Afrikaans Carol Service 2008

The girl with an apple - remarkable story

PLEASE READ. IT'S WORTH IT. The Girl With An Apple (This is a true story and you can find out more by Googling Herman Rosenblat. He was Bar Mitzvahed at age 75) August 1942. Piotrkow , Poland . The sky was gloomy that morning as we waited anxiously. All the men, women and children of Piotrkow's Jewish ghetto had been herded into a square. Word had gotten around that we were being moved. My father had only recently died from typhus, which had run rampant through the crowded ghetto. My greatest fear was that our family would be separated. 'Whatever you do,' Isidore, my eldest brother, whispered to me, 'don't tell them your age. Say you're sixteen. 'I was tall for a boy of 11, so I could pull it off. That way I might be deemed valuable as a worker. An SS man approached me, boots clicking against the cobblestones. He looked me up and down, and then asked my age. 'Sixteen,' I said. He directed me to the left, where my three brothers and other healthy young men already stood. My mother was motioned to the right with the other women, children, sick and elderly people. I whispered to Isidore, 'Why?' He didn't answer. I ran to Mama's side and said I wanted to stay with her. 'No, 'she said sternly. 'Get away. Don't be a nuisance. Go with your brothers.' She had never spoken so harshly before. But I understood: She was protecting me. She loved me so much that, just this once, she pretended not to. It was the last I ever saw of her. My brothers and I were transported in a cattle car to Germany . We arrived at the Buchenwald concentration camp one night weeks later and were led into a crowded barrack. The next day, we were issued uniforms and identification numbers. 'Don't call me Herman anymore.' I said to my brothers. 'Call me 94983.' I was put to work in the camp's crematorium, loading the dead into a hand-cranked elevator. I, too, felt dead. Hardened, I had become a number. Soon, my brothers and I were sent to Schlieben, one of Buchenwald's sub-camps near Berlin . One morning I thought I heard my mother's voice. 'Son,' she said softly but clearly, I am going to send you an angel.' Then I woke up. Just a dream. A beautiful dream. But in this place there could be no angels. There was only work. And hunger. And fear. A couple of days later, I was walking around the camp, around the barracks, near the barbed-wire fence where the guards could not easily see. I was alone. On the other side of the fence, I spotted someone: a little girl with light, almost luminous curls. She was half-hidden behind a birch tree. I glanced around to make sure no one saw me. I called to her softly in German. 'Do you have something to eat?' She didn't understand. I inched closer to the fence and repeated the question in Polish. She stepped forward. I was thin and gaunt, with rags wrapped around my feet, but the girl looked unafraid. In her eyes, I saw life. She pulled an apple from her woolen jacket and threw it over the fence. I grabbed the fruit and, as I started to run away, I heard her say faintly, 'I'll see you tomorrow.' I returned to the same spot by the fence at the same time every day. She was always there with something for me to eat - a hunk of bread or, better yet, an apple. We didn't dare speak or linger. To be caught would mean death for us both. I didn't know anything about her, just a kind farm girl, except that she understood Polish. What was her name? Why was she risking her life for me? Hope was in such short supply, and this girl on the other side of the fence gave me some, as nourishing in its way as the bread and apples. Nearly seven months later, my brothers and I were crammed into a coal car and shipped to Theresienstadt camp in Czechoslovakia . 'Don't return,' I told the girl that day. 'We're leaving.' I turned toward the barracks and didn't look back, didn't even say good-bye to the little girl whose name I'd never learned, the girl with the apples. We were in Theresienstadt for three months. The war was winding down and Allied forces were closing in, yet my fate seemed sealed. On May 10, 1945, I was scheduled to die in the gas chamber at 10:00 AM. In the quiet of dawn, I tried to prepare myself. So many times death seemed ready to claim me, but somehow I'd survived. Now, it was over. I thought of my parents. At least, I thought, we will be reunited. But at 8 A.M. there was a commotion. I heard shouts, and saw people running every which way through camp. I caught up with my brothers. Russian troops had liberated the camp! The gates swung open. Everyone was running, so I did too. Amazingly, all of my brothers had survived; I'm not sure how. But I knew that the girl with the apples had been the key to my survival. In a place where evil seemed triumphant, one person's goodness had saved my life, had given me hope in a place where there was none. My mother had promised to send me an angel, and the angel had come. Eventually I made my way to England where I was sponsored by a Jewish charity, put up in a hostel with other boys who had survived the Holocaust and trained in electronics. Then I came to America , where my brother Sam had already moved. I served in the U. S. Army during the Korean War, and returned to New York City after two years. By August 1957 I'd opened my own electronics repair shop. I was starting to settle in. One day, my friend Sid who I knew from England called me. 'I've got a date. She's got a Polish friend. Let's double date.' A blind date? Nah, that wasn't for me. But Sid kept pestering me, and a few days later we headed up to the Bronx to pick up his date and her friend Roma. I had to admit, for a blind date this wasn't so bad. Roma was a nurse at a Bronx hospital. She was kind and smart. Beautiful, too, with swirling brown curls and green, almond-shaped eyes that sparkled with life. The four of us drove out to Coney Island . Roma was easy to talk to, easy to be with. Turned out she was wary of blind dates too! We were both just doing our friends a favor. We took a stroll on the boardwalk, enjoying the salty Atlantic breeze, and then had dinner by the shore. I couldn't remember having a better time. We piled back into Sid's car, Roma and I sharing the backseat. As European Jews who had survived the war, we were aware that much had been left unsaid between us. She broached the subject, 'Where were you,' she asked softly, 'during the war?' 'The camps,' I said. The terrible memories still vivid, the irreparable loss. I had tried to forget. But you can never forget. She nodded. 'My family was hiding on a farm in Germany , not far from Berlin ,' she told me. 'My father knew a priest, and he got us Aryan papers.' I imagined how she must have suffered too, fear, a constant companion. And yet here we were both survivors, in a new world. 'There was a camp next to the farm.' Roma continued. 'I saw a boy there and I would throw him apples every day.' What an amazing coincidence that she had helped some other boy. 'What did he look like? I asked. 'He was tall, skinny, and hungry. I must have seen him every day for six months.' My heart was racing. I couldn't believe it. This couldn't be. 'Did he tell you one day not to come back because he was leaving Schlieben?' Roma looked at me in amazement. 'Yes!' 'That was me!' I was ready to burst with joy and awe, flooded with emotions. I couldn't believe it! My angel. 'I'm not letting you go.' I said to Roma. And in the back of the car on that blind date, I proposed to her. I didn't want to wait. 'You're crazy!' she said. But she invited me to meet her parents for Shabbat dinner the following week. There was so much I looked forward to learning about Roma, but the most important things I always knew: her steadfastness, her goodness. For many months, in the worst of circumstances, she had come to the fence and given me hope. Now that I'd found her again, I could never let her go. That day, she said yes. And I kept my word. After nearly 50 years of marriage, two children and three grandchildren, I have never let her go. Herman Rosenblat of Miami Beach , Florida This story is being made into a movie called The Fence.

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Cambodia Outreach 2008

Between the 1-12 July 2008 , a number of students, staff members and friends of the Perth Bible went to Cambodia on a short-term outreach. The team worked with a missionary from Perth, Samantha Willans, ministering to people in Phnom Penh.

Samantha works with various ministries including Tarsha's Legacy Centre (TLC), Fellowship of Hope Church and Transform Cambodia.

During the outreach the team broke up into three groups, two of them working at the TLC. One of these groups focussed on the children ministry teaching English and Bible, as well as building relationships.

The other ministered to the adults and parents of the children.

The third group worked at an orphanage, Centre of Peace, with two other Australians, and had a similar children's ministry.

Proud new parents of little James van Jaarsveldt

Rayno and Anneke are the proud new parents of little James who made his acquaintance with us in this world on the 2 May 2008.

Russia 2008 Mission Trip - feedback

We were privileged to have Jenny Abetz and Daniel van der Spuy provide feedback on their 2008 Russian mission trip. Overall the trip was a great success. The team faced the usual challenges, however they all returned saying it was worth their while. May we all keep the hearts and minds of the children that they were involved with in our prayers. We pray that God in His wisdom will continue to water the seeds that were planted by us His instruments.

Mission Sunday Presentation by Riki Deale

Riki's presentation on Mission Sunday gave us all a better insight into the different world religions and the hunger for bibles in these countries. Riki got the congregation to participate by dressing up and representing the various world religions.

Anton Beukes now an Australian Citizen

Congratulations to Anton Beukes on becoming an Australian citizen.

TV and our very young children

For Parents, grand parents and adults

There are some lovely products on the market to entertain our
babies and young children! How useful when we're trying to cook
dinner or supervise older kids' homework or music practice- or
stop them from waking the others!

But a new growth industry, TV programs for babies, is creating
some concern. In 1970 children on average began watching TV
at age 4 years, but today that seems to be more like 4 months!
We've discovered that 4 month olds see moving images and stop
crying. They also enjoy the colours and shapes and soothing
music. But the brain of the child under 2 is growing rapidly and
recent research in the US indicates that fast moving TV images,
rather than being harmless entertainers, actually affect the brain
so that by age 7 years, these children have a higher incidence of
attention deficit than those who saw no TV. There seems to be a
link with fast moving images getting children's brains trained, so
that later they are less able to concentrate on activities as needed.
And the more TV infants watch, the greater the effect.

It was also found that activities such as playing with blocks adds
to language development more than TV watching does. The
reason may have to do with the interaction between the adult and
the child compared with watching a screen. As we show our
children what blocks can do, we teach language skills,
demonstrate creativity, the force of gravity and engineering
concepts- sorting into shapes and sizes- all through play and
positive interaction. As children continue to experiment on their
own they practise the concepts they have just learnt.
It has also been noted that in recent years TV is usually no longer
a family activity as it was when there was only one TV in the
house - families had to learn to negotiate, parents provided
guidance and there was a shared experience. Of course we can
still do these things. It's a matter of choice!

Produced by Helen Vanderbom, Children's Work Coordinator
CRCA: childrens@crca.org.au

The "Sorry Speech" - a different perspective

The issue of the “Sorry” speech and all the associated events has certainly been given much media attention, It is interesting that a Channel 7 poll to which over 13,000 responded, 90% said they disagreed with the apology. What should our attitude be as Christians to such matters? As a Christian, I am always very wary of getting on to media driven bandwagons, because in my experience the media rarely get the facts right.

It seems that this is also the case with the so called “Stolen Generations”. Prof Windschuttle researched some 800 files of aboriginal children removed from their parents in NSW, and found that the reasons for removing these children were very strong – such as children living with an alcoholic mother who was neglecting them, children who were suffering on going sexual abuse etc. Only one file had the reason for removal as being that the child was aboriginal. Andrew Bolt a media commentator has repeatedly challenged those promoting the notion of the stolen generations to bring 10 documented cases of children being removed simply for being aboriginal to the media. No one has done so. To reject the propaganda about the “Stolen Generations” is not to say that white Australians always treated aboriginals well. Far from it. White Australians in very real and grievous ways, have sinned against Aboriginals probably more so than aboriginals have sinned against white people.

But if we want genuine reconciliation, then there must be a mutual asking for, and extending of forgiveness for ALL past wrongs. Surely this is what our Lord taught us in the Lord‟s Prayer and Mat 6:14. Without mutual forgiveness, there can be no healthy “moving on”. Jesus Christ the great forgiver, makes it possible for us to forgive. Saying Sorry to a largely fictitious stolen generations only clouds the issues, and perpetuates keeping the aboriginal community locked into a victim mentality. It is interesting that Noel Pearson, an aboriginal leader, was not supportive of the sorry day for these very reasons. While the intentions of many were very honourable in organising the sorry day, I believe that our nation missed a great opportunity. A mutual forgiveness ceremony, as had been advocated by some aboriginal Christians would have brought far more healing, and it probably would have received wider support in the general community.

Pastor Peter

Warburton Mission Trip 2008 photos (part 2)

Warburton Mission Trip 2008 photos (part 1)