Feeding the Hungry, P. C. Hiebert, 1929

ses with— “Allein der Mensch denkt und Gott lenkt—Er lebt.”— the equivalent of “Man proposes but God disposes—He lives.” On my arrival at Moscow at the end of August, 1921, I did not know how to locate Froese. I had, however, received from Peter Karmajew, a Baptist in Rostow, a part of the address of Mr. Pavlov, a prominent Baptist in Moscow, and an acquaintance of Froese. The Baptist address included the title of a religious periodical. It was therefore not an address convenient to show to pronounced atheists during my first days in Moscow. It might have appeared as if I had come on some religious mission. How go about finding Froese in a city of over one and a half millions? A city turned upside down by revolution. There was neither city directory nor telephone directory. Not knowing the Russian language, I could not ask the telephone central whether Froese or Pavlov had tele- phones. To send a letter by mail might easily have re- quired two weeks or more even in the city, but I could not write the address in Russian, and even if I could have, I would not have dared, as a foreigner, to write to Froese. That might have caused difficulty. For the very atmosphere was charged with fear and suspicion, even as it was during 174 FEEDING THE HUNGRY the French Revolution. All foreigners not Communistic were “suspect” in Russia. To ask the officials for the address of a private individual not a Communist, could therefore have aroused immediate suspicion, especially as I was a foreigner. It might at once lead to his arrest on a charge of conspiracy. I remembered, too, the incident at Novorossisk. A refugee in Constantinople had asked me to give a message, entirely harmless, to an old friend of his, living near the railroad station at Novorissisk. I found the place, knocked repeatedly at the first door, and then at the one on the other side of the house. It was partly open. I pushed it back and stood in the entry, looking into the rooms, which had the appearance of being offices. As no one answered my calls, I returned again to the other door. A guard was now standing there on duty. He apparently asked me what I wanted, but as we could not understand each other, I smiled goodbye at him and went away. Then I learned that the house I had been trying to enter was an office of the terrible Tcheka, the secret service, whose name ordinary people in Russia feared at that time to pronounce above a whisper. I did not wish to repeat that experience in Moscow. Finally, I asked Mr. Watts of the Friends organization whether he could direct me to the place. He could not help me, but passed my inquiry on to an employee, a young Communist from Roumania. When he saw the religious phrase in the address it called forth a contemptuous sneer but no information. Later I learned the house address of Pay- lov, called there, but did not find him at home. That was extremely unpleasant. The family would naturally wonder