Jewish Doctors Meet the Great Physician - Ruth Rosen by Ruth Rosen

Author:Ruth Rosen
Language: eng
Format: mobi

Numerous other prophecies describe a multitude of details about the Messiah. Even such a minute event as the dividing of his garments at his death was foretold hundreds of years before the fulfillment of this event! I encourage you to search these things out for yourself.

Daniel Gold, MD, is a fellow of the American Academy of Ophthalmology and a Diplomat of the American Board of Ophthalmology. He practices in Palestine, Texas.

Bernie Cohen

I was frustrated with my conclusions; I did not want to believe that this Y’shua was true. I was afraid of what my parents would think. I feared that they would label me as a traitor and cut me off forever from the family. I dug in my heels and refused to go further.

My father must have grinned when the exhausted nurse announced, “Congratulations, Mr. Cohen—you have a son!” I arrived with a lusty cry, and the news quickly spread from Miami Beach to all the relatives scattered throughout the Northeast. It’s not that I was the first grandchild, but after my three girl cousins, finally there was a boy.

My grandparents immigrated from Russia and Poland, fugitives from political persecution and changing times. They came to America to make new homes, to dream of the future and to raise children who could look forward to something wonderful. Lou Cohen and Ann Rosenthal were two such children who grew up in transplanted east European neighborhoods: Lou in Brooklyn and Ann in Atlantic City.

They understood and respected their Jewish traditions, but they were a new generation, straining for independence. For example, although my mother came from an orthodox family, she participated in many high school dramas. According to my mother, a well-known New York vaudeville actress approached her after one of the plays and offered to train her in New York. The family thought it over and decided that she was needed at home. I don’t believe she ever resented the decision, but I could just tell by the way she spoke of it that she would have loved to have had such an adventure.

My father’s father was a strict man, and Dad was ready to leave home just about as soon as the Navy would take him. He joined shortly after the bombing of Pearl Harbor. After the war, my parents met, married and rushed off to Miami to begin a new life. I never knew why they wanted to be so far from their families, but my arrival that warm July morning in 1951 began a healing process in the family.

They named me Bernard, but in the temple I was called Ben Tzion, meaning “son of Zion.” When I was three years old, my brother, Barry, was born. His Hebrew name was “Baruch” or blessed. The doctor pronounced it a miracle that he was born alive—his identical twin was stillborn.

My father was raised Orthodox but had swung to Reform. He and my mother reached a compromise early in their marriage and raised us as Conservative Jews.

Holidays bring back mostly pleasant memories, although I admit I kvetched about fasting on Yom Kippur.

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