by Ruth Rosen
Joe (name changed for purposes of this book) was about Moishe’s age, and they had first met through Hannah Wago in Denver. Eventually, Joe came to LA and became affiliated with the ABMJ and with Moishe. Moishe didn’t know the man well; he did know that he was a tough negotiator and was always looking for angles to receive benefits from the mission.
When Moishe said that Joe was the culprit, it literally came out of the blue, but once the words were out of his mouth, he did not doubt their veracity. He asked Darwin and another man he’d been training, Harry Jacobson, if they would take turns standing watch over the office that night.
Darwin arrived after midnight to relieve Harry, who had been hiding in the closet in Moishe’s office. Darwin went to the chapel and stretched out beneath a pew. Sure enough, about 2:00 a.m., he heard a soft thud upstairs as someone came in through a classroom window and dropped to the floor. Then came the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Dar held his breath as he heard the office door open; he waited a few moments, then silently crept out from under the pew and surprised Joe, who was going through the files with a flashlight.
After a brief tussle, Joe became docile. Darwin phoned Moishe, who called the police. Moishe did not press charges, and Joe never returned.
Once again, God had shown himself faithful to reveal critical information in a timely way. These incidents occurred now and then throughout Moishe’s life. He never made the knowledge of them part of his public ministry, but they made a deep impression on him and contributed to his trust in God.
God’s little intrusions into Moishe’s life were like a series of brush strokes. It was as though God were painting a picture, showing Moishe that whatever the circumstances, trust and obedience were key elements in the destiny that God had designed for him.
* He later described this as “Witnessing on the Way” (WOW).
* In 1972, Darwin and his wife, Carolyn, went with Africa Inland Mission (AIM) to fill the need for an artist at Inland Press in Mwanza, Tanzania, East Africa, where they served for thirty-two years.
NINETEEN
Salesmanship is no substitute for a Spirit-led ministry.
—MOISHE ROSEN
It was summer of 1961 and Lyn, not quite eleven, was happily walking with Patti Ryan, her very good friend, and one of six siblings who lived next door. They were on their way to their favorite drugstore—a great place to buy lots of candy without spending much. At the store, they decided that they would each trade half of whatever they bought with the other, but there were so many choices! They carefully studied the shelves laden with colorfully wrapped treats before finally making their selections. Then they decided to browse in one of the five and dime stores before going home.
As they wandered through the aisles of the second store, the girls were having a hard time ignoring their bags of candy. Soon they were huddled together, each carefully transferring half her candy into the other one’s bag. Just as they were finishing the delicate operation, the store manager came up from behind.
“Girls,” he said in a severe tone, “do you know that there’s a word for what you’re doing?”
They looked up at him, startled and confused.
“It’s called shoplifting” he reprimanded, “which is the same as stealing.”
The girls hastily explained that they had bought the candy at another store.
“Then where are your receipts?” he demanded. When the girls produced them, he seemed almost as angry as before and ordered them out of the store.
When Moishe came home Lyn and Patti told him all about the mean man who had accused them of shoplifting, and how it sure was a good thing they had kept their receipts.
Moishe nodded. “And did he apologize when you showed them to him?”
“No,” Lyn replied. “He was still mad and told us to leave.”
Moishe frowned. “Ceil?” he called out to her in the other room, “How long till supper’s ready?”
“About half an hour” she called back. “Why?”
“I need to take these girls to the store,” he said, “But we’ll be back in time for dinner.” Then, turning to his daughter and her friend, he said, “I’ll drive you back there. You both deserve an apology.”
Patti looked at her friend’s father apprehensively. “Um, Mr. Rosen, I gotta see if it’s okay with my mom. I’m s’posed to go home now.”
Apparently Mrs. Ryan didn’t mind because a few minute later Patti met Lyn at the car and Moishe drove them back to the store where he asked to speak to the manager.
If the manager recognized the two girls, he did a good job of hiding it. He focused instead on their rather large, stern-faced companion and asked, “May I help you?”
“Yes,” Moishe replied. “Earlier today you accused these young ladies of shoplifting. If you thought they were stealing, I can understand why you confronted them. But when they produced sales receipts you continued to treat them as though they were guilty by asking them to leave the store. Now I think that you owe them an apology.”
The manager swallowed hard but didn’t flinch as he returned the larger man’s gaze. He cleared his throat. “I see.” He glanced at the girls. “And I do apologize for the misunderstanding.”
His tone was cool and perfunctory, but Moishe had made his point. He nodded to the man then smiled at the girls. “Let’s go home.” And, as predicted, they were back in time for supper.
Regarding the above incident, Lyn later recalled, “Dad’s insistence on that apology made us feel important; the incident stands out as a reminder of how Dad respected us and cared for our feelings.”
The incident was typical of Moishe’s cut-and-dried way of dealing with wrongdoing. Having just gotten home from work he didn’t particularly want to go to the store, nor was he fond of confrontations. Still he was compelled to settle the matter quickly and have done with it.
He was protective, not only of his own family, but of any friend. Whether it was a matter of principle or a matter of pride (perhaps two parts of the first to one part of the latter), Moishe was determined that anyone who trifled with those he cared for would have to answer to him.
The confidence and authority to act quickly and decisively seemed to come naturally to him. He had the same confidence and authority in working with people at the mission, but that had developed over time.
The move to the center on Lexington had been a challenge; the new building multiplied Moishe’s opportunities as well as his responsibilities. Rooms for additional children’s classes meant finding more teachers to expand the program, and there was a large fellowship hall that could accommodate far more people than he’d been used to teaching at the weekly Bible study on Pico. This multipurpose room was adjacent to a large kitchen. Moishe, who always loved good food, enjoyed it even more when sharing it with others. So besides the regular Bible study, he instituted occasional family nights, where in addition to learning from Scripture, people could share food and fellowship.
Now Moishe also had a staff to supervise. When the ABMJ bought the building from the church group, they inherited two of the church’s workers. Janice Dundas, who later became Janice Vanderslick, was hired as a secretary. Elizabeth Taylor, a seminary graduate and youth worker, stayed on to help with the mission’s afternoon “Sunday school” until she met and married her husband, Pastor Paul Larson. Over the years, the ABMJ sent Moishe four or five people to train. Once again, Moishe became a boss not by choice, but by circumstance.
Moishe’s life and ministry were greatly enhanced by many who came alongside to help him. Albert Vanderslick, a graduate of Talbot Seminary, also became an important part of the ministry. When both Janice and Liz married and eventually left the mission’s employ, Fay Cohen came to help with the typing. Mama Cohen, as everyone called her, was a Jewish grandmother and a faithful follower of Jesus with a warm smile and an even warmer embrace. Mama Cohen also helped in the kitchen before meetings.*
Eventually Leslie Shapiro (who looked like Elizabeth Taylor—the movie star,
not the youth worker) came to work as Moishe’s full-time secretary. In those early days at Lexington and Lodi, Leslie helped Moishe build the filing system that he continued to use throughout his ministry. When Leslie married her husband, Harry Wright, in 1966, Moishe co-officiated at their wedding. Linda Caldwell took over the position vacated by Leslie.
Planning and supervising other people’s work were never Moishe’s strong suit, and he knew it. Correcting what was wrong always seemed the most natural way for Moishe to help people do what was right, stemming as it did from both his upbringing and his personality. Reflecting on his time in LA, he said, “I never liked being a boss. I never sat down with somebody to plan out what they should be doing. I’ve always preferred to work with people who know what they should be doing. And if they don’t know exactly how to do it, I’d rather troubleshoot it. I knew that I was supposed to be regulating them in some way, but I never did get the hang of that.” Some might say that later in his career, Moishe overcompensated for that shortcoming by regularizing the work and stressing accountability to the point that people, at times, felt overmanaged. But he never saw himself that way.
On the other hand, Moishe felt that he had much greater success with volunteers. Albert Stoltey and his wife, Muriel, were prime examples of the wonderful people who freely gave their time, energy, and resources to build the work. Moishe met the Stolteys through Bette Jacques while the ministry was still on West Pico. He recalled:
Al Stoltey called to talk about what we might do together. He was an engineer and a Dallas Seminary graduate. Muriel had a nursing degree from Wheaton College. They had two daughters, Janet and Lynne, about the same age as ours, and the daughters became good friends. They [Al and Muriel] had been Christians for a lot longer than Ceil and I, and both were better qualified to do the work than I was. But they just came alongside and upheld me. Al helped with the outdoor meetings, led the singing at the worship services, and occasionally sang a solo in what was obviously a highly trained voice. Muriel helped with the children’s ministry by teaching Bible stories, songs, and memory verses.
So I learned to work with volunteers. I had quite a few. The Stolteys continued to be the backbone in that work—even after we left LA. What I learned about volunteers was, first, you had to give more of yourself to them. And second, they were highly motivated—often more motivated than the professionals.
Despite his mild stammer, Moishe’s reputation as a teacher and preacher began to grow. (One friend, Diane Hart, commented years later that whereas Moishe sometimes stammered in conversation, “he never missed a beat” when preaching.) He received recognition and acclaim from the ABMJ and was invited to speak at their conferences. People who came to his Bible classes or who heard him speak in church often invited others to hear him. He estimated that by 1963, he was speaking just about every other Sunday.
The ministry was going mostly well. Of course not everything Moishe tried was a success. Commenting on what he tried that didn’t work so well, Moishe said that he knew that the telephone could be used for evangelism, but when he tried to communicate by phone, he did a poor job. Whether it was his stammer or his shyness, he never enjoyed initiating a phone call, even for social purposes.
Perhaps a more significant failure was Moishe’s brief foray into the world of counseling. He and Al Vanderslick completed a course of study in counseling at the American Institute of Family Relations. Moishe then put a notice to that effect in the bulletin for the regular Sunday afternoon meeting at the mission center, and he also announced from the pulpit that he would be available for counseling. Three people sought his counseling help. He recalled,
I appreciated the insights that this course in counseling gave me. But I concluded that all that counselors can give is feedback based on what the client has told them, which may or may not provide an adequate basis for understanding the problem. And I guess I should have a higher view of it,* but I view my own attempt at counseling as one of my failures.
For one thing, I felt that my reasons for wanting to do it were wrong. I wanted to draw people so that I could minister to them, and I felt that the people would be more drawn to a counselor than a Bible teacher.
Of the three people who came for counseling, I only continued to see one, and that was a man who was basically having trouble getting a job, and I found I could be of some help to him. But I discovered that I really didn’t want to be involved in any kind of counseling. I got out of the counseling mode and I got into the ministry mode where I could point to the Bible and say, “Thus says the Lord . . .”
One adjunct to Moishe’s counseling studies was the battery of analytical tests required of the students. Moishe’s test scores confirmed what others had told him—that he had chronic low-grade depression. Understanding this depression sheds significant light on Moishe’s outlook and how he operated. He described his depression this way:
A low-grade depression involves a certain pessimism. It is almost a fear of being optimistic and of being disappointed. I’d rather be pessimistic and be [pleasantly] surprised. . . .
I would not say that I “suffer from depression.” People with this [low-grade] condition can smile, can enjoy themselves and other people—the overall outlook is not exactly bleak, but, you know, you go to bed at night and you find yourself thinking, Thank God, no catastrophes happened today.
My depression has more to do with expectations than a particularly painful feeling. My enthusiasm is a quiet enthusiasm. My optimism is a “maybe” thing. . . . Depression doesn’t keep me from enjoying what is at hand. It keeps me from expecting or anticipating the enjoyment. And many things turn out better than I expect. . . .
That lack of expectation has led me to be cautious in everything. Sometimes it has cost me joy. But in a sense, the depression represents my character or, at least, feeds into my character.
It is easy to equate optimism with faith (God will provide) and pessimism with a lack thereof. Moishe was always optimistic about the big picture. He could enthusiastically proclaim his faith that “Jesus is coming again.” He could experience certain joy in knowing that whatever difficulties might come about, “All things work together for good to those who love him [Jesus] and are called according to his purposes” (Rom. 8:28). And if he knew that God was leading him to go here or expand there, he could have faith that God would provide. But though Moishe prayed and sought God’s guidance, the times when he knew (and told others) that a particular decision was God’s will were few.
Again, what he termed practical piety was a far more common aspect in his life and work than the occasional supernatural leadings. The infrequent instances when he knew God was speaking to him were more often warnings than encouragement.
Encouragement usually came in everyday ways, as a result of accomplishing the work that God apparently chose to bless. One of Moishe’s greatest satisfactions during the ten years he ministered in Southern California was his part in developing more cooperative efforts among various ministries and ministers.
When Moishe arrived in Los Angeles in 1957, he didn’t know what to expect from other ministries. At Northeastern he’d been taught that when a missionary comes to a new place, he or she should meet with others on the field and ask their help in fitting in with the work already being done.
When Moishe began making such visits, he discovered that various missions were in competition. They competed not only for funds but also for the attention and allegiance of Jewish people who might attend their meetings. Moishe recalled,
One mission invited me to speak, but their representative told me, “I don’t want you to take any names and addresses of any people you meet here.” If I’d started out with the attitude that everybody should share everything since we’re all here to do the same work, I would have been disappointed.
When I saw this competition, I realized that other ministries had interests to protect. My orientation changed, and I looked for ways to cooperate that showed I understood their interests. Instead of being
disappointed when some were unfriendly, I was delighted to discover that some were very friendly and received me well.
Moishe was not the only one who was eager to foster a spirit of cooperation. Ron Fleming, a Presbyterian minister whose mother was Jewish, was like-minded. Fleming had been raised as a Jew and was deeply interested in the work of Jewish evangelism. He suggested getting the leaders of various missions together for a joint day of prayer and fasting on Yom Kippur.
So it was that seven or eight men, including Moishe, Ron Fleming, Marvin Jacobs, Emanuel Gitel, and Abe Schneider, got together at South Hollywood Presbyterian Church on the Day of Atonement to pray for the work of the gospel among Jewish people. Hank Vigeveno, then pastor of the church, was a Dutch Jew, and he also participated.
Moishe recalled it as a wonderful time of prayer and unity. It formed the basis for several cooperative efforts. For the next three or four years, this core group brought their constituents together annually for a Christ in the Passover banquet, a youth picnic, a Hannukah/Christmas event, and a high holiday service.
Moishe was doing what he loved best—meeting and sharing the gospel with Jewish people and helping others to do the same. He recalled, “By the middle sixties, I was recognized as somewhat of an expert in the field. If someone wanted to know how to do something in Jewish evangelism, they came to me. I could pretty much tell them what to do and how to do it.”
Thinking about whether his experience in sales made him a good missionary, Moishe had quite a bit to say:
In sales, there is an opener, a presentation, and a closer. There is a parallel when witnessing [telling others what Jesus has done], but there are important differences.
When you go to a car lot, the salesman who presents the car to you is different from the one who closes the deal. Some salesmen are just closers, and they have a whole technique that involves wearing you out. Now maybe not everyone does that, but many do and that’s one way that salesmanship differs from ministry.
