by Ruth Rosen
THE
UNLIKELY
STORY OF
MOISHE ROSEN
AND THE
FOUNDING OF
JEWS FOR
JESUS
RUTH ROSEN
© 2012 by Jews for Jesus of San Francisco, CA
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
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Unless otherwise noted, Scripture quotations are taken from THE NEW KING JAMES VERSION. © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
Scripture quotations marked KJV are from KING JAMES VERSION.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Rosen, Ruth, 1956-
Called to controversy : the unlikely story of Moishe Rosen and the founding of Jews for Jesus / Ruth Rosen.
pages cm
Includes bibliographical references.
ISBN 978-1-59555-491-8
1. Rosen, Moishe. 2. Christian converts from Judaism—Biography. 3. Jews for Jesus. 4. Missions to Jews. I. Title.
BV2623.R58R68 2012
289.9—dc23
[B]
2011048513
Printed in the United States of America
12 13 14 15 16 QGF 6 5 4 3 2 1
For those who still wonder . . .
CONTENTS
Preface
Introduction
PART ONE: The Early Years
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
PART TWO: Prelude to Jews for Jesus
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
PART THREE: Challenging the Status Quo
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
THIRTY-TWO
Ceil’s Postscript
Epilogue
Appendix A: Why Witness to the Jewish People?
Appendix B: Moishe’s Letter
Acknowledgments
Photos
PREFACE
I was only seven years old when it occurred to me that my father might be famous. I considered this a possibility because people that I didn’t really know or care about sometimes told me how lucky I was to have him for my father. I also knew that Dad often traveled to speaking engagements, which could mean that crowds of people were listening to him. My curiosity about the extent of his importance beyond our small family grew.
Which led me to ask my mother, “Is Daddy famous?”
Mom—who in 1963 resembled a Jewish Donna Reed with (I thought) a twist of Jackie Kennedy—wanted to know what I meant by “famous.”
I thought a moment and replied, “Do lots of people know who he is and think he is important?”
“I suppose you could say that,” Mom replied. She was guarded about anything that might lead a family member to get what she termed “a big head.” “He is well known in certain circles,” she cautiously added.
“Mom,” I said, “is Daddy famous like Billy Graham?”
“No,” she firmly replied. “Nowhere nearly as famous as Billy Graham.”
My curiosity was satisfied, and I didn’t think about Dad being famous for a long time. Years later, when he became a keynote speaker at a Christian festival at the Felt Forum in Madison Square Garden, I barely noticed. Later still, when strangers I met on my own speaking engagements characterized my father as “a Jewish Billy Graham,” I smiled and changed the subject. To this day, when people ask me what it was like being Moishe Rosen’s daughter, I usually reply, “Compared to what? I’ve never been anyone else’s daughter.” But every now and then, I let myself think about how some would call him famous, others, infamous.
My father, Moishe Rosen, is probably best known as the founder of Jews for Jesus, a high-profile evangelistic agency that, in the words of its mission statement, “exists to make the messiahship of Jesus an unavoidable issue to our Jewish people worldwide.” This in itself makes him a hero to some people, a villain to others.
Every author has a bias and an agenda and I will state mine here.
My bias: first, I share my father’s belief in Jesus as the Jewish Messiah and Savior of the world. But while I hope this book provides insight, my purpose is not to push his or my beliefs on readers who might not share them.
Second, I love and respect my father.
Third, I believe I know and care for him well enough to portray him honestly without overlooking his weak points and even his failures. Athough he did not live to see this book completed, he saw and vetted most of the chapters. My mother vetted the rest on his behalf. No doubt some readers will be delighted to see some of Moishe Rosen’s weaknesses or failings recorded, while others will be surprised and perhaps disappointed. I believe shortcomings are part of every real story. The Bible is remarkable inasmuch as it portrays many men and women of faith who knew God intimately—and it shows them as real people with ordinary feelings and failings.
I speak of my father in the company of these men and women, not to elevate him, but because their lives uncover clues about my father’s life, just as they uncover truths about any life that has had a great impact. My father joined me in the hope that his biography would encourage others to see how God uses imperfect people to bring about great things.
So much for bias. Now for agenda. First, my father did, said, and thought things that many people found interesting and valuable. A record of his life and thoughts will resonate with some readers, perhaps helping them on their own faith journeys.
Second, since he is a controversial man, I want to nail down some facts that otherwise might fly away on wings of speculation.
Third, I want to present a more personal and detailed portrait than would be possible by a writer less acquainted with him than I am, or one with less access to him and those who knew him. My research included many hours spent taping interviews with my father, so you’ll hear him explaining much of his life in his own words. Phone interviews and e-mail exchanges with friends, colleagues, and former colleagues bring their voices into the mix; and I include thoughts and memories from other family members as well as drawing from old correspondence and various documents recording his thoughts. But I’ve also included my own firsthand observations and reflections, which I hope will prove insightful. My father found them to be so and told me that he learned some things about himself through reading this manuscript.
I hope the combination of narrative, dialogue, quotes, and commentary will give you more than the usual whats and whens, but will also show more of the who and why. Most of my footnotes elaborate on the main text and are separated out for those who want to delve.
Fourth, my father tried hard to communicate certain philosophies and princ
iples. One of his great concerns was that they would be lost after he was gone. Many of Moishe Rosen’s philosophies and principles are woven throughout this book because they are inseparable from his life story.
You, the reader, will decide how well and truly I’ve presented my father’s life and thoughts. I offer the story of a man who has had a profound impact on many people, and I cannot help hoping that you will appreciate him on some level—as well as catch glimpses of the God he could not ignore.
Notes to reader: There are a few first person observations in some of the early notes, but most first person references come in later chapters, when my experiences and observations come into play. Also I refer to my father as “Moishe” almost exclusively up till the point in the story when I was born, then I use “Moishe” interchangeably with “Dad” or “my father.” During the time he was executive director he preferred his daughters to refer to him as Moishe so that was not unnatural for me and referring to my mother as Ceil came just as easily. At home he was the consummate dad, and in many situations he enjoyed the role of proud papa—but once he became our boss, he did not want to show partiality so we addressed him the same way everyone else did.
INTRODUCTION
It didn’t surprise Moishe Rosen that no friends or family members came to Denver’s Stapleton Airport to greet him. He squeezed himself into a rental car and headed straight to General Rose Memorial Hospital, named for Maurice Rose, a Jewish war hero. Many of the patients were Jewish, including the one he had come all the way from New York to visit.
Moishe parked the car, squared his shoulders, and strode through the large glass double doors. He turned down the hall to the elevators. He hated hospitals. The smells made him queasy, and he disliked hardening himself to the moans of strangers as he walked down the corridors. But if he didn’t steel himself, he would be too depressed to be of any use to his dying mother. What an awful phrase: “dying mother.” She was so much more to him than that, yet as he’d observed, death dominates the identity of those whom it is about to claim. Still, as long as she had breath in her body, he would continue to hope.
The elevator door opened, and he stepped in. He prayed silently for his mother and for courage. Once again the door slid open. He stepped out of the elevator and walked down the long corridor to her room.
His father, brother, and sister-in-law were talking in the hall. They acknowledged him but did not say much. He entered the room and swallowed hard as he saw her lying there, looking small and weak. She had been such a strong woman. “Ma?” She turned to look at him. Though she was too spent to manage much expression, he felt she was glad to see him. “Hi, Ma.” He mustered a weak smile and would have kissed her forehead or maybe her cheek, but he knew that sort of thing embarrassed her. He sat in the chair next to her bed, as close as he could get, and searched her face, hoping for a sign that there would be something he could say or do for her. No one from the medical staff or from the family had told his mother that she was dying, but she was an intelligent woman. She met his gaze, and he saw comprehension in her eyes. She knew why he had come. She understood that she would never see the other side of those big glass doors. She began to cry, a quiet, childlike whimper: “I don’t want to die.”
Ma, I don’t want you to die either! he groaned, but not out loud.
Still whimpering, she repeated, as though it were a song, “I don’t want to die. I want to live. I want to live.” Just like in the movies.
He saw her, frightened, as she faced death and it was one of the worst things he’d ever witnessed. He would never forgive himself if he did not at least try to offer her the hope that he’d found. The moment hung before him, daunting and inevitable.
He patted her arm lightly, hoping the touch would bring some comfort. “Ma,” he said, feeling almost as though he was listening to someone else’s voice say the words carefully and calmly, “you don’t have to be afraid . . .you really can live forever . . .”
That was as far as he got. Rose Rosen sat up, her gray-blue eyes suddenly wide, alert, and flashing with anger. With a strength that belied her condition she spat out the last words he ever heard from her lips: “If you’ve come to tell me about Jesus, you can go to hell!”
One might wonder why Moishe Rosen did it. Not why did he distress his dying mother by trying to tell her about Jesus. He had no choice about that because he firmly believed that Jesus could bring her peace, quiet her fears, and give her the hope of heaven.
Yet one might wonder why he ever allowed himself to consider Jesus as an option fifteen years earlier. Hadn’t he realized it would lead to a moment like this? And why had he brought shame on his family by becoming a missionary? Why did he accept that it was his lot in life to be called meshumad (traitor) or in more sterile terms, apostate?
At times, unsolicited answers to these and other questions have been suggested by some who opposed his efforts. Remarks during his lifetime ranged from “He’s not really Jewish” to “He did it for the money” to “He did it to win the approval of the goyim” (Gentiles) to “He’s evil.” One of the more interesting explanations was: “He’s a self-hating Jew.” Various rabbis and Jewish community leaders have made these remarks in newspaper and magazine articles, and many of their opinions and accusations trickled down to the public.
Moishe never took those remarks personally. Such statements concerning his faith and profession were like buttresses on the buildings of a status quo skyline—constructed to support the assertion that there’s no good or wholesome reason for a Jew to believe and proclaim that Jesus is the Jewish Messiah. That assertion is so concrete that many see it as foundational for Jewish identity. After all, very few “givens” remain when it comes to describing what it means to be Jewish.
On the whole, the Jewish people are not likely to agree anytime soon on a set of beliefs and behaviors that make up one’s Jewish identity. While a significant sector of the Jewish community is devoutly committed to a set of traditional beliefs, many others are far more subjective about what it means to be a Jew, often relying on what one cannot believe or do in order to set boundaries around their Jewishness. And the “cannots” become fewer all the time. Assimilation and intermarriage make it desirable to exclude as few as possible from the Jewish fold. Jewish Buddhists, agnostics, and Unitarians abound, and all may find their place within the community. And so the question arises, Where do we draw the line?
It often comes down to the following assertion: You cannot be Jewish and have a Christian belief in Jesus, because being Jewish and Christian are mutually exclusive. To many, this assertion is considered not only self-evident, but crucial to Jewish survival, almost the lynchpin of Jewish identity. The certainty that Jesus is not for Jews has kept collective heads above water in a sea that roils with relativism, secularism, and many other isms that have little to do with the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.
What has all this to do with a man whose beloved mother suggested that he go to hell rather than tell her about Jesus? Just this. Moishe Rosen grew up with the same set of assumptions and nonnegotiables regarding his identity as the rest of his Jewish family and friends—yet his life took a radically different turn.
Most people find it painful to part with lifelong assumptions. In this, Moishe was like anyone else. He often said that he was an ordinary person who would have been content to go on living an ordinary life based on ordinary assumptions—assumptions that excluded Jesus. Yet his life did not remain ordinary. Whether one lauds or loathes Moishe Rosen’s mission in life, he became an extraordinary force, causing countless people to question age-old assumptions about being Jewish and believing in Jesus.
Here is how it happened . . .
PART ONE
The Early Years
ONE
I was born in Kansas City, but raised in Denver. So far as I knew, I would never leave my home town.
—MOISHE ROSEN
Ben Rosen was seeing Kansas City through different eyes now that it was his home. As a child,
he’d been there often—whenever he and his brother, Dave, visited their married sister, Annie Singer. Sadly, they were more welcome at her house than in the Denver home that had once been theirs. Within a year from the day the boys’ mother, Dora, died of diabetic complications, their father, Edel, had taken a new wife. She seemed to resent the fact that her three youngest stepchildren, Ben, Dave, and Ida, were too small to fend for themselves. Edel did not resist his new wife’s insistence that his children make way for her own five, all daughters.
Annie took in Ida, the youngest sibling, and helped the boys whenever she could. Dave and Ben took turns visiting her in Kansas City. The one who stayed in Denver did chores by day and curled up to sleep in the unheated shed at night.
With maternal love barely a memory and a father who was not known for treating his children affectionately,* it’s no wonder that Ben grew up tough and proud of it. Perhaps for a time he was a little too tough. He always remained true to his father, even covering for Edel in the matter of some bad checks. When Ben found himself on the wrong side of the law, he gritted his teeth and took it rather than implicate his father. After that incident, Ben decided the best way to turn his life around was to leave Denver. With Annie and Ida in Kansas City, he headed for Missouri.
Finding a job wasn’t difficult. Tall and strong, Ben had a quiet confidence and was not afraid of hard work. As he strode down Troost Avenue one sunny day in 1928, Ben had reason to be optimistic—and hungry. The smell of food brought him into the local bakery / delicatessen, and the sight of a lovely young woman behind the counter kept him coming back. Ben watched with admiration as Rose Baker deftly carved corned beef and lox into thin slices, demonstrating a strong, steady hand as well as a pretty face and figure. He began to flirt.
Rose might have blushed inwardly, but she accepted his attentions with outward composure. She mentioned that she had just bought a tennis outfit, and Ben quickly offered to teach her, though he knew nothing about the game. After Rose agreed to go out with him, Ben explained that he was “just kidding” about the tennis lessons. He had a wide, easy grin and eyes that telegraphed his mirth even when he tried to keep a straight face. Rose smiled back. The rest, as they say, is history. Rose’s sister Esther had a man of her own, Sam Cohen, and so the Baker sisters made it a double wedding.
