So then it is not of him that willeth, nor of him that runneth, but of God that sheweth mercy. {Romans 9:16}
Last week I wrote about how the Lord had told me couple of weeks in advance how He was taking my mom home to heaven with Him, and to give her rest. I also talked about one of her favorite testimonies about coming to America. This week I would like to talk about the second thing she loved to testify about: learning she was Jewish.
Now for some of you becoming Jewish may not be a very big deal, but for my mom it was. Maybe it was because she really was Jewish that she had this love for them innately in her. Perhaps when she came to fall in love with the Lord and came to read His word, she realized that the Jewish people were indeed a very special people to God. Ever since I can remember my mom loved the Jewish people. She would pray for them and worried about their salvation. She would talk reverently of them. She felt that they were indeed a chosen people of God, and that it was our job as Christians to tell them the truth about their Messiah. After we came to America being here for many years now, she had such a burden to tell them about the Lord, and the Lord made a way for her to end up being with them. She met a group of Jewish believers through her Ferry ministry, evangelizing at the Staten Island Ferry. She would hand out tracts there and talk to people about the Lord Jesus. She met this group of Jewish people who actually believed in the Lord Jesus as their Messiah. It was incredible really! But when she got to know them better, she realized that they didn’t really believe Jesus is the “real deal.”
They believed that He was just a second person in the Godhead, not God Himself. After expounding to them the truth of who Jesus is, and how the Lord Himself said that He and the Father are one {John 10:30}, and how He told Philip how if he had seen Him he has also seen the Father {John 14:9}, and how even Apostle Paul said that the fullness of the godhead dwells bodily in Jesus {Colossians 2:9}, she was able to convince some of them to get re-baptized to the name of Jesus Christ. She told them how He wasn’t just a second person in the Godhead. He was God Himself robed in the flesh. He was the Father in the flesh. Since the Jews very much believed that there is only one God, and this is what they were taught growing up throughout the ages, that there is only one God, they willingly embraced this truth and got re-baptized.
Incidentally, this Messianic Jews my mom met, happened to be Jews from Portugal who recognized my mom’s maiden name, “Almeda” as a common Jewish name in Portugal. They suggested for her to go to the Jewish Embassy to check with them about her ancestry. We also happened to know growing up that my grandfather’s family or ancestors did come from Portugal, because this is what my grandfather had told my mom and her siblings. This excited her very much and so she readily assented. And my mother went to the city to the Jewish Embassy and talked with someone there, and sure enough when they looked up the name, Almeda, it was in their registry. Not only that, her mother’s maiden name, “Estrada” was also found in their registry.
You can imagine my mother’s joy in finding this out. Whenever the Lord has done something amazing for her my mom wasn’t shy about telling people about it. And since it involved us, her children, she quickly told us about her discovery. She also of course told her siblings about this. Unfortunately by this time both her parents were gone and couldn’t really verify it. But her siblings believed her without a shadow of a doubt and they were rejoicing. Later on, I found out from my mom, my grandfather, after being here in America for awhile realizing that the Jews were more freely accepted here, had told them that He was Jewish – and that they were all Jewish. Because they weren’t brought up in this knowledge and actually were brought up to practice Catholicism, they didn’t believe him. They thought he was crazy. Well, as for my siblings and me we were amused. In short, we didn’t really believe my Mom. None of the second generation really believed her. But the first did.
A few years later, my mom’s sister, the baby in the family, my aunt (or Tita) Vankie, sadly was dying of cancer. She had four-stage breast cancer. She was at first not wanting to go to the hospital, but finally the pain was becoming unbearable and she agreed to go. By this time it was too late and she was dying. Her one final request was that she would be buried in a Jewish cemetery. My mom promised her that she would be. Well it wasn’t that easy as we soon found out.
When I found out that my aunt had passed I traveled with my husband to Staten Island to join my mom at the hospital. I was there outside my aunt’s hospital room seated beside my mom, when the following scene occurred: My mom on the phone with a Jewish lady who worked at the Jewish Free Burial Association talking with my mom about her ancestry. When my aunt passed she didn’t have much money and her siblings couldn’t afford much for her either. They charged according to your ability to pay. It was really a blessing that my mom even found out about this association and the cemetery was right there in Staten Island where they lived. The lady on the phone was insistent that being Jewish was not through the paternal link but through the maternal. It was needful that my mother remembers her great grandmother’s maiden name. She wanted my mom to go back to the third or fourth generation prior. Not my great-great-great grandmother’s last name, but her maiden name. Fortunately, in the Philippines and in the Spanish culture, the woman’s last name is given to their children as their middle name. So for the most part, if you were paying attention, you can pretty much remember it or should remember it. The only problem was trying to remember it exactly, to make sure that what they have is the one they have in the Jewish ancestry records. So my mom dialed her older sister’s number and talked with Auntie Nene. They went back and forth about it, trying to figure out the spelling and remember their cousins’ last name connected to their grandmother. My mom had told the lady already what she knew and spelled it out to her, “Julve” but the lady said she will call her back. It sounded like it wasn’t it. When she talked with my aunt they were trying to figure out the real spelling of the name. The letter J is actually pronounced as H in Tagalog. Since Philippines was under the Spanish rule for over four hundred years, many of the dialects in the Philippines have the Spanish words in them. Thus, the letter J is actually pronounced as H. It is possible that my grandmother’s ancestry wanted to assimilate and even hide their true spelling for fear of persecution. I don’t remember now all the details but I was sitting beside my mom when the phone rang again and I heard her spell out, “H-u-l-v-e, with an e or i at the end.” My mom said, “I’m not sure if it’s spelled with e or i at the end,” and I heard the lady on the phone state, “i”. And then I heard her ask my mom what year she thought her great grandparents might have immigrated to the Philippines and my mom said, “Probably around 17-1800’s?” And the lady said, “Yes, around 1700’s.” Then the lady on the other end proceeded to tell my mom our ancestor’s history in immigrating to the Philippines. How they were persecuted Jews in the time of Ferdinand and Isabella and how a nucleus of Sephardic Jews immigrated to the province in Mindanao where my grandmother was born in a town called, “Little Madrid”. It wasn’t clear whether our ancestors came straight from Spain right after the expulsion of the Jews from Spain, but it was clear enough that there was a nucleus of Jews who ended up immigrating in this province and that they were persecuted Jews from Spain. The Hulvis were Sephardic Jews. They hid their true identity for fear of persecution by outwardly practicing Catholicism but in secret they were practicing Judaism. They were called “Muranos” in the Philippines – Christian Jews.
My mom tells us of her experiences growing up where she would visit her grandmother and a candle was lit on Saturday. She thought it was strange because they didn’t need it why would a candle be lit during the day? She also tells of a story where they would make sure that there was no poison in their food whenever they were out invited to a party or to an event and would scrutinize their food with their fork, almost splitting hairs to see if there were any rocks or foreign substances in them. The rice for example was inspected and scrutinized by patiently going over the grains and running it through their hands carefully, before washing them thoroughly and cooking them. She also related how the neighbors suspected her grandmother’s family of practicing witchcraft because no one died during a pandemic that occurred in her neighborhood growing up. Apparently they boiled their pots and pans and utensils and plates and cups, like the orthodox Jews would do when preparing for the Sabbath. She also said that one of her uncles was named Friday, to hide their preparation for Sabbath. So that when Friday came they could say, “Friday is here” because it was time to prepare for Sabbath that day before the sun came down.
I recently found out from the Rabbi who officiated my mother’s burial that it was a common trait for these persecuted Jews to isolate themselves from their neighbors and their acquaintances, and avoid the crowds as much as possible. In my experience growing up my aunts would even hide from us in their bedrooms whenever we visited. We would be invited to come to their rooms to visit with them but they were extremely shy when guests would come. This psyche seems to be handed down to the next generation because I find myself being content to sit at home even on a holiday when everyone is out gallivanting or celebrating. Also talking with my cousins and relatives, even though we can easily mingle with people in public or in church, inside we are like our aunts and uncles before us, prefering to just be with our immediate family and content to sit quietly at home. And when there are guests, we hide.
This explains why my mom’s siblings readily accepted her news about them being Jewish just from learning it from the Jewish Embassy. And this is why my Tita Vankie can confidently request that she be buried at a Jewish Cemetery.
My mom had apparently been on the phone with the Hebrew Association with this lady for five hours, off and on that day, being interviewed by them to validate her sister Vanke’s Jewish ancestry. I can attest to the truth of this process because I was by my phone almost all day with them too when I was preparing my mom’s internment with them. Finally, after finding out that we were Jewish, I heard the lady say on the other end, “Okay, we’ll come, we’ll come and take her.” Looking back now, I realize that this moment was actually a historical moment for us. It was a moment that God was opening up the door of the past to let us into a wonderful knowledge of our physical connection to Him. I am so glad that I was there myself to witness this very poignant moment in my mother’s life.
Long story short, my aunt had her last wish granted to her and she was buried in a Jewish Cemetery. Thanks so much to the help of the Lord who guided and directed my mother and to her determination to have my aunt’s wish granted to her. Not only was her wish granted but we now fully understand and know without a doubt, that my mom was Jewish and her family was Jewish, and indeed we are Jewish.
Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors through Him that loved us. For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, Nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord. {Romans 8:37-39}
Prayer
Lord Jesus, thank You for You in my life. Thank You for Your great love for me and for leading me to know You everyday. Without You I am lost. Without You nothing in this life matters. Without You I am nothing. I thank You for giving Yourself to me.
Father, I pray for more of You. Please Lord Jesus, let me have more of You. Continue to draw me to You, to love You and to spend time with You, talking to You and desiring You. Help me to know each and everyday that You are always there for me no matter what situation I may be going through. You are always ready to help me. Please give me more faith in You and in Your love for me. I pray all this, Father in Your most wonderful name, Jesus. Thank You, Father. Amen.
