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"Next door there is a convent where the sisters live," he said. "They're all French, but
there's one of them who speaks English. You go over there. I'll call over and tell them that you're
coming. Maybe they can tell you where you can find a French cookbook."
I got in the car and drove just a short distance to the place where the French nuns lived and
knocked at the front door. A sweet-looking young nun had seen me and she came running from the
back.
"Yes, can I help you?" she greeted me.
"Well, Father said that maybe you could tell me where I could find a French cookbook."
"Yes, yes," she said, "come in, come in."
She took me into the convent. I had never been in one before. She took me to the kitchen.
One of the sisters began to fix tea. Another had already brought out a plate of cookies. The one
who spoke English said, "Sit down, sit down." So I sat down. They wanted to know all about who
I was. They wanted me to repeat everything I had told the priest.
Well, praise the Lord! It was a wonderful experience. They were so hungry to listen. When
I got ready to leave, one of the sisters said, "Here is a little statue. We wonder if you would put it
on your dashboard? It will protect you." (It was the figure of St. Christopher who is supposed to
protect one on the highway.)
I said, "Thank you, and here is something for you -- a little book I have written called,
'Hallelujah, I have found Him.' [I happened to have one with me printed in French.] Would you
like to have this to give to the sisters? And here's one for you in English. I also have a little New
Testament. Would you like to have it?"
They eagerly took everything I offered. It was a good exchange. I'll always believe they got
the best of the bargain. No, I did not use the little statue. Thank God, I do not need to resort to such
things to protect me on the highway. I'm under the protection of the precious blood of Jesus Christ.
He watches over me wherever I go.
I went further into town. This was during the Jewish high, holy days -- Rosh Hashanah,
their New Year. When I saw a synagogue I went in and found a back seat. Services were going on
and the rabbi was preaching in Hungarian. Here I was -- a Hungarian Jew -- in a Hungarian Jewish
congregation. O I felt so good! I understood everything he said. Had he preached in Hebrew, I
would not have understood him. Or if he had preached in Russian or Polish or some other language
in which he had been reared, I would not have understood him.
Among the Jews it is traditional that any stranger who enters the synagogue is graciously
invited to the homes and entertained for the day. It is one of the strictest mores of their culture that
they do this. Thus, after the meeting, the rabbi and his wife, knowing I was a stranger and a
Hungarian Jewess, asked if I would not go home with them, have dinner, and spend the day.