Called to Controversy

by Ruth Rosen

  Moishe never stopped thinking of himself as a Jew, not only by birth and upbringing, but also by culture and heritage that no one could take from him. But he was a Christian by faith and specifically a Baptist. He learned that it was common among Baptists to get a preaching license when one went away to study for the ministry. Accordingly, Moishe asked to speak to the pastor and the deacons at his church. He gave his testimony, explained his calling, and asked if they would license him. To Moishe’s surprise and disappointment, the board concluded that since they didn’t know if he could preach or not, it would not be proper to license him at that time. “But,” Pastor MacDonald told him, “should you choose, after your education to come back, we would be happy to hear you preach. If your education and preaching are satisfactory, we will do better than issue you a license. We will ordain you.”

  Though disappointed, Moishe recognized that it was a fair decision and offer. The pastor promised to correspond with Moishe while he was in Bible college, and he kept that promise.

  At the end of August 1954, Moishe and Ceil stored a few pieces of furniture with a friend and loaded up the family’s 1949 Hudson with the rest of their worldly goods. Then they set out on the two-thousand-mile trek to New Jersey. It was exciting, yet that adventure might easily have come to an abrupt and tragic end. Moishe explained,

  I had been informed that our Hudson automobile was in excellent working order. We got to Columbus, Ohio, and checked into one of those old-fashioned motels. They rented out one-room cottages and on either side of each cottage there was a carport.

  I have always been a somewhat cautious person. That night I inspected the car, checking all the fluids under the hood and noting the air pressure in the tires. The temperature had been hovering near a hundred degrees each day of the trip. Who knew from air-conditioning? The heat did not seem to bother us much. But that night I had difficulty sleeping. It was like my own voice was speaking to me and saying. “Tires, look at the tires.” Well, I was in my pajamas, but I got dressed and went out with the flashlight to check all around the tires. I did not find anything wrong, so I went back to bed. Just as I was dropping off to sleep, I heard it again: “Tires, tires, tires, tires.”

  Once again I went outside, and this time instead of looking at the outside of the tires, I got under the car with a flashlight and shined it on the inside of the tires. . . . There it was: a big bulge on the sidewall of my right front tire. The following day we would have entered the Pennsylvania Turnpike, which had no speed limit at that time. I couldn’t help but think that in the hundred-degree heat that front right tire would have blown at the worst possible time. “Thank you, Jesus,” I said. I knew that it had not been my voice but God’s.

  The next morning I went to get a new tire and the man who looked at the old one marveled that I made it from the motel to the tire shop. Tragedy averted, and that is what I can say about many of the “God-incidences” in my life. I can’t say that things like that happened on a regular basis and I have always been reluctant to use the words “God told me, or God showed me.” But he certainly showed himself able and willing to watch over our family that evening.

  * Dr. Grounds later became the president of the seminary.

  * Decades later, Moishe patterned some of his signature sermons, including “The Centurion,” on MacDonald’s style of preaching.

  PART TWO

  Prelude to Jews for Jesus

  THIRTEEN

  Patience is the virtue we want most . . . for those around us.

  —MOISHE ROSEN

  Pink mashed potatoes?” Moishe pronounced the word “puhtaydas.” His upper lip curled back of its own accord as he bent down to sniff his dinner.

  He looked at Ceil expectantly, as though she might be able to identify the foreign substance. She dipped her fork tentatively into the mixture, and delicately took a bite, if something that required no teeth could be called a bite.

  She lifted an eyebrow and swallowed. “I have no idea,” she shrugged. “It doesn’t taste like anything.”

  “It’s hash,” a second-year student across the table informed them briefly.

  “It’s what?!” Moishe looked at him in disbelief.

  “It’s hash,” the other repeated. “Corned beef hash.”

  Moishe took a forkful. “Feh!” he exclaimed. “They call this hash?”*

  “Yes, we call it hash. Some people like it.” And having finished his portion, the young man rose, picked up his plate and walked away.

  Moishe shook his head. “Who could like this?”

  As if on cue, three-year-old Lyn leaned over in her high chair, waving her spoon in Ceil’s direction.

  “Mommy?”

  Ceil quickly loaded up a spoon with the pinkish mixture and directed it toward the tot’s face.

  “Mmmmmmm, nummies!” Lyn opened her little mouth and was soon smiling appreciatively through a face full of “hash.”

  Moishe grinned. “It must remind her of the baby food you used to feed her.”

  As the two laughed, Moishe’s loud and rather unusual guffaw seemed to echo throughout the small dining room. Though not understanding the joke, Lyn shrieked with laughter, wanting to join the fun.

  Suddenly the small family found themselves the object of stares, mostly curious, but one or two disapproving. Ceil’s smile faded.

  “Our Eastern classmates may have a different sense of propriety than we do,” she said.

  “Easterners?” Moishe asked, bemused. “You think that’s the difference?”

  Ceil pursed her lips. There was no sense saying what they both knew. The entire first week had proven that they, the Jewish family from Denver, did not exactly fit seamlessly into the very reserved, conservative Christian culture of Northeastern Bible Institute. She sighed, but then brightened as a short, energetic woman came bustling over to their table.

  “Hello, Martin, Celia.” The woman smiled, patted Lyn on the head and said, “Hello, you young whippersnapper.” Then she offered, “Can I take your plates? Or are you still working on the hash?”

  Moishe knew Catherine from the alphabetical seating in several of his classes. First came Martin Rosen, then Sylvia Royce, then Catherine Siewell.

  Moishe shook his head. “Catherine, I don’t see how anyone can eat this stuff.”

  “Oh, I know what you mean,” Catherine nodded vigorously. In fact, everything about her was vigorous. “It’s ghastly.” Her arm shot out as she grabbed a bowlful of a brown, sticky substance from the table. “That’s why they have this stuff out all the time, ya know. Here, let me make you some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.”

  Catherine was some ten years older than the Denver couple, which set her apart from the other students. She was a strong, no frills, no nonsense, extremely bright, outspoken, and somewhat eccentric young woman. Her presence cheered the couple considerably, though Moishe didn’t have the heart to tell her that he wasn’t especially fond of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

  “You know, Ceil,” he said thoughtfully. “It doesn’t do much good to kvetch about the food. Let’s see what we can do to make it better.”

  “Ka vetch?” Catherine repeated with alacrity. ‘What’s that? Some Jewish word?”

  “Yes,” Ceil replied. “It means to complain.” Then turning to her husband she asked, “What have you got in mind?”

  “Well, I’ll just stop by the grocery store in Caldwell before it closes and I’ll pick up a bottle of garlic powder and some Tabasco sauce.”

  “It couldn’t hurt,” Ceil agreed.

  “Garlic powder and Tabasco sauce, well I’ll be. You’re a hoot, Martin. You’ll shake things up around here if ever anyone could.” And laughing robustly, Catherine bustled off, leaving the couple to shake their heads in amusement.

  The trip from Denver to Essex Fells had been a wonderful time for the three Rosens. They started out at the break of dawn each morning to beat the summer heat, enjoying the quiet countryside as the sun came up. They usually packed in an hour or
two of drive time before stopping for breakfast. Finally, they arrived at the school, ready to begin a new life.

  Essex Fells proved to be hot, humid, and lush with greenery. Moishe drove the family car across the tracks of a tiny railroad station straight onto the campus of Northeastern Bible Institue. They admired the main building with its pretty white steeple, and Lyn was especially delighted with the pond on campus and the lovely trees.

  The married dorm was just across the street from the main campus. The Rosens settled their belongings in their attic apartment before going on to the Greater Boston area to see Ceil’s birth family in Dorchester. That visit was a landmark experience for the young Rosens after the irreversible rupture in their relationship with Ceil’s adoptive parents. Whatever connection they’d had with one another had been crushed by the weight of disapproval over Moishe and Ceil’s faith in Jesus.

  Once Moishe realized that they would be moving back East, he strongly encouraged his wife to attempt a reunion with her birth father. She had occasionally corresponded with her twin brother, Jay—mainly small talk—during his years of military service overseas. Now Moishe and Ceil wrote to Jay, telling him they were moving back east with their little daughter. They also explained that they believed in Jesus as Messiah and Lord and that they would understand if the family wanted nothing to do with them because of their faith.

  The response came swiftly; the family would be overjoyed to see Ceil and meet her husband and daughter. With a sense of nervous anticipation, the Rosens drove some two hundred miles to Dorchester, a predominantly Jewish district of Boston.

  Moishe and Ceil had outfitted Lyn in a red cape for the occasion. When they arrived at the apartment door, Ceil bent to adjust the little red hood over the girl’s blonde curls and prompted, “Okay, ring the bell and say what we practiced.”

  Moishe lifted his daughter so that her pudgy little finger could reach the bell. She pushed hard and waited expectantly. Soon the door was opened by a smiling lady, and Linda Kaye Rosen delivered her first of many play lines. With a dimpled, gap-toothed smile just like her daddy’s, she announced, “Hello, I’m Little Red Riding Hood, and I’ve come to visit Grandma!”

  In an instant, any doubt of how the young believers in Jesus might be received by Ceil’s side of the family was gone. Shirley, face beaming with happiness, ushered the little family into the Elfbaum home and into a new and sweet relationship. With tears, Harry explained how all his life he had prayed constantly that one day the Almighty would give him back his daughter. Now at last that day had come. His two eldest, the twins, were together once again, and they were joined by their half brothers, Gerry, Stanley, and Larry, the sons of Harry and Shirley.

  None of them seemed to care a bit that Moishe was training to be a missionary. Harry was thrilled that his little girl had met a Jewish man who was a good husband and father. Lyn quickly stole everyone’s heart as the first grandchild of Harry and Shirley and the first niece of all the sons. It was difficult to say good-bye after the initial reunion, but now that they had been reunited, the relationships would last a lifetime.

  The Rosens returned to New Jersey and settled in with help from Emil Gruen, the ABMJ missionary who had recruited Moishe. He lived in nearby Livingston with his family, and they were very kind to the Rosens. They loaned them some items that their own children had long since outgrown, including a crib.

  The first day of Northeastern was an orientation. For Moishe, this proved to be an introduction not only to the school, but also to the culture. He had already experienced and recovered from some amount of culture shock through regular attendance at Trinity Baptist—but the new school culture was to pervade each and every day, including his home life. Moishe recalled,

  That first day we received mimeographed sheets and spent a lot of time in prayer; many of the prayers had been printed out for us. Some were very moving and I still remember one of them: “Lord, if this is the time when you want to call me and prepare me for your service, please make my heart and mind and will ready to receive it from you.” Another prayer that I remember, but didn’t really understand at the time was: “Help me to put aside the foolishness of this world and seek the substantial things of heaven.” I wondered what the word substantial meant and how we were supposed to seek the things of heaven.

  I also remember thinking that some of what they required was silly. One of the printed handouts was titled “Ministerial Decorum.” Part of the “decorum” was a dress code. Men were supposed to wear coats and neckties on campus, preferably dark suits. That made me uneasy, so I asked about it. I was told that I had to find a new level of dignity that represented my profession.

  In later years, Moishe freely admitted that he had an “attitude.” Anything stated in absolutes rubbed him the wrong way, and he often challenged his teachers. “I do not know what was in me that was so contrary,” he said, “but I enjoyed doing that. It was not that I thought I knew more than the teachers, but I wanted to prove that certain ones did not know as much as they thought. I got along much better with those who were not so quick to make sweeping, absolute statements.”

  By their second summer at school, the little family discovered public beaches and occasionally drove down to the Jersey shore, sometimes bringing along their friend and fellow nonconformist, Catherine Siewell (later Damato).

  Catherine quickly became fast friends with the Rosens. She recalled,

  It was either the first or second day at Northeastern that I saw Moishe—then Martin—and Celia come walking through the main hall toward the dining room. I thought they looked very exotic. They appeared solidly American, but different. I wasn’t much aware of Jewish people at that time. Somehow or other we spoke, and I took to both of them immediately. Moishe had a terrific sense of humor; he and I pretty much laughed at the same jokes. Eccentric is his middle name. I think that’s why we hit it off so well.

  The Rosens found Catherine fun and easy to be around, as well as a truly godly person who had an exemplary commitment to help others. Occasionally she even babysat.

  Applying himself academically was challenging for Moishe, who had not been to college full time before. He’d just taken courses at Colorado University. At the time, he hadn’t cared much about his grades. Now that his education was being sponsored by the ABMJ, Moishe felt obligated to do reasonably well, not only in gratitude for their support but in order to prepare properly for ministry. Ceil helped with his studies, typing his papers, helping him memorize the Greek alphabet as well as poetry for his literature class.

  Even more challenging than the academic discipline was trying to understand how to relate in this new context. Moishe was not only learning facts, he was learning, or at least trying to learn, the value of being polite outside of the workplace. He was also learning the discipline of taking some classes not because they interested him, but because they were required.

  He accepted that he was at this particular school because he had put himself in the hands of the mission agency that was sponsoring him. His experience with the army and the National Guard had taught him to think in certain terms. As he put it, “If you’re in the army, and they send you to the Aleutian Islands, you don’t wonder if you might be happier in a warmer climate. It’s the Aleutian Islands for you.”

  Initially Moishe had asked his sponsors if he might enroll at Moody Bible Institute in Chicago, which was founded by a great evangelist for the express purpose of equipping people to bring the gospel to unbelievers. Emil Gruen agreed that Moody was a fine school but patiently explained why Northeastern was a better choice. It would enable Moishe to be close to New York City, which was the largest Jewish community in the world. He would have the greatest mission field practically in his backyard, and he would be with a well-established organization where he could see how to do things right. Moishe accepted this, and his outreach experience in New York City did prove to be invaluable, as were some of the connections that he made there.

  However, Moishe later critiqued some o
f his choices:

  I made the mistake that most people make when they go to Bible college or seminary; I let the school start organizing my time and my witness and my ministry. I was seeking out and witnessing to people before I went away to Bible college. But once I got to school, there were structured opportunities and scheduled activities to minister to people in jail and at rescue missions.

  In a sense, I began to rely on the school and the mission to put me in contact with people. I went from being a very active witness—trying to talk to everyone I met about Jesus—to being passive, waiting until it was time to go here or go there for the purpose of telling others about Jesus. I lost some of my natural enthusiasm, and the zeal that had made me a good witness was blunted. The school and mission seemed to be satisfied with too little.

  At one point, the pendulum swung the other way as the school scheduled a conference known as Deeper Life Week. Ordinary classes were suspended so that students could listen to the four speakers. Each speaker had a day in which to speak three or four times, emphasizing a particular aspect of spiritual life.

  All the speakers set parameters for the minimum amount of time and effort that students should give for that particular aspect of spiritual life. One speaker explained that each student should have devotional time of at least an hour of personal prayer time. Another said that students should spend at least half an hour in daily Bible reading. Yet another told of some godly person who didn’t allow himself to go to bed at night until he had led at least one person to the Lord.