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Editorial
Rosh Hashanah Message from Rabbi Cohen
The Chief Rabbi’s Message
Ladies’ Guild Column
Public Notices
From the Honorary Officers
My father survived the Holocaust. Will I pass his
trauma on to my kids?
Yom HaShoah U.K. Copthall
Stella Waxman
How to Economise
My Life as a Jew in Communist Hungary, 1945-1957
Enjoy some Wine
Betsy’s Household Hints
Fashion on the Ration
Events
The Martin Robinson Lecture
Letters
Mazal Tov
A Family Saga, My Grandparents Rifkah and Meir
Shapira
My Uncle Shuli
Humour
Grandmas’ Relish
Brenthouse Road Shul
Message from the President of the Board of Deputies
Working Together to Build our Future
New Year Messages
1
2
4
6
6
7
9
15
16
20
21
25
28
29
32
33
34
35
38
41
46
48
50
52
55
57
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Welcome to the fourth year of the Kingsbury Courier. Time has passed and
we the Editors have gone through a steep learning curve. To be truthful we
have enjoyed many new experiences - and quite a few laughs along the way
- whilst seeking suitable copy for the magazine.
In future editions, we would like to feature family stories - we know that
everyone has an interesting anecdote tucked away just waiting to be put into
print. Or perhaps you had a friend whose tale you would like to relate. The
Editors have started the ball rolling with an “Uncle story” and a
“Grandparents saga”. . We look forward to any comments from members which we shall be
happy to include in a “Letters to the Editors” page next time round.
Of ongoing vital importance, the Kingsbury Honorary Officers have
jointly written about pressing issues regarding the wellbeing of our
community.
In this issue, we have been granted copyright permission to re-publish an
article written by Josie Glausiusz-Kluger that first appeared in the Israeli
daily newspaper Ha’Aretz, relating to the experiences of descendants of
Holocaust survivors.
Also included are two pieces from Dr Melvyn Brooks who is not
unknown to us. His piece about Joe Coral appeared in an earlier Courier.
This time he has written one on the Hackney Synagogue as it is now in new
premises and the other, a snapshot of Israeli life. A special thanks to Stephen Phillips for all his help.
Taking this opportunity to wish Rabbi and Rebbetzin Cohen, The
Honorary Officers and all the Kehilla a Shana Tovah u’Metuka - a Happy
and Peaceful New Year. Irene Glausiusz and Leslie Rubner, Co--Editors
The Kingsbury Courier Rosh HaShanah 2015 Page 1
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Rosh Hashanah Message from Rabbi Cohen ‘A New Year’s resolution is something that goes in one year and
out the other!’ Or is it?
As we find ourselves at the end of one year about to enter the next,
we are full of enthusiasm about what we plan for the coming year.
Quite rightly so. We let our minds conjure up images of what we can
do and what we can become and then we think back over the past year.
Did we not have those same aspirations then? The late Satmar Rebbe
saw this phenomenon alluded to in a verse in Parshas Ekev (Deut.
11:12) ‘A land which the L-rd your G-d cares for; the eyes of the L-rd
your G-d are always upon it, from the beginning of the year to the end
of year.’ The verse changes from השנה – the year – to שנה – year. At
the beginning we feel that this will be the year, this is the year when I
am going to change everything. But when we look back it was just
another year! So what happens to all our plans?
I have tried my best to learn Kingsbury tunes, especially for Rosh
Hashanah and Yom Kippur, and I am sure there are varied opinions as
to how successful I have been! One of those is to the words we sing
after hearing the Shofar during the repetition of Musaf. ‘Hayom Haras
Olam…’ On this day the world was conceived, on this day we all stand
in judgement…
There is a Talmudic debate as to when the world was created (Rosh
Hashanah 10b). One view is that mankind was created on the first of
Tishrei, hence Rosh Hashanah, and the other is that it was on the first
of Nissan. Rabbeinu Tam opined that both are correct; the plan to
create the world was conceived in Tishrei and that thought became
actuality in Nissan. If so, why is the day of judgement in Tishrei if
creation actually happened in Nissan?
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The Tchortkover Rebbe, Rav Yisroel Friedman, gives an amazingly
insightful answer. We all want to do the right thing, we want to be the
best we can and serve Hashem in the best way possible. But it doesn’t
always happen, life can be hectic and our well laid plans often fade
away and we don’t accomplish everything we set out to do. And so
Hashem judges us not on the anniversary of actual creation but on the
anniversary of His plan to create the world. He judges us by our sincere
thoughts and good intentions, not just by our actions. If we really mean
it and we try, that is taken into account as well.
May we all have a year in which our positive plans come to fruition,
a year of good health and happiness for us and all our families.
The Cohen family on top of England having
climbed Scafell Pike
The Kingsbury Courier Rosh HaShanah 2015 Page 3
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The Chief Rabbi’s Message Rosh HaShanah
5776
t the height of our High Holyday services we will declare: “Penitence,
Prayer and Charity can avert the evil decree”. We will recognise that
prayer is a central, fundamental and transformative ingredient of our
Jewish experience. According to the Talmud, prayer is ”worship of the
heart” and one of the pillars upon which the world stands.
During the past year I have enjoyed wonderful prayer services in numerous
communities across Great Britain and the Commonwealth. In recent months I have
begun engaging with our Rabbis and other community leaders to explore ways in
which we can stimulate added enthusiasm for tefilla, including, for example,
seeking to encourage Batmitzvah and Barmitzvah celebrants to have greater
knowledge of and proficiency in our tefillot.
The Hebrew term tefilla, is, however, significantly different from the English
“prayer”, which is derived from the Latin precari, meaning to beg or entreat. The
root of tefilla is the Hebrew word “pileil,” meaning to judge. It is found in the Torah
in situations in which action has been taken or an intervention has been made. For
example, in recounting the famous Biblical story of Pinchas’ intervention when he
encountered a couple engaging in an adulterous relationship, the Book of Psalms
states ‘Vaya’amod Pinchas Vayefalel’ – “Pinchas stood up and intervened”.
From here we learn that tefilla is far more than words spoken in supplication to
or in praise of God. The reflexive “lehitpaleil,” means to judge or to analyse oneself.
Through self-evaluation we engage in a constructive and healthy activity that can
re-fashion our lives. Tefilla affords us the opportunity to take a long, hard and
honest look at ourselves in the Divine shadow of God’s presence, where nothing
can be denied or hidden; to differentiate between what we want and what we need;
and to give voice to our deepest hopes and aspirations, resolving to work
passionately to achieve them.
Sometimes, those for whom tefilla is second nature can pray as a matter of
routine and can struggle to find genuine meaning in what they are saying.
Conversely, those with less grasp of the liturgy sometimes find that a catchy melody
or special atmosphere provides them with great inspiration. It is revealing that as
A
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we finish the ‘Amidah’ we say, “Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of
my heart be acceptable before You.” Neither the words nor the sentiment alone are
sufficient – both are required together to be truly impactful. This is something that
every one of us can
achieve.
5775 has been a
challenging year for
Jewish
communities at
home and abroad.
Murderous attacks
on Jewish
communities in
Europe have left
many feeling
vulnerable and
concerned. None of
us can change the
world overnight,
but we can change
ourselves, which, in
turn, does indeed
transform the world
we live in. Tefilla
provides us with the
key to unlocking
that potential if we
can approach it with
the requisite
humility and
vigour.
May we all merit to discover the great beauty and value of tefilla, so that we
begin 5776 with renewed positivity and sense of determination. Valerie and I
extend to you all our very best wishes for a happy, healthy, peaceful and fulfilling
New Year. Shana tova.
The Kingsbury Courier Rosh HaShanah 2015 Page 5
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he Kingsbury Synagogue Ladies’ Guild are still being kept busy
holding Kiddushim every Shabbat and on most Yomim Tovim. We catered a breakfast for Yom Yerushalayim with Guest Speaker
Mr Andrew White. On Sunday evening 28th June 2015 a talk was given by
one of our members, Mr Martin Robinson; his subject being “Fraud, Scams
and How to Avoid Them”. This was followed by lavish refreshments and
we catered for 20 people.
Our monthly coffee mornings are well attended, and in July we catered a
lunch for 29 people. If anybody would like to know more about our coffee mornings or
lunches, or would like to sponsor a Kiddush, please contact either:
Chairlady: e-mail: [email protected] tel: 0208 204 8051 or
Treasurer: e-mail: [email protected] tel: 0208 205 1310
On behalf of the Ladies’ Guild may I wish Rabbi and Rebbetzin Cohen
and family, Wardens and Kehilla a Happy New Year and well over the fast.
Sharon Linderman - Chairlady
KKW5 still have lectures on Monday evenings at various shuls in the
vicinity. We have had Sharman Kadish talking about shuls of architectural
interest. We have joined a talk given by Rabbi Kada at Wembley Spanish
and Portuguese Shul.
If anybody is interested to know more about KKW5, please contact:
Sharon Linderman on e-mail [email protected]
Tel: 0208 204 8051.
T
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From the Honorary Officers
s many of you are aware, much has been happening over the last
few months. Bnos Beis Yaakov, the school that shares our premises,
was due to expand this year and there were to be two classrooms
taking up the back of the shul under the Ladies gallery. These changes have
been put on hold for a year due to the school rearranging its expansion
schedule.
Of course, the main reason for our kehilla to continue is YOU. Without
you there is no kehilla.
Just as important is to have members at services throughout the year, not
only for the Yomim Noraim, Pesach, Shavuot, Chanukah and, of course
Purim. This is where some of our gentleman members can help. If any of
you could commit to coming to shul on a Friday night, Shabbat morning or
during the week, even once a month, it can make a difference; you will be
welcomed and maybe feel that you have achieved something worthwhile in
making sure that our community continues into the future. As an added
incentive, we do have a Kiddush every Shabbat morning, which allows
socialising and meeting friends and visitors. Do not be scared about coming
to shul because you think you might be out of place; there are plenty of us
who will welcome you and help with following the service if needed.
To more sober matters. We would like to update our yahrzeit lists with
the Hebrew names of both the person who has a yahrzeit and the person for
whom the yahrzeit is being held. We would be most grateful if you could
help with this by writing to or e-mailing our shul administrator Ivan Gold.
The other matter that we would like to bring to your attention bears on
the fact, mentioned above, of the school taking over the rear of the shul. We
have emptied the boxes in the 5 rows at the back of the shul. Some of the
boxes were empty or contained an accumulation of outdated Kol Nidre
A
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appeal cards etc. However, some contained Talleisim, some in bags, and
seforim. We have these stored at the moment but space is at a premium and
we would like to dispose of these items, preferably to their owners. To find
out more about these articles, please contact Harvey Jacobs,
tel: 020 8205 1310.
To end on
a brighter
note, there
are two
events for
your diary.
Our Simchat
Torah party
will be at the
same venue
as last year
on Sunday
11th October.
Shabbat
UK is
Shabbat Lech
Lecha, 24th
October, and
the Shul will
be holding a Shabbaton.
If you are interested in either of these events please contact the shul office
or one of the Honorary Officers.
We the Honorary Officers wish the whole kehilla a happy and healthy
New Year and an easy fast.
Harvey Jacobs, Jonathan Landaw and Julian Mann
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My father survived the Holocaust. Will I pass
his trauma on to my kids?
Scientific evidence shows children of Holocaust survivors may inherit a
tendency to depression or PTSD. As the daughter of a survivor, what does
this mean for me?
By Josie Glausiusz
n the autumn of 2013 – a few weeks before my twins celebrated their third
birthday – I took them up to our fifth-floor rooftop terrace to help load laundry
into our washing machine. While my son was stuffing dirty clothes into the
machine, my daughter ran back into our apartment, shut the door to the roof, and
locked it. As she stood behind the glass door, laughing, I realized that I was now
trapped on the roof with my son, with no phone, and my husband not due back from
work until the evening. Although I asked my daughter over and over to turn the key
back, the lock was stiff and she couldn’t do it.
I began to panic, conjuring up nightmare scenarios. I was afraid that my
daughter would fall down or through a gap in the slatted stairs leading to the roof
as I had (naturally) left
the child-safety-gate
open.
Then I looked over
the railings and spotted
some strangers walking
through the little park
behind our apartment
block. “I’m stuck on the
roof!” I yelled. I asked them to go and ring my neighbour’s bell, and five minutes
later she came with our spare key, unlocked the roof door and rescued us.
I am so grateful for the kindness of strangers and neighbours, but when I look
back upon this incident what I remember most clearly is the fear that my daughter
would suffer some terrible accident from which I was unable to protect her.
I
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I do not know whether I differ from other mothers in this respect, but I often
wonder if my history as the daughter of a Holocaust survivor (my father, Gershon
Glausiusz, survived Bergen-Belsen and was liberated by the Red Army at the age
of 10) has made me overly-protective of my children and more fearful and nervous
than other mothers.
This was brought
home to me last summer
after I wrote an article for
the journal Nature about
a study of children of
Holocaust survivors
conducted by Rachel
Yehuda, director of the
traumatic stress studies
division at Mount Sinai
School of Medicine in
New York. In her study (of
which I myself was a
subject) she found evidence that children of Holocaust survivors may inherit a
tendency to depression or Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) through
epigenetic, or biological, means.
In brief, this means that DNA may be modified through the addition of chemical
groups that turn on or off the “reading” of a gene. These changes, which may occur
as a result of trauma experienced by the parent before the child’s conception, may
be inherited by the next generation.
I was struck by something that Yehuda told me during one of several interviews.
She said that mothers who survived the Holocaust often feared separation from their
children. “When you’ve been exposed to a lot of loss and you’re very worried that
you will keep losing loved ones, you may literally hang on too tight,” she said.
If my father had experienced post-traumatic stress, she explained, I myself was
vulnerable to an inherited risk of depression. She added, “What that means is that
you ought to be very careful about transmitting further to the next generation.”
Young Josie with her father, Gershon
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Seeking comfort
I was born 19 years after the end of World War II. Both of my parents suffered
during that war: My father, who was born in the town of Szarvas in Hungary,
survived incarceration in Belsen, and my mother Irene, born in England, was sent
away from her parents to live with strangers in Cornwall to escape the Blitz-
bombing of London. She was three years old; her older sister, who accompanied
her, was nine. By contrast, my own childhood was idyllic: I grew up in a large
house with a big garden in North West London, in a big family of five children,
with loving and attentive parents and grandparents, private Jewish high school and
a free (government-paid) university education.
One of my most powerful childhood memories is arriving home from high
school after an hour-and-a-half-long, two-bus journey, with lengthy waits at bus
stops in the winter darkness. As I walked up the garden path, my father would often
fling the door open and greet me joyously, as if I had gone away not for the day but
for a month or a year. I did not realize why this was until a cousin of my father’s
(also a Holocaust survivor) told me how happy she was to see her children at the
end of the school day, as she was never entirely sure that she would see them again
after they had left for school in the morning.
I came to motherhood late in life but sometimes, and especially when my kids
were tiny babies, I have had this same feeling. My twins were born eight weeks’
prematurely and spent their first two months in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit at
Roosevelt Hospital in New York. As I have previously described, both experienced
repeated episodes of bradycardia – a slowing of the heart rate common among
preemies – during their stay in the hospital. For many months after their arrival
home, I would creep into their room in the deep of the night, resting my hand upon
their chests, feeling for the comforting thump-thump of their hearts and the rise and
fall of their chests.
In this, I suspect, I am not so different from other new mothers. My kids,
however, are now four years old, happy, healthy and robust. And I still tiptoe into
their room at night before I go to sleep, listen to their breathing, and rest my hand
upon their chests to feel the comfort of their heart-beats.
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The most resilient
On a recent Shabbat, my husband and I were sitting together outside our
synagogue watching our children play together in the courtyard. They ran onto an
adjacent grass lawn just out of our sight, and as I watched them go my husband
said, “You know, you don’t have to keep your eyes on them all of the time.”
“Yes, I do,” I replied, and walked off after them.
It is quite true. When we are in the playground, even if it is fenced in, I follow my
kids’ movements like an eagle. It’s not that I fear falls or scrapes – I am unperturbed
if my children slither head-first down the twisty slide or climb up it backwards. It’s
just that if I cannot see my children, I am not entirely sure that they are actually
there, or if they have disappeared – God Forbid – forever.
If I have inherited some form of trauma or depression from my father, then I
worry that I might transmit my own anxiety to my children. But there is no way of
knowing for sure whether or not I have inherited such symptoms, especially since
people’s responses to trauma vary very widely. Some who go through terrible
experiences – including war, rape, terrorism, violent assault or natural disasters –
may indeed develop PTSD or depression; others may “develop mild to moderate
psychological symptoms that resolve rapidly,” or experience no symptoms at all,
according to a 2012 review of resilience in the journal Science.
How people respond to trauma – and whether or not they develop anxiety in the
absence of trauma – depends on a range of factors, including genetic, psychological
and developmental influences.
There is another aspect to surviving the Holocaust that is often overlooked. As
Yair Bar-Haim, head of the School of Psychological Sciences at Tel Aviv
University and director of the university’s new Center on PTSD and Resilience,
recently told me, “Most people who experience atrocities somehow can function.
They can build trust ... in this unstable, untrustworthy world that we live in.”
Vered Kaufman-Shriqui – who led a 2013 Ben Gurion-University study of PTSD
in mothers and their children in Be’er Sheva in the wake of missile attacks from
Gaza during the 2008/9 Operation Cast Lead – says, “Surprisingly or not Holocaust
survivors are among the most resilient people I have ever met, although forever
wounded.”
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That is an outlook reiterated by Yehuda in a recent panel discussion of resilience
conducted at the 2013 meeting of the International Society for Traumatic Stress
Studies. “My own view,” she told the panel, “is that trauma survivors who develop
PTSD may be just as resilient as trauma survivors who don’t develop PTSD.”
The best description of resilience, she added, “is one I heard on TV, in
connection with a Timex watch commercial. The watch was described as having
the ability to ‘take a licking and keep on ticking.’”
When I think of my father’s post-war life, it is the resilience of his existence that
makes the most profound impression upon me. He and my mother built rich lives
for themselves and for their children, sending us to Jewish schools – and all five of
us to university – and were active in their synagogues and within the Jewish
community in London. As my father told me recently on his 80th birthday, he
strived to lead a normal life, “telling the children about the present and the future,
and not too much about the Holocaust; in other words, keep the chip off their
shoulders.”
Yehuda had told me that “you ought to be very careful about transmitting further
to the next generation, and by making sure that you are not sending the epigenetic
transmission down to the third generation,” by seeking treatment for depression and
anxiety if I needed it. But what her work shows, she added, “is the fact that we do
transimit things to our children in many ways, and we can have an enormous
influence, including a positive one, on their mental outcomes.”
The thought that I could pass on the positive aspects of my parents’ post-war
experience to my children is a very comforting one. Last summer, toward the end
of the 50-day conflict between Israel and Gaza, my parents came on aliyah. For my
father, it was his second aliyah: He first arrived in the newly-established State of
Israel on August 11, 1949, aboard the ship the “Negba.” He has told me how he and
his fellow immigrants, refugees from Hungary, danced and sang on the deck of the
ship before dawn on that day, as they saw the lights of Haifa in the distance. “It was
like a dream that came true,” my father said.
I asked him to sing some of the songs he had sung on that day and throughout
our childhood. They included the “Artza Alinu,” (“We came up to the land,”) and
“Sham Ba-eretz Chemdat Avot,” a song composed in 1922 by Chanina Karchevsky
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(“There in the land that our forebears desired/All our hopes will be fulfilled/There
we will live/There we will create a glowing life, a life of freedom.”) I also asked
my father where he had learned these songs. He replied, “Mostly in Szarvas before
the war, or in the camp,” and then described how he had sung them with groups of
children in Belsen.
For me, this is the most amazing lesson of all – that even in the depths of despair,
one is able to sing. When I listen to my father singing, or when I heard my mother
singing to my babies when they were tiny, premature babies in hospital, and when
I sing to my children and when I hear them sing, I remember that despite all the
hardships that my parents have experienced, they have taught us how to be happy
in this world. In the words of Psalms, sung in the Hallel prayer: “This is the day
that God created; let us rejoice and be happy in it.”
This is the lesson that I hope to teach to my children.
Josie Glausiusz is a journalist who writes about science and the environment
for magazines including Nature, National Geographic, and Scientific American
Mind. Her weekly column, On Science, appears online each Wednesday in The
American Scholar.
This article first appeared in HAARETZ
Josie and Gershon, 2014
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Yom HaShoah U.K. Copthall By Sharon Linderman
n Sunday 19th April 2015, Henry and I joined 5,000 people at
Barnet Copthall Stadium to commemorate Yom Hashoah U.K.
The afternoon was truly moving. Before the service began we took
a look around the exhibition.
The introduction to the service was by Henry Grunwald. The speakers
included Ben Helfgott, Chief Rabbi Mirvis, Rabbi Andrew Shaw, Sir Peter
Bazalgette - Chairman of the U.K. Holocaust Memorial Foundation - and
the Israeli Ambassador Daniel Taub. There were various testimonies and
videos by survivors, who were in the audience. We were also shown a video
of the late Richard Dimbleby at the liberation of Bergen Belsen, where the
original version of the
Hatikvah was sung.
Several male voice choirs
sang together with a choir
from different schools, with
Chazanim Jonny Turgel,
Stephen Leas and Adrian
Alexander. Music was
provided by Simon
Wallfisch. There was also a
candle lighting ceremony
.
Before the conclusion of
the event, the Hatikvah and
the National Anthem were
sung.
O
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Stella Waxman In conversation with Irene Glausiusz and Leslie Rübner
orn in 1922 Stella Waxman (nee Kahn) grew up in Charles Square,
Hoxton, North London in a house which Stella ruefully admitted
“had no bathroom” - not that unusual in those days. She had two
brothers and two sisters and was the baby of the family. Stella recalls
leaving school between 14 and 15 years of age and, as luck would have it,
won a Trade Scholarship to study the design and manufacture of soft
furnishings at the nearby Shoreditch Technical College. However, with the
outbreak of World War Two, the college had to be closed down.
Her mother decided to evacuate and went to Northampton to get away
from the bombing and was billeted with nice people - but didn’t like the fact
that there were no Jewish people in that location.
B
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Now with the
onset of hostilities,
Stella wanted to “do
her bit” and received
calling up papers
from the Auxiliary
Territorial Service
(the A.T.S.). The
initial training took
place in Pontefract
and happily Stella
passed the IQ test
with flying colours.
By this stage,
Stella’s mother had
been widowed and
had returned to
London. Naturally,
Stella did not want to
be far away from
her. Good fortune
smiled again - Stella
was stationed in
Golders Green,
actually in
Winnington Road.
Would you believe it
- in Harry Roy’s
magnificent house! (At that time Harry Roy was a hugely popular dance
band leader) The house, like so many other desirable residences, was
requisitioned as a Clerks’ Training School.
During this time, sadly for the family, Stella’s eldest brother Harry died
on active service in the Burma Campaign and was buried in Burma. .
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After one year in Golders Green, Stella was posted to the War Office in
Whitehall and, with much rejoicing, had first-hand knowledge when VE Day
(Victory in Europe) was announced. All the Staff were deliriously happy
and went to Piccadilly to celebrate. Everyone danced with gay
abandonment.
On reflection, Stella said she had enjoyed Army life and in fact had
helped to set up the Stage Door Canteen.
Post-war, Stella and her friends loved to go out to dance clubs, such as
the Paramount Palais. On one occasion she was invited to a firm’s dance
and there she met her husband-to-be Alfred and the romance blossomed.
Stella and Alf were married under the auspices of the Central Synagogue,
Great Portland Street in a nearby hall. (For the record the Central
Synagogue was destroyed by an incendiary bomb during the blitz in May
1941 and the building completely gutted. It was only fully restored and
rebuilt during 1958). Their first home was a flat just off Warren Street but
they couldn’t afford much furniture. Husband Alf was blessed with business
acumen and opened a hairdressing and barber shop somewhere off Great
Portland Street - helped by a loan of one hundred pounds from each of his
two sisters and three brothers – a considerable sum in those days. Eventually
Alf’s businesses led to the ownership of four more barber shops. Three years
later came the birth of their son Lawrence Paul, later a daughter Catherine
and then youngest son Graham. Lawrence now lives in Cardiff - Cathy and
Graham in Potters Bar.
As the years passed, Stella and Alf bought a house in Kingsbury and
became shul members. Stella joined the Ladies’ Guild and helped with
Kiddushim. Later on she organized Bridge sessions with up to ten tables,
the proceeds being donated to WIZO. She became active in B’nai B’rith and
has a citation for 25 years active service.
Ever intrepid, whilst on a holiday in Greece in 1982 at the age of 70,
Stella noticed that other people were parasailing and thought she would like
to have a go. (This involved being towed behind a boat while attached to a
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specially designed canopy wing. The harness attaches the pilot to the
parasail connected to the boat. The boat sets off carrying the parasail and
person into the air). Or put simply in Stella’s words “They put belts around
my arms and we took off and we went faster and faster. I had a wonderful
view of the entire bay.”
In later years Stella enjoyed writing classes at the Sobell Centre and had
numerous articles published in their in-house magazine. Somewhat
wistfully, Stella revealed that “Until the age of nearly 90 I was still driving,”
but with some regrets at that stage she decided “it was time to call it a day.”
Nowadays, Stella enjoys being a member of the Harrow Friendship Club,
meeting on a weekly basis and happily a volunteer gives her a lift each way.
In conclusion, if you want to meet a bright, amusing and conversational
lady who is 92 years young, pay a visit to Stella Waxman in her beautiful
sheltered home in Kenton. She will be very happy to see you and will have
put the kettle on for tea in the twinkling of an eye. Then before you know
it, cups and saucers and a plate of biscuits will appear like magic on the table.
A sprightly lady who enjoys a good natter with anyone in the community.
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How to Economise By Stella Waxman
learned the art of
economy at a very early
age. I had two older sisters, and when they
outgrew their clothes I was
the lucky, or unlucky,
recipient as the case may
be. When I got married
money was in short supply.
I worked for a few years.
Furnishing our flat took
time. I bought material at
market stalls to make the
curtains and pelmets;
fortunately that was my
trade. How proud we were
at each new addition to our
flat! As I remember, the
bath was under the kitchen
table; the coal was stored in
an alcove in the second
bedroom. Strangely, in that
flat we had love and
laughter. Our first son was born there.
I think one of my sensible economies was in the choice of clothes. I
always bought the best I could afford, seldom conforming to fashion; you
learn that fashions come around again in time. I have clothes in my wardrobe
which were bought many moons ago. I expect I am a hoarder. Recently I
went to a family wedding in Gloucester. I wore a three-piece embroidered
skirt, top and jacket that I had bought in Italy around ten years ago.
Comment? I looked great!
I
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My Life as a Jew in Communist Hungary
1945-1957 By László Roman
was four years old when the Soviet Army liberated us. During the
second half of 1945, our relatives who survived the camps returned
to Budapest - one in Russian uniform with a sack full of dry bread,
one in American clothing with chocolate and tins of sweet and condensed
milk. At that time, news also reached us that most of our other relations had
definitely perished.
The radio broadcast the trials and the executions of the VERY FEW
Hungarian Nazis who were caught and convicted. Our childish games
included the ceremonial re-enacting of these hangings; bicycle pumps taking
the place of the war criminals on the gallows.
The years between 1945 and 1948 Our home was kosher again. On Shabbat and Yom Tov we went to the
synagogue. My Grandfather conducted Seder nights and I said the Ma
Nishtana.
My father built up a business and we took regular holidays. Until 1948,
there was still Religious Education in State schools. Christians and Jews
had separate R.E. lessons. On one such occasion, when I returned from our
Hebrew lesson to our normal class, my friends attacked me for having killed
Yoshke. The Franciscan monk, in his brown hooded habit with a huge silver
cross tied to his white belt, had just enlightened my eight year old classmates
with the accusation that the Jews had killed the “Son of G-d” so, not
unnaturally, they attacked the first Jew who so conveniently presented
himself. My friends may remember for the rest of their lives that the Jews
are murderers. I certainly retained a very strong aversion to monks and the
cross itself.
I
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When the State of Israel was proclaimed joyfully, in May 1948 we danced
the Hora in the streets.
Later, when the Communists took full control, my father's business was
nationalised without recompense and we were declared capitalist, class
aliens and enemies of the people. This meant a significant loss of our civil
rights and liberties.
The years between 1948 and 1956 In 1951 my parents and I, all being obvious ENEMIES OF THE
PEOPLE, were relocated, and out-settled to Aszalo, a small village in north-
eastern Hungary. The Kulak, i.e. the countryside class enemy, who
happened to have had more land than was "allowed" by the Party, and in
whose summer kitchen we had to spend the next two years, was ordered to
come to the railway station to collect us. When he asked and was told that
we were Jews, he said that this may be a problem, as "the village hasn't got
a Jewish cemetery". My mother told him to relax as "We didn't come here
to die".
During our stay in Aszalo, we were not allowed to leave the area of the
village (Population 2,000). I was the only Jewish child for miles around. I
was a bright little chap (in those days) and did my daily home work either at
the home of my girlfriend Kati, one of the prettiest eleven year olds in the
village, or with Marika, the daughter of the Protestant priest.
One day, one of our teachers had to list the children by their religion. (A
rather unusual task in Communist Hungary!) He made three attempts to
balance the books by counting the children belonging to all the religions he
could think of, but of course, he was always short by one. Eventually, it was
established that there was a Jew in the class! The deafening silence of both
teacher and children was broken by Somogyi, a particularly stupid little boy,
declaring with a grin, that "Kati had a Jewish lover". Within a week our
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young Geography mistress intervened and I was told not to visit Kati's or the
priest's house any more.
Following this episode, some of the boys started mocking me on the street
by shouting "vay-vay-vay". When I asked them what they meant, they said
that Jews have beards and they pray making such noises. As my age group
would never have seen a Jew, this bit of information must have been passed
on to them by their parents.
As a result of changes following the death of "our father" Stalin in March
1953, we were allowed to leave Aszalo in August 1953. I was nearly 13 at
the time.
On our return from the village, we couldn't go back to Budapest, as it was
a restricted area, so we rented a room in Budakeszi, a small town nearby. In
December 1953, I was Bar Mitzva in Budapest in the Csaky Street
Synagogue. From September 1954, I attended the Jewish Gymnasium. It
was a great school and we loved it. We learned Jewish history and absorbed
"Jewishness" but acquired hardly any knowledge of the prayers or even of
the aleph-bet. I met my future wife at the Jewish Gymnasium
When the opportunity arose following the uprising in October 1956, our
families decided to leave Hungary together and came to England in 1957. I
was sixteen years old when I had left Hungary for good.
My wife and I love Hungarian literature and when we are tired, we tend
to use Hungarian words. We lived together with my parents, so both our
children speak the language.
Finally I may add that Communism is a great idea. Who can disagree
with the notion that we all contribute to the common good according to our
ability and take from the common kitty according to our needs. The only
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problem is that human beings are not angels. We try to provide a better life
for their children. We don't all fit into a common mould. We don't like to
be told what to think and what to say. Under the guise of communism,
people produced the nastiest and cruellest dictatorships. Those who became
leaders lived a life immeasurably better than the general population.
Communism finally imploded because of its own inefficiency and
contradictions.
László Roman and his wife Mari are the co-editor Leslie Rubner’s school
mates and friends. László is a chemical engineer and worked for British
Oxygen till his retirement.
László and Mari Román’s wedding photo 1963
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Enjoy some Wine By Sharon and Henry Linderman
irst of all, I hope you are over 18 (25 if you’re near a Sainsbury’s
branch) before reading this.
We don’t always have a good relationship with ‘table wines’, do we?
We all know that red wines go with cheese or red meat, and white/rosé wines
with white meat and fish, don’t we? We all know that white/rosé wines are
served/drunk ‘well chilled’, and red wines at room temperature, don’t we?
We all know that red wines are bad for your . . . (insert the name of an
organ, or part, of the body) . . ., and we all know that if we spend less than
£xyz for a bottle of wine, all the price-money will be spent on
transportation/bottle/closure, and the wine will be rubbish, don’t we?
And we all know that a bottle of wine is only usable at one session (unless
we use one of those nitrogen re-sealing machines), don’t we?
All of us know all of the above. But do we know that we could all be
missing out on a load of fun? Have we ever thought that all those rules about
temperature/hue/price might be negotiable? Have we ever thought about
breaking any of these rules? How about trying some of the following (but
make sure nobody sees you)?
1. Don’t pay too much for a bottle of wine: expensive wines can be
disappointing, too, and the dearer the price, the longer the disappointment
lingers. And, when in Israel, don’t despise the cheap wines at the far end of
the shuq: if you’ve got access to a fridge, you could be very pleasantly
surprised.
2. Try ignoring the ‘rules’ about what wine ‘goes with’ what food. And
F
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you don’t need ‘posh’ food to enjoy wine with it. Try it with smoked
mackerel, with viennas and chips, with gefilte fish, etc.
3. Try chilling red wines. Unspeakable? You might just like a cold red.
But watch out for the ‘wine police’.
4. Disappointed with a wine? Too acid or harsh? Put the cork back in,
put it in the ‘fridge, and try it another day, always keeping a wary eye out
for the aforementioned spoilsports.
5. If anybody approaches you at a simcha or restaurant and says “red or
white?” take the red: it might be less disappointing. You can always try the
white afterwards (unless mixing them within six hours is another taboo!)
6. Don’t reproach yourself if the wine doesn’t seem to have the ‘sultry
echoes of pomegranates and damp socks on an autumn morning’ as the label
tells you. If you like the taste, and want another glass, it’s a good wine.
They’re all fermented grape-juice.
7. Mevushal or not? We have read that, surprisingly, pasteurisation can
improve a wine, by ‘maturing’ it by a year or so. Your taste-buds won’t
notice any deleterious effect.
So cast your misconceptions to the wind, and don’t miss out. Hereunder
are a few of the wines we have tried lately.
Barkan Vineyards Classic Sauvignon Blanc Adulam Region 2014
(Israel):
Pretty decent if you like a dry white.
Alfasi Merlot Valle del Maule 2012 (Chile):
Smooth and satisfying: easy drinking.
Teperberg ‘Red’ 2011 (Israel):
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Smooth; easy-to-drink; made Sharon happy.
Don Alfonso Sauvignon Blank 2014 (Chile):
A crisp dry white: the third glass is better than the first.
Bartenura Toscano Sangiovese 2012 (Italy):
A perfectly decent twice-a-day red.
Altoona Hills Shiraz 2012 (S.E. Australia):
Decent red wine with 13·5% alcohol. The label says things about ‘enticing
aromas of ripe blackberry, black pepper and herbs’, and ‘chocolate, fruity
aftertaste’. The ordinary drinker is obviously missing out.
Teperberg ‘White’ 2014 (Israel):
A nicely-put-together blend of Sauvignon Blanc and Chardonnay (as one
would expect from this winery), making for excellent drinking.
Dalton Canaan Red 2013 (Israel):
Doesn’t say which grapes it is made from, but it is a good robust mixture:
(too) easy-to-drink.
Dalton Canaan White 2013 (Israel):
Also doesn’t say which grapes it is made from. Perhaps try it over a few days
Royale Wines Merlot 2012 Pays d’Oc (France):
Interesting taste (of Merlot, we assume); full-bodied; call it medium-dry?
But you only need one glass . . .
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Betsy’s Household Hints By Bertha Jacobs
1) A cheap way of de-scaling kettles, especially in hard water areas such
as London, is to use a packet of
citric acid. Boil the kettle,
three-quarters filled with
water, then add the citric
acid. Leave until foaming
stops, empty the kettle, then
boil again several times before
using for making drinks.
2) In order to remove white
ring stains from polished wood
surfaces after something hot,
oily or greasy has been placed
on it, make a solution of some
salt and a little olive or corn
oil. Then patiently and gently
keep rubbing this over the stain
until it has disappeared.
3) Use acetic acid to
remove lime scale build up in
baths, washbasins or sinks, but
NOT on stainless steel.
4) Small brushes, such as
nail or hairbrushes, when washed are best dried on their sides. This way the
bristles will not bend or buckle.
In memory of Bertha Jacobs z’l – 11th May 2015
Bertha Jacobs submitted these household tips that unfortunately missed the
deadline for the Pesach magazine.
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Fashion on the Ration 1940s Street Style
Exhibition at the Imperial War Museum
Reviewed by Irene Glausiusz
as there ever been a time when a
woman wasn’t interested in fashion?
Not likely! The same could be said for
the 1940s. What was a woman to do when she
wanted a new dress or hat and these were simply
not available? The answer it seems was to
‘make do and mend’ (I guess before the
expression “DIY or do it yourself” came into
usage). This was the advice on offer at the
Imperial War Museum Exhibition. And just
remember, this at a time when clothing coupons
were needed for every purchase plus the fact that
prices were escalating.
Clothes rationing began in 1941. Initially each person received 66 points
per year, enough to buy one complete outfit. Alternatively, eleven coupons
were needed for a dress, two for stockings, eight for men’s trousers and shirt
and five for women’s shoes - if they could be found. Along with so many
other items, leather was difficult to obtain. Regretfully, the quota shrank
progressively. By mid-war the allocation was 48 and by 1945 just a measly
36.
No dress material in the shops? Then why not cut up an old curtain or
bedspread and, if you had enough skill, run up a new frock - always
supposing you had a trusty sewing machine. It certainly needed a lot of
ingenuity. However, there was a handy range of leaflets on the subject of
“Make-Do-And-Mend” with useful tips from a lady appropriately named
H
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”Mrs Sew-and-Sew” Knitting became popular
and women unravelled old jumpers to create a new
creation and fair-isle became the rage.
The Exhibition showed a range of photographs
with elegant fashion models and displays of
original clothes. A short video shows how to
convert hubby’s old trilby into a fetching little hat.
Chop off the brim and fold up the back, depending
on how creative you could be. All it needed for
trimming was maybe a feather or two and a bit of
ribbon. No doubt, just the job for a Shabbat or
Yom Tov shul outing.
As I glanced at the wedding showcase with elegant vintage bridal gowns,
I couldn’t help wondering about the Jewish angle? Suppose someone was
planning a simchah. With silk virtually impossible to obtain, most being
used for parachutes, the Kallah - not forgetting her mother - had a real
headache. There weren’t many options for a white wedding dress. The only
thing to do was to refashion your sister’s or cousin’s old dress and no-one
would know the difference – hopefully. Then there were the bridesmaids’
dresses to worry about. Most brides had at least four and even then, I was
sure, one “had to keep up with the Cohens”. Some bridegrooms just wore
their uniform for the chupah obviating the need for a smart suit. Many
families clubbed together and shared their clothing coupons to ensure a good
turnout. Sometimes fabric was available in the markets without coupons -
reported in hushed tones as “under the radar”. On a practical note, the
gown could be dyed afterwards and used for evening wear.
What about the blokes? They also wanted to be stylish when the
opportunity arose. Utility clothing was introduced as a standard. Out went
elastic waist bands so braces were essential, single replaced double breasted
jackets, narrow lapels were introduced, pockets were restricted, trouser turn
ups abolished and double cuffs on shirts were banned. This was estimated
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to save 4 million square yards of cotton per year. Elastic was in very short
supply, the same could be said for cotton. Everything and anything was
needed for the war effort.
I went around the exhibition with a sense of nostalgia, having been a child
during this era. My mother always managed to make new Yom Tov outfits
for my sister and me and on reflection I wonder how she did it? I had the
feeling that women during WW2 had to be very inventive, not to say
extremely hard working, coping with extra wartime jobs, running the home
and surviving the Blitz.
On a much more optimistic note, at the tail end of the exhibition there
were displays of “The New Look” designed by Dior - a style that emerged
during the 1950s when austerity was thrown to the four winds. Out went the
masculine look and short skirts; in came beautiful feminine fashions with
yards of material in the calf length skirts, shown off with a tiny wasp waist.
The Exhibition closed on 31st August but hopefully the date could be
extended or it might even go on tour. In that way it could reach an even
wider public. I hope that happens!
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Here are some of the events from Pesach-Rosh HaShanah 2015
9 March 2015 Shul
lunch. 15 May 2015 Coffee morning
Discussed: Hollywood trivia.
17 May 2015 Yom
Yerushalayim Andrew
White spoke.
20 May 2015 Irene Glausiusz
spoke on the Israeli election.
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The Martin Robinson Lecture By Leslie Rübner
n the 28th July Martin Robinson delivered his third lecture on fraud.
He is an independent risk and audit consultant. He has worked in
finance, charity, education and other fields. Just as with his previous
lectures, this one was very well attended and well received. His thought
provoking lectures should make any listener more alert the different type of
frauds that are endemic in our country. The evening ended with a lavish
buffet provided by the Ladies Guild.
O
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Dear Editors
I would like
to thank Sharon
Linderman and
Cynthia Jacobs
for all their hard
work in hosting
coffee mornings
each month for
both men and
women and for
the luncheons
three times a
year. These
events have
become very
popular and
long may they continue. They have invited different people to speak on
topics of their choice or, alternatively, current events are discussed, giving
everyone an opportunity to participate.
When Martin Robinson spoke on Fraud and Scams, I am sure it helped
us all to be more aware of what to look out for and how to deal with it.
This year a well-attended lunch was held on 13th July. The company was
great, tables set beautifully and the food delicious. When it was time to
leave, nobody wanted to go - a real social occasion which I found lovely.
Once again, Thank You to everyone behind the scenes - your efforts are
most appreciated.
Della Brown
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To Natalie and Jerome Cohen on their Ruby wedding anniversary.
February 2015.
To Greta and Lawrence Myers on the birth of a granddaughter in Israel, a
daughter for Deborah and Binyamin Radomsky. 2 March 2015.
To Shirley Labelda on the engagement of her Grandson Richard Myers of
Manchester to Joanne Lee of Leeds. Richard is the eldest son of Elaine and
Howard Myers of Manchester. 5 March 2015.
To Angela and Arnie Kosiner on their 45th Wedding Anniversary. Mid-
March 2015.
To Rosalyn and Michael Gillis and Ruth and Michael Goldman on the birth
of a grandson. A son to Charlotte and Avi Gillis. End of March 2015.
To Vivien Rothstein on her very special Birthday on Monday, the 20th April
2015.
To Pat Goodman on the birth of her first great-grandchild. April 2015.
To Ilana and David Goodman on the birth of their first grandchild, a
daughter for Aviya and Avichai Goodman. April 2015.
To Hinda and Brian Lasky on the birth of a granddaughter, a daughter for
Karen and Avi Dzik in Gibraltar. Early May 2015.
To Pat Goodman on a very, very special birthday. 2 June 2015.
To Jonathan Goldman on his poem entitled “Onomatopoeia” having been
included in “Step Up!” which is a First Year English programme Text Book.
End of May 2015.
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To Ruth and Wayne Birnbaum on the birth of a grandson and Doron and
Zehava Birnbaum on the birth of a son. 21 June 2015.
To Rabbi Chananya and Andrea Silverman on the birth of a grandson. 21
June 2015.
To Ray Foreman on celebrating his 80th birthday. End of May 2015.
To Jonathan and Mary Ann Landaw on the birth of a grandson and Asher
and Rochelle Landaw on the birth of a son. 27 May 2015.
To Stephen and Rochelle Chevern on the birth of a grandson and Ephraim
and Judit Chevern on the birth of a son. 10 June 2015.
To Reverend Gershon and Irene Glausiusz on the birth at the Laniado
Hospital in Natanya of a great-granddaughter, Ayala, to Shira and Neria
Sheetrit on the birth of a daughter and to HaRav Aharon and Sharon Badichi,
on the birth of a granddaughter. 7 June 2015.
To Ze’ev Aharon HaLevi Landaw on his entry into the Brit shel Avroham
Avinu. 4 June 2015.
To Hannah and Alan Morhaim on the birth of 2 grandchildren: a
grandson, a son for Danielle and Josh Morhaim, and a granddaughter, a
daughter for Natalie and Sammy Morhaim. June 2015.
To Stephen and Rochelle and Ephraim and Judith Chevern on their
son/grandson, Avroham Mordechai Chaim’s entry into the Brit shel Avroham
Avinu. 17June 2015.
To Shalom Leib Birnbaum on his entry into the Brit shel Avroham Avinu.
18 June 2015.
To Moshe Eliyahu Morhaim on his entry on Shabbat 20 June 2015 into
the Brit shel Avroham Avinu.
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To Michael and Vivien Rothstein who were celebrating their
60th (Diamond) Wedding Anniversary in Ashkelon. End of June 2015.
To Sylvia and Henry Malnick on the birth of a granddaughter, a daughter
for Ruth and Avi Klein. 29 June 2015
To Joan Davis on the marriage of her granddaughter Nava. 1 July 2015.
To Nina Robinson on being awarded her doctorate. 1 July 2015.
To Brian and Hinder Lasky on making Aliyah to Eretz Yisroel. We wish
them L’Chaim uL’Shalom and Hatzlacha Raba. 6 July 2015.
To Stanley and Mignonette Aarons on the engagement of their
granddaughter Avital Aarons to Joshua Broza of Belmont. Mazal Tov also to
Avital’s parents Rowland and Marion Aarons and Joshua’s parents Anthony
and Susan Broza. 14 July 2015.
To Alan Goldstein of Cherry Tree Court, on celebrating his 80th birthday.
Mid July 2015.
To Roz and Stephen Phillips on the Bar Mitzvah at the Kotel in the morning
of the 23rd of July
2015 of their
oldest grandchild,
Refael Yosef
Cohen (see
photo). Mazal Tov
to Refael Yosef’s
parents, Rochel
and Chagai, and
to his other
grandparents,
Esther and Moshe
Cohen.
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A Family Saga
My Grandparents Rifkah and Meir Shapira By Irene Glausiusz
ere’s an old story. Husband goes off from, say, Russia or Poland
to seek a better life, leaving his wife and children behind. He will
arrive in the USA or England, find a job and at some stage, having
earned enough money, will send the cash so that his family can join him.
Well that’s the theory. Sometimes it worked, but in my Booba’s case it
didn’t.
My maternal grandmother, Booba Rifkah (neé Jankelson) was born in
Riga, Latvia and she married my grandfather, Zaida Meir Shapira who came
from Vilna in Lithuania. I have often wondered how they met but that was
a question I forgot to ask in her lifetime. She was his second wife after he
divorced the first one. In time honoured fashion, Zaida left Vilna (or maybe
Riga) and travelled to London to seek his fortune, leaving Booba with two
daughters, 4 year old Rose and Rachel aged about two. Time passed and it
seems that there was no money forthcoming from London. What could she
do? Later generations were told that Booba went to ask advice from the
local Rabbi. The only solution he could offer was “You, yourself, must try
to earn enough to pay for the journey to London”. Well, what other option
did she have? Legend has it Booba took in washing and ironing for the locals
and managed other odd jobs to save up the money for the long arduous
passage. It must have been a frightening prospect for her, crossing the
continent and then taking ship to the Port of London with Rose and Rachel.
Perhaps she joined other would-be emigrants going in the same direction?
She had cousins in America, the so called Goldene Medina, and who knows,
could they have sent some money to help her along?
Booba Rifkah probably arrived in London around 1905 to be re-united
with Zaida Meir or, to quote his full name, Meir ben Yehudah Yiddel. They
H
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became part of the huge influx of Russian Jews leaving behind the Pale of
Settlement, scene of so many horrible pogroms.
The Shapira family, once more together, lived somewhere around
Spitalfields in the East End. In the following year 1906 my mother Amelia
was born.
The fact that so many immigrants were arriving in England was not at all
popular. It has been recorded that the Jewish Board of Guardians
(forerunner of Jewish Care), established by the three main Ashkenazi
synagogues, used some of its funds, meant for charitable purposes, to
advertise in continental newspapers advising against migration to England.
Nor to be ignored was the Aliens Act 1905 which introduced immigration
controls and registration; one of its main objectives was to stem the tide of
Jewish immigration to Britain from Eastern Europe.
My Zeida was a boot repairer and the family eked out a living one way
or another. They had lots of friends who, according to my mother’s tales,
would drop in at any old time in the evening or late at night and it didn’t
seem to matter - there was a welcome on the mat! No such thing as offering
cake – the ultimate luxury - the guests were happy to be served bread and
jam with Russian tea on the side.
Booba Rifkah was famous for her Seder nights. With just one gas ring,
she would build up the sides with bricks and whatever she had cooked, was
kept warm in this way.
With the outbreak of WW2, times became perilous and their house was
blitzed. They evacuated to Saltburn where their daughter Rachel and family
were living. Life was not congenial without all their landsleit and, before
too long, they returned to London – never mind the bombing - and found a
shop with flat above in Virginia Road, off Brick Lane where Zaida again
took up his trade of shoe repairing.
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Their lives were far from easy but nevertheless they managed to donate
money to the JNF, as evidenced by several certificates that were found
amongst their belongings. One can only imagine what they would have
thought about their descendants who left the East End behind and settled in
leafy suburbs. They would have been truly astonished to learn that the East
End and the Brick Lane area, once the centre of Yiddishkeit with shuls on
every corner, in the 21st century has become a trendy area with high rise
flats being sold for exorbitant sums of money. They would certainly have
been amazed to hear that one of their grand-daughters had settled in the
Promised Land, and moreover their great and great-great grandchildren are
proud citizens of the State of Israel.
Left to right: Booba Rifkah and Zaida Meir Shapira, their son-in-law David
Harris holding the author’s sister Sonya, and author’s mother Amelia
circa 1933 on Westcliffe Beach. Zaida didn’t know about casual beach
wear, and was obviously reluctant to discard his formal attire.
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My Uncle Shuli By Leslie Rübner
y earliest recollection of my paternal uncle Shuli and his wife,
Auntie Ilonka, was when, just after the War, they pitched up on
our doorstep in our central Budapest flat, in the middle of the
Jewish district. They survived the Shoah hiding out in the “Glass House”,
one of the Karl Lutz safe houses. (Karl Lutz was Undersecretary at the Swiss
Embassy). After liberation there was what can only be described as famine
in the Hungarian capital, so they made their way south to Bucharest,
Romania. When things started to settle, they had returned and rented a flat
in the then outer, leafy suburb of Zuglo. A childless couple, they loved kids
and who better than their two nephews, my brother David and I. Shuli was
a Talmid Haham par excellence. His deep blue clever looking eyes were just
as David’s, and he was convinced that my brother looked just like him, so
he liked people to think that he was his son.
For the High Holidays they often stayed with us. David and I shared a
sofa bed and on these occasions the three of us slept on it; auntie shared with
our mother. Of course, he would not go to our shul, probably not frum
enough for him, but to (what he called the Wild Ones) a Hassidic minyan in
one of the blocks of flats. I admit that I preferred going with him, because
the Wild Ones davened slowly, with total absorption in their prayers. You
felt the importance of the day. An occasional shouting out a word here and
there or a big clap of the hands an outlet to their emotion. Some were praying
with heavenward raised arms while others were just crying. It was quite an
experience.
In those days, Zuglo was not developed and uncle and aunt’s block of
flats looked down on the bungalows and cultivated fields surrounding it. For
us, living in the middle of a concrete jungle, it was heaven to spend Shabbat
with them - one week David and one week me. Zuglo had no orthodox
synagogue, so we had a long track to shul, unlike where we lived in the 7th
District where there were synagogues on most corners, but who cared. The
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Neolog rabbi of Zuglo also stayed with them Friday nights, and when, at the
end of the Sabbath, he left, Shuli had to deal with the sofa bed he slept on,
by smothering it with disinfectant. All his life, he had a mortal fear of
bacteria. On Shabbat afternoons we went for a walk in the fields. This was,
for me, the highlight of the day. As motzei Shabbat was approaching, auntie
was saying the Tzennarenna, “G-t fun Avrohom, fun Yitzchok und fun
Yankev” and so on.
After Shabbat terminated we went out for the evening, usually to a beer
garden, where he ordered a beer for himself and his wife and an ice-lolly for
us. In Hungary in those days you were expected to take off your hat when
you took a seat in an establishment. Being very religious, there was a
problem with covering your head whilst drinking, so each time he sipped his
beer, he wiped his head with a handkerchief.
At one point both our father and Uncle Shuli were arrested by the
People’s Republic’s Police for smuggling down feathers to Israel. While
awaiting trial they were constantly cross examined. According to my father,
he was never even touched, but Shuli, because he would not give a straight
answer, was beaten. The communist Judge found them not guilty, and they
were freed.
Subsequently and surprisingly, Shuli was allowed to open a feather steam
cleaning operation near the Western railway station. It proved to be a good
business. As the commuters were streaming out of the station, they dropped
their dirty duvets at the shop and picked up the cleaned ones on their way
back to the countryside. As I remember, a notice on the wall was warning
customers that there could be up to 10% weight loss after cleaning (and low
and behold, the 10% was always missing).
With the Hungarian uprising against Communism on 23rd October 1956,
Uncle Shuli was caught up in the events and suddenly became a Hungarian
patriot. He was writing pamphlets, poems and prose about the great and free
Hungarian nation. (But at the start of Communism, he edited a sort of
newspaper the “The Working Feather Wholesaler” and filled it with the then
customary Communist diatribe, sending copies to his customers in the West)
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My mother’s brother, then living in Madrid, found a people smuggler to
collect my parents and brothers to smuggle them across the border. Auntie
Ilonka was keen to come with, but Shuli not so much. Ilonka won, so they
decided to
accompany my
parents. My father’s
reaction was that if
Shuli and Ilonka are
not coming, he and
his family are staying
put. The smugglers
wanted their money,
therefore agreed to
escort out the extra
people. So Ilonka and
Shuli appeared in
front of our family
flat wearing umpteen
layers of clothing
looking like a couple
of human balls.
In London Shuli
tried to reconnect
with his old
customers, but they
were not interested.
Having read the “Working Feather Wholesaler”, “what is this Communist
doing here”, was the reaction.
Shuli realised that the charedi community of Stamford Hill had no access
to kosher milk. He approached my father to jointly start up a chalav Yisrael
milking and distribution business. Negotiations were instituted with the Milk
Marketing Board to this effect. As neither Shuli nor my father could speak,
at that time, good enough English, either my brother or I had to attend to
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translate to Hungarian. The chap
representing the Board advised, as milk
retail prices were controlled, the
business was not viable. So my father
bailed out, but not Shuli. He called his
business Hatsloche (the English had a
problem with the pronunciation). Shuli
did not have the resources to install a
pasteurising unit and on the bottle
(among all those adverts) it said:
“Tuberculin tested”. I can tell you that
the milk tasted wonderful and had a thick
cream on top, if you let it stand. Ilonka
and Shuli asked us youngsters to collect
the moneys owed, but they seemed to keep no tabs, counting on the honesty
of customers; we were told “to accept anything they give”. In 1964 retail
price maintenance was abolished, opening a possibility to turn the business
into a success. Suddenly others also saw the opportunity in the kosher milk
business and, to limit the competition, he had to go into partnership with
another person from Stamford Hill. In the late fifties the Milk Marketing
Board ran an advertising campaign to popularise drinking milk. One of those
leaflets, saying “Drinka Pinta Milka Day” ending up on the shul notice
board. One clever dick scribbled in the word “kosha” and then “Rubna”
and finally the last joker “deara” ending up with “Drinka Pinta Kosha
Rubna Deara Milka Day”
Once his driver forgot to deliver to one of the Jewish Primary Schools in
Stanford Hill. When they phoned to complain, his response was: “Never
mind, we’ll give you double tomorrow”
When I was engaged to my first wife, while sitting on the bus at Camden
Town, waiting to go to Stamford Hill, she said to me “there is a tramp
wanting to talk to you”. Low and behold, Shuli was jay walking toward the
bus, wearing some old overcoat he received in Vienna, reaching to the
ground. One trouser leg tucked into his wellington boot and the other not.
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By this time he had a long beard with a knot in it to make it look shorter,
unfortunately the knot was not in the middle. Well, he was quite a sight.
After my children were born, their love and adoration was transferred to
them. Our twins called Ilonka, Auntie Chocolate, because she was always
ready for them with a fistful of the stuff.
Ilonka suddenly had a stroke, was taken to St Ann’s Hospital, her face
had terribly distorted. She was longing to see the twins, but my then wife,
objected on the grounds that the kids would get a fright. Well, they did not.
Not much later Ilonka was niftar.
Shuli bought a house in Stoke Newington and occupied the ground floor.
The two floors above were let out to some West Indian immigrants. These
lucky tenants paid no rent, because Shuli was too afraid to collect from them.
Shuli became a Satmarer chassid and therefore fiercely anti-Israel; we
just could not resist reminding him that in Budapest he used to write songs
about returning to Israel where the grapes are sweeter and orange trees are
flowering and so on.
When I lived in South Africa, I came to London for some family affair.
To visit uncle Shuli was a must. When I entered his house the smell of sour
milk and cat in a room that was never ventilated assailed me and I had to run
out. He felt it was his duty to feed the numerous feral cats in the street, so
they were in and out slurping up milk, eating up dairy products and also
doing other things.
As the years passed Shuli developed health problems and was my
brother’s patient. My brother’s policy was that Rabbanim never had to
queue, but of course Shuli was the exception and entered the consulting
room in front of one leading Rabbi saying hurry up we mustn’t keep the Rav
waiting.
Shuli lived to be well over 90 and he passed away in his sleep. Even
without having direct descendants, every time I visit his grave in Enfield the
more and more little stones bear witness that he is not nor will be forgotten.
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Is Proofreading a Dying Art?
an Kills Self Before Shooting Wife and Daughter
This one I caught in the New York Tribune the other day and
called the Editorial Room and asked who wrote this. It took two
or three readings before the editor realized that what he was reading was
impossible! They put in a correction the next day.
Something Went Wrong in Jet Crash, Expert Says
Really?
Police Begin Campaign to Run Down Jaywalkers
Now that’s taking things a bit far
Panda Mating Fails; Veterinarian Takes Over
What a guy!
Miners Refuse to Work after Death
No-good-for-nothing’ lazy so-and-so’s
Juvenile Court to Try Shooting Defendant
See if that works any better than a fair trial
War Dims Hope for Peace
I can see where it might have that effect
If Strike Isn’t Settled Quickly, It May Last Awhile
Ya think?
M
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Cold Wave Linked to Temperatures
Who would have thought?
Enfield Couple Slain; Police Suspect Homicide
They may be on to something
Red Tape Holds Up New Bridges
You mean there’s something stronger than duct tape?
Man Struck By Lightning: Faces Battery Charge
He probably IS the battery charge
New Study of Obesity Looks for Larger Test Group
Weren’t they fat enough?
Astronaut Takes Blame for Gas in Spacecraft
That’s what he gets for eating those beans
Kids Make Nutritious Snacks
Do they taste like chicken?
Local High School Dropouts Cut in Half
Chainsaw Massacre all over again
Hospitals are Sued by 7 Foot Doctors
Boy, are they tall!
And the winner is...
Typhoon Rips Through Cemetery; Hundreds Dead
Did I read that right?
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Grandmas’ Relish By Dr Melvyn Brooks
arlier today, Erev Rosh Chodesh Tammuz (16th June), my wife and
I went up to Jerusalem to visit the school of our granddaughter. Jane
and her parents live in Pisgat Ze’ev which is a little way out of the
capital. She attends a religious school. Today was a Grandma and Grandpa
day. All the Grandmas and Grandpas were asked to bring food that was
special to the country from which they came. There was rice from the
grandma from Persia, special bread and homemade cottage cheese from the
Ethiopian grandma, pancakes with jam from the American grandma, stuffed
vine leaves from the Tunisian grandma. Jane’s Grandma (my wife Roma)
made yeast buns, half with sultanas and half with chocolate. This being a
traditional Shabbat morning treat at our home that we enjoy with Kiddush.
It was a delightful way to see how the school functioned and to meet other
grandparents and learn of their culinary habits. The Ethiopian grandma made
aliya from Addis Ababa in 1990. We were all asked to introduce ourselves
and relate stories about the food we had brought.
I thought it was a good opportunity to ask how long we kept between milk
and meat. We wait the minimum time of three hours. Others were six hours
and the longest eight hours. All seemed to follow the custom of the home
where they grew up. I believe Dutch people wait one hour but there were no
Dutch grandmas or grandpas.
Dr Melvyn Brooks is a retired Family Physician who has been living in
Karkur since Aliyah in 1973. He studied at Hackney Downs School
(Grocers) and later at Sheffield University. He married his wife Roma in
1968 and is blessed with 4 children and delightful grandchildren. He has a
passion for all things Hackney and has a vast collection of Hackney
memorabilia, added to that he is a Freeman of the City of London.
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A few years ago, Co-Editor Irene noticed an article Dr Brooks had written
about Joe Coral of betting shop fame, for the Friends of Hackney Archive
newsletter. Being intrigued by the topic, I searched on-line in the hope of
contacting Dr Brooks and of being given permission to reprint his piece in
the Kingsbury Courier. This was given and it duly appeared in one of the
first Couriers.
The photo shows Grandmas from Persia, America and Ethiopia taken by
Roma (Mrs Brooks) from London all enjoying themselves.
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Brenthouse Road Shul By Dr Melvyn Brooks
n early June I was in London for a few days. As ever my timetable was full
but I had reserved the Shabbat for a visit to my old Shul, the Shul of my
cheder and of my bar mitzvah: 2nd day Shavout 1959. Our family were
Federation people, but only it seemed for Rosh HaShana and Yom Kippur. Then
we would walk that little bit longer
to Ainsworth Road, South Hackney
and come under the spell of Rabbi
(later Dayan) Michael Fisher z”l.
For the rest of the year it was
Brenthouse (Devonshire) Road, a
stalwart member of the United
Synagogue.
From age 5 I had slowly
climbed the ladder of the six classes
of the Cheder. Miss Zimmer and
Mr Taylor I remember well. Mr Sid
Felton was the headmaster and
took the top class. Every Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday from 5 to 6.30pm
(and Sunday morning from 10 to 12.30am) we would pit our wits against our
teachers who probably had had no pedagogical training. I look back upon this
time with a sense of shame and regret. Like most of the boys in my cheder class,
I stopped attending a few months after my bar mitzvah. Unlike many, however,
I continued to attend the Synagogue service on Shabbat mornings.
The choir was enchanting, Rev Klein, the Chazan had some beautiful tunes
and of course the Rev. Dr. Barnett Joseph was unique. He had come to the pulpit
in Hackney in 1934. I did find that after a few years his sermons were becoming
familiar but that did not seem to matter at the time! Some of the endearing
charms of the shammas, Mr Solly Caplan, have been related in a previous
Kingsbury Courier.
And then off to Sheffield University. Brenthouse Road Shul was never the
same.
I
Dr Melvin Brooks
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In the 1990s the members from Rectory Square, Stepney were transferred to
Hackney and it is now called The Hackney and East London Synagogue.
In 2010 the synagogue building in Brenthouse Road was vacated; the
congregation now meets in Westgate Street, London Fields. It was to this Shul
(the only remaining United Synagogue in Hackney) that I walked from Upper
Clapton. My friend and I had a delightful walk. Service started about 10.30am.
We usually finish by 10.15am in Karkur (Israel, where the author now lives.-
the Editor). The main synagogue room was pleasant and seemed adequate for
the 40 or so congregants. The melodies were the same. With no cleric, the reader
was a member of the congregation who obviously took pride and joy in his
supplications. A devar Torah was given by one of the members. I felt honoured
at being given an aliya and was delighted when my school friend read the
haftorah with gusto and skill.
And then to the Kiddush. Unique for me. There sat two London policemen
discussing the features of the Kiddush from the whisky to smaltz herring. It
appears the custom for these guardian angels to join with the congregation and
enjoy the delights of Kiddush.
We wandered back to Upper Clapton. A glorious Shabbat day, through a
yuppified London Fields with an Olympic size Lido where I had learnt to swim
in the early 1950s.
It seems that Hackney Synagogue has returned to the roots of Judaism in the
area. David Alves Rebello a marrano Jew, lived very nearby (less than 100 yards
away) in Tryon’s Place, Mare Street. In 1795 he issued his own token. Rebello
was an elder of the Spanish and Portuguese Synagogue, Bevis Marks. That
Synagogue owned the Pacifico Almshouses which faced London Fields, again
within a few hundred yards of the present synagogue building.
My visit to the remnants of Hackney Synagogue left me with many feelings.
Sadness that the former building was no longer a Jewish place of worship. Joy
that the present shul is vibrant and even attracts visitors.
There is a nice twist to this story which I will tell in a further episode of the
Kingsbury Courier.
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Message from the President of the Board of
Deputies
his is my first Rosh Hashanah as President of
the Board following my election in May and
I have much to do in order to continue the
fine work we have been doing over the past 12
months.
It is a year which we can look back to with some
pride in our accomplishments. We have worked
closely with the Government to ensure that our
community is protected against the evil of
antisemitism. The good relations we have fostered
led to Home Secretary Theresa May and Communities and Local
Government Secretary Eric Pickles attending our monthly Board meeting to
reassure our community in the wake of the terrorist attacks against Jews in
Paris in January.
This trustful relationship proved its worth in July when a small anti-Semitic
group on the far right threatened to rally in Golders Green. We felt that the
whole community should demonstrate its united resolve against bigotry and
the Board, in partnership with the London Jewish Forum and anti-fascist
organisation HOPE not Hate, together with the support of the Community
Security Trust, formed Golders Green Together to turn a hateful occasion
into a positive outcome for our community. The result was that all races and
faiths in Golders Green came together to celebrate both their unity and
diversity while behind-the-scenes work with the Government and police led
to the rally being moved to central London – well away from the Jewish
community that the racists were hoping to intimidate. The long-term work
of the Board in building alliances and deepening mutual respect and
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understanding often goes unsung, but this episode demonstrates the benefits
that it brings to our community.
We also acted against attempts to boycott Israel and antisemitism
masquerading as anti-Zionism and have won some important battles –
including against Rev Stephen Sizer, who has now been effectively
disciplined by the Church of England after one rant too many. We also took
prompt action against an anti-Isr