Passover and An Answered Prayer
I grew up in a neighborhood in Los Angeles known as Hancock Park. It is a beautiful area. Our neighborhood had streets lined with sycamore trees and older gracious homes that make you feel as if you have stepped back in time. When we moved in, I prayed that there might be a girl my age living on our block whom I would become friends with, someone whose family had the same sort of values as mine did and who would understand the role that faith played in my everyday life. I prayed for and was hoping for a friend with whom I had these things in common.
Looking out the big picture window in our living room on the day we moved in, I was surprised to see people coming and going from the house directly across the street who were dressed in what looked like some kind of 1800’s costume. They looked so strange and almost ancient to me. I called to my mother and father to come and see what I was seeing. We all stood there staring at the sight of men dressed in long black coats with wide brimmed hats trimmed in some sort of fur and they all had long beards and long curls for sideburns. With hands flying around gesturing as they spoke, their language was one I had never heard before.
