Called to Controversy (49 page)

Diabetes and circulatory problems had caused Moishe's calves and feet to turn dark brown, almost black. His fragile skin blistered easily if bumped or scraped, especially when he traveled. One of the few things that could help was the daily use of extremely tight-fitting, knee-high compression stockings. Moishe was too heavy to bend over and pull them on himself, and Ceil didn't have the strength or agility to get them on smoothly, without leaving painful creases. Asher became quite good at it. Moishe also relied on him often for companionship as well as his wealth of technological skills and knowledge. Their relationship was complex, caring, and occasionally frustrating.

For Moishe, the opportunity to bond with both his grandchildren over a period of several years was an unexpected and deeply gratifying pleasure. Bethany had lived with her grandparents for a couple of years before Asher came, and Asher remained after Bethany graduated and moved on to graduate school in Illinois. Moishe had ample time to get to know them individually, and they him.

Bethany recalled,

Sometimes Zayda would ask me to go with him when he was speaking at a church. One time he asked me to go with him to the East Bay, and he sweetened the deal by promising to stop for sushi on the way back. The restaurant was fairly empty when we walked in, but soon two women were seated close to us.

They were talking about chorus or music in general, and Zayda turned to them and mentioned how his wife loved music, sang in the San Francisco Choral Society, etc. To which we were immediately met with glares from the two ladies who then turned away to continue their conversation.

He didn't allow the response to shut him down. While he attempted again to speak with one of them, the other turned to me disapprovingly, and said, “Who is
he
to
you
?”

I was taken aback, but tried not to show it as I answered, “He's my grandfather.” She immediately softened, and from there the conversation was pleasant.

On the way home, we were discussing the whole occurrence. Zayda didn't bear the women any ill will for what they had first thought. He actually had a sense of [their moral indignation] being right, since they did not realize I was his granddaughter. I don't know how many people would have reacted the way he did. He didn't bear grudges and he often understood what others thought or felt.

Although Moishe was quick to engage with others, he was one of those rare people who didn't often feel lonely if there was no one around. Yet he really needed interaction to fully enjoy a meal, a movie, or even a good book, which he always passed on to others. He also needed other people to energize his creative processes.

David Brickner continued having regular appointments with him, more often than not at Moishe's home. Moishe also depended on Susan Perlman to keep him in the loop concerning what was happening throughout Jews for Jesus. Various staff, especially David, Susan, and I, often asked for his input on one project or another and found his ideas immensely helpful.

As long as his health allowed, Moishe attended board meetings, and though he absented himself from council meetings, he sought to maintain relationships with missionary staff. When the quarterly meetings of the Jews for Jesus council came to San Francisco, the whole group typically met at his house for pizza or Chinese food before beginning their deliberations the following morning. Still, Moishe often felt understimulated and, at times, underutilized.

I don't think Moishe ever entirely understood or accepted his post-executive-director role, even though he continued to make contributions. He worked toward what he hoped would eventually become a cyber branch of Jews for Jesus. While his travel had become more restricted due to his size and circulation problems, the world of the Internet allowed him to be in touch with people regardless of geographic location.

One of the people Moishe “met” this way was Jan Spence, who eventually became a co-laborer (trained volunteer) with Jews for Jesus. Jan had been using AOL for a few years when she noticed a Jews for Jesus chat room and decided to stop in. Moishe, under the screen name Mity Mo
*
asked her if she was a Gentile, and when Jan responded that she was a Jewish believer in Jesus, he sent her a private message, asking how she had come to believe. So began their friendship. Jan recalled,

A few days later I found out that Moishe Rosen was the founder of Jews for Jesus, although it was already clear that he was regarded as the leader of the room. Even though it was an environment which allowed for very brief one line correspondence, Moishe [was] clearly a person who liked and cared about people. Periodically a curious Jewish person would come into the room. If I started to chat with the person, Moishe would send [me] a private message offering encouragement. Other times antimissionaries would come into the room and Moishe would send a private message, explaining what an antimissionary was, how to tell, and how to handle the situation. Not only was he dedicated to sharing the gospel, but was also dedicated to helping others learn how to share the gospel and be effective.

While Moishe saw himself primarily as an encourager (and was seen by many others in that role) he still occasionally expressed himself in ways that could discourage people. But he could also be very good with apologies when he realized the need for them.

One occasion concerned a Jews for Jesus Rosh Hashanah service—including music, liturgy, and more—which a staff member had worked hard to organize. However, Moishe felt that the service had been marred by the announcement portion and I overheard him mention this rather bluntly immediately after the service to the person who was in charge of the service. I had an opportunity to discuss it with him, and a few days later he sent me a copy of his apology to that staff member:

Dear (name withheld):

After I left on Friday night, I felt I had really wronged you. I had hoped my criticism would be helpful but as is often the case I chose the wrong place, wrong time, and wrong tone for what I wanted to convey.

I do want you to know that I thought your contribution to the service was excellent, except for the announcements. I should have waited to tell you what I felt needed improvement till later.

Please forgive me for embarrassing you in front of your friends who should have every reason to appreciate their association with you.

Moishe

P.S. If you want to know how to make effective announcements I would be happy to tell you what I know.

Like most people, Moishe could usually identify weaknesses more easily in others than he could in himself.

Having had the privilege of serving a four-year term as the Jews for Jesus staff representative to its board of directors, I attended board meetings where many people tend to display both strengths and weaknesses, and Moishe was not the only strong personality from whom there was an occasional outburst. Once when he commented on a particular person's loud and derisive comments I smiled and said, “You and [said person] have a lot in common. You both express yourselves . . . forcefully.”

However, there was one board meeting when Moishe had an outburst that deeply troubled me, even though it related to an issue on which he and I were in agreement. I carefully detailed my concerns to him in a letter. When I came to his house for dinner that week, he mentioned having read my letter. “I'm not going to apologize,” he said casually. “I don't see anything to apologize for.” My heart sank, but I did not argue the point and he apparently continued to mull it over on his own. Before the next meeting some three months later, Moishe wrote an eloquent and heartfelt apology, not only to the person whom he had spoken against, but to all the board members who had witnessed the incident.

Moishe taught by example, and that included how to give an honest and meaningful apology, a skill that, while often overlooked, truly is a measure of greatness.

Moishe also showed by example that it is never too late to learn and grow. For the most part, his attitude toward change was to embrace it when he could see how it was both useful and in keeping with his principles as well as his goals. However, he had little tolerance for what he viewed as “change for the sake of change” and even less tolerance for change that he believed contributed to slippage and/or was contrary to principle-based policies and procedures. But sometimes what he saw as slippage was a difference in procedures that was simply in keeping with the changing times and culture. He actually came to realize this later in life.

Moishe continued to work from home with a full-time administrative assistant. It was not the easiest position in which to thrive. On the one hand, an assistant had the privilege of quality one-on-one time with Moishe, something that most of his assistants found rewarding in and of itself. On the other hand, the Rosen home was somewhat isolated from the rest of Jews for Jesus and from the headquarters community, and the position did not seem to allow for upward mobility in the organization. This was probably especially difficult for younger people, and Moishe lost a couple of assistants sooner than he'd expected.

He felt the loss of both assistants keenly, but both times, Leslie Wright came all the way from Columbia to help during the interim when Moishe was between assistants. The continuity of having a friend from some of his earliest days in ministry was very heartening for Moishe, and Leslie became like a member of the family. Even when her services were no longer needed as an administrative assistant, Moishe kept in touch with her. It came as a terrible shock when, in 2005, Leslie was crossing the street just a block away from her own home and was hit by an oncoming vehicle. Her death deeply grieved Moishe.

As Moishe aged, grief over friends who passed became all too frequent. At times he seemed to wonder why he was still around when others he knew were gone—but this was particularly so when they were younger than he was.

At one point, the teenage son of a friend required a heart transplant. The boy's father had undergone the same surgery years earlier, and apparently the heart problem was hereditary. Moishe and Ceil had spent a great deal of time with the husband, his wife, and their twin boys, and Moishe had great affection for the entire family. His response to the news that one of the boys was so gravely ill was unforgettable. In a private moment, he told me with tears in his eyes, “I wish it could be me instead.”

*
Dad had a habit of joking with his name. While some thought the screen name was a bit grandiose for a ministry, Dad had mischievously taken on a nickname that to him, was a take off on “mighty mouse.”

THIRTY-TWO

Death can be a friendly nap when you know you'll awake to see your best Forever Friend, Jesus.

—MOISHE ROSEN

T
he phone rang at 4:00 p.m., interrupting the clatter of my computer keyboard. Reaching for the phone, I inwardly grumbled,
I hope it's not going to be a long call
. I was rushing to finish the day's work, anxious to get over to the hospital where my father had been admitted the previous night.

I could hear my mother on the other end, talking to someone else; I greeted her without waiting for a hello.

“Ruth? You might want to leave work early and come over to the hospital now.”

“What's wrong?” Cold fear washed over me, leaving me numb.

“We have the result of the CAT scan and it's not good.” Mom paused briefly. “The scan showed lesions on some of Dad's bones.”

“Tell her the doctors said it's cancer,” I heard Dad coaching from the background. Instead of repeating the news, Mom handed him the phone.

“It's cancer that's spread to my bones,” he announced. It felt like a dream, the kind where you're underwater, struggling in slow motion to surface. I managed to say, “I just need to talk to David for a moment, and then I'll be right over.”

Seconds later, I repeated the news to David Brickner, his administrative assistant, Steve Wertheim, and Susan Perlman, all of whom were not only colleagues but longtime friends.

David asked, “Can we pray before you go?”

I nodded.

At the hospital, Dad repeated the news, sounding matter of fact about his impending death. He needed more tests before the doctors would give a prognosis—but when you hear the words
carcinoma
and
metastasized
in the same sentence, followed by sentences with the phrase “palliative care,” it's natural to surmise that the end is near.

This was particularly true for my father, who from his earliest adult years believed that his end was near. Despite his fantastically fertile imagination, he never seemed able to picture himself living a long life. When I was in my twenties and Dad was in his forties, he made a point of saying, “Ruth, when I die, I want you to tell people that I lived a good, full life. Tell them not to mourn for me because I will be with the Lord.” He was not ill at the time.

“Stop talking like that,” my mother scolded. “Can't you see you're upsetting her?” She knew that I had a more than normal fear of death—not my own, but theirs.

I'll never forget the look of surprised hurt on my father's face. “But I need her to understand,” he said. “It's no tragedy.”

I thought I saw something beyond hurt in his eyes. It looked like fear—not of death, but that I would not understand when it was his time to go. It was startling.