The Widow’s Mite

A few months ago a new church building was dedicated by the Jewish-Christian congregation of Zhitomir in Ukraine. Funds for this building had been provided by the Israel committee of our church in the Netherlands, a committee that maintains close ties with these Russian Jews and has given much instruction to them over the past ten years.

Rev. C. J. Meeuse and Rev. D. de Wit were present at the opening ceremony. In the audience were also Sjaak and Adeline Van Ryssel. Two years ago Sjaak was accepted by the Israel committee in the Netherlands to work among the Jews in the former Soviet Union. In the meantime he was sent out, together with his wife. Sjaak and Adeline live close to Zhitomir, the town where Pastor Margolis’ new church has been built. In the last issue of the “Israëlbode” (the “Israel Herald”), Adeline told how the money for the new church was provided. We have translated this story for the readers of our church bulletin in Southern Alberta. It is not the story of the large amounts of money that came from Holland, but it is the old story of the widow’s mite.

During the opening ceremony of the church, Rev. Margolis gave a brief history of the church. He also thanked those who had donated generously towards the new church building. One of them stood out for us in a special way. Instantly we understood to whom he referred. We knew her as a tiny widow from Chudnov, a little town 60 km southwest of Zhitomir.

She was the only Jewish woman still living in that town. Every week someone faithfully helped her by fetching water, gathering firewood, and providing a morsel of bread; in short, giving her a helping hand. The tiny widow always bombarded that person with lots of questions about the Scriptures. I wrote “tiny.” And tiny she is, barely one and a half meters tall! Almost blind, she has a very dependent life. Yet she is always cheerful and very glad when someone comes to see her.

Last November we paid her a visit. A narrow country road led us from Zhitomir to Chudnov. The landscape was gorgeous. Stretches of woods occasionally opened up to reveal distant pastoral scenes as the road wound its way through hills and valleys. Although it was November, and nature had a rather grey appearance, the sight was lovely and fascinating. After more than an hour we arrived at a ramshackle little house, close to the road. The house was about to collapse, and we could hardly believe that anyone was allowed to live in it.

A few rickety poles served as a fence. Fortunately, the woman who accompanied us knew how to announce our arrival. She looked around in the front yard and found a long branch from a tree. With surprise we wondered what she was going to do with that. Soon, however, it became clear. On the first floor we saw a few windows covered with plastic. Three thin strips of wood had been hammered across the lower part of the left window, and were apparently supposed to function as a door bell. With her branch, our friend hit those slats a few times. Then she repeated this procedure, apparently to avoid misunderstandings. Confident that the widow would hear it and open the door, we meanwhile went to the back of the house.

We could not believe what we saw when we entered. All the woodwork was rotten. All the brickwork was crooked and sagged to one side. Inside the house it was pitch dark, and we must have looked like drunken people as we tried to move forward step by step, seeking solid ground.

In the living room it was dusky, but at least we were able to see one another. Plastic material had been attached to the window to supply extra protection against the cold, but it dimmed the light within the house. And that is where we met her: a tiny, dwarflike woman with a friendly face. She was very poor, but glad and satisfied. She had her Bible, a pair of thick reading glasses, and a nice magnifying glass with a built-in lamp. Most likely she was wearing all the clothes she owned, just to stay warm. Her monthly pension amounted to approximately 50 dollars.

It was to this widow that Pastor Margolis referred in his speech at the opening of the new church building. He said that, while visiting her one day, he found her in great sadness, since she had nothing to contribute to the building of the new church. She had prayed for it, but no solution had come. Rev. Margolis had tried to reassure her, pointing out to her that she had nothing and that she would need the tiny bit that she received for herself. At the same moment somebody knocked at the door. She opened it, and there stood the person who came each month to deliver her meager pension. That was the answer to her prayer. In spite of all Rev. Margolis’ objections, he had to accept the widow’s mite. It was almost 35 dollars, her gift for the new church.

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