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The
Book Fell Open to the Right Place
By Sherlene Hall Bartholomew
While living in New
York, I was invited by Joseph and Harriet Fibel, of Scarsdale, to
join their Seder table. I had met Joe, then president of the NY
Jewish Genealogical Society, at a Westchester County Genealogical
Society confab. When I met him, I was still filled with excitement
about a singular experience that had just happened, so told him
all about it.
At one of the displays
of family history resources there, I had randomly chosen a book
from among many about Ohio history. While thumbing through it, I
remarked to those manning the table that I sure would like to find
the marriage of a certain couple from that state. No sooner did
I name them than this book fell open to a page that had an entire
paragraph about them, as their names practically jumped off the
page to catch my attention!
As the back of my neck
went electric, and my eyes teared, I forgot any sense of reserve
and demanded of the startled men: “What names did I just mention
to you? Look at this page—can you believe? Just look at this!
This book fell right open to their names! Why, here’s their
marriage date! Do you know how long I’ve been looking for
this? I tell you, there really are angels guiding this work!”
They inspected the open
page, acknowledged that I spoke those same names before I opened
it, and seemed to be almost as excited and caught up in the moment
as I. As I then met Mr. Fibel and shared this experience, I encouraged
him to go over to that table, if he wanted witnesses to
a miracle.
That night I got a phone
call from Joe Fibel. He said he was not one to tell stories about
the guidance of angels, especially in public or group situations,
but he had a few experiences of his own, doing family history, that
he wanted to share with a believer. That was a long, fascinating
phone conversation.
I hasten to add that
such miracles are rare, in my own experience. Ancestral “finds”
most often come through long, focused effort, though I cannot deny
the continuous spiritual “high” that I feel while engaged
in “The Search.” Elijah’s gift to those of us
possessed with this magnificent obsession does not make the long
hours of research seem the least bit arduous. Fact is, the hours
fly by, and it’s with regret that we pack up, as the library
closes.
Joe and Harriet, in extending
their invitation for me to join their Seder table, were sensitive
to the circumstance that my husband Dan and I had separated and
were living in different states. It was a weekend when I would not
have our children, and on learning from a cousin at the Society
that I would be alone at the time of their celebration, the Fibels
reached out—as do Jewish people everywhere, to those not necessarily
part of their own community, who may be hurting and in need of fellowship.
I think gladly on that
evening when, surrounded by Fibels who had come from near and far,
I also took my turn reading at their large table from sacred text,
reminding us that we are of Israel and are therefore a covenant
people. I basked in the conviviality at this family event, so rich
in tradition--delicious and nourishing, in more ways than one.
It soon became clear
that various members of the family had different perspectives about
some stories from the books of Moses that were remembered in the
reading. I basked in the general atmosphere of sharing and acceptance.
If there was argument over certain points, it was all accomplished
in a spirit of “We are here in an atmosphere of mutual respect
and shall all be heard.” This openness was also extended to
me, as they invited me to share my view on what it meant to have
a place set before the empty chair they reserved, near an open door,
for Elijah.
With tender conviction
I told about our LDS belief that on April 3, 1836, Elijah appeared
to a latter-day prophet in the House of the Lord, fulfilling the
promise in Malachi. I told them he restored keys that would “turn
the hearts of the fathers to the children, and the
children to the fathers,” that peace might prevail (D&C
110). I said that I felt the Spirit of Elijah had already entered
their home, as Joe led an organization dedicated to the search for
Jewish family roots, and as all the family supported him in this
and participated themselves.
I was touched by their
respectful interest and encouraged to tell more, as they asked questions.
While so doing, I caught a gleam in Joe’s eye, as he gave
Harriet a knowing look. I got the distinct impression that they
already knew the story, but wanted me to tell it—for my own
sake! I was at home at their table, but Joe and Harriet were among
many who helped me find the way back to peace in my own heart and
home, surrounded by my own covenant family.
I can’t begin to
express the gratitude I feel, as my heart now so easily turns, in
tender love and respect, to my man Dan. I wonder at the blessings
that have come to our children, despite—and perhaps even because
of our trials. Through the search after my dead, I found the living,
as well as new hope for myself. This fortifies my conviction that
our Father commands us to regard our dead, so we can know what it
is to live! (More about this in Part II of this column.)
As we gather in thanksgiving
this season, let us open the door of our hearts to make place for
Elijah. Let us, like the Fibels, spread a table that includes someone
outside our community. Let us celebrate our hope for peace in our
troubled world and for the freeing of those held captive in another.
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