Just Let Them Love You

The humble home felt like an embrace. It smelled faintly of spices, cinnamon, or perhaps nutmeg. A teapot sat on the table next to a pot of honey.

It was more of a kitchenette than a full kitchen. The smallest refrigerator I had ever seen neighbored an equally small oven. A round loaf of rye rested on the cutting board and a fragrant stew was simmering in a pot. Tucked in the corner, a drying rack displayed bundles of herbs strung like garland on a Christmas tree. Sprigs of lavender, rosemary and lemon thyme were tied with a yellow ribbon as if awaiting their assignments.

Tender light beamed through a window above the sink. The ledge served as a mantel for a row of tiny glass jars filled with soil. Each jar was labeled with a different Hebrew word.

I knew enough from my trip prep to recognize some of the Hebrew alphabet marking each delicate jar. How odd to place them in such a prominent space in one’s home. They must be very precious. I imagined every drink of water or dish washed would bring back to memory something to hold close and dear.

After tea, my hosts gave me a tour of my new home. “Mom’s bedroom and bathroom are at the end of the hallway. The stairs lead to two small bedrooms and another bath above. You will be upstairs with me, Lila.” Eden said as she ushered me into the living room.

Persian rugs covered the floor on which a large orange cat, curled up in a ball, was enjoying the warm light coming through the window. “Meet Judah,” Eden said, “our resident lion.” As if prompted, he stretched out a paw and flexed his toes, claws in and out. He gave me a quick sniff before curling back into a ball for another long rest.

A small fireplace stood in the corner of the room facing a settee and a pair of comfortable-looking chairs. Bookshelves bulged with knowledge and instruments hung on the wall. Two violins and a guitar, well-oiled and worn from age and use, stood at the ready. A large bird cage sat in another corner, its resident a lush fern.

An antique desk rested in the corner of the room on which lay open a well-worn Bible. Notebooks and piles of handwritten notes were stacked alongside. The living room walls acted as frames for ornate tapestries and a few scattered photographs of mother and daughter were sprinkled throughout.

My eyes scanned the room. Somewhat confused, I gazed at the large wooden cross that hung on the wall directly above the desk. It was inscribed with the words, IT IS FINISHED.

“Yeshua. The Savior,” Saige said tenderly. “We are Messianic Jews, Lila. Do you know what that means?”

“I believe so.” I said, somewhat apprehensively. I did not want to offend in any way. “You are Jews by birth. Christians by choice?”

Saige smiled, “Beautifully stated, Lila. Yeshua. By choice.”

Many could say my hosts were lacking and certainly not wealthy, but I felt as if I had just stepped into the finest throne room of the finest palace. The peace and joy were so tangible I could barely catch my breath. I wanted to cry. It was strange, these approaching tears, not only for what was missing in me but also for what was present in them.

“We will have your welcome dinner in the garden.” said Saige.

A beautiful courtyard built off the back of the house was ablaze with color and bloom. Palm trees flanked two large planters filled with flowering bushes of various colors and sizes. An adobe bread oven sat in the far corner of the patio, stacks of finely chopped wood in crates at its side. Flagstone pavers served as the floor of the courtyard. The gaps between its stones held miniature crops of waxy succulents. The garden table was covered in a pretty Provence cloth embroidered with olives and images of trees and branches. A candle burned in the center, warming little dishes of fragrant olive oil in which to dip the bread.

Saige and I visited while Eden, the chef of the day, brought dinner to the table. Saige tore a bit of bread off the round loaf and dipped it in the oil, handing it to me, encouraging me to have a taste.

“You disappeared for a bit, dear. You must be tired.”

I was tired. But really it was more than that. I sensed a newness of sorts. There was no other way to explain it. I was starting to realize I was going to be schooled in more ways than one.

“Feel free to retire whenever you need to, Lila, but before you do, you must try Eden’s amazing dessert!”

Slices of a sumptuous strawberry and kiwi tart in a shortbread crust were served on delicate blue china plates while coffee was served in matching blue cups.

“Cream, Lila?” asked Eden.

“Please. Dinner was really delicious, Eden. Where did you learn how to cook like that?”

“Oh, here and there. Mostly from reading cookbooks and trial and error. Recipes from friends and travels. That sort of thing.”

“Eden is being too modest, Lila,” remarked Saige. “She has spent a great deal of time and study in honing her skills. She is very talented. I am so proud of her. I am certainly one of her most loyal fans. A little too loyal as a matter of fact. I have taken up bicycling. I was beginning to outgrow my wardrobe,” she laughed.

After the dishes were cleared, Eden took me upstairs to my accommodations for the year. It was pretty much as I expected, modest but comfortable. There was a trundle bed in the corner that wore a lovely batik spread. A desk was placed in front of the window.