#i think about Rabbi Handler all the time

[nonstandardrepertoire]

Parashat Pinəḥas, 5784

(This dəvar was originally given at Kolot Chayeinu on the morning of Saturday, 27 July, 2024.)

Today's Torah portion comes from the book of Numbers, which is called that in English because it has so many lists of numbers of things. Several of those lists occur in today's portion, including a second census of all the Israelites in the wilderness. You may remember a similar census being taken way back at the beginning of the book, some forty years ago or so; we have to do another one here because the entire generation that was counted in that first census has since died. Or, well, that entire generation minus Mosheh (for now), Yəhoshú’a and Kaleiv, and everyone who wasn't yet 20 the first time around. But still, close enough. An entire generation, give or take, minus those spared by G-d or fate or what have you.

Perhaps because it's a census of the next generation, this list of Israelite adults contains some little nuggets of history along with the tribal tallies. We hear about Qóraḥ's rebellion, for example, and then we hear that the sons of Qóraḥ did not die.

It gets an entire verse all to itself, Numbers 26:11: And the sons of Qóraḥ did not die.

What do we make of this?

One approach is to take it very literally: Qóraḥ had some sons, they didn't rebel with him, they didn't die. That's the approach Ibn Ezra — a scholar from early twelfth-century Spain — takes. He notes that several psalms are attributed to the tribe of Qóraḥ, surmises that these must be Qóraḥ's descendants, and explains that some of Qóraḥ's kids must therefore have survived. Easy enough.

But if you know anything about our tradition, you know that our sages of blessed memory are seldom satisfied with a simple surface reading, and they have some wild things to extrapolate from this one verse. The Babylonian Talmud, in tractate Sanhedrin, page 110a, records a story from Rabba bar bar Ḥanah. He says he met a guy this one time who brought him to a crack in the earth that belched steam and heat so intense it could singe wet wool when passed over it at spear's length. And yet when bar bar Ḥanah listened, he heard the sons of Qóraḥ singing songs of praise from the underworld.

The Talmud doesn't cite a Biblical prooftext for this story, but we can find an allusion to it in Numbers 26:11 itself: If you take the first letter of each word in the verse, you get ו, ק, ל, ם, which together spell vəqolam, "and their voice". The sons of Qóraḥ did not die, and neither did their voice. If you listen, perhaps you can still hear it today.

What does that voice tell us? If you take Mosheh's side of the dispute, which the sages certainly do, this is a warning that no victory is final, that there will never be a perfectly stable society where no one seeks to challenge the status quo. It's a warning against resting on your laurels, a warning that leadership requires constant attention to discontent among those you hope to lead.

If you take Qóraḥ's side, tho, it suggests that defeat need not be final either, that a setback, however ruinous, to the cause of pursuing justice is never the end of the story — the sons of Qóraḥ did not die; another generation will come and carry on the fight.

This reading echoes Justice Ruth Bader Ginsberg's quip that dissents speak to a future age, that the dissenter's hope is that they are writing not for today but for tomorrow.[1] Dissents like these remind us that the past is not flat, that the majority or official opinions aren't the only ones that existed, and that the world does not always move in a tidy line from less to more just.

Our tradition is full of dissents such as these. One that I come back to regularly as I build my own Jewish life is a dissent from Rabbi Howard Handler from 1992. At the time, Rabbi Handler was a member of the Conservative Movement's halakhic authority, the Committee for Jewish Law and Standards, which was debating whether to alter the traditional ban on homosexuality. The majority opinions adopted by the Committee reflect the ambient homophobia of the time — the consensus position includes a clause saying they will not accept "avowed homosexuals'' into the movement's rabbinical school, for example — but Rabbi Handler's dissent is having none of it. He writes:

The CJLS has made gay and lesbian Jews second-class citizens or, even worse, a tolerated minority. . . . The policies are discriminatory at best and profoundly oppressive in any event. There is no reason for us to hesitate in accepting gays and lesbians into our community with complete equality.[2]

In some ways, this dissent, with its insistence on full equality for queer Jews, goes further than the Committee would go some fourteen years later, in 2006, when the Committee finally approved a təshuvah abrogating their halakhic ban.[3] His dissent is a reminder of what could have been, that there is a radical tradition there for us in the past, no matter how hard some have tried to bury it.

Rabbi Handler wrote these words some ten years into the AIDS crisis. Despite Fukuyama's "End of History", it was a time of tremendous upheaval, uncertainty, and death. In my undergraduate gay and lesbian history class, the lecture on the early years of the crisis was the one lecture my professor asked us not to take notes on. Instead of his usual academic analysis, he just showed us pictures from when he was in college, some 40 years ago or so, pictures of his friends, with little annecdotes about each of them in turn. This one would always make sure you got home safe from the party, no matter how drunk you were. This one was so beautiful, but so annoying to be in class with. This one sang so enthusiastically, even if he wasn't always the most in tune. Each of these stories, a whole hour's worth of them, ended in the same way: And he died. And he died. And he died. A whole generation, give or take, minus those spared by G-d or fate or what have you.

In 1993, Rabbi Handler was outed and fired from the congregation where he had had a pulpit. He was kicked off the Committee for Jewish Law and Standards, and his former colleagues debated whether the movement should help him find a new job. In a decision stark in its cruelty, fourteen of these rabbis voted to deny him that help. He was left without a rabbinical position.

But the sons of Qóraḥ did not die.

Queer Jews did not simply go away. We certainly didn't get any quieter. 1992 was not the first time we asserted our halakhic rights, and it would not be the last. The struggle is far from over, but more and more, these days, it's the people who would shame us who are themselves shamed instead.

We are living in a time of tremendous upheaval, uncertainty, and death. (When are we not!) I don't know how it will all turn out. I don't know what the ledger will say when the final case has been tried and decided, the final verdict rendered with no appeal left in any court human or Divine. I don't know where things will stand when history truly, finally ends. I don't know what happens when that day comes.

But I do know it won't come for a while yet. And so even when the prospects seem bleak, when I am in despair and the possibility of bending the universe towards justice seems faint, remote, impossible, even then I keep working, keep putting my little voice out into the world. Because I want there to be a record of it. Because I want people to know I was here. Because, even if things don't all turn out the way I hope they will, perhaps another generation in some future age will be able to say "Look! Even back then, there were people who thought like this, who fought for these ideals, however imperfectly and unsuccessfully.''

Because the sons of Qóraḥ will not die.

Shabbat shalom.

This quote has been widely repeated, which makes it difficult to track down a precise source. If anyone can point me to the origin, I'd love to cite it more properly.

Rabbi Howard Handler, “In the Image of G-d: A Dissent in Favor of the Full Equality of Gay and Lesbian Jews into the Community of Conservative Judaism”, 25 Mar, 1992 (PDF)

In my experience, many Conservative shuls today go much further than even the most permissive ruling in 2006 would theoretically allow. The ruling in question explicitly says that bisexual Jews must only enter into relationships with Jews of the "opposite" binary gender, and bars gay and lesbian Jews from sanctifying their relationships with the rite of qidushin. (Instead, they create an alternate rite that heterosexual Jews are not supposed to use — it's very marriage vs civil union, honestly.[4]) I have been in many Conservative shuls in the past ~8 years where I would be, frankly, shocked if the suggestion that bisexuals halakhically ought to limit themselves to heterosexuality were met with anything other than shocked condemnation. There is the Law, and then there is the Community, and I think it's important to remember that they're not always in synch.[5]

Or at least, that's the theory. In 2017, the CJLS approved a təshuvah about trans people that, among other things, allows married Jews to stay married after one of them transitions, meaning that you can, in fact, have two men or two women joined in qidushin or a man and a woman joined with the bərit ahuvim after all. But I digress...

That said, from what I gather, both the 1992 and 2006 discussions of gay and lesbian Jews in the CJLS were acrimonious and distressing for most of those involved, so I understand why they're not exactly eager to dredge the whole thing up again.

[snicketstrange]

Rereading The End Chapter 6:

"At this point, you may find yourself recognizing all of the sad hallmarks of the Baudelaire orphans' sad history. The word "hallmarks" refers to something's distinguishing characteristics, such as the frothy foam and loud fizz that are the hallmarks of a root beer float, or the tearstained photographs and the loud fizz that are the hallmarks of a broken heart."

I think this introduction to chapter 6 is a subtle criticism of those who accused asoue of being formulaic.

"Certainly the Baudelaires themselves, who as far as I know have not read their own sad history, but of course are its primary participants, "

Well, Lemony admits here that the Baudelaires might be dead. He practically claims that this is what he thinks is most likely. Still, he hints that this is "as far as I know" an expression that indicates that, although he thinks the Baudelaires are dead, he is also fully aware that he may be mistaken in this regard.

"My name is Kit Snicket, and I've been looking everywhere for these children."

"You're not Kit Snicket!" Mrs. Caliban cried."

I think this was Olaf's first and only disguise as some previously known character. If we think about how this plot is completely meaningless, I think we can finally get to the true meaning that exists here. Olaf is not a complete idiot. He could have disguised himself as anyone who survived a storm. If he wanted, he could have created any name for a pregnant woman. Second, the real Kit Snicket was there, beside him, and she was still alive. Why would Olaf intentionally create a character that could be quickly discarded? He certainly did not expect to deceive the Baudelaires ... Well, the only sense here is that Olaf made these strange decisions because Daniel Handler wanted him to make these strange decisions. But the question is why did Daniel Handler want this? I think the answer is this: Daniel Handler wanted to make it clear that the disguises of Olaf and his supporters were not limited to original characters, but could also include people who did exist in their universe. This increases the range of possibilities to explain some apparent contradictions.

I highlight two of them: "How could Beatrice be at the masked ball when she was already dead when the ball took place?" Answer: It was not Beatrice who was there, but someone pretending to be Beatrice.

Why did Lemony write letters to Kit after her death and even try to save her life with a salad? Answer: It wasn't Kit Snicket, but it was someone pretending to be Kit Snicket.

It is true that Lemony would not be deceived by such a ridiculous disguise as the one used by Olaf in TE. But we have to remember that in TE, Olaf had few resources at his disposal. The important thing is his intention, which could certainly be shared by his supporters or other arsonists.

"If Muhammad will not come to the mountain," Rabbi Bligh said, using an expression that the islanders understood at once, "the mountain will come to Muhammad."

I found it interesting that Daniel Handler chose a Jewish rabbi to speak these words, which are a clear reference to Islam, in a book with a clear criticism of religious hypocrisy.

How horrible! I did not remember that Ish did not agree with children to learn to read and write. His campaign to dull people was really strong.

Including Ink in chapter 6 was a wonderful idea. In a way I feel connected again to Uncle Monty, a kind character, who has been sorely missed.

I wonder now why they did not introduce it earlier at Netflix's show ... the way it appeared out of nowhere, it seemed like a deus ex machina. I think they had no time to adapt TE and Tbl and needed cut some things ... but still, I think it would be interesting to give TE two episodes to te + tbl + lstua. I think there was enough material for that.

The end of chapter 6 was really tense, with the Baudelaires being abandoned on the coastal platform, and with the risk of dying the next day when the tide rose. It is now easier to understand Ish's expression: "I will not force you ..." the other option was to be abandoned. Inwardly, everyone knew that. Ish created a community in which everyone was dependent on each other, and where social abandonment was really dangerous. But apparently he knows that the only risk was a massive sabotage of his scheme, and he tried to avoid it at all costs.

Subliminally the book asks us "would it have been better to throw Olaf into the sea at that time? After all, he will die anyway ... At least he would have died causing fewer deaths".

[beingulti]

Alex Shragis

Hi, my name is Alex "Shaggy" Shragis, and I was born in Connecticut and now live in Philadelphia. I started playing ultimate at Jewish summer camp in Massachusetts when I was 9 years old because my counselor could throw a frisbee really far, and I haven't looked back. My first taste at real competitive ultimate was at the same camp when I was 13. Each summer we would spend the whole time practicing for one single game against our rival camp. You think nationals has high stakes? Imagine nationals being exactly one game. At least that's how it felt to me at the time.

I went on to found my religious high school's team, I hope they're still playing, go Eagles. That was tricky since we weren't allowed to play on Shabbat, but our athletic director did a great job calling schools to get them to scrimmage us during the week. Rabbi Sheinkopf, what a guy. We were awful. I was the best player on the team and I was very slow and also pretty bad. I watch highschoolers play now and I'm blown away by how truly bad at ultimate we were. This was in like 2010 too, so it's not like we were in the dark ages of ultimate or anything, we just weren't very good. I tried to convince Rabbi Sheinkopf to let me be a player coach and he wouldn't do it, and man if I thought we were bad then we would have been terrible if I had coached.

Do people read these? I never do.

I went to college at UConn and played ultimate all 4 years. I think I would have been better if I hadn't broken my ankle freshman spring, but I captained the b team and then played for the a team my senior year as a replacement for whichever lines handler was out any given week. I loved college ultimate and it is tied with summer camp for the thing which I wish I could go back to the most. This whole time I was, in fact, returning to said summer camp as a counselor and coaching the frisbee team. I wasn't a great coach in terms of teaching ultimate, but I think I got the kids to really enjoy the process. The best camper I coached was Tamar Austin, captain of Wildcard (better than me at ultimate), but there's a whole host of kids who are super talented and we'll see where they end up. I'll probably talk more about both these things during the week.

After college I moved to Philly and I've played leagues every season ever since. I'm a combination of annoyed, distrustful, priced out, and jealous of club ultimate, and that plus a whole host of other factors has led me not to dip my toes too deep into the club scene. I'm probably too old at this point to really change my lane there but who knows, maybe there's a club renaissance in my future. My big contribution to Philly ultimate has been for the AUDL team, the Phoenix. I worked for them for a long time, first as a color commentator, then as a social media manager, then as the marketing director and gameday host, and now as the play by play commentator. My feelings here are... mixed, but it has given me a great opportunity to get to know a ton of people I love, and it gave me a bunch of experience with what running a pro sports team would be like, which was a blast.

I also got to coach in Philly's YCC leagues, something I'll keep trying to do going forward. I'm a way better coach now than I was in college, and I wish I could go back and coach again. I know that's not really possible, but if anyone wants to fund my early retirement so I can be a summer camp counselor, I'm here for it. I just got married and we don't have any kids but we have 2 cats and 1 snake and I love them very much. The cats are named "Princess Ladyfeet" and "Rorshach", and the snake is named "Shepherd".

O, I also run the Ultiplanet twitter account with a few other friends from college: Scrabble and Phil. Ultiplanet is pretty niche frisbee twitter, even for the Being Ulti followership, but it's a fun place to tweet absolute nonsense about frisbee and sometimes go on rants for social justice. I'm pretty proud of where it's at right now considering we've never done much other than tweet jokes about frisbee. I do love jokes too. My best ever joke, I was telling a story and someone interrupted and goes, "I don't understand, is this a joke?" And I responded, "well its a story about my life and my lifes a joke so yes." Very proud of that moment.

[nolimitsongrace]

September 28: Supernatural Assistance

Supernatural AssistanceSeptember 28, 2020

Are they [angels] not all ministering spirits, sent forth to minister for them who shall be heirs of salvation? — Hebrews 1:14

Today I want to talk to you about the ministry of angels, and how they work to protect and deliver us in times of trouble. Let me begin by retelling a part of a story that I related to you in the May 29 Gem, and I want add a story at the end to demonstrate the point even stronger.

I had long wanted to visit the city of Vorkuta, located above the Arctic Circle in Russia. It was one of the major cities where Joseph Stalin deported believers during a raging period of persecution. There Christians were incarcerated in huge prison camps and forced to work deep under the earth in dangerous coal mines, where they dug the coal that fired the massive coal-burning factories and trains of the Soviet Union.

*[If you started reading this from your email, begin reading here.]

I sensed that it was a divine assignment to visit Vorkuta at that time. Because of its notorious place in history for Christian believers, I wanted to talk to the TV director that covered that large area in order to obtain a contract for broadcasting our TV program. I also intended to find out how many believers still lived there and what we could do to be of assistance to them.

As I related in the earlier Gem, my seat on the airplane was at the front of the plane near the flight attendant station, and I was seated next to a window, which made it possible for me to see everything happening outside of the airplane. My particular seat faced the tail of the plane, so I could also see everything that was happening inside the aircraft.

First, all the passengers boarded. Then I watched out my window as cargo handlers began to load cargo into the underside of the plane. I was shocked at the amount of boxes, suitcases, and cargo they were putting into the cargo hold. In fact, it was so overfilled that when it came time to shut the doors to the cargo hold, it took several men to shut it, because the overflowing cargo was pressing against the door.

Meanwhile, inside the plane from where I was seated, I watched as airport workers piled boxes, boxes, and more boxes in the tail of the plane, until the rear end of the plane — that is, the kitchen and the toilets — were no longer visible or accessible. After that, they began piling luggage and boxes into empty seats, and then they started stacking them from the back to the front of the center aisle of the plane. The extra cargo filled the cabin all the way from the very back to where I sat in the front of the plane!

Because I was seated close to the flight attendants, I could hear their conversations. I overheard one flight attendant say to another, “I’m getting off this plane, because it’s so severely overloaded that I’m afraid this plane is not going to make it.”

Yet I knew I was supposed to go to Vorkuta. So what should I do? I thought. I bowed my head with those who were traveling with me, and we prayed, “Lord, if this plane is going to crash, please do anything needed to get us off this plane!”

Just as we finished praying, a flight attendant frantically yelled, “Everyone — as quickly as possible — get off this plane! We just received a phone call that there’s a bomb on this plane!”

People started fighting with each other and shoving their way to the airplane door. At last when everyone was off the plane, and we were inside the terminal, a public announcement was made, which declared that the entire plane was being unloaded so the authorities could search for a bomb. After hours of our waiting and wondering what to do next, another public announcement was made over the intercom, saying, “After searching the aircraft, we found no bomb on the plane. It was a false threat. However, we have decided that when we all reboard the aircraft, no extra luggage or boxes will be permitted. Only the suitcases of passengers will be permitted on this airplane.”

My companions and I stepped into the plane and reseated ourselves in the same seats that had been assigned to us. People looked relieved, peaceful, and thankful that the plane was no longer overloaded. I heard the same flight attendant who had earlier threatened to get off the plane tell his colleague, “Now we’ll have a safe flight.”

This brings me to what I want to share today about the delivering and protective ministry of angels — because I asked myself that day, Who was that mysterious phone caller who said there was a bomb on the airplane? Who caused the airplane to be so quickly emptied, leading to the fortuitous decision to remove all that dangerous extra cargo? I wondered, Is it possible that an angel was the unidentified mystery caller?

Hebrews 1:14 declares, “Are they [angels] not all ministering spirits, sent forth to minister for them who shall be heirs of salvation?” According to this verse, angels are “sent forth to minister” on behalf of those who belong to the family of God.

The word “minister” is the Greek word diakonia, a word that depicts high-level service. It is important to note that rabbis in New Testament times used a very similar phrase to describe what they called “angels of service or ministry” — angels whom they believed were assigned to protect individuals and deliver them from harm.

Let us be confident that part of the angelic ministry is to ensure a believer’s safety from dangerous and harmful things. Certainly that day at the airport, something inexplicable happened that saved the lives of my team and everyone else who was on that airplane. There were five believers on my team. I would not be surprised if that event was some type of angelic intervention to spare our lives from tragedy. In fact, I truly believe this is what happened.

Especially during the time period when Hebrews 1:14 was written, believers were often forced to physically move from one place to another and were regularly caught in difficult circumstances. But “ministering spirits” — that is, angels — were sent forth to “minister” to them. These angels provided the highest level of service available to help these believers and protect them from harm as they were en route from one place to another.

The phrase “sent forth” in Hebrews 1:14 is a translation of the Greek word apostello, which describes one who is dispatched on a mission. Therefore, these angels spoken of in this verse are purposefully dispatched on a mission to serve and protect the heirs of salvation. It was, and it remains, the mission of angels to serve the needs of the saints and to provide them protection.

Even as you read this, perhaps you can think of people who were in the direct path of harm until something happened to divert their course, and it was that change of direction that spared them from a catastrophic event. I am reminded of a time when our eldest son Paul had a car accident in Moscow. He hit a pole, and it turned the car over multiple times, totally crushing the vehicle. Yet all three people in that car walked away unharmed! The street-side pole was destroyed; the car was completely crushed. But the three people traveling in the car were unscathed. It was truly miraculous.

When Denise and I saw the car, we cried, because we realized there was no human way that death could have been avoided. It was clear to us that our son and his companions had been protected by angels who were assigned to protect them and save them from harm.

So today I want to encourage you to know that there are angels on assignment, sent to minister to you and to protect you in times of danger. To qualify for this angelic protection, Hebrews 1:14 states that one must be an “heir of salvation” — or one must be a child of God. So if you have made Jesus the Lord of your life, you qualify — and it’s time for you to recognize that angels have been assigned to you and to call upon them as you travel and traverse the twists and turns of your life.

Now every time I enter a plane, I lay my hands on its exterior and thank God for the angels who are traveling with me and who are assigned to keep me and all those traveling with me from harm. Knowing that God has provided such protection has kept me in peace on many occasions when I could have been inwardly disturbed in difficult situations. I keep in mind that Psalm 34:7 declares, “The angel of the Lord encampeth round about them that fear him, and delivereth them.”

This is a good day to take a few minutes to reflect on the times when your life has been spared by the divine intervention of God and His angelic hosts. Or perhaps you can think back to times when the lives of people near and dear to you were divinely protected. If they are heirs of salvation and the way they were spared was absolutely miraculous, you can know that they lived to tell the story because of angelic intervention. Angels were sent on assignment to travel with them and to protect them.

Although we certainly don’t worship angels, I think it’s right for us to thank God for providing this high-level service to keep us and protect us from harm!

MY PRAYER FOR TODAY

Father, I thank You for assigning angels to protect me from harm. I am grateful for Your promise to send angels on a special mission to protect, minister to, and help the heirs of salva- tion. Since I’m an heir of salvation, I qualify! I am so thankful to know that I have angels assigned to keep watch over me and that they will serve me with the highest-level service possible. So rather than let fear try to grab hold of me in times of hardship or potential danger, I will give thanks to You for the angels who are present and on active duty — sent on a mission to protect and minister strength and help to me when I need it most!

I pray this in Jesus’ name!

MY CONFESSION FOR TODAY

I confess that God sends His angels to guard me. These ministering spirits are as flames of fire and they are on a specific mission to protect the children of God. Wherever I go, angels are on assignment to go with me and to surround me and keep me safe. Because these angels hearken to the voice of God’s Word, I speak the Word and believe in its power — knowing that angels watch over those words to perform them. Although I cannot visibly see them, I have angelic traveling companions who are with me all the time in every situation I face. According to Psalm 34:7, I am surrounded by the angels of the Lord, and He delivers me from harm!

I declare this by faith in Jesus’ name!

QUESTIONS FOR YOU TO CONSIDER

Can you think of moments in your own life when you were miraculously, inexplicably spared from tragedy? Do you see now that angels are assigned to protect you?

Do you know others whose lives were protected unexplainably? Were the situations they found themselves in potentially catastrophic — yet instead of suffering tragedy, were they protected from harm?

Can you think of situations in the Bible where angels provided safety, protection, or deliverance from danger?

[savvyherb]

‘Cannabis oasis’: Los Angeles cafe first in the US to offer dine-and-dab service

In some parts of America, hundreds of thousands of people are arrested each year for marijuana.

In West Hollywood, it’s on the dinner menu.

Lowell Cafe, opening next month in Los Angeles, is the country’s first legal cannabis restaurant, meaning the first business in the US licensed to serve meals with both food and weed. Inside the marijuana restaurant and lounge, “budtenders” will greet patrons and help them navigate menus of joints, bong service, dab rigs and other cannabis treats that they can then consume inside the cafe, alongside farm-to-table dishes.

Cannabis entrepreneurs in California see this new business as a next big step toward the “end of prohibition” in America, and a major turning point in the continuing effort to legalize marijuana for recreational and social use.

“Cannabis consumers have had to kind of be closeted,” said the chef, Andrea Drummer, standing inside the Lowell kitchen on a recent afternoon while perfecting a mascarpone-filled crepe with peaches for the dessert menu. “To be able to engage in and consume in a space with like-minded people and not have it be secret and not feel judged, I think it’s an exceptional concept.”

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A billboard announces the opening of Lowell Cafe in West Hollywood. Photograph: Dan Tuffs/The Guardian

It’s been a long journey to get to 1 October, Lowell’s grand opening. The much-hyped restaurant is breaking ground at a time in which marijuana is still considered an illegal drug in many parts of the US, a country where more than one person is arrested for cannabis every minute.

California has consistently led the way on marijuana reform, becoming the first state to approve medical cannabis over two decades ago. The state officially legalized recreational pot in 2016, but it’s been a slow process to establish regulations that allow entrepreneurs to take advantage of the new law.

It’s also still illegal to smoke weed in public in California, and while there are some “lounges” and clubs where people can gather and smoke, there have been no businesses that operate like traditional restaurants. The city of West Hollywood, a major LA nightlife hub, wanted to change that, and recently created a licensing process, drawing hundreds of applicants.

“This is a really, really big moment,” said Jackie Subeck, a local cannabis consultant and advocate who won one of the recent West Hollywood licenses and plans to open a cannabis spa and cafe in the city. “This doesn’t exist anywhere … We’re building the plane while flying it.”

West Hollywood officials have helped Lowell navigate conflicting and confusing state and local regulations, though there are some challenges they haven’t yet been able to resolve. Lowell so far has not sorted out a way to legally serve fresh food that is actually infused with cannabis, since there is no state health regulation permitting it. But the cafe did find a way to secure approvals for both food and weed consumption in one location.

“It’s a fun opportunity, because it’s so unknown,” said Kevin Brady, the restaurant’s director, as he stood at the site of the cafe, which is still under construction. “Being the first, we want to make sure we set the benchmark very high.”

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At Lowell, guests will have the option of renting a bong or pipe, rolling their own joints or allowing a “flower host” to roll for them. Photograph: Dan Tuffs/The Guardian

Brady has been working to build a restaurant that he said would feel like a “light, bright airy oasis of a space that people can consume cannabis” and would defy stoner stereotypes – no lava lamps, black lights, Led Zeppelin posters or beanbag chairs. “It’s not the college, Dave Matthews Band kind of vibe. It’s this really elegant place.”

This summer, a rabbi from a synagogue across the street expressed concerns about the smell of marijuana, but Brady said the restaurant would have an advanced air filtration system that would ensure it doesn’t reek outside or inside.

The cafe, which has an outdoor patio, will be open from 10am to 10pm and has already started taking reservations, he said, including from people as far away as Japan and Russia, who have said they are traveling to LA to visit the restaurant.

On the cannabis menu, Lowell will offer flower and smoking options and guests can rent pipes or bongs, roll their own joints, or have “flower hosts” roll for them.

The staff will function like wine sommeliers, Brady said, asking guests about their experiences and interests: “How familiar are you with cannabis? What are you looking for? Are you Snoop Dogg or have you not smoked since high school?”

Drummer, who is heading the kitchen, has built a reputation for herself as a cannabis chef, notably preparing a cannabis-infused meal for Chelsea Handler on her show Chelsea Does and working with other celebrity clients and private companies.

“Food and cannabis are both very communal experiences, so to bring them together … is still very fascinating for me,” she said. She’s still finalizing the menu, which will have traditionally healthy dishes like baby kale salad, along with “foods that one would love to indulge in, if they are elevated”, she said. That includes mac and cheese bites, a grilled cheese sandwich, fried chicken, and a “sweet FL(HIGH)T” dessert plate featuring caramel popcorn, ice cream sandwich, bacon, s’mores and other sweets.

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Andrea Drummer is the executive chef at Lowell Cafe and has built a reputation as a cannabis chef. Photograph: Dan Tuffs/The Guardian

The cafe says “all menu items are meant to complement the heightened senses from THC consumption”.

Brady said he expected the business would attract a wide range of customers, including tourists, celebrities and Hollywood screenwriters. His sister, who has two young children, “wants to bring all her PTA mom friends”, he said. “She sees this as a social communal environment that won’t impact the ability to wake up in the morning and take the kids to school or go to yoga and pilates.”

Even in progressive states like California, the cannabis industry has continued to be dominated by white entrepreneurs and excluded communities that have long suffered and continue to suffer from criminalization and the war on drugs.

Roughly 8% of the workforce of Lowell Herb Co, the company behind the cafe, are people with previous cannabis infractions on their record, said Sean Black, a co-founder, adding that this was a priority in hiring for the cafe.

“There is nothing that will make up for the wrongs that were done,” he said. “There are people in other states who are in jail while we are serving fancy meals. It’s inherently unfair.”

The cafe, he hoped, would help tackle remaining stigmas around cannabis consumption: “We want it to have the same respect as fine wine … Cannabis can be a fun recreational part of society, like alcohol, without being dangerous.”

Advocates said they expected this type of business would spread in California and other states, and Drummer said she was aware that people would be paying attention to what happens at Lowell.

“That is a huge deal, and I want to do it justice,” she said.

Topics

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[magnoliasinbloom]

Someone to Stay - AU

Previous chapters

Chapter 7

The rolling green dominated the landscape. The Range Rover came to a halt in front of a sprawling stone house, somehow managing to look older than the hills it stood upon.

“Lallybroch.” Jamie swept his hand, encompassing the house and the land and seemingly everything around them.

Claire gazed out of the windshield, entranced by the ancient feel of the very stones. “This is not a manor house, Jamie. This is a castle.”

“Ach, no,” he said, ducking his head modestly. “Truly, ‘tis only a farm. There’s a broch, but it’s old and crumbling now. We can visit it later, if ye like.”

“What’s a broch?” Claire unbuckled her seat belt and stepped out of the car.

“A tower, of sorts. The auld lairds of Lallybroch would be called Lords Broch Tuarach, after the north-facing tower.” Jamie reached for their bags in the backseat and joined Claire, taking her hand as they approached the massive front door.

“A tower doesn’t really have a face, you know,” Claire teased.

“Weel, the door faces north. That’ll do.” Jamie smiled, and made to open the door.

“Shouldn’t we knock?” Claire felt nerves and trepidation, about to meet the famous Jenny and the rest of the Jamie’s family. She knew how much they all meant to him, and how big a step this was for them.

“’Tis my home. No need.” He stole a quick, soft kiss to quell her obvious nerves and then called out, “Hello the house!” He dumped the bags by the staircase. Claire stood next to him, taking in her surroundings.

Everything looked antique, but not in a museum-like way. Everything, from the furniture to the paneled walls, looked loved, cared for. Carved tables and tapestries mingled with a modern cordless phone and lamps. Uncle Lamb would have a field day, she thought.

Thundering footsteps broke into her reverie, and a tall gangly teenager came tumbling down the stairs. “Uncle Jamie!” In a blur, Jamie was rocked back in a fierce hug.

“Ian, lad!” Jamie squeezed and lifted the boy straight off the ground. They slapped each other on the back in a great show of affection before Jamie let him go, and slid an arm around Claire’s waist.

“Ian, this is Claire. Sassenach, this is Young Ian, my nephew and godson.”

“Nice to meet you,” Claire said sincerely. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Is that so?” Young Ian grinned easily. “Welcome!” He picked up their bags and shot up the stairs two at a time. “I’ll just put these in yer room! Mam’s in the kitchen!”

Jamie and Claire held hands as they walked down the hallway towards the kitchen. They were assailed by the aromas of fresh baked bread and something delicious and steamy bubbling away on a stove. Claire half expected it to be an ancient cast-iron affair, but it was quite modern, by the rest of Lallybroch’s standards.

Jenny’s back was to them as she washed dishes at the sink. Jamie put his finger to his lips and blinked at Claire. He tiptoed (as much as a man his size might) and prepared to scare Jenny by tickling her ribs. His hands reached out but were stopped by a sudden, “Don’t even think about it, James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser.”

Jenny craned her neck over her shoulder and gave them a wicked smile. “Hey there, little brother.” Her hands never stopped working, even as Jamie smiled abashedly and gave her a peck on the cheek. She turned off the water and wiped her hands on the apron she wore, engulfing Jamie in a warm embrace. “It’s been too long,” Jenny said, pushing back and smiling. She looked over his shoulder at Claire, who witnessed the encounter wistfully longing for family.

“And this is Claire, I presume.” Jenny stepped around Jamie, giving her a quick appraising glance—cordial, but guarded. Claire extended her hand, which was enveloped in Jenny’s cool grasp.

“It’s great to meet you. Jamie’s missed Lallybroch terribly, and all your children.”

Jenny’s eyebrows rose like dark wings. Her eyes had that slanted look identical to Jamie’s, resting on high cheekbones reminiscent of Viking royalty. “I’m sure he did. Weel, dinner is stew. ‘Tis something I can leave on the stove and no’ worry, since I’ve been tending the goats and sheep, and cooking for Hogmanay with Mrs. Crook.”

“She’s the housekeeper slash cook, but she’ll be off wi’ her own family for Christmas,” Jamie interjected.

“We can sit down to eat, now ye’re here.” Jenny squeezed Jamie’s hand and turned to the stove. “Young Ian, Jamie, Maggie, Kitty! Dinner! Come wash up!” She glanced at Jamie. “Could ye get Ian from the barn? He’s been tending to the hay now Rabbie’s gone home fer the holidays.”

There was a meowing at the kitchen door as Jamie approached it. He opened it to let a grey cat in, who pranced inside as though he owned Lallybroch. From the way Jenny bent down to coddle it, Claire suspected it might be the case.

“I see Adso of Melch is still alive, Jenny,” Jamie said, an eyebrow raised in amusement.

“He is.” Jenny stood and toed the cat away from the stove. “Ye wee fiend, get on wi’ ye.”

Adso stopped in the middle of the kitchen, as soon as it spotted Claire. Jenny looked appraisingly at the cat, as though almost willing the cat to respond in some way. Claire decided to follow Jenny’s example and squatted, staring into its green eyes.

The cat slowly walked over to her, sniffing about her knees. It purred softly; Adso located her hand and pressed against it, enticing Claire to rub its ears. She obliged, marveling at the soft fur and turned to Jamie, who smiled down at her. “He likes ye, Sassenach.”

Jenny let out a contained breath, and the first truly welcoming smile bloomed on her face. “Never mind my bonny cheetie. Go fetch Ian, if ye please. And shut the door, before we freeze. Claire, we’re so glad to have ye.”

_______________________________________________________________________  

“Let me get this straight. If Adso didn’t like me, Jenny wouldn’t either?”

“Adso is held in very high regard around here, Sassenach. He’s an excellent judge of character. He led Jenny onto a nanny who would steal from her purse and a drunken horse handler.”

They trudged up the stairs after bidding the family good night. Dinner had been superb, Jenny and Ian and their children all gathered at the table. The babble and laughter of a large family tugged at Claire’s heartstrings, making her long for one of her own. The children’s ages ranged from Jamie’s namesake at 18 who attended uni at Glasgow, and Young Ian at 14; the girls Maggie and Kitty who were 12 and 9 respectively. Ian (the elder) had presided over dinner in his role of father—a far cry from the rock star life he led on tour with The Clan.

“And what is that Melch in his name?” Claire took Jamie’s hand as he led her around the dark upstairs hallway.

“Our mam always had a cheetie. They were all named the same, after a German saint. Adso of Melch, Adso of Milk, ye ken,” Jamie said with a smile.

They walked up to a solid wooden door. Jamie pushed it open, to reveal a bright fire set in the grate, and both their bags in the room. Claire swallowed nervously and glanced at Jamie.

They hadn’t slept together thus far, though they had participated in some hot and heavy (emphasis on the hot) make out sessions at Claire’s and at Jamie’s flat. Hands roving, breath panting, Jamie had given her space and time to express what she wanted and when she wanted it. Young Ian had plainly made some assumptions of his own.

And why not? They were both consenting adults in a relationship and what they did (or didn’t do) in bed was entirely their own business. Space and time—the continuum of which was grinding to a halt, as there was nothing Claire wanted more right then and there than to feel Jamie’s arms around her and—

“Claire. I can sleep elsewhere.” Jamie squeezed her hand in reassurance. “Or on the floor if I can have the quilt. Ye don’t have to—”

Claire stopped his words with a kiss her hands tangled in the ruddy mess of his hair. His hands gripped her waist as he walked her back towards the bed, kicking the door shut behind them. They tumbled together onto the carved wooden bedstead, the frame creaking slightly.

“Won’t they hear?” Claire asked breathlessly.

“The walls are made of solid stone,” Jamie mumbled, his lips on her neck. “We can be as loud as we like.”

His hand crept under her sweater; higher and higher, until she could feel it caressing the underside of her breast. It was only then that she opened her eyes and met his own, whiskey and azure, everything bathed in the light of the slowly burning fire laid in the hearth.

Jamie’s hand stilled, and he brought his forehead to hers. “Claire, I want you so much I can scarcely breathe. Will ye have me?”

She almost didn’t recognize voice as her own, so high and gasping, “Yes. Yes, I’ll have you.” Permission granted, his hands were all over her body all at once. Skimming down her back, leaving tingling desire in their wake, gliding over her navel. Their clothes came off in a flurry of wool and jeans.

Slowly and reverently Jamie helped her shed her bra and underwear, his boxer briefs following suit. Completely exposed to each other, Jamie laid his hand on her bare hip, staring at her flush curves gilded by firelight.

“Ye are so beautiful, mo nighean donn.”  

Claire felt suddenly shy and made to cover herself, but Jamie stopped her. “No, Sassenach. I want to look at you.” Claire blushed but let him gaze, slowly growing bold enough to return it.

His body came closer to hers, with his own muted fiery glow. He kissed down her neck, licking here and there. His large hands, calloused from playing guitar, teased and nipped at her breasts. Claire’s hands drifted down his back, pressing and urging him ever closer.

As his touch strayed lower, his intentions became clear. Claire raised herself on her elbows, effectively dislodging Jamie’s head from her stomach. His eyes held a question even as they seared with want.

“Jamie… no one’s ever—I mean—” Her cheeks burned red as she gestured with meaning.

He smiled and stretched up to kiss her gently. “Do ye want me to?”

“I don’t know. Won’t it… will it—”

“Let me taste ye.” Jamie trailed fingers up her leg. “Tell me if I’m too rough, or tell me to stop altogether if ye wish.” He brushed his lips over her belly, eyes blazing up at her.

Claire surrendered, falling back on the pillows and putting her arm over her eyes. Her knees trembled as he settled between them, parting them open and his arms locked around her thighs. She felt a brief kiss (right there! she thought incoherently) before she was flooded with pleasure, his tongue working magic on her most secret of places. She gasped as Jamie anchored her body to the bed with his arms, desire shooting through her veins. There were sounds coming from her lips she had never made before. Fleetingly she thought of covering her mouth before the feeling climbed higher and higher until it broke over her, making her shudder in release.

“Oh Jamie…” Her hand traced his jawline, as he smiled at her and kissed the inside of her thigh. Jamie moved and rose over her, kissing her deeply. She could taste herself and found it arousing.

He ground his pelvis gently into hers, swallowing her moans as her legs wrapped around him. Claire could feel the length of him sliding against her, and she urged him to her, hands on the small of his back.

Jamie braced himself on his forearms, and aligned himself at her slippery cleft. With a final nod from Claire, he eased himself inside her, slowly but inexorably moving forward as she dug her fingers into his back. The sensation was intense as he withdrew and pushed inside, again and again. Jamie held Claire close, the hair on his chest tickling her as they panted and he groaned and she whimpered with pleasure.

Their bodies rocked together as though they had known each other for years, simply waiting for the chance to join. Claire lost herself in pure sensation; the weight of his body perfect on hers, the spicy scent of him mingling with the smokiness of the fire, the mixture of Gaelic and English words he poured into her ear as he thrust faster and faster.

Feeling surged as they both chased the illusive spark of completion. Jamie’s hand splayed on her hip, and hitched her leg higher along his body. Her back arched instinctively. As he shifted, he hit a spot deep within her from a new angle, and in a few quick motions Claire shattered, crying out against his shoulder.

Jamie followed soon after, the tension breaking free as every muscle quivered, his mouth a wide O of relief and wonder. Their eyes met, half-lidded with satisfaction. Claire smiled languidly, running her hands through Jamie’s red curls. He withdrew gently, kissing Claire over and over, his lips at the hollow of her neck where perspiration shone and her pulse raced.

The heady feeling gradually dissipated, and the winter chill stole back into the room, making Jamie and Claire shiver with something more than spent desire. Still smiling, they crawled beneath the covers; Jamie pulled Claire close to him, her back to his front as he settled behind her, his arm holding her tightly.

“Oh, Claire… tha gaol agam ort,” he breathed against her skin.

“What does that mean?” she asked drowsily.

“I’ll tell ye tomorrow,” he said, nuzzling the nape of her neck. “We have time. I want to show you the loch, and the village, and take ye on a tour of the farm. I think ye’ll like the wee beasties and…”

She drifted off to sleep, his voice murmuring in the dark, safe in the knowledge of love and safety in Jamie’s arms and in her heart.

[shockcity]

Suits #3 - Agency

Rating: T

Summary: Mike is not a lawyer. He's totally CIA.

Category: M/M

Pairing: Mike Ross/Harvey Specter pre-slash

Warnings: none 

_______________

Mike's first field assignment was only granted to him after he screwed the Russians out of obtaining restricted nuclear technology from a Lebanese spy. He did this from his perpetually frozen computer at Langley, with a keyboard he'd spilled ramen on the day before.

Even obtaining the job at the CIA was much easier than getting a proper assignment. Mike was recruited after he'd decoded Linear A and duplicated it in a letter to his grandmother (which the CIA read for totally legit illegal reasons), and apparently he'd been on some kind of watchlist ever since his eighth grade science project successfully used a copper plate and some wire to generate electromagnetic repulsion to create a hoverboard. Besides getting the CIA’s attention, the coded letter only convinced his grandmother to drug test him, and he ended up selling the hoverboard prototype for a PlayStation and a year's worth of free pizza.

Mike was a savant.

He worked as a cryptanalyst for a few years, which entailed combating terrorism, passive-aggressively attacking Russia, cracking Kryptos, and annoying the hell out of his boss. Mike once wore Tom Ford for a month while doing James Bond impressions, until he was threatened with suspension rather than a transfer to field work like he wanted. He'd been almost fired sixteen times since being employed by the U.S. Government.

"That's sixteen times we've been too fucking nice," said his handler, once he'd finally got one. "Genius or not, Ross, you're a goddamn pain."

Mike was not offended. His handler was a badass.

"Dude, I'm gonna get this guy," he said, waving the target's classified information around. "He's gonna be Gitmo'd so hard. Then I'll get a raise."

Daniel Hardman (the person of interest) was supposedly embezzling from his own company to fund weapons trafficking for Al Qaeda (and how a Harvard educated lawyer with a minor in art history had ended up a terrorist was not actually that much of a mystery. The Jackson Pollock obsession was a dead give away, in Mike's opinion). Apparently Hardman was using his own law firm as a front for his nefarious deeds, and though the CIA had one field agent with a JD that they could have used instead, that particular employee was currently deep undercover as a humble rabbi within an Israeli terrorist group. Shalom.

So (reluctantly) his boss suggested Mike. Or more like whispered his name to his resigned superiors at a strategic meeting after they'd considered pretty much everyone but Mike. Whatever.

"He passed the bar in twenty-seven states," his boss offered tentatively.

"He also does horrible Stallone impressions and recently asked if we could have soda in the drinking fountains," the boss of his boss retorted.

“Well, anyone got a better idea?”

“Bob might be an option.”

“...we’re not sending in the janitor.”

Honestly, Mike wasn't that bad.

---------------

"I'll help you school those Harvard douches, and I'll be the best goddamn lawyer you've ever seen."

"Did you just call yourself a douche?" asked Harvey Specter. "I admire your honesty– you are a douche. Maybe I'll actually hire you."

Once Harvey actually did hire him (a Christmas miracle), Mike focused on entrenching himself in the Pearson Hardman community and into the good graces of the junior and senior partners. Though Jessica was a lost cause. She'd taken one look at him and had said, "Wonderful, another Harvey."

Which was fine. Mike wasn't even offended. Harvey had great hair.

Hardman, who had come back to his law firm a few months previous with some brand new Al Qaeda friends in tow, was easier to crack. Mike didn't necessarily suck up, but he did make himself accessible, which to Harvey was as good as betrayal. So they weren't speaking to each other and pining from afar when shit finally went down.

And thanks to Shelia Szas, Mike's first field assignment ended in a complete disaster. 

----------

"This boy is a fraud," she said, pointing at Mike in outrage. "I carefully vet every student at Harvard before they're admitted into its sacred halls, and you, young man, were not one of them!”

The FBI agent currently cuffing him was not doing it very gently. "You're making a mistake," Mike choked out, grimacing. "No, seriously— "

"And I'm afraid his duplicity doesn't end there," Hardman said, stepping forward. "He's been working with Mr. Harvey Specter, who I'm afraid to say...has been funding the selling of arms to terrorist extremists. It's all here on this flash drive, gentlemen."

"Sorry, what?" said Harvey, and Mike groaned.

This wasn't technically his fault. There was supposed to be some interdepartmental cooperation between Langley and D.C., but the current directors took funding disparities to a Cold War-esque extreme. Not to mention they were in the middle of a divorce.

This whole situation, Mike thought, could have been avoided had my boss worked just a little harder on his marriage.

"We have to take these types of accusations seriously, sir," the agent said, coming at Harvey with another pair of handcuffs.

"No, you don't," Mike told them just as Hardman sighed mournfully.

"I, too, was shocked when I found out," he pontificated. "But I managed to gather enough proof to bring him to justice. I have a record of his correspondence with what seems to be Al Qaeda operatives. It's truly horrifying."

"It's completely ridiculous," said Jessica.

"Harvey wouldn't do this," Louis insisted, to everyone's surprise.

"I'm so sorry, everyone," said Hardman.

Mike jangled his handcuffs in supreme agitation.

"Dude, we've had you tapped for months!” he exploded. "You're so fucked. You used a gmail account to traffic weapons! How did you ever think that that was a good idea? Oh, and FYI, deleting mail doesn't actually mean it's deleted. Also, that account in the Caymans? Not so untouchable. Quit watching bad television."

"We?" the FBI agent said.

"Breast pocket," Mike sighed.

One of them reached in and took out Mike's wallet, which had a laminated ID with a really bad picture of him on it and a legit looking shield.

"Ah, shit," the Quantico graduate said. "He's totally CIA."

"What? Really?"

“Him?”

The fact that the entire office was visibly skeptical if not outright laughing at the idea of Mike being a secret agent was extremely rude and Mike told them so. 

"Can you arrest the actual bad guy now?” he sulked. “I have to go get reamed for blowing my cover. I might be Gitmo'd. I don't know. I'll write."

"Get out of my office," Jessica said to everyone.

--------

Pearson Hardman didn't really survive the whole 'affiliated with terrorism' thing after that. Mike was fired from the company, which made sense, and suspended from the CIA field work, which he thought was totally unfair.

Also, suggesting "Can't I blame this on the divorce?" hadn't gone over well. Shocker.

The big surprise though, was Harvey.

"I'm starting up my own firm," he told Mike, after he'd forgiven him for being a lying liar that lied. "Paulson Spector."

No one asked why Donna was name-partner, because duh.

Then Harvey said, "You should come work for us," as if Mike wasn't a total fraud and also a CIA operative.

But it was really tempting, was the thing. Once Mike was fired from his fake job, he realized that he didn't actually want to stop working with Harvey. They made a good team.

"You could keep me on retainer," Mike offered cheekily, before sobering. "Thanks though, Harvey, it sounds awesome, but... believe it or not, I actually do some useful stuff for the agency. When I'm not blowing my cover. Or getting arrested by the Feds. But we need to keep in touch, dude. We can't let Butch and Sundance be torn apart by Al Qaeda!"

And surprisingly...they did.

They texted mostly, though their messages weren't very profound.

 Sometimes they'd talk about Donna or Louis or Jessica. Sometimes Harvey would take pictures of food only found in New York and send them to Mike in Virginia so he could suffer. Mostly though, Mike tried his hardest to annoy Harvey to death.

___________

When Mike finally got another field assignment, this time in Kuwait, he emailed Harvey on the regular. As time passed their friendship blossomed into something neither of them could really define or even live without, so when he was on leave about six months after the Hardman debacle, Harvey and Mike met up at a cafe in midtown.

"Not tired of the spy life yet?" asked Harvey. "Offer still stands."

"Actually," said Mike. "I think I might take you up on that."

"Wait, really? What about the CIA?"

Mike shrugged. "There's only so many times you can crack the Voynich or poke Putin in the back before he turns around and rips your face off, and after a while you sort of miss the quiet life, so lawyering might be fun. Plus, you know, where would Batman be without Robin?"

"In that case,” Harvey answered. “Glad to have you on board." He grinned and reached out to shake Mike's hand. They didn't actually pull away though, so there was legit hand-holding happening. Awesome.

Mike beamed and made sexy eyes at his new boyfriend.

"But I'm totally Batman,” said Harvey, ruining the mood.

And like a loser in love, Mike let him have it. 

---

[nolimitsongrace]

September 28: Supernatural Assistance

Supernatural AssistanceSeptember 28, 2019

Are they [angels] not all ministering spirits, sent forth to minister for them who shall be heirs of salvation? — Hebrews 1:14

Today I want to talk to you about the ministry of angels, and how they work to protect and deliver us in times of trouble. Let me begin by retelling a part of a story that I related to you in the May 29 Gem, and I want add a story at the end to demonstrate the point even stronger.

I had long wanted to visit the city of Vorkuta, located above the Arctic Circle in Russia. It was one of the major cities where Joseph Stalin deported believers during a raging period of persecution. There Christians were incarcerated in huge prison camps and forced to work deep under the earth in dangerous coal mines, where they dug the coal that fired the massive coal-burning factories and trains of the Soviet Union.

I sensed that it was a divine assignment to visit Vorkuta at that time. Because of its notorious place in history for Christian believers, I wanted to talk to the TV director that covered that large area in order to obtain a contract for broadcasting our TV program. I also intended to find out how many believers still lived there and what we could do to be of assistance to them.

*[If you started reading this from your email, begin reading here.]

As I related in the earlier Gem, my seat on the airplane was at the front of the plane near the flight attendant station, and I was seated next to a window, which made it possible for me to see everything happening outside of the airplane. My particular seat faced the tail of the plane, so I could also see everything that was happening inside the aircraft.

First, all the passengers boarded. Then I watched out my window as cargo handlers began to load cargo into the underside of the plane. I was shocked at the amount of boxes, suitcases, and cargo they were putting into the cargo hold. In fact, it was so overfilled that when it came time to shut the doors to the cargo hold, it took several men to shut it, because the overflowing cargo was pressing against the door.

Meanwhile, inside the plane from where I was seated, I watched as airport workers piled boxes, boxes, and more boxes in the tail of the plane, until the rear end of the plane — that is, the kitchen and the toilets — were no longer visible or accessible. After that, they began piling luggage and boxes into empty seats, and then they started stacking them from the back to the front of the center aisle of the plane. The extra cargo filled the cabin all the way from the very back to where I sat in the front of the plane!

Because I was seated close to the flight attendants, I could hear their conversations. I overheard one flight attendant say to another, “I’m getting off this plane, because it’s so severely overloaded that I’m afraid this plane is not going to make it.”

Yet I knew I was supposed to go to Vorkuta. So what should I do? I thought. I bowed my head with those who were traveling with me, and we prayed, “Lord, if this plane is going to crash, please do anything needed to get us off this plane!”

Just as we finished praying, a flight attendant frantically yelled, “Everyone — as quickly as possible — get off this plane! We just received a phone call that there’s a bomb on this plane!”

People started fighting with each other and shoving their way to the airplane door. At last when everyone was off the plane, and we were inside the terminal, a public announcement was made, which declared that the entire plane was being unloaded so the authorities could search for a bomb. After hours of our waiting and wondering what to do next, another public announcement was made over the intercom, saying, “After searching the aircraft, we found no bomb on the plane. It was a false threat. However, we have decided that when we all reboard the aircraft, no extra luggage or boxes will be permitted. Only the suitcases of passengers will be permitted on this airplane.”

My companions and I stepped into the plane and reseated ourselves in the same seats that had been assigned to us. People looked relieved, peaceful, and thankful that the plane was no longer overloaded. I heard the same flight attendant who had earlier threatened to get off the plane tell his colleague, “Now we’ll have a safe flight.”

This brings me to what I want to share today about the delivering and protective ministry of angels — because I asked myself that day, Who was that mysterious phone caller who said there was a bomb on the airplane? Who caused the airplane to be so quickly emptied, leading to the fortuitous decision to remove all that dangerous extra cargo? I wondered, Is it possible that an angel was the unidentified mystery caller?

Hebrews 1:14 declares, “Are they [angels] not all ministering spirits, sent forth to minister for them who shall be heirs of salvation?” According to this verse, angels are “sent forth to minister” on behalf of those who belong to the family of God.

The word “minister” is the Greek word diakonia, a word that depicts high-level service. It is important to note that rabbis in New Testament times used a very similar phrase to describe what they called “angels of service or ministry” — angels whom they believed were assigned to protect individuals and deliver them from harm.

Let us be confident that part of the angelic ministry is to ensure a believer’s safety from dangerous and harmful things. Certainly that day at the airport, something inexplicable happened that saved the lives of my team and everyone else who was on that airplane. There were five believers on my team. I would not be surprised if that event was some type of angelic intervention to spare our lives from tragedy. In fact, I truly believe this is what happened.

Especially during the time period when Hebrews 1:14 was written, believers were often forced to physically move from one place to another and were regularly caught in difficult circumstances. But “ministering spirits” — that is, angels — were sent forth to “minister” to them. These angels provided the highest level of service available to help these believers and protect them from harm as they were en route from one place to another.

The phrase “sent forth” in Hebrews 1:14 is a translation of the Greek word apostello, which describes one who is dispatched on a mission. Therefore, these angels spoken of in this verse are purposefully dispatched on a mission to serve and protect the heirs of salvation. It was, and it remains, the mission of angels to serve the needs of the saints and to provide them protection.

Even as you read this, perhaps you can think of people who were in the direct path of harm until something happened to divert their course, and it was that change of direction that spared them from a catastrophic event. I am reminded of a time when our eldest son Paul had a car accident in Moscow. He hit a pole, and it turned the car over multiple times, totally crushing the vehicle. Yet all three people in that car walked away unharmed! The street-side pole was destroyed; the car was completely crushed. But the three people traveling in the car were unscathed. It was truly miraculous.

When Denise and I saw the car, we cried, because we realized there was no human way that death could have been avoided. It was clear to us that our son and his companions had been protected by angels who were assigned to protect them and save them from harm.

So today I want to encourage you to know that there are angels on assignment, sent to minister to you and to protect you in times of danger. To qualify for this angelic protection, Hebrews 1:14 states that one must be an “heir of salvation” — or one must be a child of God. So if you have made Jesus the Lord of your life, you qualify — and it’s time for you to recognize that angels have been assigned to you and to call upon them as you travel and traverse the twists and turns of your life.

Now every time I enter a plane, I lay my hands on its exterior and thank God for the angels who are traveling with me and who are assigned to keep me and all those traveling with me from harm. Knowing that God has provided such protection has kept me in peace on many occasions when I could have been inwardly disturbed in difficult situations. I keep in mind that Psalm 34:7 declares, “The angel of the Lord encampeth round about them that fear him, and delivereth them.”

This is a good day to take a few minutes to reflect on the times when your life has been spared by the divine intervention of God and His angelic hosts. Or perhaps you can think back to times when the lives of people near and dear to you were divinely protected. If they are heirs of salvation and the way they were spared was absolutely miraculous, you can know that they lived to tell the story because of angelic intervention. Angels were sent on assignment to travel with them and to protect them.

Although we certainly don’t worship angels, I think it’s right for us to thank God for providing this high-level service to keep us and protect us from harm!

MY PRAYER FOR TODAY

Father, I thank You for assigning angels to protect me from harm. I am grateful for Your promise to send angels on a special mission to protect, minister to, and help the heirs of salva- tion. Since I’m an heir of salvation, I qualify! I am so thankful to know that I have angels assigned to keep watch over me and that they will serve me with the highest-level service possible. So rather than let fear try to grab hold of me in times of hardship or potential danger, I will give thanks to You for the angels who are present and on active duty — sent on a mission to protect and minister strength and help to me when I need it most!

I pray this in Jesus’ name!

MY CONFESSION FOR TODAY

I confess that God sends His angels to guard me. These ministering spirits are as flames of fire and they are on a specific mission to protect the children of God. Wherever I go, angels are on assignment to go with me and to surround me and keep me safe. Because these angels hearken to the voice of God’s Word, I speak the Word and believe in its power — knowing that angels watch over those words to perform them. Although I cannot visibly see them, I have angelic traveling companions who are with me all the time in every situation I face. According to Psalm 34:7, I am surrounded by the angels of the Lord, and He delivers me from harm!

I declare this by faith in Jesus’ name!

QUESTIONS FOR YOU TO CONSIDER

Can you think of moments in your own life when you were miraculously, inexplicably spared from tragedy? Do you see now that angels are assigned to protect you?

Do you know others whose lives were protected unexplainably? Were the situations they found themselves in potentially catastrophic — yet instead of suffering tragedy, were they protected from harm?

Can you think of situations in the Bible where angels provided safety, protection, or deliverance from danger?