A Trip to Jerusalem on the Bayou

My father was transferred to Houston when I was 4 years old. We lived in West University for the first year we were in Houston, but the call of the suburbs beckoned my parents. In hindsight they should have stuck around West U. After months of looking for a home, my parents bought a home in Westbury. Growing up those of us who lived in the Meyerland, Westbury, and Bellaire lovingly called that part of Houston Jerusalem on the Bayou because of the large Jewish population. Growing up I had many Jewish friends and I am thankful for the education I received by experiencing Jewish traditions and family life. Yesterday, it served me well as I was a docent and travel guide for Dena as we toured various neighborhoods on Yom Kipper. We were really in search of booths, the little huts that are built for the Festival of Tabernacles. Since we were touring on a Saturday afternoon while the Day of Atonement was still being observed, I kind of felt like we would not observe any booths because of the Sabbath.



One of our first destinations was over in Northfield. There is an orthodox synagogue in the neighborhood. We might have seen the framework of a booth in front of one home, but no other sightings of a tabernacle. We did see several Orthodox Jews walking to their "end of the day" service. The women were dressed in white with large white coverings on their heads. The men wore black with white shirts. Northfield is a subdivision of beautiful homes surrounded by urban blight, hopelessness and a restless energy that develops into crime much of the time. If there is a shooting, stabbing or a police chase most often the surrounding apartment complexes will be the setting of the news report. Why am I so familiar knowing this fact, because in 1979 we bought a townhouse in Southfield just across Fondren. When we moved into that area it was full of promise and a good place to live and raise a family. We bought a 3 bedroom townhouse. We loved our little place. We had a small backyard and I made one half of it a huge flowerbed. Off the patio on the other side Roy had put in a wooden swing for us to sit on and enjoy the evenings. We put flowerbeds in the front yard and planted two trees praying for their quick growth to shield the front of our home from the blazing sun in the afternoons. We began making that townhouse into our home. Several of the shopping centers had stores that were venturing into suburbia and we felt like our townhouse would escalate in price and we would sell at a profit. That is until the early 80's when the oil bust hit. The condos around us became apartment complexes and the promise of commerence began leaving when buying power diminished. What had been such a nice place to live had turned into a crime infested community. That became one scary place to live. By the grace of God we slept through a drug bust and shooting at the end of our street one night and our home was never broken into like so many others in the area. The last year we lived there, I don't know really how much I slept. Somehow I thought if I stayed awake all night, nothing bad could happen to us. Roy was in law school, so he was gone all day and well into the night. He didn't witness the obvious changes that were going on around us. A large crowd one night stormed over the fence of our area pool and someone was shot. A police chase came down our street and a loaded gun was thrown into our yard. When the gun hit the sidewalk bullets splayed all through our yard. All the while I told Roy we needed to move and I was getting us in the ready position. He didn't believe me until one afternoon coming home from work I drove up to our mailbox to get our mail. I had seen two young men walking down the street and was mindful of their presence. I rolled down the window and reached into the mailbox when I heard something hit the back of my car. I figured these two young men were going to car jack me and wanted me to turn to look and since I kept my wits and head about me, when the one kid reached in the car and was trying to strangle me with the seat belt, I gunned the car and nearly ripped his arm out of socket. I went straight over to my parents not wanting to go into my own home. That incident finally got Roy's attention. He could not dismiss the huge welt across my neck from the edge of the seat belt.



Since moving 14 years ago, I have not been over there very much. We rented the place to a couple of families through the years and finally were able to sell the thing in 2004. I think Dena knew I was nervous as we were in the area, my goodness there was a lot of the street to be nervous about, but my insides were racing...probably a little post traumatic stress disorder going on. We did drive by the townhouse and it was so sad. No one is living it in, the front yard haggard and unkempt, and mold all over the brick exterior. The whole area looked worn out and ready for a bulldozer. This neighborhood is a picture of what poverty and hopelessness will do. The atmosphere felt oppressive and dark.



We finally headed toward the Meyerland area, but not without a stop at Belden's. One of the best grocery stores around and caters to heavily Jewish population. Since Dena has been teaching on the I Am statements of Christ based on a book by Jennifer Kennedy Dean, and her lesson was a review which included the Feast of Tabernacles, we decided to go in and see if we could find some goodies for Sunday School this morning. We were not disappointed in the Honey Cake with Almonds and Challah bread. It was a great field trip. We returned to Dena's apartment where I had left my car and decided we needed to sample the honey cake. Oh my, it was slap ya mama good. I believe we both had two small slices.



When I returned home, I got out a book we have on Jewish feasts and festival days. It said that when the Day of Atonement was over at sundown, the people celebrated God's faithfulness and goodness by having something sweet, usually Challah or Honey Cake. Keep in mind, neither Dena or I fasted yesterday. We chowed down before our tour of Jerusalem on the Bayou at Cheddar's. I had never eaten there before but Dena knew of it because of the Cheddar's in College Station. Definitely need a trip back to try the chicken pot pie. I almost got it thinking again I can call fall forth by my food choices and wearing fallish outfits. It is not working, but I refuse to give up. But I digress, I was telling you all about eating the honey cake. What a poignant way to end that time with Dena and a celebratory way to begin the week of celebrating the Feast of Tabernacles. That trip is my own story of personal deliverance... God and only God got us out of Fondren Southwest. It was His timing we found our condo that we live in now. It is God's great grace that we were able to sell the townhouse as is, without inspection to people who purchase property to lease to immigrants coming into the U.S. It was God's timing I was out of town and Roy didn't have my concerns to weigh him down through the twist and turns of the closing. Last night it was good to have a little something sweet to celebrate all of that and the richness Roy and I have experienced in the years since then.



This morning Dena's lesson and wrap up of the study was fabulous. Our Sunday School room was filled with palm fronds, fruit, a ram's horn, kosher food and unfermented wine (grape juice). We gave testimony of God's truth and faithfulness...His goodness and kindness toward us. He is I AM. The Name above everything that is named. He is Jesus, my Lord and Savior, my Sheperd, Light and Living Water, the Gate and True Vine. He is the resurrection and the Life.



Hosana! Think I will go have a little leftover honey cake.