FROM JAFFA TO THE ENDS OF THE EARTH 29
I was christened in the Greek Orthodox Church by the
patriarch of Jerusalem, Benedictus. In fact, during the
ceremony he gave me his name.
Being born in the Holy Land meant being born in an
atmosphere where religion casts an inescapably wide
shadow. At the age of two I was enrolled in a Catholic
preschool and was formally trained by nuns—and later
monks—for fourteen years.
To me, Jaffa was a beautiful city. In fact, that is what
the word itself means—beautiful. Jaffa in Arabic, Joppa in
ancient Greek, or Yafo in Hebrew. In every language the
meaning is the same.
As a boy I loved hearing the stories of history that
surrounded me. Jaffa was founded back before recorded
time. It is mentioned as a Canaanite city in the tribute lists
of Pharaoh Thutmose III in the fifteenth century B.C., even
before Joshua fought the battle of Jericho. And it is where
the Phoenician King Hiram of Tyre unloaded cedar logs for
King Solomon's temple.
Though it was fascinating, history had not been kind to
my birthplace. Jaffa was invaded, captured, destroyed, and
rebuilt again and again. Simon the Maccabee, Vespasian,
the Mamelukes, Napoleon, and Allenby have all claimed
her.
Only six years before I was born, Jaffa found herself in
a new nation, the prophetic state of Israel. But the
community itself was not Jewish.
Mayor Hinn
My father was the mayor of Jaffa during my childhood.
He was a strong man, about 6'2", 250 pounds, and a natural
leader. He was strong in every way—physically, mentally,
and in will.