to say: “It is no copy.”

Junipero added: “You mean you have the original?”

“It´s the original Spanish Bible printed in Basel. The translation was begun here, and it is here again.” The Agustin turned to tell the monks in case they didn´t know:

“Do you understand,” he asked, repeating himself emphatically. “The translation of the Holy Scriptures into Castilian was undertaken in this humble work space. About eighty years ago, in the 1550s, the translator, Brother Casidoro de Reina and some of the other monks had to flee for their lives from here.

Pedro asked: “What happened to Reina´s manuscripts and his translation when he fled?”

“The brothers took them all the way to Switzerland! Reina finally had the Biblia del Oso printed into Spanish there in Switzerland, in Basel.” he said.

Pedro was amazed, and Junipero smiled too, as Juan Gomez stood in the background and ate a bowl of lentils with bread slices.

“Is there a chance we could see your library? Education and scholarship is valued at Moreruela Abbey as well.”

“You just came from the north you say? You haven´t been in Triana have you?”

Juan Gomez chimed in: “I don´t know where that is and I barely know where we are now.”

“Good, we can´t be too careful.” the old monk chuckled, as he scanned with his eyes to see who might be listening. “Anyway, So you journeyed on the Ruta de Plata?” he asked, directing the question away from why he wanted to know if they had been in Triana, where the Inquisition was based.

“Yes,” Pedro said, “we passed through Zamora, Salamanca and Merida on our journey here.”, thinking of how he re-lived his dream as he passed Zamora´s gates and journeyed south.

“Ah, Salamanca,” the old prior exclaimed. “I studied there before joining the monjes jerónimo. How was your visit there? Did you see the university?”

“Salamanca was very pleasant, but you see, our journey has required diligence for us to board our ship before it sails to Nueva Cartagena in the Indies. We needed to come ready to board the ship, so we barely had time to leave anything in order back at the abbey.”

“And what was your hurry?” Father Augustin asked.

“I received the sealed message from the founding abbot from Clairvaux Abbey, who was meeting at the annual general chapter of our order at Cîteaux. He asked our abbot, Dom Antonio Felipe Saavedra y Toledo, to dispatch three men of upright character to begin a new chapter in El Nuevo Reino de Granada.” Junipero answered.

“We were the lucky ones.” Juan chimed in, now finished with his food.

“Las Indias, fijate,” Agustin said thoughtfully. “I´ve lived in Salamanca, but the Indias! So you will sail from Sevilla?” the prior asked.

“Asi es. For this reason we have made haste from Benavente down so far as your sunny Santiponce. Then, tomorrow we board the ship if the ship is ready to sail tomorrow.”

“Ah to start a new work of God. You know God does make all things new.

Pedro said nothing, but he stood there shaken by even these words. Internally he recalled his vivid dream in the old juderia, of all of Zamora´s Anusim starting a new life.

The prior continued: “I see that you are very serious and holy brothers. This monastery has housed some fascinating men in its history.”

“Really?” Fr. Junipero asked.

“To tell you the truth, the monastery is different than it used to be. We had brothers arrested by the Inquisition in 1557, so in these eighty years since, we have this shadow over this holy place.”

The three from Moreruela, at mention of the arrests of the Inquisition, said nothing but looked deeply at the prior, who also looked back at them in silent agreement.

When Junipero and Pedro finished speaking with the prior and made their way into the refectory to see what there was to eat and found a jolly cook from Sevilla there, who made them wonder if there were any Silent Hieronymites in Santiponce. Still, the mention of the arrests of forty holy Hieronymites from San Isidoro del Campo was news that seemed to burden both Father Junipero and Brother Pedro, and after the cook went back to work, they sat in solemn silence together.

When they returned to their room they found Brother Juan Gomez had already chosen his bed and was asleep in it already.

The next morning their mule drawn cart and driver took them to a quay on the Triana side of the Gudalquivir River. There, Father Junipero paid the driver and they unloaded the cargo they had brought with them from Moreruela Abbey. Later the white monks were shown where to board a river boat that took them across the great river leaving them close to Seville´s emblematic Torre de Oro tower that has stood on the banks of the river since the time of the Moors.

As Juan Gomez went to find a cart driver to take their things to the right dock, where everything was to be loaded on the ship, Pedro gazed at a painful symbol across the water. He squinted his eyes across the great Guadalquivir River where he could see what he knew was the outline of the Castle of San Jorge, where the Inquisition carried out its demonic task of torturing the accused. Pedro thought of names and faces of those Anusim who were arrested, and how many died in custody there in Sevilla, awaiting their trial. He knew the evil hate that dwelt in the Castle of San Jorge, burning the accused and to show the hatred in the hearts of the Inquisitors and their accomplices, going as far as burning effigies of those accused of being Crypto-jews even after they had succumbed to starvation and torture. Pedro felt his body temperature changed as he grit his teeth.

“I am so close” he thought. “To the very Holy Office where the Inquisitors sought confessions that would lead to more arrests and ´reconciliations´. Most High God, why did this ever have to happen in Spain?”

“Are you alright there, Pedro? ¿Todo bien?” Father Junipero asked Pedro, wondering why Pedro stared across the river.

“Oh!” Pedro was caught dreaming in his own world. “What a great city this is.” Pedro said softly.

The old monk smiled and nodded, perhaps trying to read Pedro´s awkward body language.

At that moment, as he continued to make small talk under the Andalusian sky, as they discussed this journey from Moreruela to Sevilla, Pedro realized these could be his last hours in Spain. He felt a sudden surge of hatred which he knew wasn´t right. His years in hiding and guarding secrecy came to a boiling point inside of him. He thought back to pogroms of his people there in Seville in 1391 and to those relatives who sailed away forever after the Edict of Expulsion was decreed. He shuddered as he remembered his grandparents sharing the rumors that had reached them, of the Auto de Fe in the Prado de San Sebastian of Seville. How they told the news with terror in their eyes and whispers and paranoia in their countenance.

Pedro waited for the elderly monk to take his attention off of him. Father Junipero said he had some things he might like to take with him on the voyage and strode towards the riverfront shops of Seville, to see if he could find the things he was looking for before embarking on his voyage to New Granada. Once he was gone, Pedro knew that he needed to pray right then.

“My Father and my King,” He prayed. “Help me, Oh God, with these feelings of anger and these thoughts of wanting revenge against my enemies and the murderers of my kinsmen. You are a God of justice and I ask you to bring justice to Israel and to your scattered people. Help me manage these thoughts against the enemies of your people. Cleanse me of my anger and sorrow. Lord, I don´t know why these people would stand in front of the cross of your Christ and seek to wipe out the House of Jacob, the children of Israel. Why they would stalk the steps of your righteous Bible translators in Santiponce. I know I don´t have all the answers to this life, oh Lord, but know my anxious thoughts and let thy will be done.

In the name of your Son, Jesus Christ, Amen.”

Pedro opened his eyes and looked around at the walls of Seville. He breathed in the fragrance of the orange trees, the sweet smell of azahar in the air, of the many orange trees planted along the boulevard that ran along the walls of the city.

He saw the faces of people going about their business between the wall and the river: pushing carts, riding horses, unloading boats, families hurriedly making their way down the path.

“Ora et labora” He thought in Latin: “Pray and Work.”

God allowed Pedro to see the Sevillanos as working, needy people, not as idolatrous, gentile villains now, which was no small feat. Pedro felt forgiveness for the Roman Catholics who had persecuted his people and even his fellow monks. He was at peace internally, at peace to sail away from the Sefarad his family lived so many joys and woes, euphoric yom tovs and solemn Fast days, where everyone he knew from the aljamas had lived life, for centuries.

He said audibly:

“Now it is time. It is time for me to lead my family to New Granada.”

He understood finally. His family had a hope and a future, but this future was no longer in this land. It was time to lead his family to the New World.

Standing alone on the banks of the Guadalquivir, Pedro felt God speak to him from Genesis chapter 12, from Parashat Lech Lecha:

לֶךְ־לְךָ֛ מֵאַרְצְךָ֥ וּמִמּֽוֹלַדְתְּךָ֖ וּמִבֵּ֣ית אָבִ֑יךָ אֶל־הָאָ֖רֶץ אֲשֶׁ֥ר אַרְאֶֽךָּ

“Get yourself out of your country, Go unto a land that I will show you.”

The peace of God filled Pedro immediately and he began to smile. The hate he felt towards those gentiles was forgotten and the future stood before him in the form of imposing passenger galleons, secured to Seville´s wooden docks.

“Adonai Shamah” he said to himself thoughtfully as he said goodbye to Spain. “God is here. Immanuel, God is with us”

In March 2004, my chance to return to Spain came along. Since graduating from college, I hadn’t been raking in the big bucks as a church intern nor with my big bad acting degree as a movie extra. I think God found me in a place where He could use me- where I wasn’t nailed down to a career in the U.S. yet. I wanted to return to my sister and her family in Spain, where I had done my CBU Global Service Project, but I did not have much money to speak of at 23.

One Sunday afternoon in early 2004, I got invited to go hiking with my friend Richard Hon. We did a trail near Forest Falls, in the San Bernardino National Forest in Southern California. After our hike Richard asked me:

“JD, do you want to go back to Spain?” It didn’t take me very long to answer him. “uh..Yes.” I said, laughing, “of course I do.” -looking at him to see why he was asking me that.

Richard told me: “I could pay half your way if you went with me to Barcelona. You know how I run marathons. I want to run the Barcelona Marathon next month. Then we could visit Alicia and Rod too, and the kids, while we’re at it.”

What began as a hike became a moment of Providence in my life.

Richard’s invitation to me did matter for a number of reasons. It mattered because I was just able to pay my bills at that point in my young adult life. Even more than that, his offer to bring me with him to Spain mattered because it was an answer to prayer that I hadn’t even told him about. It had been on my mind to go back and see all of my contacts from my summer in Spain in 2002.

We got planning, and before long, we were on a plane to Barcelona. Traveling with Richard and I was another runner friend of his. We stayed at a modern and affordable Barcelona hotel and marched around to the big sites like the Modernist houses by the wacky and experimental architect, Antonio Gaudi. We saw Gaudi’s park, Parc Guell, his unfinished cathedral, the Sagrada Familia, and basically all his legendarily unique buildings peppered around Barcelona like Casa Batllo.

On our second day in Barcelona, my friends had a marathon to run. I hiked up and down Barcelona’s big avenues to get my place for the runners coming by. I spent long periods waiting for either of them to run by, but they had either run by already, or hadn’t run by yet. Finally, after a few tries, I got to a corner where everyone would have to run by. I got Richard in just one photo as he ran by. He actually came and went pretty quickly. During the race, Richard met a lady named Melissa who was working in Christian radio there in Spain. When Richard introduced us to Melissa, I thought (at the time) it was hilarious that she was serving in Spain, but she didn’t speak Spanish. I just thought at the time, that to serve in Spain, you have to at least know the language. Now that I look back at it over twenty years later, there are a lot of areas and fields for people serving the global church overseas. She was just serving God where he led her, and her talents in radio and broadcasting were needed in Spanish Christian radio, so she just came over to Spain to use the skills she had. Anyways, Melissa was pretty great and she invited the three of us to come visit her a few kilometers outside of Barcelona. It was close enough to Barcelona, that the subway went there, so we took the subway to the beach town of Sitges to pay a visit to Richard’s new friend from the Barcelona marathon. We found she lived in an artsy neighborhood close to the beach. She had two friends at her apartment visiting her, a lady in her thirties from Italy, and a guy from Argentina, who was maybe late thirties like Jennifer was. We went out for tapas and we had a nice time visiting Melissa and her friends and trying tapas on the Mediterranean for the first time. It was great language practice for me, but the conversation also went back and forth with English and Spanish as half the group only spoke English. Also, in the café the workers by default spoke Catalan and a gal with us spoke Italian, so it was a fun linguistically that night. Sitges was warm and artsy and good for someone like me who was 23. It was actually my first time on the East coast of Spain.

The next morning, the three of us were on the slow train coming from Barcelona, Catalunya to Pamplona, Navarra. I say the slow train since in Spain there are Renfe Trains that are AVE, (which are sped trains), then there are the classic, not-so-speedy trains. This was the slowest moving train that I ever rode in Spain.

On arrival in Pamplona, we were in store for pinchos instead of “tapas”. Also, the regional language, apart from Castilian, switched from Catalan to Euskara. Upon my arrival it was pouring down rain when our train finally got in to the station. It was nothing like sunny Sitges! Once we saw my brother-in-law in the pick-up zone, Richard and I looked at each other with our carry-on bags, nodded, then we rushed into the deluge of rain like we were a SWAT team! Rod opened his van and we quickly shoved our bags into the trunk of the van. In those few seconds we got totally soaked!

For me, it was so nice to be back in Pamplona after having spent the summer of 2002 there during my Global Service Project. The next few days in Navarra were still cloudy and drizzling, which was funny, after the nice climate in Barcelona. At my sister’s home, The Toad House, Richard and I shared the Habitación Abajo. Each morning, I would wake up to Richard Hon singing “Praise the Lord together singing Aleluya, Aleluya, Aleluya…” I guess it was his ritual. He would sing it automatically when he woke up every single morning. At this time of year, it was still cool and moist at The Toad House, so I was wearing a couple sweaters as soon as we stepped off the train from Barcelona.

Sports Night with Mandarin Marathon Runner. With Richard in town and capable of speaking in both Mandarin Chinese and English, the idea was hatched for him to share his life-lessons about being an international marathon runner while he was in the Pamplona area. When we went to eat in the local Chinese restaurant near to where my sister worked, I think Richard hit it off with the local Chinese family who run the restaurant and they welcomed Richard holding an event that week in their restaurant. I think my sister came up with a poster, and I helped to put up posters and flyers around town. In the end, it was mostly the families of my sister’s church-plant and the Chinese family who run the restaurant, but their interest was picked by this man who waltzed into their restaurant, far from China, speaking Chinese and talking about Jesus to them! Richard brought literature with him about how to know that you are going to Heaven, written in Mandarin Chinese. The Paddocks and I kept the leftover leaflets and booklets for another time, which indeed were very useful as we became friends with the Dollar Store shop-keeper named Mr. Chang.

My sister saw how much I desired to come and serve along side of her in rural Spain. Folks I had stayed with on the last trip, like Javier & Saioa of Rochapea and all the folks at the church in Pamplona, saw that I had come back to see them. My trip two years before wasn’t just a ‘one-off’.

By the end of the week, the three of us from SoCal bid farewell to the Paddocks and my friends in Navarra and we returned to Barcelona on the slow train. I went back to the U.S. not only happy to have seen my sister’s family, but to have helped them however slightly in their ministry. Back at LAX, a colleague of mine and his wife picked me up at the airport and they took me out to New York Pizza in Los Angeles, which was a treat for me when I landed back in California.

Once I got home, I had with me even more mementos from Spain. I added to my office nook new pictures of Alicia and her family and so I thought of them and Spain often. These new pictures, souvenirs, and posters joined my paper-mache statue of Don Quixote, a framed sketch of Don Quixote, and poster of the “Encierro”: Running of the Bulls”, my Toledo sword, all over my office I had the Spain theme going, which seemed to help me as I write about these special times in Spain. At the time (2004), I didn’t know that my comfy childhood home would soon be sold and that I soon wouldn’t need any Spanish souvenirs as I would be returning to Spain, this time for 15 long years.

My 2004 return to Spain wasn’t that long of a trip, but it was an event and a milestone that showed me how the One who called me is faithful.

“Faithful is He who calls you, and He also will do it”

- The Apostle Paul, 1 Thessalonians 5:24.

God provided for me to do my follow-up trip to Spain to serve that week with my sister. I didn’t have money for a trip to Europe and I wasn’t shaking anyone down for money either. Yet all I needed was provided. And that trip was a necessary step to me returning there for the long-haul. Today in 2026, now that Alicia has been in heaven for 15 years, I look back at pictures of the two of us throwing a “Meet a Marathoner Night” in a rural town’s Chinese restaurant as simply priceless.

The pandemic caused both my job as a program director at a camp and conference center, as well as my job at a community association near Gibraltar to basically dry up in 2020. As my family had to quarantine under wildly strict Spanish mandates, one benefit was I suddenly had time to slow down and read again. It started with a couple of books about what happened to those communities, not unlike my own family, who fled Spain and Portugal at the expulsions of the Jews of 1492 & 1512. I had heard of these events and the Alhambra Decree my whole life, but I was curious how this community, including my ancestors, built new communities in the New World despite the shadow of the Inquisition. One chapter of history I did not know anything about was the Dutch Protestant and Jewish communities that flourished for a brief 30 years in Dutch Brazil from 1624-1654, while so much of the New World still suffered religious persecution during this period. In a nut-shell, I was blessed to discover, from history, the spread of religious tolerance that was enjoyed within the small but wide-flung Dutch Empire, during the Dutch Golden Age.

I also started reading about Dutch Faith movements like groups of Waterlander Anabaptist Mennonites who sailed to the Netherland Antilles in the Caribbean at this time. They brought amazing tapestry weaving and cheese-making to the Caribbean. For my novel, I also wanted to capture the Northern European faith-work ethic of my wife’s German side of the family, as I see a way to weave my knowledge of my in-law’s family legacy into the pioneers from Northwestern Europe.

For those who know me or my work, I had spent years visiting monasteries and convents in Spain, and I hoped to tie in all my studies on the Cistercian monks, as well as the Hieronymites Monastery at San Isidoro del Campo into my story. This last place, in Santiponce, Spain, is the monastery where Cipriano de Valera and Casiodoro de Reina (both with partial Jewish ancestry and masters of the Hebrew Bible) produced the Biblia del Oso still the most used Bible by Christians across Latin America. Look it up: “La Reina Valera”. So about Spain, I wanted to bring out sparks of hope that sprang up in dark times within my chosen time frame, the 1650s.

Food in the West Indies: There were the Trade Crops and then what people ate. Much of the the Dutch and West Indies Company plan in Brazil was growing peanuts, corn, and fruit. But their real money maker was salt and sugar-cane.

Unique recipes from my story: I’m weaving unique foods from the time period, that sometimes become our inheritance from our grandmothers: Adafina Hamin is a stew for Shabbat dinner that is still prepared in my community, Pom Tayer eaten in Suriname and originated in the days of this tale. Dried and smoked cod and haddock. Almodrote is a spreadable cheese ball that my family still prepares: Manchego Cheese, raw garlic, cilantro, parsley, eggplant, wine and olive oil. Ganzo curado: This is the kosher version of Jamon Serrano. It is Cured Goose cut in thin slices. A fine dessert from this time is Fried Azahar & Wildflower-honey Bunuelos.

I hope that Shalom on Distant Shores can take readers to a special window of history, that at the same time as pirates, slave-traders and tremendous religious suffering, there were those who were faithful in building a beautiful New World, based on faith (& new foods, too).

Some of you reading this might know I’ve had some brushes with danger recently (as in on Saturday!) and since I’m turning 45 tomorrow, I just wanted to write a little, on how it’s going for me, going over the hill. While trying to finish my taxes yesterday, I naturally got distracted and read an article about a high-tech new multi-millionaire, who sold his stake in Loom for almost a billion dollars. His sincere article actually helped me rejoice in my situation at 45 years old. He needed direction and I found direction. The co-founder of Loom wrote: “After selling my company, I find myself in the totally un-relatable position of never having to work again. Everything feels like a side quest, but not in an inspiring way. I have infinite freedom, yet I don’t know what to do with it.”

Can God speak to you reading the business section of the newspaper? (Oh, that’s right, not everyone reading this was born when newspapers were a thing!)

But in all seriousness, God speaks to me in all sorts of ways, and many times they are a little comical.

In the case of Vinay Hiremath, the Loom founder, I am spoken to, in the sense that I am already doing my life’s work and I don’t really struggle with the question: “Does my life have meaning?” That matters. I have found the divine purpose for my life, and that takes away a lot of uncertainty that other 45 year olds, lets say that by now own a home and maybe even a cabin or a boat, (I’m not coveting, really) might struggle with. I know for a fact people my age ask what have they been living for besides keeping their job or paying their mortgage? I’m so glad that isn’t me. If anything, my lovely wife will joke that we have all the divine purpose in the world, but if someone else could take some of that sense of purpose and responsibility off of our shoulders, that would be great!

Sometimes I go down a negative stream of thought like: “Those people are right, if I hadn’t gone into ministry, I would have made a lot more money…” or “If I wasn’t in ministry I could snap at people who offend me or rear-end me and try to blame the accident on me for being an American and a foreigner…” (This has no correlation to real life.)

When I start to dwell on discontent, bitterness, or what-ifs, then God will hit me with something effective: with comedy, like bringing to my mind or into a conversation Chris Farley’s famous skit: I could be: “Living in a van, down by the river.”

Then I’ll be convicted to count it all joy (James 1:2), and I’ll have to start literally listing all my blessings: Have you ever done this on a day besides Thanksgiving? (Tell the truth!) I count my many blessings, I name them one by one:

I have a family who loves me. I’ve had the privilege to live with all my extended family (mom, nephews & nieces in Spain, wife’s 60 first cousins in Mexico) in one foreign country or another. In fact, I’ve gotten to live in all 4 countries that I dreamt of living in as a child. I’ve woken up with a view of Africa and known how blessed I am to be truly living. I was given my high school dream when I turned 19, of making a record with my band and with Switchfoot’s Drew Shirley and Producer Bob Moon back in 2000. I got to do surf and English camps in the Bay of Biscay with my sister before she passed from cancer. I got my first book published by JHouse Publishing before I turned 30, a few months later, Sara and I had the best wedding ever. A year later, a healthy baby girl. And I certainly can’t forget my second child (because she will be sure to read this and say I only mentioned the first born.) Abby was born on the hottest day on the record books in Seville, Spain, and she is her Father’s joy, like her name means.

For all accounts, I have already have lived the life of my dreams. So if I woke up to having cashed in on a $900 million dollar deal, I don’t know that I would do anything different than I’m already doing. I live and operate in a world that makes sense to me, with my Passport handy and my backpack ready. My family has a word we call “Airport Day” and I think especially on those days, I smile at my family and at the life that I get to lead with my family.

As a youth, I did seek God’s Kingdom first, and He has given me above and beyond what I deserved (Matthew 6:33). My cup overflows.

I might not own a house, and I will probably never be famous, but the Good Lord reminds me, I could be living in a van down by the river.