Shalom my Love
by Sunny Ariel

star.gif (814 bytes)Chapter XV star.gif (814 bytes)

The London Psychic

"You have a father on the other side, a strong-minded individual; he is putting his hand on my shoulder to give Sunny moral support." Arthur Molinary is speaking to me at the College of Psychic Studies in the Kensington area of London. The date is February 9, 1993, two days after Gadi's and Daniel's birthdays. I'd been feeling for a couple of weeks that Gadi wanted to communicate with me, so I searched for the best medium in London and was given Arthur's name. No sooner did I sit down than he began to give me information from my father who had died ten months earlier. "He says he wasn't able to say goodbye to anyone; he wasn't able to say goodbye to the four of them." I was totally thrown off-track for a couple of moments. What four of them? Slowly it dawned on me. He was talking about me, my two sisters and my mother. My dad died doing what he loved, working as a supervising Rabbi in Wilmington, Delaware. During the last ten years of his life he travelled throughout the tri-state area of Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and Delaware, spending up to a week at various food plants running the gamut from chemicals and spices to yogurts and chocolates. That funny symbol on many food products, "U", actually stands for the Union of Orthodox Rabbis, and indicates that the particular product thus labelled is kosher. In his seventies, my father had discovered faxes, mobile phones, and secretaries, a world of business he had never known, and a world, furthermore, filled with Gentile people, another thing he had barely known for most of his life. During the traditional week of mourning, several people who worked at the plant had come to pay their respects to my mother and, while speaking with them, I realized how very much my father had been loved and respected by his co-workers. They told me that they had flown the flag at half-mast, something I was to hear again, only this time about my paternal grandfather, also a Rabbi in England, who died at the age of forty from pneumonia.

My Uncle Mike, my father's only surviving brother, told me that when my grandfather died in Wallasey where he practiced as a Rabbi, the boat that carried the coffin across the Mersey to Liverpool where his body was to be buried also flew its flag at half-mast. Over the years I have heard wonderful stories relating to my grandfather, who died when my father was nineteen; that he spoke seven languages; that he was writing articles for major newspapers in Israel; that he made a violin; that he was a botanist; that the townsfolk, of whom many were illiterate, used to bring their letters for him to read and to write their replies. And, how very much he was loved.

My father, it seemed, was also very loved by those whose lives he touched, but for me, growing up as the eldest daughter of an Orthodox Jewish Rabbi, I always felt that I had to do certain things not so much because they had real meaning, but because "people will talk." When I was about thirteen, a shopping mall was built about fifteen minutes from our house. As I was about to walk over there one Saturday with my girlfriend, my father asked me where we were going. "Over to the new mall," I replied (actually, in those days I think it was probably called a shopping centre). "It's Shabbos," said my father. "You're not allowed to go there today." I argued, "We're not taking any money, and we're walking," but my father said it had to do with the "eyein ha'rah" or evil eye, that someone would see me there and say that the Rabbi's daughter was shopping on Saturday and tell everyone. Naturally I didn't buy this, but I also didn't go because I had a great deal of respect for my father.

Arthur Molinary continued: "Your father is a strong-minded person. He puts his hand on my shoulder to give Sunny moral support, something he has been doing since late November because you are working on a new project which began at that time and he has been helping you." This was unbelievable...I actually began to write this book in late November! "He has an inquiring mind; he liked honest people and he had a quick mind. You are very much like him," and, in the very same breath he suddenly said, "You know someone who was murdered." I immediately thought of Ehud and that suspicious plane crash in Mexico, so I asked, "What do you mean by murder?" "Death under suspicious circumstances," which indeed they were. "Didn't your father believe in God? He says there is a God and he now realizes that all religions are manmade; God didn't make them, we make them. He has a sharp, clear mind. Didn't he know his own father? He is now getting to know and enjoy his father. He is very interested in your new projects. If he were alive he would be listening to this reading I am giving you. He would today be a better father. He did not show too much emotion; he was more like a father-figure...he didn't give hugs...he was more like Victorian England." How could this stranger -- who had met me five minutes ago, to whom I had uttered exactly six words -- have known that the very last time I saw my father alive he gave me a hug, the only hug I remember ever getting from him? That hug was so full of pain and disappointment, because he was angry with me at the time, and I remember thinking that I would never see him alive again.

A few weeks before that, I had arrived in England (for my cousin Jon's wedding) a week ahead of my parents. Because I'd been travelling, I hadn't seen an invitation until I arrived in the UK, when I learned that Jon's wedding was black tie. I hadn't brought anything appropriate to wear. When I told my mother that I might rent a dress for about 50.00, she said, "Go ahead and rent it; I'll pay for it." I told my sister, "I can't believe that Mom offered to pay for the gown hire; she must think that there'll be eligible men at Jon's wedding." The following week when my parents arrived, my mother suddenly had a change of heart. "I never said I'd pay for it," she said, and something inside me just cracked.

So many promises had been made to me throughout my life which had been broken, that this was the final straw. I sat down and wrote my mother a letter citing all the times she had not come through. (I was still healing from the Gadi liaison, and feeling as if I'd jumped off the edge and might remain wingless forever.) It was not a nasty letter, it was written from my heart; but my mother was hurt and angry with me. When you've lived in denial for as long as she has and someone comes along and challenges you to be authentic, it must be a Herculean task to swallow that pill. So my mom was angry and wouldn't speak with me. My father told me that he had read the letter and that, even though Mother was hurt, there was a lot of truth to what I had written. But Mother's influence on my father was great, and when I went to say goodbye to them before they returned to the States, my dad's embrace was like a piece of plywood, and so Arthur's words rang true.

Arthur continued: "He is concerned about Sarah's blood pressure; he says it's too high." I was shocked. My mother's Hebrew name is Sarah! "Was there a bit of friction between them? It wasn't what you'd call a lovey-dovey relationship. He's very down-to-earth...black is black...white is white. He may have been a rabbi but he's very grounded." What a wonderful choice of words Arthur used. My father is "grounded" in heaven! He went on: "He's been helping you since November, which has given him quite a few months to 'sort his mind out.' There's no time on the other side...he's in full control and very eager to help you with your life, your quest and your projects. Since November he has come to terms with his 'sins' (if you can call it that), and he throws more light onto this thing we call 'truth'. He has very expressive eyes [true] and if he says something he expects you to be listening. He has that bit of a teacher that says 'I'm telling you' [the word 'rabbi' means teacher, and my dad was a teacher for many years]. He hears your every thought. He listens to your prayers. He actually comes close enough to give me goosebumps," Arthur said. "He wants you to tell Sarah that he's still alive; that his body might have gone, but his personality hasn't died, and he wants you to tell her to have her blood pressure looked after straight away."

My mother's grief over losing my father was tremendous, and I knew that she was going through a very difficult time. The thought that she might have a stroke or something really threw me. I played Arthur's tape to a few friends and my cousin Perry, all of whom were convinced, as I was, that the information coming through was accurate and credible. They all felt that my father was giving a real gift to my mother by warning her about her health. I called my sister who speaks to my mother every week, because I felt that my mother would not listen to me. "Could you please ask Mom to have her blood pressure checked." I said to my sister. "I have information that it might be dangerously high."

She immediately started screaming at me, "You've been to another psychic again! When will you ever stop with this crazy 'New Age' stuff and get a normal job and start making some money?" And with that she hung up on me. A month later my mother came to England for Passover, and I made a copy of the tape and gave it to Mom with a very carefully-worded note: "Just listen to this with an open mind...you don't even have to discuss it with me; or you can write me your thoughts...whatever you feel comfortable with. I just felt that I should share this with you," and I handed it to her before I left. Now there are many technologies in which America surpasses England, but Royal Mail in the UK is second-to-none. Next-day delivery practically throughout the entire country, and it's cheaper than the fax. And so, the very next day I found the tape in my mailbox, with the following note:

When are you ever going to accept the fact that your beliefs and mine are miles apart? Had I known what was in the envelope you handed me, I would not have accepted it. I have 51 years of wonderful memories tucked away in my heart and am dealing with my grief in my own way. I absolutely do not need the voice of a stranger on a tape to help me. I do not believe in mediums, etc., so to hear the tape would be pointless. I realize that you think you might be helping me, and I do sincerely appreciate it--but now that you know how I feel, please don't discuss it again.

(And yet, one evening, when I was staying with my folks for a few months, my mother told me to turn on the radio in my room as there was a psychic taking calls and being interviewed. When I asked her if she wanted to hear it, she said that she didn't believe in that stuff; but when I went to the kitchen ten minutes later, my mother was standing there listening to it, and quickly turned off the radio when she noticed me.) My mother was due to return to the States a few weeks after I did, but was unable to travel and had to stay in England because her blood pressure was too high. To her credit, when I told her I'd tried to warn her a few months earlier she said, "I wouldn't have listened to you." Recently, I sent her Dr. Deepak Chopra's tapes, Ageless Body, Timeless Mind, and she actually listened to them, so a shift does seem to be taking place (even if she fell asleep during his guided visualization.) Over the past year she's even done acupuncture treatments

In England I met a healer who told me about the "Forgiveness Diet". It entails writing seventy times for seven days the following: "I (the name you were called as a child), now forgive (mother or father's first name) completely." Generally, women need to start with their fathers and men with their mothers. I don't understand how it works, but it definitely does work. The magical number of 70 x 7 days somehow affects the DNA and a shift takes place. It's not even important to concentrate; you can do it like you used to do in school and write "I" 70 times, your name 70 times, or any way you wish. I did it first with my father, and I felt a shift almost immediately. I felt that what I was forgiving him for was the fact that when my brother died when I was two, my father closed down and never spoke of the incident again. My mother told me that my father spent lots of time with me during my first few years. He used to feed me my "eggie", take me to the beach, and play with me. How I must have picked up his pain (and my mother's) in those early years. Is that when I started to fabricate the story of how I caused Michael's death? I don't know, but a few months after I did the "forgiveness diet" my father died, and even though I had no way of knowing that he would be communicating with me from the other side ten months later, I do know that the process helped me to deal easily with his passing. I also did the forgiveness diet with my mom, and today our relationship is better than ever.

Arthur had yet more information from my dad: "He's very excited about helping you," and then he turned to me and asked, "Have you already done two books?" I said no. "Are you sure?" he persisted. "He talks about two books." (Actually, before I began this book I spent a year researching for a book I was planning to title From BC to AD-the Essene Experience, but my father was never aware of this.) "He will give you as much information as he possibly can-directly through you-he says you've always had answers for every Tom, Dick, and Harry, and that you're a survivor -- again he says that you've always had answers for everything and everyone." I was amazed; my father never seemed to like the fact that I often played shrink for my friends. "Is he disapproving?" I asked.

"No, not at all. Now he is preparing you to get your notes ready to give a lecture. He is preparing you now because he was never caught with his trousers down and he says 'she does tend to leave things until tomorrow' and he was always ready. He comes across as a serious man, but he also has a dry sense of humor." Arthur then said that my dad was teasing him and that he felt that he would get along with my father. "You have lots of papers and books on your bed, and opposite your bed is a window. Your father stands at your window, on the right, giving you inspiration. He has shed his judgements." The I asked if he had seen his son. "Spirit children have very little personality," Arthur explained, "which is why your father's connection is stronger with you...babies, miscarriages, abortions...all go up as pure spirit."

And then, with no preamble whatsoever, he said, "Who is Manny?" I nearly fainted! "Manny is helping you also. He is a very restless energy; he wants to be in ten places at once." Manny was such a restless energy that even when he watched a cowboy movie on TV he would be rocking in his seat as if he, too, were riding a horse. "He says you are a very bright personality, but have you been a bit flat lately? He keeps patting me on the face to cheer you up, and says you have to be on more firm ground." I was actually at that time living in "The Little House of Horrors" with a woman healer, misguided and afraid, who was involved with dark energies, and the situation was beginning to affect me. "Twice he says, 'I shouldn't have died, you know.' He says that he neglected himself. But he, too, is very keen to help you with your search. And I'm hearing a piano and he's sending you a song -- it's 'Send in the Clowns'." This was incredible -- Manny's name, Manny's personality, and now the song which had described our relationship -- it seems I had indeed found the best medium in London.

When Arthur asked me if Manny was good at organizing, I flashed back to when Rachel and I arrived in Israel. Manny came into our lives and, through his unconditional love, helped me to find that nurturing, sensual part of me that my husband had tried to destroy. In his myth-shattering book Fire in the Belly, Sam Keen writes that "The average man spends a lifetime denying, defending against, trying to control, and reacting to the power of WOMAN." Arthur said, "Everyone is organizing...there's going to be a clash of personalities up there...this is going to be a very creative year for you...you must believe in astrology because Manny is giving me some information about the sun and Venus. There are five yellow floating lights...five men...what a greedy woman you are! Thank your lucky stars that you don't have to feed this lot -- you'd be in the poorhouse!" So far, in this amazing reading I could count my father, my grandfather, Manny, and possibly Ehud. Would Gadi come through or had Miriam indeed been correct when she told Rinat (and Rinat told me) that Gadi's connection with me had been "purely sexual"?

After we met face-to-face, Rinat herself told me she didn't believe that; just as I came to understand that there had, indeed, been a poignant yet plaintive rapport between them. Arthur went on,

"A fourth gentleman is coming forward...shall I or not...he is very depressed...this is the gentleman who might have been murdered -- is the fifth gentleman your husband? As he starts, he, like your father, left so much unsaid. His heart was good, but he didn't know how to break through his fortress which held him down and held him back. He was very quick at summing people up, like your father and you, and had great perception. He is giving you a great deal of support because he didn't when he was alive, but now he is pulling out all the stops. He is going to pull all the stars in the sky -- he says 'she needs them', he calls them 'drops of magic' -- one had to work jolly hard to get to know him...he's very proud of you... behind your back he puts you on a pedestal...have you ever experienced the distant kiss? That a kiss you receive from someone else is actually coming from him?

From the moment I met Daniel and discovered that he and Gadi shared the same birthday, every kiss he ever gave me felt as if Gadi, somehow, was involved. Daniel and I had discussed this, and, right before I played this tape to him he had said to me,

"You know, I really do put you on a pedestal," and when he heard this segment, he could not believe his ears.

But Arthur was far from finished: "He only loved two people in his life" and, in an apprehensive yet cynical tone, I asked, "And who might they be?"

Arthur Molinary repeated his words, "He only loved two females in his life -- one he called...I'm having a hard time getting this as it's not an English name -- Lee or Li -- and the other one is you!"

  

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