It’s 10:30 pm and I’m in Kroger on Nolensville and Old Hickory in Nashville.
The Black medium-sized woman ringing up my groceries was talking to a curly-headed tall and large man who had asked for a register tape to write something down when I plopped down my raisin bran, popcorn and pepperjack cheese. I noticed his Yarmulke and asked him, “Are you Jewish?”
He closed his eyes, tilted his head and said, “Yes–”
The woman at the register had been talking to the man about why Muslims do not accept Jesus as the Messiah. She laughed.
“It’s okay,” he brushed off my forward question. “I get that a lot. They say he’s a prophet,” the Jewish man continued saying to the woman.
“How can they not believe? I mean he’s the one who died for their sins,” the woman said.”Imagine,” said the Jewish man, “you’re told not to eat pork and many other laws and some renegade comes and tells you it’s okay.”
“Um, I’d like to come to one of your…holy days, the next festival at your synagogue,” I said. “I don’t know if non-Jews are welcome…”
“Yes, they are…I’m a Messianic Jew–do you know what that means?” He was addressing both me and the woman, who was telling me to stop lollygagging and finish my debit card number punching so she could serve the next customer. “We believe that Jesus is the Messiah.”
“Yes, well, would it be okay for me to come to the next Shabbat service?” I asked. The man, named David, gave me a card and told me where they meet each Friday evening.”Shalom,” he said.I said, “Shalom.”
I’ll be going this Friday evening at 7:30 pm and will share the experience with you later.
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