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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

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9

15

16

20

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29

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46

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57

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

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?


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 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


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.


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


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


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


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


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


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.


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.”


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


(“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


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


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


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. .


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


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.


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


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


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


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


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


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


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):


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 . . .


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.


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


”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


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!


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.


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


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


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.


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.


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.


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


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.


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.


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

M


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)


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


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.


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.


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


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?


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.

E


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.


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


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.


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

T


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

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