Called to Controversy

by Ruth Rosen

  Lyn was miserable. Feeling that she could not marry a man who did not understand or share the faith that was such a central part of her life, she had prayerfully determined to break off the relationship after six months unless he had a change of heart. Totally unaware of Lyn’s decision, for the first time in his life Alan began to think seriously about what it meant to be a Christian. Before the six months ended, Baruch Goldstein had led Alan in a prayer of faith in Jesus. Alan and Lyn were married in June 1974, and in September 1975 both joined the staff of Jews for Jesus.

  Lyn recalled,

  When we asked Dad if he would perform our wedding ceremony, he [declined and] said, “I want to be the father of the bride and enjoy the wedding.” But he did write the wedding service for us.

  I will never forget how, before the service on our wedding day, Dad disappeared with our best man, Tuvya, to collect the mail. I couldn’t figure out if the mail was really that important—or if Dad was just a tad nervous, and didn’t quite know how [else to] wait for the service.

  Ceil, already in her mother-of-the-bride dress, tending to last-minute details, was totally unaware of Moishe’s brief disappearance. It was just as well.

  * Meaning a T-shirt or jacket bearing the words “Jews for Jesus.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  The way that I understand anger is that it’s a God-given emotion, and its purpose is to energize us to do the right thing; one’s temper is something that one uses, not loses.

  —MOISHE ROSEN

  Over the hum of an old air conditioner and the muted yet audible din of street traffic and sirens, a loud voice burst from the other side of a closed office door. The words were muffled, but the tone was unmistakable. Raising a worried eyebrow, Susan Perlman winced and held her breath, straining to listen. The loud voice belonged to her beloved Great Uncle Gutel, who was engaged rather heatedly in conversation with Moishe Rosen.

  Gutel, a regional director for the Jewish National Fund, had spent much of his adult life raising money to reforest Israel. A devout pillar of the Jewish community, he was very upset that Susan had come to faith in Jesus, and worse yet, was associated with the nefarious Jews for Jesus that he’d read about in the Jewish Press. He blamed Moishe for Susan’s move from New York to California and for changing her life. When Uncle Gutel had learned that the notorious Moishe was coming to New York (for the first ever Jews for Jesus Summer Witnessing Campaign), he had asked for an appointment with him.

  Now the two were alone in the room that served as Moishe’s temporary office, and who knew what might happen next? Uncle Gutel was not only elderly, but very excitable. Susan feared he would get so agitated that he would have a heart attack.

  Her worry only increased when a second loud voice interrupted the first, its cadence punctuated by the stutter that sometimes invaded Moishe’s speech when his mind moved faster than his mouth—or when he was trying to get a word in edgewise. But to Susan’s great relief, the shouting only lasted a minute, before both voices suddenly decreased in volume. Could they actually be having a calm, civilized conversation? The two were in there for a long time while Susan sat in the other room, alternately worrying and trying to concentrate on her work. At last the door opened, and Uncle Gutel came out.

  Moishe’s bulky six-foot one-inch frame appeared in the doorway, his expression thoughtful.

  “So, Moishe, what happened?” The tightness of Susan’s attempt at a light tone betrayed the concern underlying her curiosity.

  Moishe smiled reassuringly. “You know, Sue, I learned a lot from your uncle. After he calmed down, I asked him how he went about raising money for the Jewish National Fund. He said he always tried to let people know personally how much he appreciated their support and encouragement. That’s something I’ve always felt was important, so I asked what he did to express his appreciation.

  “I guess you know that since your uncle doesn’t drive, he’s always taking trains and buses to visit people and make presentations for the cause. Well, he told me how he put those travel times to use. He’d buy postcards, and while he rode along, he’d write personal notes thanking donors he’d met in previous places. It became a regular part of his routine, sending those handwritten, personal postcards. I think that’s a great idea, don’t you? Maybe we should be writing personal postcards to our donors.”

  “Yeah, okay, but . . . you two . . . you parted as friends?” Susan was pleased that Moishe liked her uncle’s postcard idea, but she was a lot more interested in how her uncle had responded to Moishe.

  “Well, I don’t know that your uncle would appreciate being referred to as my friend, but I think he would agree that we are now at least respectful and cordial acquaintances. Your uncle is a wise man who understands how to relate to people. I think I’d like us to try out that donor postcard thing.”

  Susan smiled with relief. “I guess it went well. That’s a real answer to prayer. And . . . about the postcards, Moishe . . . , I think you’re right. It just might work for Jews for Jesus, too—if you can get people to do it.”

  One of Moishe’s strengths was his ability to recognize when people had something worthwhile to teach him, regardless of differences in age, experience, or belief. Throughout the 1970s, Moishe not only taught, but continued to learn many lessons.

  Some of his sources of information proved controversial. Early on, Susan Perlman brought Saul Alinsky’s book Rules for Radicals to Moishe’s attention, when a friend showed it to her with the suggestion “some of this might apply to what you guys are doing.” Moishe read the book, saw its value, and shared it with the leadership team. All agreed that while much of it must be discarded as inappropriate for followers of Jesus, some of the “rules” could translate well into the group’s strategies, particularly in responding to opposition. These principles, such as “make your opposition live up to their own standards” and “de-personalize hostility” were perfectly ethical. However, the fact that they were found in a book that also contained objectionable ideologies and practices became a matter of controversy among Moishe’s critics.

  Some of the lessons Moishe learned were serendipitous, coming when he least expected them. It was his personal policy to meet any relatives of the early Jews for Jesus who were willing to see him if they came to town, or if he was traveling to their area. He always parlayed such meetings into opportunities to commend the staff person to his or her parents or other relatives. He knew that many had grave misgivings about family members being involved in Jews for Jesus, in large part because of the outrageous claims made in the press by anti-missionaries. Moishe wanted to give relatives an opportunity to meet him and ask questions, balancing what they had read with firsthand experience so they could draw their own conclusions. He also wanted to be available to discuss Jesus, knowing that many people find it easier to discuss such matters with nonfamily members.

  And so it was that Moishe had met and learned something from Susan Perlman’s great uncle. As Susan recalled, “It wasn’t all that long after [Moishe’s meeting with Uncle Gutel] that we started writing personal communications on postcards to our donors.”

  As Moishe continued to learn and teach, Jews for Jesus grew. By 1976, the work had expanded from the San Francisco Bay area to Los Angeles, New York, Chicago, and Boston. For that year’s New York Summer Witnessing Campaign, Moishe thought he could use the increased ranks for an expanded evangelistic outreach that would cover more places on the eastern seaboard for a longer period of time. Since it was our nation’s bicentennial celebration, someone suggested the name Operation Birthday Cake (OBC) for a Jews for Jesus witnessing campaign. That year, approximately eighty staff and volunteers participated.

  Moishe later said,

  I learned a whole lot from my mistakes. For example, in ’76, we just had too many people to run a really good campaign. This was a mistake I could easily recognize [though after the fact] because of what the military had taught me: you never take more people or equipment than is necessary to get the job done, particularly
equipment, because you have to haul it there, use it, then haul it back. . . .

  So I was in Philadelphia, as well as Boston and New York that summer. The ABMJ was also in Philadelphia that summer with a big conference. And I went to see Daniel Fuchs, and what was apparent [to him] was that we [Jews for Jesus] looked huge and we were. I met with Daniel and made a point to say, “You told me that one day I’d come and thank you, and I’m here today to thank you.” He replied a bit wryly, “But I didn’t think it would be so soon.”

  Whereas Daniel might have been impressed by the growth of Jews for Jesus, Moishe recognized a problem. The organization had become too big for its stage of developmental leadership. One of his primary responsibilities was to develop that leadership to a point where they could continue without him. As far as he was concerned, that meant teaching them to follow certain nonnegotiable principles that he felt were crucial for leading a ministry properly, and he pushed hard to get that message across.

  No biography would be complete without exploring issues that have caused contention and controversy. Of course the conviction that all people, including Jewish people, need to know Jesus is the central controversy. Moishe and all the Jews for Jesus bore that as part of their calling. But among the more interpersonal controversies we find such things as leadership style, particularly issues of control and anger. The former is addressed in the next chapter, but we turn now to the latter.

  Moishe could react harshly when he felt his authority was being ignored or challenged, particularly if he felt someone was intentionally undermining a principle of the ministry he had worked so hard to build. In such instances, he could display great anger, reprimanding the offending party in front of the group.

  Moishe had thought through his reasons for making such reprimands very loud and very public. He wanted to make the reprimands memorable, so they would serve as lessons not only to the person receiving the reprimand, but also to the other hearers. He wanted staff to be accountable to him and to one another.

  Yet Moishe never regarded himself as an angry person. He often stated—and semed convinced—that his displays of anger were calculated to make a point and that he was not inwardly angry. At times, this was believable; at other times, these displays appeared to be a genuine show of temper and personal frustration that would have better been kept under control.

  Some people simply did not listen if he didn’t yell, according to Moishe. And, at times Moishe seemed to use volume to compensate for his slowness of speech. He often felt others who could speak far more rapidly than he could were cutting him off before he could finish a thought.

  Part of Moishe’s mystique was that his perceptions were razor sharp; not only could he assess people and situations quickly and correctly, but he could recall with alacrity and accuracy countless details he had learned from books, magazine articles, observation, and personal experience. Being so often right made it difficult for him to see when he might be wrong.

  There were also areas in which his self-awareness was surprisingly lacking. But one can argue that this is inherent in human nature. In later years when he told me on numerous occasions—and in all sincerity—“I could never figure out why people said I was so intimidating,” I was simply amazed. On one such occasion, I reminded him, “I’ve been in the room many times when you’ve yelled at people, and even when I wasn’t the one being yelled at, I found it quite intimidating. Don’t you remember those times?” He began to explain why he had yelled, but when I reminded him that we were discussing how others felt and why people were intimidated, he nodded his assent.

  In fact, Moishe never considered yelling at people a big deal. He was well able to compartmentalize. He could read someone the riot act during the day and invite him for a friendly dinner that night. And some to whom the riot act was read were also able to compartmentalize these interactions. Moishe’s son-in-law, Alan Bond, was one of them. He seemed to have no problem leaving his professional life behind him when he came to see his in-laws. However, in my estimation, that was and is a rare ability—a fact that Moishe did not seem to realize.

  Moishe had made the lecture on depersonalizing hostility part of missionary training. He’d taught the staff and volunteers to deal with hostility by remembering that the opposition did not know them—it was not the individuals but what they represented that was the target of the insults. But when anger came from Moishe, it was different. He knew these people. He cared for these people and they regarded him as an important person in their lives. What he perhaps failed to see was that when he displayed anger, regardless of how he meant it, it was quite naturally felt as personal hostility. If he said something hurtful, no lesson had been given in how to depersonalize it, short of people convincing themselves that he really didn’t know or care about them.

  So it was that people who had shared with Moishe a sense of adventure and even play in their common purpose to creatively proclaim the gospel now found he was often questioning, criticizing, correcting, and disciplining them. Regardless of whether Moishe was acting correctly, one can understand how natural it would be for some to feel disappointed and hurt.

  Perhaps the disappointment and hurt was, at times, proportional to the depth of the relationship that people had enjoyed with Moishe. When a leader helps a person discover how to do things previously unimagined, and works alongside that person to achieve a common purpose in ways that bring out their very best, it’s natural to ascribe great importance to that person. That typified Moishe’s relationship with many of those he mentored.

  Miriam Nadler, when asked what she saw as Moishe’s greatest strength said, “To give vision and encourage others to go beyond what they think they can do.”

  Susan echoed this in describing his role in her life: “He [Moishe], for whatever it was worth, believed in me, that I could do things that I didn’t think I could do. And I was willing to believe him believing in me. So I did them.”

  Susan and many of those whom Moishe mentored not only became leaders in Jews for Jesus, but beyond Jews for Jesus, serving on numerous boards and steering committees.

  As Moishe found his circumstances changing, his role in the lives of those who had looked to him primarily for support and encouragement also changed. These changes occurred in a somewhat unsystematic way that was neither mutually understood nor mutually accepted by Moishe and those under his authority.

  Through it all, Moishe very much wanted to maintain the fun and adventure of Jews for Jesus. He continued to encourage creativity, affirming and encouraging people’s gifts, and reaching out to the staff in many ways and on many occasions that demonstrated high levels of kindness and caring.

  Unfortunately, painful incidents often leave stronger, longer lasting impressions than positive and pleasing experiences. Few people are likely to memorialize each act of kindness as clearly as they remember negative interactions. This, too, is human nature, and it takes a special grace to keep a balanced perspective on any person who has caused pain. Fortunately, Moishe retained, or in some cases regained, many wonderful friendships throughout his life through the grace that he both gave and received.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Some people think I’m an ogre, others think I’m a genius, but I am neither.

  —MOISHE ROSEN

  I watched as several hundred students pressed into the gym, filling the bleachers. I took a deep breath. Thanks to Jews for Jesus, I’d already had substantial experience with public speaking. Still, this was one of the largest groups I had ever addressed. I approached the microphone, smiled briefly, and greeted the student body, who responded warmly. Then I began, “You know, a lot of people ask me, ‘What’s it like to be Moishe Rosen’s daughter?’’’ I usually reply, ‘Compared to what? I’ve never been anyone else’s daughter.’” A small undercurrent of amusement rippled through the audience. I went on to describe my father as an ordinary person God had used to do extraordinary things. It took about three minutes to complete the introduction. The longest round of applause I
could remember hearing for a chapel speaker ensued as I left to take my seat. My father, still able to carry his considerable weight with relative ease, came briskly to the podium.

  As Moishe spoke, he seemed to create his own culture, so different from the students, yet so able to connect with them. He didn’t work at being relevant like some speakers who used vernacular terms they were not really comfortable with to show they could “relate.” I listened with pride as my father captivated his audience with a combination of humor, wisdom, and genuine interest in his listeners. The gist of his message was that God uses ordinary people to accomplish his extraordinary purposes. We had not coordinated my intro to match his message; we were just on the same wavelength.

  Moishe understood his listeners and knew how to cast a vision they could somehow make their own. It wasn’t the vision of Jews for Jesus. It was a vision for how anyone could make a difference by stepping out in faith. He used a bit of self-deprecation to make the point: “I’m overweight, overbearing, and over forty” he pointed out, not for the first or last time, “and not the most likely candidate for God to choose to lead a group of young people in a mission like Jews for Jesus.”

  The students loved his candor. They smiled and laughed, but mostly, they listened. Afterward, a knot of students surrounded him, and I stood a few feet away, awaiting my turn. One student approached me.

  “I noticed that you refer to your dad as ‘Moishe.’ Can I ask why you don’t call him your father?” he said.

  “Sure,” I replied. “He asked my sister and me not to.” Noting the student’s shocked expression, I quickly continued, “Oh, at home if it’s just family, I call him ‘Dad’ or ‘Daddy.’ But he prefers that we refer to him as Moishe when we talk to or about him around the Jews for Jesus staff and volunteers, so I’m used to calling him that most everywhere. You know, because he’s the boss. As far as he’s concerned, we don’t get any special treatment, and he’d rather not draw attention to the fact that he’s our dad.”