Tag: faith

Yom HaKippurim 5787: A Day for Soul-Searching

On By marvinsk2 Comments

Shalom all,

This evening, September 20, at sundown, Jews in Israel and around the world will enter Yom HaKippurim – the Day of Atonement, the tenth day of the Hebrew month of Tishrei. It is the culmination of the Ten Days of Repentance that began with Rosh Hashanah – a day set apart for fasting, prayer, repentance, and serious reflection before God.

The biblical foundation of Yom HaKippurim is found especially in Leviticus 16, where the Torah describes the annual Day of Atonement, and in Leviticus 23, which calls it a “holy convocation” and a day to humble oneself before God (v. 27). The Day of Atonement was not simply another appointed day in Israel’s calendar. It was the annual culmination of the biblical sacrificial system: the High Priest entered the Holy of Holies, atonement was made for the sanctuary and for the people, and the sins of Israel were symbolically carried away. Its purpose was to restore the relationship between a holy God and a sinful people.

Yom HaKippurim also carries a biblically prophetic significance. The Day of Atonement looks beyond the annual ritual toward the ultimate purposes of God for Israel: cleansing from sin, reconciliation with God, repentance, and redemption. The prophetic Scriptures repeatedly connect Israel’s future restoration with a profound spiritual turning toward God. Zechariah 12, for example, speaks of a future day when God pours out upon the house of David and the inhabitants of Jerusalem “a spirit of grace and supplication, so that they will look on Me whom they have pierced; and they will mourn for Him, as one mourns for an only son, and they will weep bitterly over Him like the bitter weeping over a firstborn.” (v. 10); Zechariah 13:1 then declares that “a fountain” will be opened for the cleansing of sin and impurity.

For those who read the Hebrew Scriptures through the lens of Messiah Yeshua, this prophetic dimension becomes especially significant. The New Testament later interprets the Day of Atonement’s priesthood, blood sacrifices, entrance into the Holy of Holies, and removal of sin in relation to Messiah’s atoning work. Hebrews 9–10 explicitly develops this connection. Yet the prophetic promise itself remains striking: the story of Yom HaKippurim ultimately points toward Israel’s cleansing, repentance, restoration, and reconciliation with God.

Yet beneath the rituals lies a profoundly personal question: What happens when we stop looking at the failures of others and honestly examine ourselves before a holy and merciful God? That question is captured with extraordinary simplicity in Psalm 130: “If You, Lord, should mark iniquities, O Lord, who could stand? But there is forgiveness with You, that You may be revered.” (Psalm 130:3–4)

The psalmist begins not with the sins of others, but with his own. If God were to keep a perfect account of every iniquity, who could stand before Him? The answer is both humbling and hopeful: “There is forgiveness with you.”

This understanding of forgiveness is rooted deeply in the Older Testament’s revelation of God’s character. When God revealed Himself to Moses in Exodus 34:6-7, He declared Himself to be: “compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in lovingkindness and truth … who forgives iniquity, transgression and sin.”

Again and again, Scripture returns to these characteristics. Psalm 86:5 declares: “For You, Lord, are good and ready to forgive, and abundant in lovingkindness to all who call upon You.” Psalm 103:10-12says that God: “has not dealt with us according to our sins” and He removes our transgressions “as far as the east is from the west.”

And perhaps most beautifully, the prophet Micah asks: “Who is a God like You, who pardons iniquity…?” The prophet answers his own question: “He does not retain His anger forever, because He delights in unchanging love.” Then comes the extraordinary promise: “He will again have compassion on us”; He will tread our iniquities underfoot and will cast all our sins into the depths of the sea. (Micah 7:18-19)

There is a striking connection here with Psalm 130, which begins: “Out of the depths I have cried to You, O LORD.” Micah’s prophecy ends with God casting our sins into: “the depths of the sea.” The person who cries to God from the depths discovers that God is able to remove the very sins that brought him there.

This is the God whom Yom HaKippurim invites us to encounter: holy, but merciful; righteous, but compassionate; aware of our iniquities, yet willing to forgive.

And this is where the prophetic significance of the Day of Atonement becomes particularly powerful. The biblical story does not end with Israel merely repeating an annual ritual. The prophets point toward a day of deeper cleansing and repentance, when God Himself brings about a profound spiritual transformation. Zechariah speaks of a future outpouring of “grace and supplication,” mourning, and then cleansing from sin.

In other words, Yom HaKippurim points both backward and forward: backward to God’s provision for atonement, and forward to the prophetic hope of complete cleansing, repentance, restoration, and redemption.

We should note that there is an important paradox in Psalm 130. The psalmist does not say that God’s forgiveness makes sin insignificant. Rather, he says: “If You, LORD, should mark iniquities, O Lord, who could stand?” Sin matters precisely because God is holy. But mercy means that God’s holiness is not the end of the story. This is why the psalm continues: “But with You there is forgiveness, that You may be revered.” Forgiveness should produce reverence.

The biblical term, often translated “fear of God”, needs to be understood as: awe, humility, reverence, and the recognition that we stand before Someone greater than ourselves. Knowing that God is merciful should not make us careless about our conduct. It should make us more willing to confront it honestly.

The psalm reaches its climax by moving from the individual to the entire nation: “O Israel, hope in the LORD! For with the LORD there is steadfast love, and with Him is plentiful redemption. And He will redeem Israel from all his iniquities.” (Psalm 130:7-8)

This is a remarkable progression: guilt → confession → forgiveness → hope → redemption. The psalmist does not leave Israel removed from God when sin separated them from Him. He directs Israel toward hope, because God’s nature is characterized by steadfast love and plentiful redemption. That message seems particularly appropriate this Yom HaKippurim.

And it is precisely here that Psalm 130 and the prophetic significance of Yom HaKippurim converge. The ultimate hope is not simply that Israel will survive another year, nor merely that an annual ritual will be completed. It is that God will redeem Israel from her iniquities. The prophetic picture is one of God bringing His people through repentance and mourning into cleansing and restoration.

A time for introspection:- Israel enters this Yom HaKippurim after a period in which the country has experienced extraordinary military involvement, loss, fear, uncertainty, and responsibility. Soldiers have been required to make difficult decisions; families have endured separation and loss; civilians have experienced danger; and the country as a whole has been forced to confront questions about security, responsibility, morality, and the future.

There are legitimate differences of opinion about military policy, particular operations, the conduct of the war, and the decisions made by political and military leaders. Yom HaKippurim does not require us to settle those disagreements. It does, however, give us an opportunity to ask a different kind of question: What should I examine in myself?

Before considering the failures of governments, armies, commanders, political leaders, opponents – or anyone else – we can consider our own words, attitudes, actions and omissions: Has fear or anger hardened us? Have we spoken about other human beings in ways we would not want God to hear? Have the pressures of war diminished our compassion? Have we confused strength with righteousness? Have we failed to acknowledge our own mistakes, because we have become preoccupied with the mistakes of others? We need to remove the log from our own eyes before we can see clearly enough to remove the speck from someone else’s eyes. (Matthew 7:3-5)

And perhaps most importantly: Are we willing to allow God’s mercy to change us? This is not an argument for abandoning convictions or ignoring legitimate security concerns. Nor does moral introspection require us to treat every action or every side in a conflict as morally equivalent.

Rather, it is an invitation to recognize that human beings can be called upon to exercise great power while remaining subject to a higher moral accountability. For those serving in the IDF, that responsibility can be especially profound. The reality of military service can involve decisions made under extraordinary pressure, sometimes with incomplete information and terrible alternatives. Unlike some societies that exalt a culture of death, Israel values life does and goes to extraordinary lengths in carrying out its responsibility to protect it. It reminds us of the moral seriousness that accompanies such responsibility.

For everyone else, there is also a responsibility: how we speak, how we judge, how we respond to suffering, how we treat those with whom we disagree, and whether we retain compassion in circumstances that naturally provoke anger.

Ultimately, Yom HaKippurim is not a celebration of human perfection. It begins with the recognition that none of us is perfect. Psalm 130 gives voice to that reality: “If You, LORD, should mark iniquities, O Lord, who could stand?” And then comes the answer: “But with You there is forgiveness.”

That is the hope. The God before whom we examine ourselves is not portrayed in Scripture as eager to destroy the repentant sinner. He is the God who is merciful and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in steadfast love, ready to forgive, and rich in redemption.

And because He is merciful, we can face the truth about ourselves without despair. We can confess without pretending. We can repent without humiliation becoming hopelessness. We can ask forgiveness – and extend forgiveness to others. And we can enter the coming year determined, with God’s help, to live differently.

Perhaps this is especially important during times of war. When the world around us becomes filled with conflict, it becomes easy to focus exclusively on what others have done wrong. Yom HaKippurim gently turns our gaze in another direction. Look inward. Listen. Examine. Repent.

And then, having encountered the mercy of God, begin again. For the psalmist, the final word is not guilt, but redemption: “With Him is plentiful redemption.” And the prophetic hope of Yom HaKippurim reaches even further: beyond confession toward cleansing, beyond mourning toward restoration, and beyond judgment toward reconciliation with God. Zechariah’s vision of a future outpouring of grace and supplication and the opening of a fountain for cleansing gives this ancient holy day an enduring prophetic dimension. 

And so Psalm 130:4 captures the heart of Yom HaKippurim in one sentence: “With You there is forgiveness” – and recognizing that forgiveness should lead us not to complacency, but to reverence, repentance, humility, and a renewed commitment to live rightly.

Forgiving is “for giving”. For those who have received forgiveness, it is now your turn. Don’t hold onto what you need to give.

Bless, be blessed and be a blessing. 

Marvin

©20.10.2026 / 9 /Tishrei 5787

A New Year’s Prayer, 5787

On By marvinsk2 Comments

10 September, 2026
© Marvin S. Kramer

Shalom all,

As the sound of the shofar rises in the morning air,
calling your heart to awaken,
may you hear within its ancient cry
a promise never forsaken.

For this is the Feast of Trumpets –
a holy pause, a sacred start,
when heaven calls you to remember,
to turn again, but with all your heart.

As the shofar calls us higher,
may we listen to its cry;
may it awaken faith within us,
and give us strength to do what’s right.

May your heart be filled with compassion,
may your faith be steadfast and true;
may your hands bring comfort to the hurting,
and may mercy flow through all you do.

May you have wisdom to rise above anger,
may you speak the truth with love;
may you choose the path of courage,
and trust in the grace from above.

May God heal you and keep you safe,
may His love and grace be near;
may He lift the gloom that shadows you,
and strengthen you throughout the year.

May your family be united in love,
may you experience its joy in your life;
may the bonds that hold you all together
prove stronger than division and strife.

May those who seek to harm you
learn that hatred cannot have the final word;
may you answer threats with wisdom,
and let righteousness be heard.

And when the shofar’s final sound
hangs trembling in the air,
remember: you are not powerless.
You can answer its call with prayer.

So may this Rosh Hashanah
bring renewal to your soul,
may God guard you and guide you,
and make what is broken whole.

May this be a year of healing,
a year of courage, a year of peace,
a year in which swords are turned to plowshares,
and the sound of the shofar heralds release.

Shanah Tovah u’Metukah.

May you be strengthened to pray fervently,
may you be generous enough to give,
may you be humble enough to listen,
may you be bold enough to forgive,
and may you be courageous enough to build unity
when others would choose division.

And when the world asks you what hope looks like,
may your life be part of the answer:

Bless, be blessed, and be a blessing.

© Marvin S. Kramer

Remembering! – Memorial Day for the Fallen Soldiers of Israel and Victims of Terrorism

On By marvinsk1 Comment

Shalom all,

The siren pierces the air and for two minutes, everything stops. It is not the warning of incoming missiles that we had gotten used to hearing. It is a call to remember.

Cars freeze in the middle of highways. Conversations fall silent. Heads bow. And in that stillness, a nation holds its breath – not because it has forgotten how to live, but because it refuses to forget those who no longer can.

Last night began Memorial Day in Israel for the fallen soldiers and victims of terrorism. But it is not just a date. It is not just the ceremony that took place this evening. It is a wound that never fully closes. It is a whisper that becomes a cry: Remember me.

We see their faces. Not as a number. Not as a statistic etched into a report. But as someone who laughed, who loved, who had plans – plans that were never meant to end this way.

They were someone’s son. Or someone’s daughter. Maybe they were a brother who teased too much, a sister who cared too deeply. They were a woman’s husband or a husband’s wife. They were the parents, who sparked the joy of their children in a loving embrace or word of encouragement. Maybe they had a favorite song, a place they loved to go, a dream they hadn’t yet spoken aloud.

And now – there is an empty chair. An unfinished sentence. A phone that will never ring again. Silent voices, like honor that needs no sound, that are not silent to the heart. They speak in the quiet places within us – calling us to remember, to try to live in the light of what was given for us.

Since the establishment of the State of Israel in 1948, more than 25,000 soldiers have fallen in defense of this land. Alongside them, over 5,000 civilians – men, women, and children – have been murdered in acts of terror. Since the last Yom HaZikaron (Memorial Day), an addition 170 Israeli soldiers have been killed during their military service.

More than 30,000 lives. Thirty thousand worlds. Thirty thousand stories that ended too soon.

But even that number feels wrong. Too clean. Too distant. Because no number can capture the weight of a mother collapsing at the door when the soldiers arrive to tell of her child who was killed while defending this country. No statistic can hold the silence of a child who will grow up without a father. No tally can measure the echo left behind in a home that will never be whole again.

“Do not mourn – only sing a song for me when I die”, the poem says (Remember Me; by Miriam Yalan-Shteklis, 1949). The poem, written in Hebrew, was read at the end of the Remembrance Day ceremony that took place last night on Mt. Herzl in Jerusalem. Its content is riveting. Its message direct – the voice of those who are no longer with us is not loud, but it is heard in the heart, in memory, and in the life that goes on.

But, the question lingers: How can we not mourn? How can we not break when we think of the moment they went out – into battle, into danger, into a reality they did not choose, but accepted because someone had to? They stood where we could not. They went so we could stay. They gave everything so that life here – fragile, beautiful, stubborn life – could continue.

There is something unbearably personal about this day. Because in Israel, no one is truly distant from loss. The fallen are not strangers. They are classmates, neighbors, cousins, friends of friends. Their names are spoken in familiar voices. Their faces are recognized in photographs that line schools, streets, and hearts. 

It means that when we say “they fell,” what we really mean is: We lost them.

And yet, somehow, life goes on. Children are born. Trees are planted. Songs are sung. Not because the pain has faded – but because their sacrifice demands that it doesn’t end with them. The poem notes that many who love will not return from battle and that even in death, their voices will be clear and their hearts will shine. The words are almost unbearable . . . because they are true.

Every ordinary moment – every cup of coffee, every laugh, every quiet evening – is built on something extraordinary and terrible: the willingness of someone else to give his life so that others may live. 

And so today, we do not look away. We do not soften the reality. We let it hit us fully – the cost, the grief, the unbearable weight of what has been given. Because if we forget, even for a moment, we lose something sacred.

As for those, who are no longer here: We remember their youth. We remember their courage. We remember their love. We remember that their hearts still shine. And we carry them with us – in every step, in every breath, in every fragile hope for a future that they helped secure, but did not get to see.

The siren ends. Life resumes. But something lingers in the air – a quiet, sacred obligation.

To live in a way that honors those who gave the ultimate sacrifice. To build what they gave their lives to protect. To stand, even when it is difficult, even when the world does not understand, even when hatred rises again.

Because this nation exists – not by accident, not by ease – but by sacrifice. Their sacrifice.

So today, and every day, we answer their cry:

We remember you. We will not forget. We cannot forget. God, help us never to forget!

“Behold, I am bringing them from the north country, and I will gather them from the remote parts of the earth, among them the blind and the lame, the woman with child and she who is in labor with child, together; A great company, they will return here.” (Jeremiah 31:8)

“Also I will restore the captivity of My people Israel, and they will rebuild the ruined cities and live in them; They will also plant vineyards and drink their wine and make gardens and eat their fruit. I will also plant them on their land, and they will not again be rooted out from their land which I have given them,” says the Lord your God.” (Amos 9:14-15)

“Weeping may last for the night but a shout of joy comes in the morning.” (Psalm 30:5)

Bless, be blessed and be a blessing!

Marvin

The Presence of Him Who is Invisible – 12 Adar 5786

On By marvinsk5 Comments

Despite the existence of war with Iran and uncertainty that continue to hover over our nation, among other things, there is always a reason to be thankful. Even if we need to sit in secure rooms or bomb shelters, we don’t need to sit in rooms of gloom. How we view our circumstances can make or break us. We need to be mindful of the fact that God is mindful of us.

Some stories, like well-aged oak, grow richer and more beautiful with time. One of them is the story of the exodus of the children of Israel from Egypt. We are commanded to tell the story from generation to generation. It reveals the presence of God, His might, His power and His holiness and ability to save the people whom He has chosen (Deut. 7:7-8). These attributes of God are also present, and He remains mighty to save, even when He is not in the forefront of the action, but in the background and even when He is not referred to or mentioned by name. This is the situation in the Scroll of Esther It reveals the presence of Him Who is invisible.

We know the story and it is a great one. It is a story of absence – absence from the country where the sons of Jacob were to shine, to prosper, to worship God in the majesty of His holiness, to be blessed and to be a blessing. It is a story of the absence of a national leadership amongst the captives from Judea and Samaria who were taken first to Babylon during the reign of King Nebuchadnezzar, some of whom were later brought to Persia (modern-day Iran) and who were living during the reign of King Ahashverush. It is a story where the absence of God in the lives of the captives stands out by the failure to refer to Him. It is a story that serves as the background for the complaint of the people, as revealed in the explanation of the vision of the dry bones in Ezekiel, namely, an absence of hope: “Then He said to me, ‘Son of man, these bones are the whole house of Israel; behold, they say, “Our bones are dried up and our hope has perished. We are completely cut off”.'” (Ezekiel. 37:11) But, even in the blatant absence of specific reference to Him, still, the Holy One of Israel continues to exercise His sovereign control over all the fortunes and misfortunes of the people, whom He referred to as “the apple of His eye” (Zechariah 2:12).

Today is the 12th day of the Hebrew month of Adar. Tomorrow evening begins the holiday of Purim. It was on the 13th day of this month, “when the king’s command and edict were about to be executed, on the day when the enemies of the Jews hoped to gain the mastery over them, it was turned to the contrary so that the Jews themselves gained the mastery over those who hated them”. (Esther 9:1)

We look at the story with the benefit of hindsight. It is written for us and we can see how the pieces that seem disjointed all fit together and reveal the Hand of God and His unseen presence among His people, during one of the lowest times in the history of the nation of Israel. The major players are Mordechai, his niece Hadassah (whose name in exile was changed to Esther), King Ahashverush, who ruled over 127 provinces from India to Ethiopia and Haman, to whom the king gave exceedingly great authority. The king commanded that all of his servants, who were at the king’s gate, were to bow down and pay homage to Haman. But, Mordechai did neither. From a political perspective, we see a “situation developing”. One man, who was at the king’s gate (i.e., was part of those who were close to the seat of power and whowere able to come in and go out of the court without a special permit), defied the command of the king and would not bow down before Haman. It is recorded for us that Mordechai was living in the citadel of Susa. He was a descendant of Kish, who was a Benjamite and part of the upper class families who were taken captive and exiled along with King Jeconiah of Judah. (Esther 1:5-6) Another famous descendant of Kish was Saul, Israel’s first king, who disobeyed the Lord’s instructions given through Samuel the prophet, to strike and totally destroy Amalek. King Saul defeated the Amalekites, but allowed their king, Agag, to live – an act of disobedience that resulted in the Lord rejecting Saul from being king. Ultimately, the prophet Samuel killed Agag.

Haman was said to be “the son of Hammedatha the Agagite”. So, the consequences of Saul’s disobedience had future consequences for the nation of Israel. The descendants of Agag came to distant lands and some of them, like Haman, ended up in the service of the king of Persia. And so, once again, a descendant of Kish meets up with a powerful Amalekite. However, as mentioned above, not only is Mordechai a descendant of Kish, he is also a Benjamite. Benjamin was the last son of Jacob. He was born after Jacob’s name was changed to Israel, after Jacob crossed the Jabbok and after he and all of his household bowed down before Esau. (Gen. 32-33, 35:16-18) Therefore, Benjamin, who was the only son of Jacob who was born in the land of Israel, did not bow down before Esau.

And now, his descendant, Mordechai, stood his ground, as well, and did not bow down before Haman. When questioned by the king’s servants why he refused to bow, his answer was that “he was a Jew”. (Esther 3:4) The refusal of Mordechai to bow down before Haman “filled [Haman] with rage”. When he was told “who the people of Mordechai were … Haman sought to destroy all the Jews, the people of Mordechai, who were throughout the whole kingdom of Ahashverush “. (Esther 3:5-6) Lots (Hebrew = Purim) were cast to determine the day that this would take place.

Haman’s understanding went beyond the simple fact that there are a people under the king’s rule who have a different religion. The issue was not the existence of a different religious belief, which could be tolerated, but rather, the Jewish people, whose existence would not be tolerated by the descendant of Agag, the Amalekite. Even though only Mordechai refused to bow down, the entire nation was going to suffer the consequences of his act of defiance.

The rest of the story continues, with Haman convincing the king to issue an edict that the Jewish people be destroyed. Haman was even willing to pay money into the king’s treasury if the king would agree to his request. Mordechai publicly demonstrated against the king’s edict and enlisted his niece, Hadassah (i.e., Esther, after whom the Scroll is named) to appeal to the king. Esther was chosen to replace the deposed Queen Vashti, when the latter refused to appear before the king and his drunken friends, who had been partying for seven days. Esther explained to Mordechai that her own life would be endangered if she came into the presence of the king without being summoned. Mordechai wisely explained the situation in a clear and unequivocal manner: “Do not imagine that you in the king’s palace can escape any more than all the Jews. For if you remain silent at this time, relief and deliverance will arise forthe Jews from another place and you and your father’s house will perish. And who knows whether you have not attained royalty for such a time as this?” (Esther 4:13-14) Things don’t get much clearer than that. Esther understood the gravity of the situation and that it was not her life only that was at risk, but those of the Jewish people who were under the rule and reign and authority of the king – her husband.

She requested that all of the Jews in Susa fast (and impliedly, pray) for her and not eat or drink for three days. She and her maidens would do the same and afterwards, she would go to the king, contrary to law, and, as she said: “If I perish, I perish” (Esther 4:16) And she and they did as Esther requested and on the third day, the fate of Esther and the Jewish people was decided. The sentence of death had already been passed. Now, would the sentence of death be carried out, or will there be life? The golden scepter was extended to her and with it, life for her and eventually, life for the Jewish people. She chose the manner of presenting her petition to the king and the timing of it. In the meantime, the king had a bout of insomnia and instructed that the chronicles of the kingdom be read to him. It was then that he learned that Mordechai discovered and informed about a plot to kill the king, who now decided to publicly honor and reward Mordechai by dressing him in royal garments and having him paraded through the city square on a horse, on which the king himself had ridden. Haman was appointed to do this for Mordechai and to proclaim before all the people: “Thus it shall be done to the man whom the king desire to honor.”(Esther 6:10-11) This further enraged Haman.

When Esther revealed to the king what Haman had done, the king issued another edict that allowed the Jews to defend themselves, inasmuch as by law, he could not cancel his own decree. Haman was the recipient of the king’s wrath, as he and his ten sons were hanged on the gallows and what had been meant for evil was turned around for good. (Esther chpt. 9) 

Mordechai recorded the events and sent letters to all the Jews in all the provinces under the authority and rule of King Ahasverush (Ahasuerus), obliging them to annually celebrate the 14th (today) and 15th days of the Hebrew month of Adar, “because on those days the Jews rid themselves of their enemies and it was a month which was turned for them from sorrow into gladness and from mourning into a holiday … for Haman the son of Hammedatha, the Agagite, the adversary of all the Jews, had schemed against the Jews to destroy them and had cast Pur, that is the lot, to disturb them and destroy them…Therefore they called these days Purim after the name Pur…So these days were to be remembered and celebrated throughout every generation, every family, every province and every city; and these days of Purim were not to fail from among the Jews, or their memory fade from their descendants…The command of Esther established these customs for Purim and it was written in the book.” (Esther 9:20-32)

At the end of the story, Mordechai was exalted to a position of power and authority, second only to the king himself. He was “great among the Jews and in favor with his many kinsmen, one who sought the good of his people and one who spoke for the welfare of his whole nation.” (Esther 10:3)

There is much that this story reveals and many aspects of it have significant, and indeed, eternal ramifications and applications for those within the Messianic community, as well as for the whole world. We see how the Hand of God was moving behind the scene, using the drunken feast of the king to embarrass the then queen, who was removed because of her disobedience to the command of the king (by the way, there was significant reason for that refusal); the choosing of Esther to replace her; the positioning of Mordechai as one who was at the king’s gate and his overhearing the plot to kill the king; his being of the descendants of the tribe of Benjamin; his refusal to bow before Haman the Agagite; the unsuccessful attempt to destroy the Jewish people and Mordechai’s being exalted with power and authority, second only to the king himself.

Our God reigns! “The lot is cast into the lap, but its every decision is from the LORD.” (Prov. 16:33) What the enemy of our souls meant for bad, God used for good. (Gen. 50:20)

Mordechai was the godly remnant amongst a people who believed that God had forsaken them. He represented the hope of a national restoration, when there had not yet been any experience with exile. Living outside the land, away from the Temple service, away from the place where God commanded the blessing, was all that the people knew. Yet, one man stood in the gap. He said “no”. He would not bow down to man and certainly not to a descendant of those who sought to destroy the Jewish people. Today, we see and experience that once again, nations conspire together against God and against His people, saying, “Come, and let us wipe them out as a nation that the name of Israel be remembered no more” (Psalm 83:4). The Lord God of the universe, creator of heaven and earth, knows if you and I are alive “for such a time as this”.

In our own day, as tensions and open conflict with modern-day Iran cast a long shadow over Israel and the entire region, the parallels to the days of Esther are striking. Then, the threat arose from Persia – the very territory that largely corresponds to modern Iran – and from within its corridors of power came a decree that endangered the existence of the Jewish people. Today, though the circumstances differ a bit, the essence of the problem remains the same. We are again witness to hostile intentions and threats voiced from that same location to destroy Israel. Yet the message of Esther speaks directly into our moment: God is not absent even when He seems hidden, and the survival of His people is never outside His sovereign care. Just as the plot of Haman ultimately failed and was overturned, so we are reminded to watch, pray, and trust that the unseen Hand that preserved Israel in Shushan still watches over His people in our generation and that those who seek to destroy Israel will themselves suffer the fate that they want to impose.

Looking at the situation today in Iran, in the Middle East, in Asia, in Europe and in other nations, we cannot fail to see that the Hamans of this world abound and have multiplied. Some have even been elevated to positions of power, giving them a platform from which to curse and condemn the Jewish people. They accuse us, insult us and want to condemn us before the courts of public opinion, while giving support and encouragement to our enemies, some of whom are only a stone’s throw away (literally). They would be thrilled if the State of Israel would cease to exist. 

We need to have the courage of Mordechai and be willing to proclaim who we are, as believers in the God Who called us out of the realm of darkness into the Kingdom of His dear Son. We stand our ground and not bow before the plans and pursuits of the nations around and the enemies within, who seek to divide this land and scatter God’s people. God doesn’t change. He remains the same yesterday, today and forever! A little faith can move mountains. 

God is not removed from us, even though we do not see Him physically, but only with the eyes of faith. He is “our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.” (Psalm 46:1) 

“As the mountains surround Jerusalem, so the LORD surrounds His people from this time forth and forever.” (Psalm 125:2)

“I will bless those who bless you and the one who curses you I will curse.” (Gen. 12:3)

So keep looking up and don’t let the circumstances or the devil get you down. Bless, be blessed and be a blessing.

Marvin