Called to Controversy

by Ruth Rosen

  But this smile was different, somehow earthier. And he said to me, “I see so much of my own humor when you talk.” I guess any child hopes that her parents will see things in her that will continue when they are gone, and a sense of humor is not the least of them.

  Due to the seriousness of his illness, I’d requested that my annual speaking tour for the spring of 2010 be kept local. I still had nights out of town—never more than a few hours drive away—but was checking in daily by phone.

  One evening I phoned my parents shortly before I was to speak. Typically I’d have waited until morning, but Moishe had been scheduled to have chemo that day, and I was eager to find out how it had gone. It hadn’t. Clearly there was more to discuss, so after the service I called my parents from the motel. My mother broke the news: “The chemo isn’t working anymore. The doctor said there is no point continuing the treatments.” It was as though I was hearing his cancer diagnosis all over again, but now there were no more barriers between my father and the progressing cancer.

  Do I ask people to pray for a miracle? I wondered. Then, in that place of intuition where God spoke, not only to my father, but sometimes to me, I knew that he really was going to die, that his time was coming and it would be soon. He had been spared for a little more than three years, and in March he managed to keep one more speaking engagement. We were very proud of him, and from all accounts, the congregation and pastor were moved by his message.

  In April, Lyn flew out to be with us for Mom and Dad’s 78th birthdays. She recalled,

  Many people sent birthday cards but Mom’s friend Gwen hand delivered her card. Dad decided to read it himself (his assistant Peter had been reading most of the cards to him) and then he told me to read Acts 2:20, which he thought Gwen had written on the card. I looked it up and read it:

  The sun shall be turned into darkness,

  And the moon into blood,

  Before the coming of the great and awesome day of the Lord.

  It seemed so inappropriate that I couldn’t help laughing, along with Mother and Gwen. Then I thought perhaps Gwen had meant to write Acts 2:21, so I read that verse too:

  And it shall come to pass

  That whoever calls on the name of the Lord

  Shall be saved.

  That seemed to fit the situation a whole lot better, but Gwen said that she had not referred to either scripture in her card! Mom looked at what Gwen had written and saw that what Dad interpreted as “Acts 2:20” was actually “April 2010.”

  It was pretty funny, but points to something so typical of Moishe. He was always quick to turn to the Bible. It’s not surprising that, with his failing eyesight, he mistook Gwen’s handwritten date for a Bible verse.

  It was hard for Lyn to leave, not knowing if she would see Moishe again. He loved having her visit but told her, “I don’t want you to come back just to watch me die.” But she wanted desperately to see him at least once more, and would return with Alan when the time came.

  Soon after Lyn left, Dad entered a home hospice program. Thanks to the experienced staff, Lyn and Alan knew exactly when to fly out to be able to see Dad while he was still somewhat lucid. It turned out to be just a few weeks after Lyn’s April visit. Bethany and her fiancé, Gary, had just finished their final year of veterinary school and were able to visit before returning to Illinois for the graduation ceremony. The joy of having the whole family together was tempered with the knowledge that the next time we would all be gathered was going to be for Moishe’s funeral.

  At times when he was awake, we all crowded around his bed, even the dog. At other times, a couple of us would stay with him while the others took a break in the large nearby den, remembering better times, and recording memories for this book.

  Alan had the following to say about his father-in-law:*

  Who is Moishe? He’s the little boy in the story—the little boy in Hans Christian Andersen’s “The Emperor’s New Clothes.” The little boy who is willing to either state the obvious when others are pretending, or the little boy who sees something that others have missed. . . .

  Some decided to make a career of proving that Moishe was wrong . . . and may still be shadow-boxing Moishe to this day.

  Still, there’s a whole generation of men and women who have been mentored by Moishe directly or indirectly, who have embraced a lot of his philosophy—have tested it in their own arenas, and found it to be true. . . .

  Who is Moishe? The kind of guy who gets a congregation physically marching around the sanctuary in a circle to the song “Marching to Zion.” Why? Not because Moishe needed to lead; but because people needed a way to register their commitment. It’s good for them to provide a way they can identify with something.

  When Dad was really ill, he depended on Asher more and more. Sometimes when he’d wake up at one or two in the morning either in pain or else feeling the loneliness that creeps into the process of dying, he would call on Asher (knowing that Ceil, who spent almost all day every day with him, had difficulty sleeping.) Asher recalled,

  The most important thing he showed me was how, in the worst of his pain, he would always cry out to the Lord. And that was very inspiring to me. I had seen him in different situations where he stood up for what he believed in, but even through his worst struggles with cancer and the most painful situations he always cried out to the Lord . . . it showed me that even in the worst situations, I can still have that freedom.

  At 2:30 p.m. on May 19, I was on an errand when I received the phone call from Barbara, Moishe’s CNA. She urged me to come immediately to my parents’ house. I was there within thirty minutes. The hospice nurse had arrived and stayed long enough to tell us that Dad would not be with us the next day. Standing quietly in the background was Lucy Ogden, the parish nurse from Moishe and Ceil’s church. She had come for a visit that morning and had spent hours helping Barbara. When Mom suggested she go home, Lucy had told Mom very firmly, “I’m not going anywhere.” Later that day, we were all extremely grateful for her foresight.*

  We planned to be up with him all night, but he did not keep us waiting. He died peacefully at 7:30 p.m., with Mom, Asher, and me each laying a hand on his fragile body, telling him that Jesus was waiting for him, ready to say, “Well done, good and faithful servant.”

  Dave Garrett, Susan Perlman, and David Brickner were there on the spot, continuing to act on Moishe’s behalf, making calls and seeing to it that everyone was informed. Susan had already put together a press release that would go out the following day. The content of the press release (it was picked up by more than a dozen newspapers) saw to it that one of Moishe’s longtime wishes was fulfilled: that even in his death, he would preach the gospel.

  At one point, David and Susan took a break from their calling to come and tell us, “Do you know what day it was today? Moishe went before the sun went down. It was Shavuot.”

  I gasped. I could hardly believe it. I’d been too preoccupied to realize what day it was—Shavuot, the Jewish Feast of Pentecost! It is also a special time in church history; according to the second chapter of Acts, Jesus’ promise to send his Spirit to empower his disciples to preach the gospel was fulfilled on Shavuot. Not only that, but Dad had made his first public profession of faith in Jesus on Pentecost Sunday. There is never a happy day to be parted from someone you love, but for us, there could be no more meaningful date to see him go.

  When at last the people from the mortuary came, a new flood of tears sprang from my eyes, and I sobbed, “I . . . can’t . . . watch them . . . take him away.”

  My nephew put his arm around me and said, “It’s okay. They’re not taking him away. God already took him a few hours ago.”

  He was right; what made Moishe Rosen a real person had not died, but had been called home to his Maker. Not only would he live on in our memories, but he was actually more alive now than ever, and one day, we would see him again.

  Moishe was a man with a mission, called to controversy; a man with a beautiful soul and feet of cla
y. Now that his race was at an end, I could imagine him on the other side of that finish line, cheering on his family and friends, just as it says in Hebrews 12:1–2:

  We also, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which so easily ensnares us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith, who for the joy that was set before Him, endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.

  * I was with Susan Perlman who had a speaking engagement a couple of hours away when my mom called to say that they were at the hospital.

  ** This was an allusion to the biblical symbolism of oil representing God’s Spirit.

  * Early in Lyn and Alan’s marriage, Moishe had told Alan, “You’re not just my son-in-law; you’re my son.”

  * Having Peter and Barbara there was important, but Lucy was God’s answer to our prayers that we would have “official medical help” at home when the moment came.

  CEIL’S POSTSCRIPT

  How do you say good-bye to a husband you’ve loved and lived with for almost sixty years? My cowlicked, lanky young sweetheart and I were barely out of childhood when we started our new lives together—forever, whatever that meant to an eighteen-year-old. I don’t think either of us fully understood what marriage involved, but we were convinced we could meet any challenge together.

  The challenges came, and sometimes we survived only by God’s grace. There was the melding of two headstrong personalities into a cohesive family unit. There were worrisome threats, like possible military conscription and financial uncertainty of temporary unemployment. There were heartbreaks—renunciation by family, friends, and community that followed our commitment to Y’shua (Jesus) as Savior, and perhaps most devastating, the loss of our precious unborn son.

  The good things were also challenges: Moishe’s call to missionary service and the subsequent successes that often stretched him to the limit of his capabilities; the delightful challenges of parenting two wonderful daughters, and new opportunities to establish bonds with family members we barely knew.

  Different as we were, God “grew” us both through all those experiences. I always said that Moishe was the nice one. Even before we experienced the changing power of God’s Spirit working in us, Moishe was patient, kind, and caring. He was unselfish and generous, sometimes to a fault.

  As for household duties, Moishe loved to cook, but avoided cleanup. He didn’t mind mowing lawns or gardening, but as to carpentry, painting, and other house chores, his willingness far outweighed his skills. More a student than a craftsman, he was inquisitive and could even enjoy reading the dictionary. He liked people in general, often watching strangers, conjecturing who they might be or what they did for a living. He studied a variety of subjects he found interesting. He memorized large portions of the Bible. Despite a slight stammer that he fought and usually overcame, he loved to preach. Conversely, he found it hard to sit in church and listen to someone else. Nevertheless, he made it a point to attend worship when he was not scheduled to speak.

  He loved giving gifts and, having bought an intended surprise for someone, would usually have a hard time not presenting it early. He was so eager, he just couldn’t wait! In general, he was good hearted, a great encourager, always supportive of people’s talents, dreams, and aspirations.

  He had a strict code of ethics and acted on principle rather than convenience both in leadership and in personal matters. He always respected my feelings, but occasionally attempted to steer my attitudes and behaviors when they differed from his. While we often argued over minor differences, we agreed quickly on life’s larger issues. We trusted each other implicitly because we had promised never to lie to each other.

  Because we married so young, Moishe did more than shape my life. Aside from my commitment to God, in many ways, for such a long time, Moishe was my life. When he became so sick that he needed a separate bedroom, I left him every evening with a kiss and “See you in the morning.”

  Toward the end, I was never sure I would see him the next morning. I would have liked to say those words to him as he took his last breath, but it happened so fast. I barely had time to say I knew Jesus was calling him home and would tell him, “Well done, good and faithful servant.” I have said that farewell to Moishe often since then, and every time I miss him. When I see him again, it will be a great and glorious time, indeed the dawn of a new day. This, then, is the echo of my heart: Good-bye, my love. See you in the morning!

  EPILOGUE

  I complain, therefore I am.

  —RUTH ROSEN, for MOISHE

  Large amounts of morphine slow you down—not just your body, but your mind. For someone as bright as Moishe, an impaired thought process was particularly frustrating. Yet he maintained a sense of humor even through the final months of his illness.

  “I was complaining to myself about my mind today,” he told our family one night at dinner. “You know, how it’s not working like it used to. And then I thought, Hey, if I can complain about my mind . . . ” He trailed off, running out of energy and words at the same time.

  “If you can complain about your mind, then you still have the ability to think critically?” I suggested.

  “Yes,” he nodded and smiled, glad to be understood.

  “Sort of a twist on Descartes,” I continued. “I complain, therefore I am.” He laughed, and I was happy that he liked the joke.

  It’s funny, but it’s true. One of Moishe’s strengths was his tremendous critical facility. Being critical for the sake of being critical is useless, but the ability to see and say what is wrong is necessary if one wants to make things right.

  This is not only true practically and professionally; it is a spiritual truth, and it remains at the core of the gospel. If one cannot discern the problem of sin, one cannot recognize the need for forgiveness. Months after Dad died, I was still looking through bits and pieces of his writings, one of which said, “Crime is an action against society. Sin is an attitude against God. We’re all sinners. Trust me.”

  If one cannot recognize the presence of sin, how it affects us and why we need forgiveness, it is not possible to receive the good news of full reconciliation. Some people are so focused on the appearance of their own rightness that they spend all their effort to convince themselves and others of how right they are. Others do the harder work of becoming right, which begins with admitting that they are wrong and reaching for the hand that can lift them and help them to be right.

  When Moishe heard the gospel, he knew that the part about him being a sinner was true. Over time, he came to believe the rest of the gospel was also true, though it made him an outcast from the community he loved. And in his new community, the community of believers in Jesus, he continued to see and say what he thought about what was right as well as what was wrong.

  A preacher once said, “Your greatest weakness is an unguarded strength.” If it is true that one’s greatest weakness is an unguarded strength, perhaps it is also true that all human strengths have fault lines—fissures where pressure can build and things that seem firm are shaken.

  My father was a brilliantly insightful man and, on most occasions, a compassionate man. But he was not an empathetic man. He often knew how others felt, usually because they told him in verbal or nonverbal ways, intentionally or unintentionally. He was a keen observer with uncanny intuition. He could sense when he had seen symptoms of certain feelings before, and that helped him intuit how people would feel or respond in a situation. He often sympathized with others. But he was too much himself to be truly empathetic. That, too, was a great strength that carried with it inherent weakness.

  My father could not have been the decisive and cutting-edge leader that he was had he been less himself, setting aside his feelings or perspectives as a truly empathetic person sometimes does. Yet he might have had some different expectations, different behaviors, some perhaps for the be
tter, had he been prone to step outside himself to imagine how others felt or perceived things.

  Moishe knew it was important that his biography be quite clear that he was flawed. He wanted the world to know that God does not need people to attain a level of perfection to be used for his purposes. Those who knew and loved Moishe the most were very much aware of his shortcomings. I hope anyone who knew him only through his writing and through brief encounters will not love him less for having learned about some of his failings.

  A robust personality often includes traits or behaviors that seem to contradict one another. Some may say this is inconsistent, and perhaps on some level it is. But it is also the mark of a very full life, packed with many experiences and many circumstances and many opportunities to succeed or fail at living out one’s principles.

  My father would be the first to tell you that what you think of him makes little, if any, difference. It’s what you think of Jesus that really matters. So while this book is not meant to force beliefs on anyone, please excuse this one burst of gospel fervor: if you don’t know Jesus and will consider him with an open mind and heart, I believe God will bless you beyond anything you have ever dreamed possible.

  Moishe never considered himself God’s gift to Jewish evangelism. Rather, he considered Jewish evangelism to be a gift from God, entrusted to him.

  We can spend our brief lives any way we choose, but we can spend them only once. It’s important to recognize value, in ourselves, in others, and in whatever work God calls us to do. That’s something I learned from my father.