The rabbit, though it chews the cud, does not have a divided hoof; it is unclean for you.
- Leviticus 11:6
Please don’t let my neighbor know about rabbits being unclean – then again, she’d never think of eating her pets. She loves her flop-eared rabbits. I was thinking of using a photo of her rabbit graveyard but thought better of it.
No, my mind was wandering as I returned from Sunday school on Sunday, where we were relating the prophesies of Joel, to an odd event during my time in Germany.
I was in Germany during the Cold War and we often saw ‘spooks’ that may or may not have been there.
My first construction project when I got to Germany in the late 70s was in an area north of Zweibrucken. I could either take the roundabout route on the Autobahn or the semi-direct route down two-lane roads, or the shortest route which I found to take longer if I got to one particular village when the farmer let his cows out of the first floor of his home and herded them down main street to the fields. On my semi-direct and direct routes, I drove to an odd sharp left-hand turn and then another turn, just as sharp, back to the right after passing a stand of trees. Being an engineer, I looked to the right after passing the stand of trees, thinking it an odd detour along the road, and I saw security fencing and the usual signs prohibiting photography. Ah, a military installation, and I had no need to know. I never thought about it again, until I had a need to know.
Just past this military installation, I entered a small village where the direct and semi-direct routes diverged.
Then, as if totally disconnected from my travels, an officer in a neighboring engineering company told of a project he was working on. It seemed that people with binoculars were spying on a military installation on the other side of the river, in the direction that you might take to Zweibrucken. He was going to build an earthen berm to block the view from the nearby village. Six months later, the young lieutenant was called back to the sight to rebuild the berm. He had built the berm over rabbit warrens, and the rabbits had invaded his berm.
A year later as I was awaiting promotion to Captain, I was reassigned to the Facilities Engineer, at first, to run the whole show, sort of, until a civilian could be hired. One of the first orders of business was to fix the berm, again, at a facility across the river. In my new job, I suddenly had a need to know. It seemed that the odd redirections of the highway that I had discovered years before led to the military installation that my friend had worked on and worked on. In the meantime, the rabbits had multiplied, as rabbits do. We came up with a plan to remove the berm entirely. Then we dug below where any rabbit warrens might be. Then we laid down chicken wire, too small for rabbit to reenter. As we started building the berm back again, we completely encased it in chicken wire and chain link fencing, using welding and wire stitching to tie each section of wire fencing together. We had completely “rabbit-proofed” what had been dubbed as the “rabbit berm.” All to prevent people from the nearby village from seeing what the military was doing. Russian spies? Never proven, maybe just nosy neighbors trying out their new bird-watching binoculars.
When I left Germany a year later, I had not gotten any more complaints, although there were rumors that the rabbits had eaten through the wire to retake their homeland. Then again, having a few rabbit warrens in an artificial hill had no effect on the efficacy of the hill. It still blocked the view from the village, although no one had ever determined that the village contained Russian spies.
But each time I see one of the neighbor’s rabbits or the wild rabbits who are using our back porch as their protection, I think of an artificial hill in Germany that may or may not contain rabbits. Hmmm. I am back where I started. I don’t have a security clearance, and I do not have a need to know.
But isn’t it odd, that no matter how hard the more intelligent, superior species worked to thwart the designs of a tiny creature, the tiny creature, a creation of God, could figure out how to battle against man’s intrusion into his territory. It seems like a good theme for a children’s movie, or has the plot already been used? Maybe “The Further Adventures of Peter Cottontail”
So, when God has plans for this world’s destruction, do we have a chance to deny the inevitable? Or maybe my brain went from studying Old Testament prophesies in Sunday school, and then my brain jumped the tracks and went on a tangent when thinking about an earthen berm and rabbits across the pond.
Soli Deo Gloria. Only to God be the Glory.