Called to Controversy (31 page)

You are brave to do your own thing.

Most of us don't have the heart to make the scene.

We both want LOVE but we settle for either sex or sermons.

All want Life. Most get a kind of living death called existence.

We try to be the saviors of the world, and we just end up sinning against those we want to save.

Maybe Jesus, the real Savior, can save us, give us peace and help us come alive, to live and love.

He then quoted John 3:16.

Daniel Fuchs was reluctant to have the mission associated with literature that departed so radically from its conservative image. He didn't want the name of the mission on the pamphlet, though he gave Moishe permission to use the address in case anyone actually responded. Moreover, the mission would not print the tract, but if Moishe wanted to reproduce it, he was welcome to hand it out as an experiment. Moishe decided to use his Yiddish name rather than Martin on the back of the tract, and he instructed the receptionist and secretaries to send anyone who asked to see Moishe Rosen directly to his office.

He wrote more broadsides and handed them out in Greenwich Village. Before long, Moishe's office had become a gathering place for, as he once put it, “wall-to-wall hippies.”

Moishe was energized! Once again he was doing what he liked best: telling people directly about Jesus. Daniel had charged Moishe with revolutionizing the ABMJ staff. He didn't realize that Moishe himself was in need of a personal revolution. How could he? Moishe hadn't realized it when he accepted the position. And when that revolution came, it was not what anybody expected.

*
In Moishe's opinion, it was a precursor to the Lausanne Consultation on Jewish Evangelism, which came together in the 1980s.

*
According to Moishe's recollection, Dr. Lawrence had not gone through with the ordination because he was not certain that God existed.

*
The session was not recorded; this is not a transcript nor is it intended to represent a direct quote. It represents Moishe's best recollection of what Dr. Lawrence said, which so impacted Moishe that he repeated the gist of the message countless times throughout his ministry.

*
The herring was part of training for purposes of acculturation—there were many non-Jews in the class and Moishe wanted them to be able to eat what might be served to them in a Jewish home without hesitation.

TWENTY-ONE

History is written in terms of conflicts and resolutions.

—MOISHE ROSEN

I
t was January in San Francisco and still dark outside at 6:00 a.m. Moishe was prepared for rain, but surprisingly, there was none—nor was there much traffic at that time of day. Just fog and lots of it. He was on his way to Golden Gate Seminary for a speaking engagement. As the director of recruiting and training, he was frequently scheduled to speak at colleges and seminaries around the country, usually during their chapel hour. It was a way to expose aspiring ministers to the importance of Jewish evangelism and to meet prospective missionaries.

Harold Sevener, who'd once lived in the Bay Area with his wife, Grace, had set up this trip. Sevener had been Moishe's right hand during the latter part of his time in Los Angeles, and they continued the relationship following Moishe's move to New York. Harold was well organized and had a confident, cordial manner that made him pleasant to be around. Moishe trusted him, not only with his California travel schedule, but also with some of his more serious concerns.

As he made his way onto Highway 101 North, Moishe tried to clear his mind of those concerns, but it wasn't easy. He'd been feeling defeated, training missionaries to do the work, only to have them sent to help people who either didn't understand or couldn't appreciate their skills.
So here I am, looking for new recruits, but if I find them, what will become of them? When the old-timers ask for help, all they seem to want are people to do errands and administrative work.

But it hasn't all been bad,
he reminded himself. Eliezer Urbach had remained in New York after his training and was doing a fine job. Though he was older than most who had joined the ABMJ, he was energetic and enthusiastic. In fact, he was one of the best of the bunch when it came to handing out those new broadside tracts. Art Katz had done a good job starting up a work in Kansas City, and so had Terrell Delaney, one of Moishe's LA trainees, starting a branch in Denver.

But those two did well because they were on their own in those cities, with no other staff to stifle their initiative and creativity,
Moishe mused.
You can't put a new patch on an old garment, and you can't keep on opening up more branches just because people in the existing ones aren't properly utilizing the new missionaries.

He quickly braked as the lanes narrowed on the approach to the Golden Gate Bridge. It was still foggy but Moishe could see the halo of lights, forming a graceful outline of the suspension cables. He crossed the bridge and before he knew it, was heading up the steep road to Strawberry Point, where the Seminary nestled on a hill high above the Bay.

At last the road leveled out into a parking lot. Moishe eased himself out of the rental car to search for signs of campus life, but he'd arrived much earlier than expected; no one was in sight and no buildings seemed open. Spotting a bench under a streetlamp, he sat down, and Bible in hand he began to pray—not about what he would say or do for the chapel—he was all set for that. As he stared out into the darkness he sought God's direction about the troubling situation in New York.

Around 7:00 am the pre-dawn darkness began fading to grey, and before long it had melted away before the rising sun. As Moishe continued to pray and watch, he had one of those rare experiences he would never forget. In the darkness, he'd been completely unaware that he was facing the city. Now as the light struck San Francisco, the low lying fog obscured only the bottom half of the city while the skyline remained, so it looked like the city was floating on an enormous cloud. The fog also reflected the bright morning sun, lighting up the buildings like nothing Moishe had ever seen. He gazed in wonder at the gloriously golden city floating before him.

Had God arranged for him to see this amazing sight as an answer to prayer? After all, Daniel had agreed he could take the post in Northern California if things did not work out in New York. But as awestruck as Moishe felt, he did not want to convert those feelings into a conclusion concerning God's direction for his life.

Moishe gave a last lingering look at the city and headed off to meet Francis Dubois, the seminary's head of missions who was to introduce him as the guest speaker for chapel. After exchanging a few pleasantries, Moishe began to tell the professor some of what he'd been discovering in New York—that many hippies were open to discussing spiritual things and that people who were protesting the war in Vietnam seemed ready to hear about the peace that Jesus could bring. To his surprise, Dr. Dubois nodded his head in agreement. He proceeded to show Dr. Dubois samples of the broadsides. There were now six titles, one of which had been written by a new Jewish believer, Vicky Kress.

Dr. Dubois looked at the literature with interest and said, “I'm glad to see what you've been doing. I'm going to introduce you to some people who've been involved in outreach to people immersed in counterculture. You'll see that what God is doing in New York, he's also doing here in the Bay Area.”

That was exciting news for Moishe, and he was glad to meet, among others, Kent Philpot and Paul Bryant. Both confirmed what Dr. Dubois had said.

After the chapel service, which went well, Moishe was eager to hear more about “the Jesus Revolution” that Paul and Kent had talked about. “You gotta go to Berkeley,” Paul announced. “That's where things are really radical. These pamphlets of yours would go over great there.”

“You know any good places to eat in Berkeley?” Scoping out good food was always high on Moishe's list of priorities.

“Yeah, sure, there's tons of places,” Paul assured him. “I'll come with you and introduce you to some good people and some good food.”

That's how Moishe met Jack Sparks of the Christian World Liberation Front (CWLF).
Wow, these guys really are radical,
Moishe thought as he heard about ministry communes, demonstrations, and more.
Nothing I'm doing would seem strange or off the wall to them.
He couldn't help feeling excited at the thought that if he did transfer back to California, there'd be people he could learn from and who could learn from him. Not only that, but Jack introduced him to a couple of Jewish Christians.

To Moishe, all this was absolutely wonderful. As far as he could see, the “happening” was even greater on the West Coast than it was back East. However, he was distracted from these thoughts by a rumbling in his stomach.

“Hey, ever hear of Cody's?” Paul asked.

“Is it a restaurant?” Moishe replied hopefully.

“No, it's a bookstore,” Paul laughed. “C'mon I'll show you.”

Moishe had never seen such a huge bookstore, except perhaps the big Brentanos in Manhattan. Everyone seemed to be wearing blue jeans and either tie-dyed tee shirts or sweatshirts with anti-war slogans. Some sat on the floor reading. Moishe was still in his speaker's attire, tie and all. A few looked at him with curiosity but most ignored him.

“What's that smell?”

“Oh, you mean the patchouli oil? Yeah, a lot of people wear it to mask the smell of pot” Paul said nonchalantly.

Cody's had a place for posting bills, and Moishe found it interesting to peruse the different rallies and demonstrations that were taking place. There were also numerous posters for saving trees, saving various animals and of course, a myriad of ads for concerts, free and otherwise.

“Cody's is kind of a hub for the Berkeley community,” Paul explained, as they left the store.

Moishe was fascinated by the whole Berkeley scene. There were street vendors everywhere. He picked out a couple of pairs of dangly earrings for his wife and older daughter, and a beaded headband for the younger one. “Okay, I'm hungry,” he told Paul as he stuffed the small paper bag containing the gifts into one of his pockets. “What's to eat around here?”

“C'mon, the campus is right over there.”

“What about a restaurant?” Moishe pressed.

“Cheaper to eat by the campus. C'mon. It's good.”

Paul pointed to a row of sidewalk vendors selling shwarma, falafel, kebabs as well as hot dogs, hamburgers and pretzels. Moishe aquiessed, and pronounced the food, “Not bad.”

“Oops, got a little on your tie there,” Paul pointed out. Moishe wiped his tie with a napkin but a trace of the shwarma juice remained. That was why he favored the cheap polyester ties to the fancy silk ones.

“Yeah, here too,” Paul gestured to the side of his mouth. Moishe liked the fact that Paul wasn't afraid to mention these things. He looked around at his colorful surroundings; in fact, there was a great deal to like about the place and the people.

That night as Moishe prepared for bed, he couldn't help wondering if all that had transpired that day was a confirmation of what he sensed God might have been revealing through that amazing sunrise.

Yet he felt torn. He was preparing to begin training a new class of missionary candidates. He couldn't abandon them. But neither could he ignore the problems that were plaguing him back East or the opportunities that seemed so ripe in California.
I'm not going to decide anything tonight,
he thought sleepily.
We' ll see what happens when I get back.

Whether or not the trip to California confirmed Moishe's future, it certainly confirmed his conviction that outreach to hippies ought to be a primary focus of Jewish evangelism in New York—and that the organizational skills and methods of the antiwar organizers were an effective way to communicate.

Moishe observed, “They could take five hundred mimeographed sheets and hand them out in the morning, and at noon have five thousand people gathered in a given place. I studied the way they communicated and it was not fancy, it was not slick. They spoke in slogans.”

The name “Jews for Jesus” began as a slogan during Moishe's time with the ABMJ in New York, and he did not originate it. In a 2009 letter to some friends, Heidi and Scott, Moishe explained how it came about in the late 1960s: