“Aunt Lillian” a true Mother of Israel at Ninety Years
This picture could be anyone’s grandmother or great-grandmother whose ancestral homelands came from the ancient forested land in the Northern Regions of Gaul where today, the Nations that host the Lost Tribes of Israel claim their homelands. They were a rugged people, tenacious in their beliefs, and impervious to the changing times around them.
They wandered Eurasia and left behind their gorgeous handiworks as the Scythians of the North living in the Southern Regions of Russia, they became the Celts and Cymrics, who have given us so much poetic literature, religious and Davidian symbolisms (Harp of King David), a sense of adventure, and a rugged persistence in the faith of their forefathers. Then there were the fierce Germanic tribes; the Ostrogoths, the Visigoths, and the Vandals, who shredded the Legions of the Caesars to the core and toppled the city of Rome.
Surprise as it may seem, these Israelites remained very tribal, kept a vast archives of their Hebrew tribal identities, and always, in spite of their apostate ways, knew of a Creator G-d who governed the laws of nature, and was the architect of the moral laws of the Torah that kept civilizations intact.
They were a people as fervent in their Israelite apostasy in the Northern Territories of the Land of Israel as they were in their affirmation of the Jewish Messiah, whose sole mission to Planet Earth was to find the Lost Sheep of the House of Israel.
Strange as it may seem, for so many who see an angry G-d of the Old Testament, or whose ancestors worshipped angry Roman Titans whose morality was more despicable than the vagrants of their own social cultures, the children of the Cymrics and the Kelts were in the 1st century singing anthems to the Druidic G-d of Creation and His Messiah Yesu.
They left for us a legacy of truisms called “Triads” that upheld the integrity of a morality culture where family was supreme, genealogies gave your depth of your ancestral past, and only subservient to One Creator G-d of the Universes.
Looking at my “aunt” one would consider that she was a Patrician mother in a culture loving society, only to learn that here was a true American Pioneer who followed the lure of unsettled homelands in Southern regions of Texas. She was not “pleasure loving” person but she was a pleasure to always be around.
They settled in a mixed culture along the Lower Rio Grande River of Mayan/Aztec descendants whose only subsidence were deep roots in the love of the land. There they lived with non-air conditioned wooden sided farmhouses, no more than a 1000 square feet to house always six or eight, for a while they only had an outhouse, until septic tanks brought them the best of farming civilization.
Their barns put together with left over tin and wood siding that kept a motley of Jersey cows for milking and an occasional horse. Milk was fresh from the udder with cream hanging from the lids, with an assortment of vegetables and fruit that were always fresh.
Every night one always knew the menu, for every day of the week had a different but simple hearty fare where Jewish kashrut cooking was not comprehended, though we knew about the festivals yet “clean meats” were only served to guests. The major proteins were beans with homemade gluten hand wrung from flour with brownish tinged patties, and bread fresh baked with intoxicating aromas, milk in the raw, homemade butter, and chocolate chip cookies.
When we look today at that culture, how primitive it seems, but to Israelite descendants awaiting the Messiah, it was supreme. Our Hebrew-Judaic culture that we had such an affinity for, told us of a G-d and His Messiah that we have grown to adore. Today, we look to the past, on how our lives today are in disarray, these simple cultures we perceive may become the clues to our future survival, where we may soon be escaping to our own Red Sea.
As the prophets have spoken and warned us of imagery from the past, we also sense that we may have a future, not much different than our ancestral past. The apocalyptic pictures in our future speak of days like that of yore, when great plagues toppled the greatest of nations that sent our ancestral forefathers to the Promised Land of mystical lore.
In the days of climatic upheavals, as volcanoes and earthquake spout and rumble when 2012 races by and the End of the Mayan world age confronts us as fiery bolides fall from the sky. Our computers and I-Pods will not be too useful when our pantries are bare and we have no clue how to make simple bread.
How many of us moderns, know how to feed and milk a cow, how to skin a goat or raise a lamb? How many of you, have raised even chickens, where every morsel from the kitchen had a mouth to feed on the outside?
Are you capable of riding a horse to the local village store where beans, potatoes, and corn are the only staples of simple fare and there will be no more? Do you have the rudiments of caring for your car, or even walking, much less riding a tractor in the local collective garden, where all mouths get a share.
The movies may be few, and concerts rarely come around, yet could we survive the disasters, where stars fall to the ground. My aunt would survive, for her simple smile and happiness was a soothing elixir for all to enjoy. The food was always there, even though it was simple fare.
There was no complaining as we sat around for evening worship, considering words from the Divine and singing sweet melodies as the pump organ swelled forth with melodious air, for we were all family and together, our lives were much better life than many others around.
Down the dirt road to the south, only three miles, lay the border river that separated the Land of the Free and Mexico beyond. This little road was a thoroughfare for the Mexican needy immigrants coming from the south. For here they could wade the lazy river near her terminus and set out walking north to their Promised Land.
Everyone who stopped by, received some food to help them beyond and with a grateful smile, they knew that here was an angel from on high. The doors were never locked, as the children slept on screened porches, to kick off covers in humid darkness, or brush off frost on bitter cold mornings.
As I think of our soon to come future, where the prophets have foretold, that apocalyptic catastrophes will be reminiscent of the Exodus of old. Today, our political leaders seem like Pharaohs, who knew not the Josephs of old. They would rather leave us in bondage, to pamper the globalists abroad.
If you have a great aunt or a great grandmother like mine, you might want to sit down for a chat. Plead with them, give us your wisdom on how to survive and still be good representatives of the Divine. Every lesson we can learn today, when our pensions, and social security checks have gone astray, as the forces of darkness surround us and we yearn for the angels of light.
I imagine my Israelite “aunty” would still put her arms around, and with her soothing eyes she’s say, G-d made you in His Image and He will not let you shrivel up and die. For you are a “chosen one” a “Spiritual Israelite” we might say, but little did we realize how true it would be in that future day. For now we know the real truth for it’s not “wannabe Jews” that we seek to be, for we are true blooded Israelites with a divine destiny and a Messiah that we will literally see. So my aunt, would quietly say, keep looking up, though the heaven may be in array for the G-d of Creation is watching to protect us in the palms of His hands.
And though I may walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for the G-d of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, my forefathers, will be with me. He offers me a promise, not just ethereal mansions above, but a world that is to come, that is agreed by all the prophets of old, that in that life, my “Cup will overflow” for “surely goodness and mercy shall follow our lives, as we dwell in the House of the Messiah forever.
May the G-d of Israel bless you my aunt, for your gentle smile hasn’t changed in five decades of my memory. Your simple home had doors that always creaked, and boards in the floor that groaned as we walked in our sleep. It was a place where every student who wanted to be educated about our Father above, and though they felt they were homeless, they could always find a bed and a home.
Though you had three children, my cousins who I loved to play. We loved creeping through tunnels made in haystacks, or swimming in field canals just after a strong summer rain.
There were no doubt a dozen “children” who still call you “mom”, when your home always became their home on the run. It reminds me of our larger tribal family, also a dozen and no more. Strange as life will be as we thought the Jews were all alone, soon there will be a larger family of hundreds of millions more for we are the Lost Tribes of Israel who are waiting to find our future new home.
Aunt Lillian expired on 2/6/2016 at the Age of 95 years of age. She left a legacy of helping innumerable young scholars to receive a religious education and a moral foundation for their lives.
At the time of the end the G-d of Israel will use all of His Chosen Ones of Israel to complete His divine destiny for Planet Earth. Most of these chosen ones will have no idea of their chosen destiny. They will become the prime actors in the final act of the “Drama of the Ages”. In that day when the Messiah of Israel does reveal himself, also will be revealed all those whose destiny were linked to that august moment in human history.
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