Called to Controversy (39 page)

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.”

The young man nodded. “That makes sense.”

“Yeah, I think so.” I smiled inwardly. Not many kids could call their parents by their first name without seeming disrespectful.

The side of Moishe that Biola students saw that day was very much a part of his persona, in one-to-one interactions as well as when he spoke to groups. But in addition to the “relatability” factor, there was a toughness that Moishe felt responsible to maintain in his role of executive director.

Once Jews for Jesus became an organization, standards, goals, and accountability became a primary focus of the ministry and of Moishe's leadership. He not only had to raise funds to support the missionaries, but he also felt responsible to ensure that he and the other missionaries were worthy of that support. He was never content to trust that things were happening as he thought they should. He always felt that people, including himself, had a tendency to do less than they ought if left to their own devices. So he looked for principles and procedures to keep himself and others on track. He explained,

You don't invent principles; you discover them. And principles really don't help you get things done; they keep you from doing what's wrong. They keep you on target, but you have to propel yourself forward. It takes a personal application of energy to do what you know you ought to do. And it is procedures by which you accomplish things, not the principles.