by Ruth Rosen
The incident that this man was referring to was something that Moishe would have shrugged off as simply doing his duty. He recalled helping that man, but he didn’t see that it set him apart from others. He never regarded himself as particularly pious or holy, but he did use the phrase “practical piety,” referring to doing one’s spiritual duty without any spiritual glow or holy feelings about it. Practical piety pushed Moishe to do what was difficult, and it also helped him to overcome the more obvious types of temptations. It was the kind of piety that reminded him that God was always with him and there were no secret sins.
Not all temptations involved grappling with sin, however. One of the most dangerous temptations Moishe encountered taught him an important lesson and demonstrated God’s protection in a bizarre way. He recalled,
There is a kind of twilight zone when going to sleep or waking up. And that time of semiconsciousness is when I’ve often heard the voice of temptation. One such incident occurred during a ferry trip. . . . I remember coming home on the ferry boat in July on one of the hottest days of the year. I went to the upper deck to get fresh air. . . . Soon I was looking down at the foam where the prow of the boat was cutting the wake. I was so hot and tired, and as I stared down into the water, I was somewhat hypnotized by it.
Then I heard the words in my mind, Jump off, dive in, cool off in the cool, cool, water. And over and over again, in my mind I was hearing how cool it was down there. I wanted to jump in . . . but as much as I wanted to climb over the rail, my hands wouldn’t let go of the rail. Suddenly I looked at my hands instead of the water and when I realized . . . what I was trying to do, I snapped out of the hypnotic state. In a flash, I realized that temptation had come straight from hell. It was really spooky. I never had any inclination, before or since, toward any kind of suicide. But going over that rail would have been suicide.
I concluded that hypnotism is dangerous and should be avoided. And I also learned something about temptation. The temptation wasn’t to kill myself; the temptation was to cool myself. The thought of death didn’t occur to me at all.
It was an important lesson: temptation lures people to pursue some sort of relief, but the result is deadly.
Moishe later recalled, “I can’t say that I heard from God, but my hands sure did.” It’s amazing to think just how easily Moishe’s life and influence could have been cut short apart from God’s strong and saving grip.
* After Moishe left the ABMJ, Emil Gruen was one of many coworkers who encouraged him as he began the ministry of Jews for Jesus.
SIXTEEN
There is no such thing as a hopeless situation; it seems insoluble because people have grown weary of trying.
—MOISHE ROSEN
Zimmy is retiring . . . again.” Daniel Fuchs smiled wryly at Moishe.
Moishe had never met Elias Zimmerman, who was in charge of the ABMJ’s Los Angeles operation. However, he and Fuchs had developed the kind of relationship—professionally and personally—that was characterized by the older man’s willingness to speak candidly.
Noting Moishe’s raised eyebrow, Fuchs continued in his low, husky voice, “Oh, Zimmy’s been talking about retiring for years. He says his health is declining. To me he seems pretty fit for his age, but then who am I to say? Every year he says he can’t afford to stay on at the salary we pay, so we’ve been giving him raises to keep him on.”
Moishe nodded, not entirely sure what Elias Zimmerman’s situation three thousand miles away had to do with his own.
Fuchs, as though sensing this, got to the point: “Listen, Martin, I think it might not be such a bad idea if we encourage him to go through with it this time. He’s of an age when he ought to be able to retire if he wants to, and frankly, I wouldn’t mind having a younger man in his place. It’s a great posting, Los Angeles.”
Uh-oh, Moishe thought. Now I see where this is leading.
“I know you and Ceil have been having a hard time finding a place in New Jersey. Maybe it’s b’shert,* you know? It occurs to me that you might be just the man to breathe some new life into the Los Angeles work. Are you interested?”
“The answer is no,” Moishe answered without hesitation. Then he quickly continued, “I . . . uh . . . uh . . . appreciate your confidence in me.” He stammered as he sometimes did when he wanted to be heard and sensed an interruption coming. “But I . . . uh . . . have been looking forward to full-time ministry here. I’ve developed a love for the greater New York area. There are more of our people here than anywhere else in the country, and I want to reach them. So, if given a choice, I’d like to stay put.”
Fuchs seemed disappointed, but he smiled in a fatherly fashion. “I thought you might feel that way. But think it over, Martin. It’s a great opportunity. Talk to your wife about it, will you?”
The recent Bible school graduate nodded. Of course, he assured Fuchs, he would certainly mention it to Ceil. He reflected on his situation most of the way home. It had been an understatement to say that he and Ceil were having a hard time finding an apartment anywhere in New Jersey. Impossible was more like it. And it made no sense because for the first time in his life, affordability was not the issue.
It was understood that the couple probably would not be able to afford a place large enough to hold fellowship meetings and Bible studies on their own. The mission had indicated a willingness to subsidize rent if necessary. Moishe and Ceil had looked for apartments to rent in southern New Jersey, particularly East Orange, West Orange, and Montclair. For a time they even considered moving as far as Atlantic City to open a new mission branch, but nothing seemed available there, either.
Several weeks had gone by, and they were no closer to finding an apartment than when they’d begun. Moishe had prayed and prayed, and though he had seen God provide for his needs numerous times throughout his Bible college days, suddenly it was as though the Almighty had turned a deaf ear. Moishe puzzled over this briefly, then let the clickety-clack of the narrow gauge commuter train lull him into semi-sleep.
At home over dinner Moishe mentioned casually to his wife, “Daniel asked me today if I wanted to go to California and, you know, work there instead of here.”
Ceil was visibly startled. “What did you tell him?”
“Well, of course, I said no.”
“Why of course? Isn’t it a possibility?”
Moishe looked at her curiously. “How is it a possibility? I’ve got people I’m visiting here in East Orange. Once we find a place, I can start a weekly Bible study, like what Finestone is doing. And we’re so close to the city—probably the greatest place anywhere and the most Jewish city in the world.”
Ceil shrugged. She was happy enough in New Jersey and she loved living on the East Coast, close to her family in Boston—but she wasn’t as enamored of New York City as her husband was. “I understand, but you know, maybe the Lord is trying to tell us something. Maybe we’re supposed to go to California, and that’s why we’re not finding an apartment here.”
Moishe replied, “I don’t know. I hadn’t really thought of it that way. I guess I just assumed that God wanted us to stay here.”
“So you’ll think some more about Daniel’s offer?” she pressed.
“Yeah, I’ll think and pray about it.”
There was no bolt from the blue, but Moishe found it more and more plausible that God might have closed the door for them in New Jersey so that they could go through that open door to California. The next time he saw Daniel, he asked, “Do you still want me to take that post in California?”
“Yes, absolutely. Have you changed your mind?”
“I wouldn’t exactly say I changed my mind, but my mind’s been changed. I think it’s the right choice, given the circumstances and I . . . well, I feel confident that if this is what God wants, it’ll be the best thing.”
“Good!” Dr. Fuchs was visibly delighted. “I’ll let Zimmy know you’re coming. We’re giving him a trip around the world as a retirement gift, but he’s promised to be availab
le when he gets back to help the new man in the transition period.”
Moishe nodded. He wasn’t that thrilled to be the new man in California when he’d already begun trying to build a small work in New Jersey where no one expected him to fill anyone else’s shoes. But at least he’d have help. “When does Mr. Zimmerman leave for his trip? You know I’ve got plans to be in Denver for a couple of weeks this summer. My parents have agreed to see us, and I’ve got to go before the ordination council at Trinity, my home church.”
“Oh, you don’t need to worry about that,” Fuchs assured him. “We can fly you out from Denver to meet Zimmy. He’ll introduce you to everyone you’ll need to know before he goes on his trip. You spend a little time with him out there, get yourself oriented, and then come back to Denver for Ceil and the girls.”
With a mixture of apprehension and anticipation Moishe returned to his pretty young wife that night and sang, albeit a bit off key, “California here we come . . .” She, laughing, sang back, “Not quite where we started from . . .”
On a hot July morning in 1957, Moishe loaded up the four-year-old white Dodge, a rather nice hand-me-down from one of the senior missionaries, and the family set out for their new home—Los Angeles, California, via Denver, Colorado. The first two-thirds of the cross-country trip passed uneventfully. Then, after fields and fields of alfalfa and corn and sunflowers, there was Denver, nestled at the foot of the Rocky Mountains.
Moishe’s parents delighted in their first granddaughter—her vocabulary had grown and she could express even more of her personality than ever. They were also happy to meet their second granddaughter for the first time—though by comparison to her sister, she was cautious and shy and never wanted to be very far from her mother.
Some changes had occurred since Moishe had left Denver. His brother, Don, had married; he and his wife, Elaine, were expecting their first child. Don had become an indispensable part of Ben’s business that would one day become his own.
Ceil’s adoptive parents had moved away without informing anyone where they were going or how they might be contacted. Rumor had it that they had moved to Israel.
With his family comfortably ensconced in Denver, it was time for Moishe to fly to Los Angeles, meet Zimmy, and scope out his new post. Moishe liked to travel by car and train, but had never flown anywhere. The flight would be a real adventure. As Moishe kissed Ceil and the girls good-bye, he felt a growing excitement for this new phase in his life.
On the plane ride Moishe mentally rehearsed what Daniel Fuchs had told him about Elias Zimmerman. In 1938, Zimmerman began his work as a missionary in Boyle Heights, then a very Jewish area of Los Angeles. It was the end of the Great Depression, when many people rode the rails because they were homeless. Zimmy, as many called him, had a reputation as a good preacher and had begun his outreach as somewhat of a rescue mission. He’d preach to those who came and then serve them sandwiches or sometimes soup.
Now, in 1957, the days of the rescue mission were long gone, and Zimmerman was renting part of a Free Methodist church for Sunday afternoon services. These meetings were still in Boyle Heights on the East Side of Los Angeles, though more and more Jewish people were moving to the West Side. Moishe understood that he was to be Zimmerman’s successor but was not expected to follow in his footsteps too closely. The work had been declining over the years, which was why Fuchs wanted a new missionary there.
From the airport, Moishe took public transportation to the downtown May Flower Inn where Zimmy (or his assistant) had booked him a room. It was a smallish, commercial hotel near the library and the Church of the Open Door. Upon checking in, Moishe asked the desk clerk if there were any messages for him, as he hoped for further instructions. No messages, no phone calls. It was midafternoon the next day when Zimmerman finally rang to let Moishe know that he would pick him up at five o’clock.
With a sigh of relief, the young missionary contemplated what to do for a couple of hours. He walked around downtown Los Angeles, which had nothing of the bustling excitement of Manhattan. He thought everything seemed too spread out for anyone to bustle.
At five o’clock Zimmerman arrived and welcomed Moishe enthusiastically, assuring the new missionary that he anticipated “great things” from him. They drove west from downtown to a small white house at 5020 West Pico Boulevard. Burl Haynie, who was employed by the ABMJ, was there to show Moishe around what was to be the Rosens’ new home. Somewhat sadly, Mr. Haynie explained that he had remodeled the mission house for himself and his wife, hoping they could minister there together. Things had not worked out as he had planned, but Mr. Haynie hoped that the Rosens would find themselves very happy and very much at home there. Moishe thanked him and complimented him on the work he had done.
After Haynie gave him a tour of the house, Moishe allowed the fact to sink in that this was to be his family’s home. The move became more of a reality and he began to envision the possibilities and grow excited about the future. He could not wait to tell Ceil that they would have an upstairs and a downstairs bathroom all their own!
Zimmerman did not introduce Moishe to many people, but he did connect him with a few helpers that evening. One was an assistant whom Moishe was apparently to inherit. He also met Ken and Betty Jacques, who were keenly interested in reaching Jewish people with the message of Jesus. Dr. Jacques was an orthopedist, and the couple had a lovely home in the Hollywood Hills, which they opened for monthly meetings attended by believers in Jesus and seekers alike.
The following day, Zimmy also introduced Moishe to a couple who would supposedly “take care of” him for the rest of the week. “Because,” as the retiree explained, “my wife and I leave for our trip tomorrow.”
Moishe did his best to hide his shock and disappointment that the man who was supposed to show him the ropes was departing so soon. He tried to use the short time that he had to ply Zimmerman with questions about whom he would be calling on to study the Bible and discuss spiritual matters and various other details concerning the work.
Zimmerman wasn’t prepared to give details then, but once the Rosens moved out to Los Angeles, he’d see to it that they were “all set.” After all, Daniel Fuchs wanted Moishe to make his own mark, so the older man did not want to encumber or restrict him with too much of his own style. With a cheery goodbye, Zimmerman bid Moishe farewell, suggested he spend the rest of the week sightseeing, and left him in the care of the “host” couple who, as it turned out, had plans to head for their vacation cabin.
With no work to do, no one to show him the ropes, and no desire to go sightseeing without his family, there was no reason to remain in Los Angeles for the rest of the time originally planned. Fortunately, the airline had plenty of open seats on an earlier return flight to Denver, and Moishe was able to change his ticket and head back early. He had an ordination to attend.
Moishe’s initial resistance to the move west had not been unusual. He later conceded, “That has almost always been the case for me with God’s will. I was always pointed someplace else, moving ahead, doing what I thought I was supposed to do. I wasn’t seeking; I wasn’t looking. It seems as though God has always come to me as an interruption.” In fact, he often found that what he’d taken to be an unwelcome change of plans was actually an answer to his prayers for God’s leading, as in this move to California.
The stop in Denver was a high point. But as happy and hospitable as Moishe’s family was about the visit, there was an underlying tension. The conditions of their reconciliation caused Moishe to feel guilty; he was not allowed to discuss religion. His whole life was dedicated to telling others about the amazing relationship with God that was possible through Jesus; it seemed wrong to keep silent about that relationship when he was with the people he cared for most. Yet he felt he had no choice. He’d always hoped, and in fact had been led to believe by some well-meaning Christians, that eventually his family would see the positive changes in him and begin to ask about God. They never did. That was painful for Moishe—and it a
lso made it awkward for him to discuss his other reason for being in Denver.
Pastor MacDonald and the elders of Trinity Baptist Church were happy to fulfill their promise concerning Moishe’s ordination. The church had called an ordination council of about twenty-four church leaders and elders before whom Moishe presented himself to be questioned on his Bible knowledge, theology, and doctrine. The council found Moishe’s responses satisfactory, and he was invited to give his testimony the following Sunday night, after which he was to be ordained as a Conservative Baptist minister.* It was with a sense of accomplishment and gratitude that Moishe received his ordination. He valued the connection to the Conservative Baptist Association throughout his life.
Moishe explained to his father that he had been qualified to be ordained—and though he realized it was highly unlikely that Ben would attend the service, he had invited him anyway. Moishe recalled, “My dad looked at me and said, ‘I guess if I were a Christian, I’d be very proud of you. But I’m not a Christian.’ That was his way of giving me what amounted to a compliment without compromising his principles.”
The time in Denver went by quickly. Moishe and Ceil had stored some of their belongings at a friend’s home, and it was somewhat bittersweet to ship those belongings to California. Denver was no longer home base, and when they returned, it would be as visitors.
Now the Rosen family was in the home stretch of their road trip, and Moishe was eager to get to Los Angeles.
He organized it so that they would travel through the desert at night, but even so, the summer heat of the Mojave was brutal. In those days air-conditioned cars were only for the very wealthy—most people simply rolled down their windows. Moishe and Ceil carried plenty of water in the car, and Ceil continually soaked washcloths to keep each family member cool.
