Matthew 18:3 and said, "Assuredly, I say to you, unless you are converted and become as little children, you will by no means enter the kingdom of heaven.
Hebrew is the only language in the world that was completely dead as an everyday tongue and then resurrected to become a living language after thousands of years. The "Father" of modern Hebrew, Eliezer Ben-Yehuda, was devoted to restoring Hebrew for the Jewish people of our time when for centuries it was strictly a written language.
Ben-Yehuda knew that language fluency is best acquired in childhood, and thus raised his first-born son exclusively speaking Hebrew, convinced that he would become a living sign for its future revival as a living language. He believed by raising his child exclusively in Hebrew, that a national linguistic revival was possible! Ben-Yehuda's conviction and hard work inspired the usage and training of Israeli children in Hebrew at schools throughout Israel.
So it was that the children who were born in Israel and went to school, learned Hebrew first -- and since, of course, the adults didn't know Hebrew, it was the children who taught their parents.
There is a profound example in Ben-Yehuda's inspiring act of faith -- for as Yeshua said, "Unless you are changed and become like little children you cannot enter the Kingdom of Heaven." If you want to speak the language of Heaven, you must learn it as a child would learn! Little children are open, receptive, hungry to learn, believing, humble, and lighthearted. According to Yeshua (Jesus), these qualities are necessary for entry into our Lord's realm.
They are also the qualities of mature saints, who, even as they grow in Him, never lose a childlike relationship with their Heavenly Father.
Copyright 1999-2025 Worthy Devotions. This devotional was originally published on Worthy Devotions and was reproduced with permission.
How to display the above article within the Worthy Suite WordPress Plugin.
[worthy_plugins_devotion_single_body]When the children of Israel wandered in the wilderness for forty years, they traversed a rugged, unpredictable landscape — mile after mile of mountains, valleys, rocks, and desert sands — as they journeyed from slavery in Egypt to the Promised Land.
For many, God remains a theory—an idea borrowed from tradition, deduced from the cosmos, or tucked quietly into the corners of a creed. He is believed in from afar, but is rarely encountered. Even among believers, it’s not uncommon to live with a distant reverence for God while lacking a vibrant, personal communion with Him.
God has always longed for intimacy with us. He formed us for Himself–to walk with Him, to know Him, to delight in His Presence. This is the very heartbeat of creation: relationship, not religion. Yet sin drove a wedge between us. A veil was drawn, shutting out the light of His face and placing distance where there was once communion.
A beachhead is the first critical objective in a military invasion–the spot where a force lands on enemy territory and secures a position for greater advancement. It’s the place of breakthrough. And it’s also the place of fiercest resistance.
David wrote Psalm 3 while running for his life — betrayed, heartbroken, and hunted by his own son, Absalom. The weight of rebellion wasn’t just political; it was personal. His household had turned against him. Friends became foes. Loyal hearts grew cold. The throne he once held was now surrounded by enemies, and the whispers grew louder: “There is no salvation for him in God.”
Psalm 2 is a divine announcement — a heavenly decree that demands the world’s attention. It begins with a question: “Why do the nations rage, and the peoples plot in vain?” (Ps. 2:1). The nations rise up, not against injustice or tyranny, but against the rule of God’s Meshiach (Messiah). That Anointed is Yeshua — the Son whom the Father has set on His holy hill in Zion (Ps. 2:6). The psalm strips away all pretense and exposes the heart of human rebellion: it is a refusal to be ruled by His Messiah.
Psalm 1 opens with a sobering warning about the quiet, deadly slide into sin. The man without God doesn’t become a scorner overnight — he drifts there gradually. First, he walks in ungodly counsel, entertaining worldly thoughts. Then, he stands in the path of sinners, embracing their way of life. Finally, he sits in the seat of the scornful, hardened in heart and mocking what is sacred. This progression — from a man without God to scorner — reveals how small compromises grow into full rebellion, dulling the conscience and deadening the soul.