Matzah Balls to Communion Wafers: How a Not-So-Kosher Jewish Girl Fell in Love with Jesus

By Gail Baker and Philip Yancey

When Baker yearns for something more, she discovers that the Christian message answers the deep yearning within each of us to resolve human suffering. Baker's conversion is not a blinding-light epiphany, but a process spanning years of agonizing conflict, echoing twenty centuries of misunderstanding between Christians and Jews.
Living in the same city as her chagrined parents, she is forced to process difficulties related to family dynamics, group loyalty, and identity politics. Readers will be emboldened by Baker's decision to follow Christ at the risk of rupturing ties with family and community. Her book will appeal to all who seek God's guidance in making difficult life decisions.
This book is a must-read for Christians who wish to engage with their Jewish friends. The Jewish mindset is tenderly revealed, showing why so many Jews bristle at the mere mention of Jesus.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Resource Publications
• Release date: Jul 29, 2019
• ISBN: 9781532682063

Gail Baker

Despite her challenging thirty-four-year journey, Baker has integrated her Christian faith with her identity as a Jew. Today a baptized Christian, she belongs to Trinity Episcopal Cathedral in Columbia, South Carolina. She maintains a busy schedule as a community volunteer, speaker, and blogger. For more visit acongregationofone.com or facebook.com/GailBakerAuthor. All interested readers are invited to contribute to the Selden Smith Foundation for Holocaust Education at http://foundationforholocausteducation.org.

Book preview

chapter 1

Setting the Stage: An Imperfect Life

By the time I reached middle school, I’d had my fill of Christians and Christianity. Growing up in Columbia, South Carolina, I was often targeted for conversion. The last unfortunate episode occurred when a male friend returned home with me after a date.

Sitting in my driveway in his new ruby-red Ford Mustang, I took in the aroma of new leather and peered at the high-tech widgets on the dash. I said, Congratulations, Bill. The seats are just gorgeous—so soft and luxurious.

He tried to hide his peacock pride by pursing his lips, then said, Yeah, I think I’ll keep this one better than the last. Anyway, I’m glad you like it. After a long pause, he cleared his throat and stammered, Gail, I need to talk to you about something serious. I’ve known you for a long time, and you know how much I care, so I’ll just come right out and say it.

Looking at him curiously, I asked, Bill, what in the world is it?

He said, Well, it’s about your salvation.

An immediate barrier came between us, and I snarled, I just can’t believe you!

Defensively, he said, "I know how much Judaism means to you and your family, but the fact is, if you died tomorrow, Gail, you would burn in hell.

I saw no tears of genuine agony over my supposed destiny. To make matters worse, he belonged to Forest Lake Country Club, at the time a bastion of anti-Semitism and elitism. Usually, I stopped these conversations short, but this time I took a different approach.

Listen, do you believe Jesus is coming back? I asked.

Yes, of course, I do, he said.

Do you think he could come back next week or next month? I asked.

Well, yes. He told us to expect him, any time, but what’s your point? he asked.

Do you realize that if he comes soon, he couldn’t even dampen the backdoor of your country club? Bill, I think you’re missing something here. Jesus was Jewish, I said.

He blurted, Well if that’s true, he must have converted. I’m not stupid, Gail. I know Jesus was a Christian.

No, I said emphatically. In fact, Jesus remained a Jew until the day he died. What’s more, his followers were Jews, too. You may have even heard of them—Matthew, Mark, and John. But don’t worry, Bill—you wouldn’t recognize Jesus if he stared you right in the face. He’d look more like Yasser Arafat than that blasted blond picture on your Sunday School wall.

His face blanched, and his eyes glazed over. Ignoring any semblance of church-like decorum, he raged, Dammit, Gail, you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.

I wasted no time getting out of his car. He slammed his foot on the accelerator and sped away faster than I could say Jesus Christ. I heard his tires screech several blocks away, sure that I’d never have any trouble with him again.

I have always abhorred a theology that has God saying, If you don’t love me, I will torture you. My knowledge of the church’s history of forced conversions gave the word proselytize an evil ring. I could never understand how a person’s nominal acceptance of Jesus, something akin to choosing the right door at the fun fair, could serve as a litmus test for heaven. Wanting no part of a God who devalued freedom of conscience, I grew up convinced of a huge divide between Christian and Jewish values.

Eighteen years later, certain dire circumstances forced me to consider something that my rational mind could never have foreseen or imagined. Happily married to my husband, Steve, I was drawn into an emotional maelstrom that forced me to reconsider my assumptions about Christians and Christianity. When this new reality peaked, I had no way to unsee it and no way to turn