Threefold Twenty

This is what I call myself, a grass root Christian.

What I mean by this, is clear to me, but I ought to qualify it for my new friends here in Ireland with whom I attend biblical study at the Presbyterian church.

In chronological order: I went to a Catholic primary school. The Sisters in religious robes were very kind and taught us reading and writing as well as to pray God, thus making us understand that it goes together, i.e. being a clever human being refering to a superior benevolent being for help.

When I was 17 I walked to the Protestant pastor's house because I was in doubt. Did we need to believe that the mother of Jesus was a virgin to be called a Christian? I was given a bible and told to seek the answers to my questions in it. The pastor added, I recall this very precisely, that not all questions have answers anyway.

From then on I attended the Sunday service in a Protestant church whenever I could and wherever I was. I officially confirmed I was a Protestant of the Fre…

This blog was started and stopped several times.

And here I am again to-day... recalling the past, living the present and planning the future!

I left France, drove to Cherbourg, took the ferry to Rosslare in Ireland. I am now proud to announce that I live in Wexford, a small fishing port just 26 km north of Rosslare. This place is just what I needed. A small town full of friendly people, narrow streets and old ruins, crows and seagulls, and the sea at the end of every alleyway. It is built on the side of a hill facing east leading to the wharf where trawlers are moored. Smells of fish and chips and what fish! Grim colours of the stones, the churches and the sky full of rain falling sideways in packets. Passers-by in Main Street smiling and saying hello to you, sometimes commenting on the biting wind. Nothing stops the wind and the rain here. It comes from way out in the northern Atlantic or from way out in the North sea.

I ran away really. Not the first time either. As my good kibbut…