Europe and New York. Free services included night schools that taught English to separate classes of men and women, Sabbath schools, boys and girls clubs, recreation activities and a summer camp. A man of inexhaustible energy, Rohold visited widely in the community, distributing tracts and holding open-air services. On the Sabbath, he preached from the back of a wagon at Elizabeth and Agnes (Dundas St.), where Jewish families strolled after synagogue. (The practice wasn’t endearing to local Jewry or the press, although typical of missions at the time.)
The eventual key to success wasn’t in Rohold’s original plans. When he began visiting local residents, many were despairing and depressed by the shabby housing and unsanitary conditions. Frequently he heard “No one cares for us.” While sharing the remarks with his volunteers, one of the women suggested he seek the aid of a retired druggist, Mr. T. C. Wilmott, who in turn enlisted the assistance of a physician, Dr. A. C. McClennan. Their services attracted an unusual level of attention, and after a free dispensary opened on May 1, 1908, and then a free medical clinic, the Mission never looked back.
Success didn’t simply rely on the missionary’s rigorous personal schedule. Here we see the authentic qualities that Rohold demanded of himself:
In order to reach the Jewish people with the message of love, we must show them the reality of our message…The character, devotedness and spiritual power of the missionaries is really what a mission represents. The message that has entered their own life and soul is now entrusted to them, and this they must proclaim and exhibit in their life.13
These are the selfless values of faith that Morris and Annie chose to adopt and placed at the centre of their ministry.
From the beginning, the Mission gave meticulous reports to the presbytery. In Rohold’s first year, the clinic treated 3,142 cases, 43 babies were vaccinated, 242 home visits were made to the sick, and 41 of those were maternity cases. Eventually a women’s clinic was opened. By 1911, six doctors and a nurse were donating time to the Mission. Some practical assistance was offered, including rent subsidies and coal supplies.
In the fall of 1908, Rohold was ordained at Knox Church on Spadina Avenue. Meanwhile, demand for services on Teraulay Street was expanding far beyond the capacity of a storefront. An unfortunate incident in June 1911 would only briefly hamper Rohold’s best efforts, although it would remain a memorable chapter for the Jewish community.14 After another local missionary had made anti-Semitic comments that received wide circulation, Rohold’s regular Sunday afternoon open-air service incited a violent riot. The front page of The Toronto Daily Star’s late edition on Monday, June 19, featured a photo of the Presbyterian missionary in tabs and collar. The opening paragraph led with this statement:
“I come from Jerusalem, the home of the prophets who were stoned, and I shall preach as long as breath is in me. Preach I must and preach I will.”
This was the declaration made to The Star this morning by the Rev. S. B. Rohold, the Presbyterian missionary who was preaching when the riot began in the Ward last night. Mr. Rohold looked perfectly fresh this morning…He is a gentleman under middle age with short dark hair and flashing eyes. He is full of fire and enthusiasm.15
He promised “to be on the same spot, Saturday and Sunday, preaching the word.” Rohold denied that either his preaching or his work was an attack on the Jewish religion. “I simply preach Christianity,” he said. He also spoke of the ministry plans to erect a new building that would allow the work to go on with “renewed vigor.”
Scott’s committee had secured land on the southeast corner of Elm and Elizabeth Streets and began construction on an impressive three-storey brick building to be called the Christian Synagogue at 165 Elizabeth Street. It’s interesting that Rev. Rohold, in his interview, could already provide the final cost, which was $35,000 including the property.
The site boasted all the facilities needed to fulfill the missionary’s vision: specialized rooms for the clinic and dispensary, activity space, reading rooms and a good-sized meeting hall for the Hebrew Christian congregation formed in 1913. It became one of the leading mission sites in North America. Doors were open from 8 a.m. to 9 p.m. every day but Monday (the workers’ rest day). Rohold’s 1918 book includes a series of excellent black and white prints of the building. A candid photo of congregants in their meeting room shows the words, “To the Jew first” (Romans 1:16) on the front wall.16 Unfortunately, the impressive brick building is now gone, and the site has been absorbed into the campus of the Hospital for Sick Children, but this is where Annie and Morris first crossed paths—and swords.
January
By Elaine Z. Markovic
Look out that window
Through your sadness.
See those bare branches,
Not a hint of leaf
Or even bud;
And yet,
We know
That by the end of March
Small promises will appear
That foretell an abundant
New life.
Chapter 3: Holy Chutzpah—The Challenge of a Call
Ben Rohold and Morris Zeidman had good reasons for a sympathetic rapport. Both were raised in Orthodox homes led by spiritually devoted fathers and dutiful mothers. Almost 20 years older than Morris, Ben respected the young man’s keen mind and identified with the struggle of being immersed into a new culture. The free English lessons and a growing bond with Ben Rohold led Morris to a spiritual awareness that changed his life.
At 17, Morris became a follower of Jesus and was formally admitted into the Hebrew Christian congregation, according to the carefully handwritten 1914 records for the Christian Synagogue. It wasn’t a decision made lightly. Spurned or silently ignored by former friends and neighbours, Morris was no longer welcome among the local fraternity of men from Czestochowa, his landsleit. Others, who recognized him in the street as a meshummad—traitor—would shout the word at him. Elaine recalled him saying that he had to return home one day to change his clothes because they were soaked with spittle.
As the young man dealt with the rejection, developing a genuine, maturing faith, Ben Rohold and John McPherson Scott began to appreciate his potential. Morris was working in the machine shop when Scott asked him to come by St. John’s Church early one evening, prior to the mid-week meeting. A gathering of elders was waiting with Rev. Scott in the vestry. To the young man’s surprise, the men circled around him. He received “the laying on of hands”—formal prayers setting him apart as one who might be called to ministry. Kneeling with them, he prayed for leading from the Holy Spirit, and eventually, he would sense a genuine call. It would mean an uphill battle for years to come, beginning with the task of completing high school at night in a new language and acquiring sufficient marks to attend college, then seminary.
Elaine, reflecting on that decision almost a century later, said, “I think it was holy chutzpah. Those were lonely years, because Messianic Jews are neither fish nor fowl. They are ostracized by their fellow Jews and oddities to fellow Christians.”
Perhaps the feeling of isolation made the growing bonds between Morris and Rev. Scott all the more crucial. Scott remained a mentor until his untimely death in 1920. Five years later, the building that had been known as “The Christian Synagogue” was formally renamed: “The Scott Institute.” Clients simplified that to “the Scott,” and decades later it made sense
