by Ruth Rosen
Moishe then drove back to Presbyterian Hospital and went straight to accounting. To his great surprise, he learned that he owed nothing. They were still covered by a Blue Cross policy they had signed up for in Denver, and the hospital accepted insurance payments as full remuneration from ministers or ministerial students and their families. Scarcely able to believe it, he sought out Ceil’s obstetrician, who explained that, like the hospital, he never charged ministers or seminarians. Just as Moishe had known that God had not been at work through the teller’s poor work ethic and subsequent mistake, he felt with a very grateful heart that the kindness of this doctor was certainly God’s provision—and his way of reminding Moishe that honesty was the best policy.
He told Ceil the good news about the medical expenses, and they left the hospital with light hearts and their precious new baby. They were eager to introduce her to “big sister” Lyn at last.
Becoming a big sister had not been the happiest day of Lyn’s life, not because of sibling rivalry but because of a nasty cut she’d received while playing in the backyard with the neighbors. The day Moishe’s second daughter was born, he returned home to find his older daughter with a cold washcloth pressed against her bleeding forehead. The landlady who had been watching her explained what had happened and assured Moishe that it was not as bad as it looked. He took Lyn to the emergency room, where she got stitches.
Lyn was not the only one to experienced drama that day. Moishe was sound asleep at home after a very eventful day, when, at midnight, a doctor woke Ceil in her hospital bed. He said, “Mrs. Rosen, I’m sorry to wake you, but there’s a problem with the baby and we need your permission for an emergency procedure.”
A terrified Ceil responded, “What? What’s wrong with my baby?!” After the birth, she’d had only a fleeting glance of the newborn before the nurses had swept her away for various tests. Earlier in the pregnancy, the doctor had cautioned Moishe and Ceil that there might be an incompatibility between the RH factor between the mother’s blood and the baby’s. The couple had optimistically dismissed the prenatal warning as a possibility, not a probability.
Now the baby needed a total blood exchange, and the doctor needed Ceil’s signature to authorize the procedure. After the doctor rushed away with the signed permission, the nurse looked at her sympathetically and asked, “Mrs. Rosen, would you like me to call your husband?”
The couple had no phone, and Ceil did not want to awaken the landlady. “No,” she said. “I’ll wait till morning. Unless . . . something happens before then.”
“Now, nothing’s going to happen. The pediatrician on call will take excellent care of your baby. I know she is very sick, but you just wait and see. She’ll be so much better in the morning.”
Ceil spent a dreadful night with little sleep. She was desperate to talk to her husband, and the night seemed endless. At last morning broke and she could make the call.
Moishe was scheduled to speak that morning, an engagement that she had forgotten. She was shocked when the landlady, Mrs. Ciancetta, explained that Moishe was not home, but she was caring for Lyn. For the first time in their married life, Ceil was upset that Moishe was not with her when she felt she really needed him.
When he arrived that afternoon, totally unaware of the crisis, the worst was over, just as the nurse had predicted. Ceil was so relieved that she did not communicate much of what she had felt about Moishe’s absence. Meanwhile, the doctor who had performed the blood transfusion came to introduce himself and to explain what had happened. As he extended his hand the young father grasped it firmly, trying not to show his surprise. The doctor who had saved his daughter’s life was black.
Moishe had not met many African Americans in Denver. In general, he was not given to thinking in stereotypes. But recently he’d harbored a growing prejudice without realizing it. The Italian section of Montclair where they lived abutted a predominantly black neighborhood. Ceil had grown increasingly uncomfortable about walking to the store because she had to pass some day laborers who ogled women as they walked by. Ceil would have been uncomfortable no matter the color or ethnicity of the men, but it happened that they were African Americans. Knowing this, Moishe had been nursing a growing dislike toward a group of people with whom he had had very little personal experience.
He hadn’t even realized his prejudice until he gripped the hand that had so skillfully cared for his baby girl in the middle of the night. In that moment, he knew that he would never make an assumption about any man or woman based on skin color. This doctor also waived the fee for the lifesaving procedure he had performed. All in all, Moishe had lived and learned quite a bit during the first week of his younger daughter’s life.
Life in Montclair was far more agreeable to Moishe and Ceil than their first year of campus residence. Initially they shared a house owned by the Cassies, a warm, caring Italian family. Moishe’s fond memories of life in Montclair included tantalizing aromas of genuine Italian cooking from Mrs. Cassie’s kitchen and the occasional samples she would bring upstairs.
Four-year-old Lyn was a very sociable child, so in the summer, Moishe and Ceil looked for a daily vacation Bible school (DVBS) where she could meet others her age. Grace Presbyterian Church, which was within walking distance of their apartment, had such a program.
Their only experience up to this point had been with Baptist churches. As Moishe recalled,
These churches did not stress being Baptist, but they did emphasize the importance of believing the Bible—and a couple of people had explained to me that “we” [meaning that particular church] were Baptist because we took the Bible seriously. Based on that, I concluded that if somebody wasn’t a Baptist, they didn’t take the Bible seriously. I didn’t know what Presbyterians, Methodists, Lutherans, etc. believed, but it seemed to me that if they really believed the Scriptures, they would be Baptists too. So much for deductive logic. I added two and two and got three.
Despite Moishe’s early doubts about non-Baptist denominations, he and Ceil enrolled Lyn at the DVBS at Grace Presbyterian Church. Through Grace, Moishe discovered that genuine Christians belong to churches of various denominations. He later said of the Presbyterian pastor, “Frank Hunger was more of a Christian than I was. He was a thoroughgoing evangelical who believed in missions. At one time, he had served as president of Biblical Seminary. And as our family began to attend the church regularly, he personally undertook to encourage me. The people of Grace Presbyterian were very kind to Ceil and to me. . . . They didn’t seem to expect a whole lot from me, but they honored me by having me teach an adult Sunday school class.”
As the time drew near for their second child to be born, the family had moved to a slightly larger place in Montclair. Moishe got a part-time job at Sears Roebuck in anticipation of the higher rent.
Though Lyn was quite young, she retained several memories of the family’s Bible school days and of her father’s dealings with her, including the following:
I didn’t know that others would have considered us poor while he was in Bible college; and I don’t remember a sense of going without with the exception of one event. Dad had taken Mother to the doctor for a prenatal visit and while he waited, he took me to a bakery to buy cream puffs. They were so big that I needed both hands to hold mine. When it came time to cross the big street, I clutched my cream puff in one hand while my other hand was safely in the grasp of Dad’s huge strong fingers.
As we reached the other side I dropped my cream puff—before I had even tasted the filling. I was very disappointed and began to cry. I could see that Dad felt terrible as he explained we couldn’t afford to go back for another one, but that if I didn’t mind the bite marks, I could have his. More than fifty years later I can honestly say no cream puff ever tasted so sweet.
Lyn trusted her father implicitly. When it was time to remove the stitches she’d gotten on my birthday, he took her to the doctor, who also happened to be the coroner of the county of Newark. Moishe recalled that he “had a bedside man
ner that would work better with dead people.”
The doctor snipped the three or four sutures in Lyn’s head. It didn’t hurt, but it frightened her. When she began to cry and pulled away, the doctor was so unnerved that he couldn’t finish. Moishe offered to help, and the doctor handed him the tweezers. Lyn immediately calmed down as her daddy pulled out the stitches.
With her dad in charge Lyn quickly returned to her good-natured self, and the doctor relaxed. Apparently he was trying to build a regular practice, so he asked Moishe, “Do you have a family doctor?”
Moishe did not, and agreed to have a physical. The doctor was very thorough, and after the exam, he announced, “You’ve got narcolepsy.”
Moishe shrugged. “When I was sixteen, I dozed off all the time, but I think that it went away after I was married.”
The doctor replied, “Well, it’s back.” He went on to describe several symptoms of narcolepsy, and Moishe had all of them.
Moishe’s doctor prescribed amphetamines, which again became part of his daily regimen, this time for the rest of his life. He explained, “What amphetamines do to most people, they don’t do to me. I don’t feel nervous or jumpy. In fact, if I don’t take them, it’s harder for me to sit in one place; it’s harder for me to focus.”
He certainly needed all the help he could get to focus. Life in New Jersey would have been full enough had it consisted only of school and family life—not to mention the part-time work at Sears during the last year or so. But Moishe’s purpose in being there was to prepare for ministry, so the ABMJ was a very prominent aspect of his life during those three years and not only during the summer when school was out.
At the mission center Moishe was surprised that people addressed one another as “Miss,” “Mister,” or “Mrs.” whenever anyone else was present. Even those in the higher echelons addressed the staff and volunteers that way. In describing those days, Moishe explained,
We were all treated very respectfully—not like young kids who were just learning the ropes. The missionaries called each other by first name in private and as long as we were by ourselves, the missionaries encouraged us to call them by their first names too. There was what they call esprit d’ corps, a special camaraderie that we all felt because we were insiders. It was a professional, yet pleasant atmosphere.
The mission quickly became my family, and they had a cradle-to-the-grave program for their constituents, including cemetery plots where Jewish people could be buried. They were very good at helping Jewish people in need.
During the school year, Moishe went to the mission center only on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Sundays. Like the other missionaries, he had a desk on the sixth floor. However, Moishe did not spend much time at his desk. Early on, he’d developed a rapport with Joe Serafin, the man who told him the basics of conducting a street meeting. Serafin, a Hungarian, was not part of the missionary staff. He was a utility person hired to run the elevator and perform various errands. Yet he often stood outside the door, telling passersby about Jesus. Moishe liked to stand there with Joe and listen as the older man shared his faith. Serafin told Moishe, “Don’t let yourself become a desk jockey. People spend too much time sitting at their desks. You can’t witness on your seat; you gotta use your feet.” This made perfect sense to Moishe, and he never forgot the admonition. Later, when it was his turn to supervise field missionaries, it was one of his guiding principles.
Moishe was one of several students whom the mission was sponsoring through Bible school, but they did not all attend Northeastern. Somehow, it fell to Moishe to supervise the group, an assignment he did not particularly want. He agreed conditionally: “If I have to be in charge, I need the authority that goes with the responsibility.” The mission met those terms, and Moishe had his first job supervising other missionaries.
Part of being in charge was looking out for the interests of those he supervised. Sometimes he had to speak to Harold Pretlove on their behalf, but the man was no Joseph Hoffman Cohn, who had been the consummate leader of the ABMJ. Moishe was sorry that he never had the chance to meet him. (Cohn died shortly after Moishe and Ceil became believers in Jesus.) Yet his influence at the ABMJ remained pervasive. According to Moishe,
People were always telling stories about Dr. Cohn. Nobody ever called him Joe Cohn; it was always Dr. Cohn. He was a very strong chief who didn’t appreciate challenges to his leadership from the staff. And what they told me about him greatly influenced me. I got the impression that he knew how to do things the right way.
Everybody talked about how tough Dr. Cohn was, and they recollected his style of supervision. Once a week, he’d come in and call a meeting of the staff. He’d bring an inspirational word. Then they would discuss the work, and after the discussion, Dr. Cohn would go to his office on the second floor. The missionaries would come in one by one and account for their week’s work. . . .
I remember hearing about Dr. Cohn and what a good memory he had and how much he delighted in catching a cheater. There was no judicial hearing. There was no process. If he felt someone was not honest in reporting their work, that was it. Anyone who lied or cheated to misrepresent the amount of work they were doing was gone. And though I never met him, I admired his ability and his resolve to weed out any sort of dishonesty.
Following the death of Dr. Cohn, the leadership of the mission was divided three ways. Harold Pretlove was officially in charge, but Daniel Fuchs and Emil Gruen each had their own areas of authority and, Moishe believed, did the actual work of running the mission.
Gruen had recruited Moishe and was a great encourager. Moishe particularly appreciated the way in which he corrected people. Moishe recalled, “After hearing me preach he gave me some good suggestions: He told me, ‘You started with your voice very loud and you trailed off. It’s much better if you build as you go. Save most of your breath for the end of a sentence.’ Then he demonstrated how to do it. He also told me: “When I’m on my way to speak to any group, I always pray that God will give me a love for the people who come to listen.”
Moishe thought of Emil Gruen as a very loving person with “a very strong sense of propriety. He set a very balanced example, and that helped me to see what was expected of me.* I learned from Emil that you never became pals with those you ministered to. You were there to minister, and that was the attitude. People you ministered to could expect certain things of you, and not others, and that was good. I appreciated the professionalism.”
Other people who influenced Moishe were Henry and Margaret Heydt, Sydney Parker, and especially Daniel Fuchs. Dr. Heydt had been the president and founder of Lancaster School of the Bible and was a theologian. He was more or less the resident “answer man” at the ABMJ. Sydney Parker was a missionary. As for Daniel Fuchs, Moishe said, “He was really my mentor. We had common interests, including photography.’”
Parker’s influence was somewhat complex, as Moishe recalled:
My friend Sydney Parker in a sense influenced me in a negative-positive-negative way. His theology was what would then be called neoorthodoxy. Now they would simply refer to it as liberalism. He challenged me at a good time in my life because I was at a very formative stage.
He taught one of the training courses I took; it was on Jewish thought and theology. But instead of teaching what I would call Jewish theology, he explained certain theories of how the Bible was written, and he espoused ideas that don’t fit within the evangelical framework.
Sydney took courses at Union Theological Seminary, and he liked to take me to sit in with him. I soon realized that Sydney didn’t believe exactly the same way I did. He did believe that Jesus died for his sins, and he said he believed in the resurrection. I didn’t quite know in what way he believed because he didn’t seem to take things too literally, but he did have faith. And he was trying to enlighten me. Eventually, when it became known what he was teaching, he had to leave the mission.
The interesting thing is, when I went and I listened to these great liberals of the day, they did
n’t influence me. Their attitude toward the Bible was to take it apart and dissect it, and what they were saying didn’t speak to me. Most of my biblical education was establishing the trustworthiness of Scripture, and that’s always been my conviction. But it was good for me to hear the other side.
Moishe was learning from everyone he could, including Isaac Finestone, leader of another Jewish mission known as Messengers of the New Covenant in Newark, New Jersey. Finestone invited Moishe to a Bible study that he taught in an informal way.
When Moishe got there, he found forty or fifty people sitting around a big dining room table, some at the table, others in a second row around the table, and still others in chairs here and there. Finestone was slow to speak and encouraged others to participate. Like Fred Kendall (his half brother, who was also in ministry), he occasionally broke out into a song, and the people sang with him. Moishe felt it was a very Jewish way of studying—everyone’s Bibles out on the table—and it gave a certain equality to have the leader teaching from a sitting position. Moishe used that method for years to come.
The New Jersey years were packed with all kinds of lessons for the new missionary. But there were some things that he seemed to know intuitively—things that sometimes surprised those who were more experienced than he. Some fifty years later, Moishe received an e-mail from a man he’d known during those student days with the ABMJ: “I remember how you helped an elderly Jewish man who was very sick and smelly go to the bathroom at the mission. I avoided him but you did not. I saw a part of you that impressed me, which not everyone has had the privilege of seeing: a sensitive and caring heart. Daniel asked me to train you when you were a student, but I soon saw someone who could have trained me.”
