From Generation to Generation, a Jewish Family Finds Their Way Home by Steve & Janie-Sue Wertheim & Ruth Rosen

Author:Steve & Janie-Sue Wertheim & Ruth Rosen [Steve & Wertheim, Janie-sue & Rosen, Ruth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Jews for Jesus.
ISBN: 9781881022633
Google: asfu3K-de7sC
Amazon: 1881022633
Publisher: Jews for Jesus
Published: 2005-07-14T22:00:00+00:00

That was a turning point. My mother saw a film about Corrie ten Boom, a Christian who had hidden Jews during the Holocaust, and it deeply touched her. She realized that her reasons for “holding out” from what the rest of the family believed didn’t so much have to do with who Jesus was as who she thought Christians were. The film helped her to see that people who truly love Jesus also love the Jewish people. Within a couple of weeks of that time, my mother also embraced Jesus as her Messiah and sin-bearer.

Who ever would have believed that our entire family would be reunited as Jews who are all for Jesus!

It wasn’t long before I found myself wanting to go back to school to learn more about the Bible and my new faith. I enrolled in Talbot Theological Seminary having received an enabling scholarship from Jews for Jesus (and graduated with a MDiv) in 1979.

I also married a Jewish believer in Jesus, and my story is not complete without hers . . .

Janie-sue’s Story

My name is Janie-sue (Arotsky) Wertheim. I was born in New Haven, Connecticut on August 20, 1955. Both my parents are Jewish. My dad managed the auto parts departments of various dealerships in New Haven and Ansonia. As I was growing up, I probably knew more about cars than a lot of boys my age, which was a source of some satisfaction.

My mother worked part-time in a kosher bakery in Westville. Mom wasn’t the greatest cook in the world, but she knew how to bake fresh challah and coffeecake. She especially loved to bake and decorate birthday cakes. Some of my best early memories are of beautiful birthday creations that Mom made for my younger brother Stuart and me.

Uncle Harry (Mom’s brother) who was mentally retarded also lived with us. Uncle Harry was employed by Goodwill Industries and worked hard, helping the truck drivers pick up donated goods. Life with him taught me a lot about respecting people whom others, in their ignorance, laughed at or ridiculed.

My earliest memory of family togetherness is celebrating Shabbat. My mother would make a roast beef or roasted chicken with potato kugel, string beans and homemade challah. For dessert there was fruit compote, so that we could enjoy something sweet on Shabbat. My dad would come home from work, change into nicer clothes, put on his kippah and do the kiddush. As Dad raised his glass, he encouraged us to sing along. Then he chanted the prayers in his beautiful, strong voice. (When he was young, his rabbi tried to persuade him to go to cantorial school.) The fragrance of Mom’s freshly baked challah filled the house and made each week’s celebration warm and inviting. Fresh baked challah, with its shiny golden brown crust, will forever remind me of Sabbath rest.

I knew that we celebrated Shabbat because we were Jewish, and I knew that Jews were the chosen people because my dad had told me so. Yet his life had been rather difficult, so I got the impression that we were chosen for tsuris, not blessings.

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