Called to Controversy (29 page)

During those planning stages, one young man, Lyle Murphy, had suggested: “You know, it would be very good for us to hear from a rabbi. I would like to see us invite one to speak on the image of the missionary in the Jewish community.”

Moishe had quickly glanced around the room to see if someone would voice the obvious truth—that any rabbi who allowed himself to be announced as a speaker on that program would be committing professional suicide. Even if such a rabbi stood up and berated the group, the fact that he had dignified their existence by coming to speak would be a perpetual black mark against him. Moishe felt certain of that and would have almost guaranteed that no rabbi would accept such an invitation.

Knowing looks on the other committee members' faces confirmed that they had similar thoughts, though no one said it aloud. When the silence began to grow uncomfortable, Moishe cleared his throat and said, “Uh, I think it's a good idea, but I don't know of a rabbi who would want to do it. If you can find such a rabbi, I'll reserve a good place for him on the program.”

Even though Murphy had been unable to procure a rabbi, he'd come surprisingly close. So, as Moishe strode down the campus path toward the conference, he was looking forward to meeting Dr. Sidney Lawrence, director of the Jewish Community Relations Council of Kansas City. Dr. Lawrence had attended a yeshiva and studied to be a rabbi, but apparently had never accepted ordination.
*
Nevertheless, he was an exemplary servant of the Jewish community, a man with the courage of his convictions—and he'd accepted the challenge to speak to this conference of missionaries and missionary leaders.

Moishe was conversing with some colleagues outside the meeting room when he was struck by an aroma alien to the carefully regulated alcohol- and tobacco-free campus. Cigar smoke. Dr. Lawrence had arrived.

Moishe introduced himself, remarking that he had been born in Kansas City, though raised in Denver. Dr. Lawrence nodded and easily engaged in good-natured small talk. His personality was such that everyone he interacted with would have been happy to call him friend. He circulated among the conference participants, always enveloped in a cloud of smoke and continuously wondering aloud where the ashtrays were. No one explained that to him, though someone made sure he had a paper cup into which he could tap the ashes.

At last the meeting was called to order and the room grew quiet as people took their seats. More than a little curious about Dr. Lawrence's thoughts regarding the image of missionaries in the Jewish community, Moishe was glad when the preliminaries were finally over.

Moishe was not surprised when Dr. Lawrence asked that the recorder used to tape the sessions be turned off. Then he began what was probably the briefest address ever given to the FCTJ. He thanked the group for inviting him. Moishe immediately sensed that he had done quite a bit of public speaking and knew how to use his voice. He leaned forward, eager to hear what would come next. The essence of Sidney Lawrence's message was as follows:

You seem to be nice people, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to disappoint you. The topic you gave me is one that's impossible for me to address, and furthermore, I don't think anyone else could tell you much about it. You want to know about the image of the missionary in the Jewish community.
You don't have an image!
I remember years and years ago that at every major conference I attended—and there were many—there was an occasional workshop on “the missionary menace.” But in the past twenty years, there have been no such workshops. If you had any image at all, you would be seen as a threat. There would be all kinds of committee meetings, task forces, and discussions about how to deal with the missionary menace. I don't say that to hurt your feelings but to tell you the truth.

The rest of his comments were equally brief:

So far as missionary work is concerned, I think of two Yiddish words. The first one is
narishkeit
, which means “foolishness.” That you should attempt to come to us Jews and tell us about our Messiah is
narishkeit
. That you should tell us that somebody died for our sins and rose again from the dead is
narishkeit
.

But it's not only
narishkeit
, it's
chutzpah
.
Chutzpah
means “effrontery,” and I must ask, Who are you to tell us anything? Believe me, if there were anything to it, the rabbis would have told us that Jesus was the Messiah. I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I have nothing further to say.
*

With that, Sidney Lawrence left the podium.

The audience was stunned. Moishe found it difficult to listen to the rest of the proceedings. Lawrence's words, spoken without hostility had hit him hard.

After the conference, the program planning committee met to discuss the speakers, how people had responded and what to present to the next program planning committee. Moishe presided over the dozen or so missionaries, keenly aware of the murmurs that signaled the discussion had unofficially begun before he called the meeting to order.

If Moishe had been hit hard by what Lawrence had to say, he was even more discouraged by how many of the missionary leaders responded. It seemed as though each had his own way of denying Dr. Lawrence's assessment.

Doesn't anyone else realize that Sid Lawrence was right?
Moishe wondered.
Most Jews are not hearing the gospel from those of us who have been called to tell it!
It was a painful truth, but now he realized that he had suspected it for some time—on the whole, Jewish missionaries didn't count for much. Even in LA, where he'd hit a good stride and was seeing results, Moishe did not consider himself wildly successful. Yet apparently that moderate measure of success was greater than most were seeing. Why else had Daniel given him this promotion?

Moishe appreciated and liked his colleagues, but he was startled and repulsed to hear the leaders deny Lawrence's statement. He was aghast at their intransigence and shocked by the realization that he was headed down the same path.

Why can't they see the truth? Why can't they admit that we are failing? They can't bring about the necessary changes,
he thought.
They are mostly serving as custodians of something begun by others. And what makes me think that I am any different?

These events might not have affected Moishe in quite the same way had they occurred within his first year back on the East Coast. He arrived in New York with some sense of optimism. He had built the work in LA just as Daniel Fuchs had hoped he would, and in 1965, he was named director of recruiting and training. Presumably it was Daniel who had convinced the mission's board of directors to transfer the entire training program to New York City, a decision that precipitated Moishe's move to New York in the summer of 1967. In addition to recruiting and training, Moishe was appointed missionary in charge of Headquarters District.

Moishe viewed his promotion with a combination of eagerness and uncertainty. He was excited about the prospect of returning to New York, the best possible city for reaching out to Jewish people as far as he was concerned. And he was nostalgic regarding the place and people he'd met as a Bible school student. Daniel's enthusiasm and confidence were also gratifying. But Moishe was a cautious person and would not take much for granted. Before he agreed to the transfer, he pressed Daniel to tell him more about his future role.

Daniel responded somewhat vaguely, and this discomfited Moishe. In New York, there were a lot of bosses and a number of staff with more seniority than he had, and Moishe wondered if he, as a veteran yet unmistakably less senior missionary, would have the authority to carry out his new responsibilities. Accordingly, he asked Daniel if the board of directors had approved his appointment to the position. Daniel assured him that it had and, at Moishe's request, showed him the minutes of that meeting. Moishe saw a line about moving the training operations to New York; it didn't mention him by name, and it didn't convince him that he would be given a free rein in his operations.

He had met a number of wise and godly people in his travels, particularly among some of the pastors whose pulpits he had shared. One was Warren Hultgren, pastor of First Baptist Church in Tulsa. “I explained my concerns and asked his advice about taking the position,” Moishe recalled, “and he advised that if I could, I should avoid going—but he didn't think that I could. I was starting to realize that the administration in New York was complicated, and Dr. Hultgren's advice made me wonder more than ever if I was getting myself into something that was over my head.”

Moishe secured a promise from Daniel Fuchs: if the position in New York did not work out, he could move back to California and resume his efforts in the field. The agreement was that in that event, he would not return to LA, but would go to the San Francisco Bay area.
If
his new position didn't work out. Certainly Moishe hoped that it
would
work out, and he arrived in New York ready to dig in and do all he could to make it work.

It was a big move; the distance from home and friends in LA could hardly have been greater. His older daughter, a high schooler, was attached to a close circle of girls whose company she would miss. However, she was outgoing, and Moishe knew that she would make friends easily. The younger was in a preadolescent funk and not very happy with school. While Moishe was unaware of this, he did know that she could be perfectly content curled up with a good book in a room by herself, so he was not too concerned.

The move was probably hardest for Ceil. Though shy and reserved with those she didn't know, over time she had formed deep attachments. She did not want to leave the friends she'd come to love and was not thrilled at the prospect of meeting new people. But when Moishe reminded Ceil that she would be within three and a half hours of her family in Boston, she was consoled and even excited by the prospect.

Daniel Fuchs had encouraged the Rosens to look for a home in a suburb called New City. He and his wife, Muriel, lived there, and Moishe liked the idea of settling in the same town, though not in the same neighborhood. He and Ceil found a lovely split-level home in an upper-middle-class neighborhood consisting largely of families whose children were similar in age to their own.

Despite his uncertainties, Moishe arrived at his new job with zeal and determination. In addition to training, his assignment involved preaching at the Sunday afternoon services whenever he was in town, teaching Tuesday night Bible study, and visiting Jewish seekers. It also included the remodeling of the West Seventy-second Street property.

Daniel Fuchs wanted Moishe to oversee the project, but Harold Pretlove made it clear that he was ultimately in charge of the remodeling and that Moishe was to work under him. More than ten years after taking what had begun as a temporary position, he was still the boss. However, that chapter in the mission's history was drawing to a close—due in part, Moishe felt, to something he later regretted.

Moishe had known that the remodeling would require a renewal of the building permits. He mentioned this to Daniel, who told him to have the architect take the matter directly to Harold Pretlove, who, after all, had instructed Moishe not to speak directly to the architect or to say anything to him that he had not first cleared with Pretlove.

Moishe felt it was obvious that Pretlove would drop the ball. He was not surprised when Harold Pretlove's neglect of this matter and the ensuing cost to the mission proved to be the “last straw.” The board of directors eventually appointed Daniel Fuchs, who was already in charge of the missionaries, to lead in Pretlove's place.

In retrospect, Moishe felt that leaving the matter between Pretlove and the architect had proved treacherous, and that both he and Daniel were to blame.
Treacherous
might seem a harsh word for what others may describe as “letting nature take its course.” But in Moishe's thinking, even if technically it was between Pretlove and the architect, morally it was his duty to inform the boss that the building permits had expired. Moishe concluded, “If you know that [not saying] something will hurt the organization in which you serve, and you decide not to say it, then you've done something wrong.”

Reflecting on the incident, Moishe also said, “Treachery, when given a foothold in an organization, eventually becomes the usual way of doing things.” Years later, Moishe felt that both he and Daniel eventually faced certain consequences for the way in which the situation had been handled.