Called to Controversy (3 page)

The Rosens were not as affluent as the Bakers nor was Papa Rosen as benevolent a father to his sons as Papa Baker was to his sons. But if Ben had received all the encouragement and affection the most accomplished father could give or even if his stepmother had been able to create a loving environment, Ben might never have come to Kansas City, and he might never have met his bride.

Ben and Rose's first son, Martin Meyer Rosen,
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was born on April 12, 1932, in Kansas City's Menorah Hospital. Martin was given the Hebrew name “Moshe” at his circumcision, but his grandfather Edel called him Moysheleh, the Yiddish derivative. In 1934 the family moved to Denver, where Moishe's brother, Don, was born.

Moishe's earliest memory was that of asking for more to eat—and being told there was no more. He must have been around four years old at the time. He never forgot that gnawing sensation or the ubiquitous oatmeal for breakfast, lunch, and dinner when the family could not afford better. He maintained an aversion to oatmeal for the rest of his life. The amount and variety of good, fresh food that eventually became available doubled as one of his chief enjoyments and most perilous problems.

The Great Depression years deeply affected those who lived through any part of them. The thirties, Moishe's childhood years, were lean for most people. Ben's sister Ida had married Sam Freedberg, who worked in a produce store and later a fish store. That meant the Freedbergs had extra food to share, and whenever they could, they'd give some to Ben and Rose and the boys.

When Moishe was nine years old, his mother became ill. No one told him the nature of her sickness, but he remembered radiation treatments, so it was most likely some form of cancer. Rose was generally hearty and strong, but she became greatly weakened, unable to cook or clean house. Moishe's father taught him to prepare meals, and with help from his brother, Don, Moishe took over that responsibility for a while. The boys also washed and dried the dishes, and Moishe scrubbed the kitchen floor on hands and knees.

He never questioned his extra responsibilities because he knew that family takes care of its own; when one is weak, others take up the slack. This value was deeply embedded in his childhood and remained with him always.

When things got better, Moishe's mother tried to encourage him to pursue a part of childhood he'd missed. “Go out and play with other children,” she'd urge him. But he tended to be a loner and a daydreamer.

Though the family struggled, they managed to live with dignity—and to live as Jews. It cost a dollar a week to go to
cheder
(Hebrew school, also known as Talmud Torah). Some weeks Ben could pay the
melamed
(teacher), and other weeks he taught his sons Jewish traditions and prayers at home. As family finances improved, the boys were able to attend cheder regularly.

Grandfather Edel Rosen maintained strict adherence to Jewish holidays, traditions, and dietary rules. Following his grandfather's death, Moishe's family continued the affiliation with the Orthodox synagogue for special events, but their home life was just plain Jewish.

A certain amount of religious activity was expected in order to show loyalty to the Jewish people, but as is often the case, those activities neither stemmed from nor inspired deeply held spiritual convictions in the Rosen home. Moishe's father maintained that “all religion is a racket,” and his mother, while not sharing her husband's cynicism, did not seem interested in religion. It would be fair to say that Moishe's childhood was strongly shaped by Jewish values, but not by Jewish faith.

Moishe was also strongly influenced by the regard his parents demonstrated for each other. He said about his parents' relationship, “There was a lot of romance there. I can still remember how my father would take us out for Sunday rides with my mother beside him in the front seat and us boys in the back. As my father drove along, he would sing love songs to her. He always told us how terrific our mother was, in front of her.”'
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This was one of many childhood lessons that carried over to Moishe's adult life. Accordingly, the next few chapters provide a look at Moishe's childhood, beginning with an emphasis on his mother and her influence on him.

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When I asked Moishe about his grandfather, he simply said, “He was not a nice person,” with a look that conveyed far more than his brief statement. I surmise that my great-grandfather may have disciplined his sons quite roughly, and my grandfather may have done the same with his boys. I also believe family honor kept my
zayda
(grandfather) from speaking ill of his father. Moishe, while not wanting to paint a false picture, was also reluctant to speak ill of his grandfather.

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Moishe stopped using the name Martin in the 1970s and made his Yiddish name his legal and permanent appellation.

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Moishe passed on this lesson by frequently telling people that an effective way to affirm someone is to speak appreciatively of his or her good qualities to a spouse or a parent.

TWO

As a Jew, I grew up being alternately fascinated and angry with Christmas. I had no idea that thousands of miles away, a little Jewish girl from a far stricter background than my own was hearing Christmas carols, wondering why the one they spoke of was not for her.

—MOISHE ROSEN

T
he radio was playing songs about a jolly old man, and it was easy for five-year-old Moishe to imagine that man with his white beard and red suit. He knew that Santa was somehow able to figure out who was naughty or nice. This in itself was not especially interesting to a five-year-old, but there was the promise of a present for nice children. Santa understood about presents because he had a big sack filled with toys.

Toys! Like most kids, Moishe made playthings out of anything at hand. Cardboard boxes became cars and boats. Once he got hold of some wonderful wooden blocks, left over from carpentry repairs. But all too soon, they disappeared into the fiery maw of the coal stove. When you're very young, it's hard to understand that firewood is more necessary than toys.

Moishe began singing along with the radio: “Santa Claus is coming to town.”
Is Santa listening?
he wondered. Even if he wasn't, the bouncy song was fun to sing.

His mother turned quickly, surprised to hear her son singing what she considered a Christian song. Ironically, Rose liked Christmas music, and as her son put it years later, “No one held it against her.” If there was a hint of a double standard, it was probably because as an adult, she was fully educated about the need for Jews to reject the Christian religion. She could therefore enjoy a few of its harmless trappings. But a five-year-old boy had to be taught the difference between what was Jewish and belonged to “us” and what, as part of someone else's religion, must be relegated to “them.”
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So she called out: “Moishe, it's nice that you're singing, but that song . . .” She paused. It wouldn't do to have him singing it when Ben got home. And if the boy's Zayda Edel ever heard it, that would be far worse.

“Is it a bad song?” Moishe didn't recall any naughty words in the song.

“Well, if your father or grandfather heard you singing that song, it would make them unhappy. Anyhow, Santa Claus isn't coming to our house.”

“Why not?” he wanted to know. He couldn't see that there was anything wrong with his house, nor did it seem to him that other boys and girls were noticeably nicer than he.

“Because we're Jewish, and Santa Claus doesn't come to Jewish homes,” his mother explained patiently. Then, partly because she did not want him to think that Santa Claus was among those who disliked Jews, and partly because she was a very truthful person, Rose explained that actually Santa didn't come to anybody's home because he was not real. She compared him to a character in a fairy tale. But that didn't satisfy Moishe.

So Rose very carefully began to separate childish fiction from the realities of life. As Moishe listened, he began to accept that some things he'd heard about or imagined did not exist. For the first time, he began to wonder about other realities he had taken for granted. His thoughts turned to a special Someone Else that people talked about, Someone from whom people seemed to expect good things and who mysteriously knew everything about everyone. Okay, so Santa was made up. “But, Ma,” he asked, “is there a God?”

Rose paused thoughtfully, and then, as though answering the question as much for herself as for him, she said, not quite as emphatically as he would have liked, “I'm pretty sure there is.”

That was the first conversation Moishe recalled regarding the existence of God. Rose did not often talk about such things, but she held certain beliefs that showed through in her outlook.

Moishe said, “My mother believed in rectitude, that God saw everything and would ultimately make sure justice was served. I know that she believed in hell. She was certain that Hitler was there. But she never exactly said if she believed in heaven.”

While his mother's concept of God was rather remote, her vision of right and wrong was close at hand and very practical. Moishe remembered her saying, “You may be forced to lie to an outsider, but never lie to yourself. If you're doing wrong and you tell yourself it's right, even when you want to do right, you'll continue doing wrong. But if you can admit to yourself that you're wrong, then you stand a chance of someday changing and doing right.” Moishe never forgot that lesson: know right from wrong, and remember that right and wrong involve truth.

His mother spoke in aphorisms such as, “The person who lies to himself is the biggest liar in the world.” Some of her sayings seemed cynical, such as, “Advertising is all lies,” but that was her way of protecting herself and her family—because she didn't merely mean the advertising of shopkeepers and other merchants. She meant people who would “advertise” their own good qualities. She was fond of saying, “I'm from Missouri. You have to show me.” Moishe once said, “My mother was an antiperfectionist. She thought something was authentic if she could see the flaws in it.” Some of Rose's ideas of good and bad, right and wrong, may have been subjective, but there in the middle of it all, the focal point was honesty.

Rose was never insincere. She cared nothing for the good opinion of someone she didn't like. And she was a profound friend to her friends, among whom her reputation was not so much as a woman of manners, but as one who was kind-hearted, generous, and loyal.

Rose Rosen was an intelligent woman with a highly inquisitive nature. An overflow of her enthusiastic pursuit of knowledge was her love of sharing information, and it was a way of relating, an indication of fondness for those with whom she exchanged facts or points of view.

She also related to people by feeding them. She was known to all her friends and family as an excellent cook, and as the economy improved, she exercised her culinary talents with gusto. During the high holidays,
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her kitchen became something of a strudel factory. She'd make large quantities to give away, and still there was plenty for the family. To her, Jewish holidays were not so much religious events as occasions to cook and have company.

She was not tremendously demonstrative when it came to physical affection, yet Moishe always knew her as a very affectionate and loving person. He recalled, “On rare occasions, she would kiss us [his brother or him] on the cheek, and she didn't ordinarily hug us. But when I was a little kid, when I hurt myself, my mother would hug me and rock me. And then she'd look at me and say: ‘Did that help the hurt go away?' To my mother, being loved caused healing.”

Rare as those outward demonstrations may have been, the love that inspired them was constant, and Moishe always knew that his mother cared for him. He also knew that his father cared about him, though dynamics between fathers and sons are bound to be different—perhaps more complex—than those between sons and mothers. Likewise, the influence of Jewish religion and identity on Moishe was strong, but complex. To that latter influence we will now turn.

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Moishe was conscientious about maintaining those distinctions. He recalled, “One year our teacher was handing out candy canes to the whole class. She told us they were for Christmas. Of course I wanted the candy, but still I told her, ‘I don't get one. I'm Jewish.'” The exclusion from anything connected with Christmas was entirely self-imposed as a matter of loyalty. (The teacher, who did not want any child to feel excluded, smiled and said, “‘That's all right. You can have yours for Hanukkah.'”)