Don't Nod at the Rabbi - By Ray Comfort
There was a human body lying on the floor of my bathroom in a New York hotel. Seconds earlier I returned to my room on the 14 th story, and was shocked to see that the door was cracked open. The body was that of a male in his 30's. There were no signs of a struggle, no blood, and no bruising on the neck area. It was something I would have expected in dark alley, not in a high-rise in the heart of New York's Time Square.
Suddenly I heard a voice--"I've fixed the night-light under your sink. I'll be out of here in a minute."
I answered, "What's your name?"
"Harry."
"Harry, I have a question for you."
"Is it multiple choice?"
"Yes. What do you think happens after somebody dies? A. Heaven. B. Hell. C. Nothing."
Harry stood to his feet and said, "You go to sleep."
"You go to sleep? Are you a Jehovah's Witness?"
"Well, my mother is, and I lean in that direction."
Harry and I then spent about ten minutes talking together, as I reasoned with him about the injustice of the Jehovah Witness doctrine of "annihilation," and took him through the Ten Commandments. I gave him a "What Hollywood Believes" CD, and as he left he told me that the talk had been helpful.
It was helpful for me also, because it gave me a little more confidence when speaking with a Jehovah's Witness. Meeting with Harry was ironic, because we were in New York to film a program on Jehovah's Witnesses, and what they believed. The previous day a team of twelve of us had flown from Los Angeles to New York for filming on our Third Season. Stuart (Scotty) Scott sat next to me during the flight. Scotty loves salt. He even enlarged the holes in his personal salt shaker to get more of the tasty stuff faster. He embraces wholeheartedly the words of Jesus--"Salt is good."
During the flight, he looked at my laptop and boasted that his Pocket PC had a battery life that was twice mine. The PC was so small I cynically asked if it could do word processing. He explained that it could, but that it had to be written by hand on a screen, and then it miraculously translated the personal hand written words into a standard typeface. He picked it up and wrote, "My name is Scotty." We both then waited for a second or two and amazingly four typed words appeared on the screen. We almost had to rub our eyes in unbelief. They said, "My navel is Salty." So much for high tech. I decided to stay with my laptop.
God once and for all wrote His Word for humanity. He has made the way of salvation very clear, yet I almost have to rub my eyes in unbelief at the amazing way the Jehovah's Witnesses have interpreted that Word. They call themselves "Christians" but they blatantly deny the reality of Hell, the hope of Heaven for the believer, eternal punishment, the deity of Christ, the finished work of the cross, the necessity of the new birth, and the way of salvation.
They had already declined our request to their World Headquarters for an on-camera interview about what they believed, so we purchased a pair of high-tech digital video sunglasses and I snuck into their headquarters for interviews. During a one-hour period I was able to candidly talk to between 15 and 20 Jehovah's Witnesses about their personal beliefs. We will of course make sure those interviewed keep their anonymity.
Jehovah's Witnesses not only shy away from cameras, but they officially refuse to take any literature, so it was strange for me to talk to people about the things of God and not leave them with any gospel tracts.
Earlier that day I stepped into an elevator in our hotel and passed out million dollar bill tracts to three people. One man was thrilled to get one. He immediately started reading it and said, "It's about God. It's religious. That's good." His loud mouth caused the lady next to me to say, "I don't want this. I will throw it in the trash." I kept my hands at my sides and said, "Please keep it. There's nothing more important than your eternal salvation."
Meanwhile, the man behind me was looking intently at the words written on the tract, and as he came to the Commandments he blurted out, "I've done all this. Seriously, I've done all this stuff!" His tone of voice revealed that he was deeply concerned. Mr. Loudmouth piped up, "That's okay. We all make mistakes." I wanted to say, "It's not "okay," and they are not "mistakes." Suddenly the doors were open and we all parted company.
Another one of our TV programs was to be on the subject of Judaism. Fortunately, Mark Spence, the Dean of our School of Biblical Evangelism was able to secure an interview with the Rabbi of an orthodox New York synagogue. He informed me that anyone who was Jewish was allowed to take part in their service. Despite my mom being Jewish, I had never been to an orthodox synagogue, so I hooked up my spyglasses, put them on my forehead and walked into the meeting.
When I entered the premises I was instantly interrogated as to my Jewish heritage. What was my name? Was I Jewish? Was it on my mother or father's side? I said, "Mother." What was my mother's name? "Esther." Suddenly, I was wearing a Yuima and was part of the family of New York Jews, sitting among black-hats and curly side-burns, as they all nodded together. I was wearing shorts, wasn't dressed in black, I had trimmed sideburns and I wasn't nodding at all. I must have stood out like a California sore thumb.
About ten minutes into the proceedings, after the Torah had been placed in front of the Rabbi, he suddenly looked at me and said, "Ray, are you a Cohen? Is your family name 'Cohen?'" I called back, "I have an uncle called 'Cohen,'" and nodded as I answered. It was the only nod I did during the entire service, but it sure had repercussions. It seemed the fact that my uncle was a Cohen was a big deal because the Rabbi quickly called me to the front, and before I knew what was happening, I was surrounded by helpful folk, was repeating a stack of Hebrew phrases, was picking up and putting down ribbons, and kissing the Torah.
This went on for five or ten minutes among much nodding and much to the excitement of those around me. I was a little dazed by the whole thing. I was then ushered to one side, and a thick book with Hebrew and English words was placed into my hands.
As I sat there thinking about what had just happened, I heard a whispered voice beside me say in a deep New York accent, "What an honor! What an honor! You are a 'Cohen.' That's amazing. You have been honored tonight. What an honor! A Cohen . . . " I felt a little sick. I wasn't a Cohen. I was a "Comfort." I guess the Rabbi hadn't understood what I had said, and taken my nod as a "Yes" and that meant I qualified for the priesthood. Oh dear.
Meanwhile, the whispering gentleman gave me a running commentary on the proceedings of the service. He explained to me why there was so much nodding going on among the singing, and the low mumbling, among other things. As he turned my page for me (I don't read Hebrew) he whispered,
"We are waiting for the Messiah."
"What are the signs of His coming?"
"There will be a trumpet sound."
"You mean the trumpet of the Archangel?"
"Yes, something like that. There have been many false Messiahs. Take Jesus. He was a Jew. We strung Him up. There were other false Messiahs that came after Him."
As the service drew to a close, our camera crew entered the room to set up the interview with the Rabbi. Meanwhile, I was being allowed to drink from a special glass filled with special grape juice.
It was after the drink that I noticed that I was surrounded by admirers. Ray Cohen, the cool dude in shorts with the hip sunglasses on his forehead was drinking the special juice from the special glass.
One of the admirers was a pale-faced 14 year-old sad-looking kid who was wearing what looked like his big brother's black hat. He was about to leave, so without much thought I decided to give him a million dollar bill tract. He would love it. I said, "I have a gift for you. It's a million dollars." The kid took it and stood there looking bewildered. It was as though I had handed him something that he wasn't supposed to have and he didn't know what to do. Suddenly, the bill was taken from his hand. Without a word, a gentleman began reading the message on the back. There was an intensity in the air. I felt as though I had just committed a serious crime and I had been caught red-handed. He quickly left with the damning evidence in his hand. Suddenly I heard the Rabbi call out in a very serious voice, "Ray. I want to talk to you outside, now!"
Outside, he held the undeniable proof of my sin in his hand, pointed to it and said, "What's with this J.C.! What is with this J.C.! I want everyone out now. They are to get out!!!!!"
I was no longer their pal. I was pleased that there were no stones around. "Hosanna" had turned into "Stone him," in an instant. What a difference Jesus makes.