Intermountain Jewish News

Nothing –– not even the ghosts of garbage, overturned tables, obscene drawings and decades of neglect –– has diminished the synagogue’s visceral impact.

The sloping wood floor is covered with building paraphernalia, but soon chairs provided by the Buell Theater will be set up.

The large chandelier, which dates back to 1921 and is awaiting restoration, rests on a secured platform.

Most say that the overdue restoration of BMH is excellent news.

They are not concerned that a church will occupy the property.

But the fact that a messianic Jew is primarily responsible for this transformation gives them pause.

Sterling Kahn, who was president of BMH-BJ from 1985-1987, joined BMH on Gaylord Street in 1952.

“I have wonderful memories,” he says. “My wife and I were married there in 1946 by the late Rabbi Charles E. H. Kauvar. My daughters were named on the bimah. My wife’s grandparents were members.

“I delighted in the whole ambience of BMH. It was an incredibly beautiful building. It’s very nice to see that it’s being restored.”

Kahn lauds CIC’s work with the homeless, which will continue at BMH. “As far as I’m concerned, if they have a congregation that reaches out to the homeless, that’s a good thing.

“And even though there is a messianic influence, let them do their thing the way they want to do it.”

Informed that Walker wants to extend an invitation to the Jewish community to attend the dedication ceremony, Kahn says he would not accept.

“I would not participate in anything they do there,” he says. “But I would like to walk through and take a look sometime.”

Shalom Al Yisrael’s Rabbi Howard Hoffman, who had his Bar Mitzvah at BMH, says that his initial response to Church in the City’s efforts to revive the synagogue’s unique grandeur “is quite positive. “I don’t care who Michael Walker is.”

A restored BMH “is better than having it be a storehouse or garage. Think of all the things that have been there” since the congregation moved in 1969, he says.

“Once you sell a shul, you have no other claims on it,” Rabbi Hoffman says. “Lots of shuls were sold to churches. Lots of shuls meet in churches. I don’t think there’s an issue here.”

H. Michael Miller grew up at the old BMH. A past BMH-BJ president and current board member, he says that while having a messianic influence at the historic synagogue is far from ideal, the physical benefits of renovating BMH are significant.

“If I had my druthers, a messianic congregation would not be my choice,” he says. “Still, any emotional attachment I had to the old location was disconnected some time ago.

“The place has been put to so many uses through the years –– some not very flattering. So repairing BMH’s physical structure is great. But running something messianic out of there? I don’t like the messianic movement, period.”

Others feel even more strongly.

“I am filled with an overwhelming feeling of sadness,” says one community member who was Bar Mitzvah at the old BMH and prefers to remain anonymous.

“It’s as if all the powerful teachings of Rabbi Kauvar and Rabbi Adelman, which still fill that space for me, will be violated. I can’t make my peace with it.”

In the balcony area, as whirring machines periodically drown out his voice, Walker recounts his religious evolution.

He was raised in the Bronx, where his Orthodox grandfather had his own shul, Beth Abraham.

When Walker was about 14 –– a year after his Bar Mitzvah –– the family brought his terminally ill grandfather to live at their home.

“He stayed in my room,” Walker remembers. “I watched my grandfather pray every night in Hebrew,” he says. “I didn’t understand much Hebrew, but I knew he was praying to the messiah.”

Thirty-seven years ago, Walker had what he describes as a sovereign revelation.

“I am convinced that the messiah my grandfather was praying for was the messiah I met in 1972 in California,” says Walker, who shares his story with numerous messianic organizations throughout the country.

Asked whether it’s possible that his dying grandfather was praying for the moshiach, the Jewish messiah, Walker nods slightly.

“It’s possible,” he says. “But I can’t deny what happened in my heart in 1972.

“I’m not a rabbi,” Walker says. “I’m a Jewish pastor, or however you want to put it. I don’t convert people. But if people ask me what I believe, I’ll certainly talk to them about it.”

Once construction on BMH is completed in January or February, Synagogue Beth Abraham will hold weekly Shabbat services.

According to Walker, the services will have “a definite Hebrew orientation in music and prayer. There will be Israeli dancing, and we’ll also blow the shofar.”

Although Michael Walker anticipates objections to his messianic beliefs, he hopes that Denver’s Jewish community will be able to appreciate the hard work that Church in the City has invested in their once beloved synagogue.

“I don’t want people to have a problem with me, but I understand where they are at,” he says. “If they say, ‘Michael, I love what you’re doing to the place,’ I’ll be happy. If they take offense, I will understand.”

Walker says he’s met several Jews who went to Hebrew school or were Bar Mitzvah or married at BMH.

“One day a man came in with a camera to take photographs,” he says. “He told me he was disappointed when the building became an Indian Center and Irish Center.

“When I told him our church had bought the property, he said, ‘Well, that’s better than nothing.’ Then I told him that we were restoring everything to its original grandeur, and he became excited.

“I am very sensitive to the Jewish community,” he says. “But from Jazzercise to the cultural centers to people who thought about putting in town homes and condos, no one has tried to restore BMH. We’re excited we have the opportunity.”