NELL BERNSTEIN
(As told by her daughter, Mimi Finesilver)
My mother was born in 1910, in Montgomery, Alabama,
into an orthodox Jewish home. In 1988, Mom, then 78, was widowed
and had been diagnosed with cancer. Also in that year, while living
in New York City, I became a believer in the Messiah. I began not
only praying for my mother’s salvation, but also began asking
everyone I knew to pray for her as well. Although there were many
miles between us, and not much opportunity for me to directly share
with her about the Lord’s love, I found that He was providing a
continuous witness of His love through Mom’s neighbors. Mom’s house
was at the end of a street, but the city the year before had cleared
the trees at the end of this street and had made a cul-de-sac,
allowing space for five new houses. God is so amazing -- when each
of these houses became occupied in 1988, in all five homes Jesus was
Lord! And God must have put an extra special burden on these dear
people’s hearts to reach out to Mom. One family even had invited
Mom to their church when they hosted a Jewish evangelistic program
-- and Mom went!!
Mom never objected to my faith in Jesus, and even
commented that she saw the change in me, but also never would allow
conversation to turn to her need for Jesus. My heart would ache
that I was not able to share with her, but still God gave me
assurance that not only did He hear each and every prayer offered up
for my mother, but that they would be answered (and with a “yes”).
In 1990, the Lord brought Michael into my life, and
in 1991 we were married. In March of 1997, having by then moved to
Montgomery, Mom came to live with us in our home. Seeing us go to
church each Sunday, I believe she started feeling the need to show
some “religion” for herself. She began reading the Old Testament,
and one day she made the comment that now that she was getting
further into the “book,” it was getting rather heavy to hold (my Mom
had become quite fragile). I told her the lightest book we had,
that was still a Bible, was a New Testament. She actually said that
sounded “good,” and began reading, starting with the Gospel of
Matthew. One day after coming home from church, Mom mentioned to
Michael and me that she had read something in the “book” that she
thought was “nice.” She said there was “this rabbi” who spoke about
a widow who gave from what she had and even though it was not much,
God was pleased with what she gave. When we asked her the name of
“this rabbi,” she said she didn’t remember. Michael asked, “It was
Jesus, wasn’t it, Mom?”. She just quickly nodded her head and
indicated she didn’t want to talk about it anymore.
By the beginning of December of that year, Mom began
getting even weaker. Hospice was now coming to see her and Michael
and I believed that she might not have much time left. The Lord
began impressing on me that my mother already believed – she just
did not know what to do about it. When we spoke to her about Jesus,
she now only said “I can’t change,” but never “I don’t believe.” On
December 13th, she admitted to Michael that she was scared and asked
him, “What’s going to happen to me?”. He read several passages to
her from the Bible regarding standing before God, and at the end he
felt led to simply say, “Mom, the choice is yours.” Several hours
later, I went into Mom’s room and was holding her to me. “I love
you so much,” I told her, “but God loves you even more -- He died
for you. Do you believe that?”. She nodded her head “yes”! “Mom,
you already believe in Jesus, don’t you?” I asked her. “Yes,” she
said. I told her all she needed to do was to tell God Himself that
she believed in Jesus, which she did. I then called Michael into
the room. “Michael,” she told him, “I believe in Jesus.” It was so
simple, and so wonderful. Michael just beamed and said “Oh, Mom,
you’re going to go to heaven!”
By that evening she no longer could get out of bed
and by the next day communication was quite limited with her. Every
once in a while, she would open her eyes and I would ask her, “Are
you still afraid?” and she would get this beautiful smile on her
face and say, “No, I’m fine.” Even the Hospice nurse, a Christian
lady, commented that she could see the change in Mom. The nurse
mentioned that she could tell those who knew where they were going
as opposed to those who were afraid, and it was obvious to her that
Mrs. Bernstein had assurance. On December 19th, six days after
receiving the Lord, He called her home.
Michael and I made the necessary calls for the
funeral, and were able to reach all the precious people who had
lived on the cul-de-sac. They rejoiced with us: Mom was with the
Lord and each was able to be at her funeral. As it turned out, all
eight of the pallbearers were men who had shared the Good News with
Mom. At the end of the service, Catherine, a sixteen year-old girl
who had lived in the cul-de-sac, came to me crying. “She was like a
grandmother to me -- is it really true that she received Christ?”.
I repeated a story that Catherine’s mother had told me eight years
earlier. Catherine’s mother was in the kitchen and overheard her
daughter speaking to my mother. “Miss Bernstein, Jesus was Jewish
you know, why don’t you believe in Him?”. Mom had whispered to
Catherine, ““I guess I believe a little, everyone keeps telling me
about Him.”
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