I was walking downtown in a city looking for a library. Another person was walking alongside me. I saw a small church and decided to step in. They did not even recognize me. There was no warmth in this place, even an atmosphere of hostility, so I left and walked to another church. Outside the building, the curb was painted red, prohibiting anyone from parking near the entrance. I crossed the red line anyway.

This church had a sizeable library packed with books. There were several young, intellectual-looking people sitting at a table. They were busy with activities, their glasses pinned on the ends of their noses. I looked around but couldn’t find any books that interested me. I have read all these topics, I thought. I then noticed a small glass case in the far upper corner of the room, one of its doors slightly open. In front was a book with large bold letters reading: “A Jew.” Below was a picture of Jesus kneeling in prayer, his face to the ground. This book instantly grabbed my attention, so I took it out and sat at a small round table.

I opened the book randomly and came to the chapter “Yom Kippur,” which means The Day of Atonement. There was a large picture, more like a live image of a grass field filled with people—men, women, and children. To their right was a large granite boulder protruding out of the ground. They were sitting in fold-out chairs, facing the same direction and looking to the heavens in anticipation of something magnificent that was about to happen.