Members of the Israel Group took part in the Israel Lobby Day jointly
organised by the Zionist Federation
and the Christian Friends of Israel,
which this year placed particular
emphasis on celebrating the most
important seventy contributions to the
world since the declaration of Israel’s
independence seventy years ago. In
the morning there was a briefing
session, which included an address
by video link from Israel by an IDF
Intelligence Officer. He gave a report
on the current threats to Israel, including 120,000 Hezbollah rockets
and the corrosive influence of Iran throughout the Middle East. He
also focused on the ongoing medical help Israel was offering to
Syrians, and how this had helped 4,000 Syrians over the last 3-4
years and was ongoing. The treatment was not just offered close to
the border, but Syrians were taken to hospitals within Israel,
sometimes for long-term treatment. When they returned to Syria, they
were assisted with ongoing medication and supplies.
In the afternoon we moved to the House of Commons where we
lobbied our respective MP's. Barry Kafka and Peter Leslie lobbied
Theresa Villiers MP. She is an active supporter of Israel and we
thanked her for the work she had done in bringing to the
Government's attention the fact that Hezbollah, a terrorist
organisation, had been allowed to fly its flag at demonstrations. We
also reminded her that, today, Israel is all too often thought of in terms
of conflict with the Palestinians. Whilst it was, of course, a
conflict which we all hoped would be resolved peacefully in the future,
we should also recognise all that Israel and its citizens - Jews,
Christians, Muslims, Druze, Bedouin and
other religions - had achieved in such a
relatively short period of time in the fields
of agriculture, medicine, science,
technology and culture, not forgetting
peace agreements with two former
enemies, Egypt and Jordan.
Barry Kafka and Eric Bradman, SPS’s Board of Deputies Delegates, also met with Enfield, Southgate MP
Bambos Charalambous, after making an initial contact at the recent
Holocaust Memorial Ceremony at Dugdale Centre, in Enfield. Our
representatives presented Mr Charalambous with a booklet
highlighting 70 achievements of the Israeli State in its 70 years.
Perhaps the most interesting points were that Israel had taken in by
far the largest amount of Immigrants of all the world’s countries,
percentage wise, and was the only
country where trees had increased in
numbers since World War 2. Mr
Charalambous, whilst being evenhanded,
expressed strong support for
Israel being able to exist without
constant threat. He also supported the
Jewish Community in the U.K. and
vowed to speak out against AntiSemitism
wherever he came across it.
He listened keenly to the points which
were made and also volunteered to attend any meeting we requested
and to be available for any Community Events to which he was
invited. He would shortly be attending a Saturday morning service at
SPS.
During the afternoon we listened to a number of speeches from
sympathetic MPs and members of the House of Lords from all political
parties, including our local MP Theresia Villiers.
Peter Leslie (Chair of Israel Group)
Thursday 26 April 2018
Thursday 19 April 2018
A Story From Long Ago
Long ago and far away (well 1928 to be precise), we moved as a
family, from the East End to a country village in the "provinces",
further out even than the Tram Yard turn round, to where, it was said,
they drove pigs down the High Street. Nothing could be considered
more rural than Tottenham or more goyish, further out even than
Stamford Hill. It was rumoured that there was an outpost of yidden
hidden there but this idea was greeted with derision. "Schon fertig",
nothing more to add. It was accepted that Judaism ended at Stamford
Hill, to where the New Synagogue had been transferred from the East
End, to cater for the nouveau riche Schneider Masters who clustered
around the East Bank and West Bank near the railway station.
I have written about this period in my young life many times in the past so I won't go into it again, except to say that one incident comes back to me every so often, particularly around autumn, actually a few weeks before Yom Tov 1940. The Blitz had stated in earnest and there was talk of an invasion, although none of us seemed very concerned - life went on. Hitler was cursed on every occasion, my mother was more worried about making Shobbas and her twice weekly schlepp to Ridley Road in search of a chicken from Mrs Marks. When the war started, my father's business,( he was an expert furrier), had collapsed and he had got himself a job as an accounts supervisor at Woolwich Arsenal , something to do with the Iron &Steel Federation. All I know is that he used to get a train very early in the morning direct from South Tottenham to Woolwich. I had come back from evacuation to March (not a wise choice, the largest railway marshalling yards in the country) and had started an apprenticeship as a toolmaker at Littons in the Caledonian Road, to which I cycled every morning to start work at eight o'clock.
With the prospect of bombs falling anywhere in the London area, a public shelter had been dug in the Lordship Lane recreation ground near Downhills Park for the local residents. We lived a five minute walk away so every evening after supper my father and I would take my mother and younger sister, with sandwiches and blankets and a flask of tea, to the shelter whilst we returned to the house to sleep under the stairs, as suggested by the Government as the safest part of a house. Morrison and Anderson shelters came later.
It became quite a communal centre, people chatting, playing cards, others trying to sleep, whilst we could hear the noise of the air raid all around. I recall other people whom we would sometimes see there, nuns from a local convent who sang hymns and offered comfort, neighbours who lived nearby, and one old man who led off music hall songs. Next morning very early we would return to take my mother and sister home, then off to work.
September 19th 1940 1 was 14, my sister Barbara was all of 4, and our elder brother, Leslie, 20, was called up and in the Army. We had heard guns and banging during the night but nothing to prepare us for what we found at the shelter next morning. The whole area was full of ambulances, police, rescue workers and firemen - the full panoply of a major incident. It seemed a landmine had fallen directly onto the shelter; there were many casualties, we were told, some still buried, a few survivors but no names or details or where they had been taken. We spent the day rushing from one rescue centre to another, and finally late that evening we found my mother, screaming hysterically, in the old Prince of Wales hospital and my sister in the Children’s Fever Hospital in St Ann’s Road.
How many were killed that night is still something of a mystery, anything from thirty to a hundred and there were hints that the whole incident had been covered up to allay public disquiet. There were also dark whispers circulating that the bombsite had been completely bulldozed over with bodies still buried there to this day.
We never found out how my mother and sister were rescued. There were reports at the time that when the rescue teams got into the shelter they found people still sitting there, seemingly untouched but covered in dust. They were of course dead, killed by the blast. Two bombs were dropped, possibly aimed at the shelter or at random, the other hitting houses in Walpole Road two hundred yards away where a family was wiped out. At the time there were anti-aircraft batteries nearby in the allotments, so maybe these were the target. In 2003 there were preparations for a centenary festival of the park and a local historian became involved researching the incident. He was at the time in contact with my sister and others (my mother had died some years earlier); subsequently there was an appeal, by way of the local Friends Association, to erect a memorial at the site, which is now in place.
Looking back at those reports and others written then and since, including one from my sister, who also has since died, it is a sobering thought that I may be one of the very few, perhaps the only one left, who can still remember that night over seventy seven years ago. I wonder sometimes what happened to the nuns and the old boy with his music hall songs.
Eddy Summers
I have written about this period in my young life many times in the past so I won't go into it again, except to say that one incident comes back to me every so often, particularly around autumn, actually a few weeks before Yom Tov 1940. The Blitz had stated in earnest and there was talk of an invasion, although none of us seemed very concerned - life went on. Hitler was cursed on every occasion, my mother was more worried about making Shobbas and her twice weekly schlepp to Ridley Road in search of a chicken from Mrs Marks. When the war started, my father's business,( he was an expert furrier), had collapsed and he had got himself a job as an accounts supervisor at Woolwich Arsenal , something to do with the Iron &Steel Federation. All I know is that he used to get a train very early in the morning direct from South Tottenham to Woolwich. I had come back from evacuation to March (not a wise choice, the largest railway marshalling yards in the country) and had started an apprenticeship as a toolmaker at Littons in the Caledonian Road, to which I cycled every morning to start work at eight o'clock.
With the prospect of bombs falling anywhere in the London area, a public shelter had been dug in the Lordship Lane recreation ground near Downhills Park for the local residents. We lived a five minute walk away so every evening after supper my father and I would take my mother and younger sister, with sandwiches and blankets and a flask of tea, to the shelter whilst we returned to the house to sleep under the stairs, as suggested by the Government as the safest part of a house. Morrison and Anderson shelters came later.
It became quite a communal centre, people chatting, playing cards, others trying to sleep, whilst we could hear the noise of the air raid all around. I recall other people whom we would sometimes see there, nuns from a local convent who sang hymns and offered comfort, neighbours who lived nearby, and one old man who led off music hall songs. Next morning very early we would return to take my mother and sister home, then off to work.
September 19th 1940 1 was 14, my sister Barbara was all of 4, and our elder brother, Leslie, 20, was called up and in the Army. We had heard guns and banging during the night but nothing to prepare us for what we found at the shelter next morning. The whole area was full of ambulances, police, rescue workers and firemen - the full panoply of a major incident. It seemed a landmine had fallen directly onto the shelter; there were many casualties, we were told, some still buried, a few survivors but no names or details or where they had been taken. We spent the day rushing from one rescue centre to another, and finally late that evening we found my mother, screaming hysterically, in the old Prince of Wales hospital and my sister in the Children’s Fever Hospital in St Ann’s Road.
How many were killed that night is still something of a mystery, anything from thirty to a hundred and there were hints that the whole incident had been covered up to allay public disquiet. There were also dark whispers circulating that the bombsite had been completely bulldozed over with bodies still buried there to this day.
We never found out how my mother and sister were rescued. There were reports at the time that when the rescue teams got into the shelter they found people still sitting there, seemingly untouched but covered in dust. They were of course dead, killed by the blast. Two bombs were dropped, possibly aimed at the shelter or at random, the other hitting houses in Walpole Road two hundred yards away where a family was wiped out. At the time there were anti-aircraft batteries nearby in the allotments, so maybe these were the target. In 2003 there were preparations for a centenary festival of the park and a local historian became involved researching the incident. He was at the time in contact with my sister and others (my mother had died some years earlier); subsequently there was an appeal, by way of the local Friends Association, to erect a memorial at the site, which is now in place.
Looking back at those reports and others written then and since, including one from my sister, who also has since died, it is a sobering thought that I may be one of the very few, perhaps the only one left, who can still remember that night over seventy seven years ago. I wonder sometimes what happened to the nuns and the old boy with his music hall songs.
Eddy Summers
Thursday 12 April 2018
A Message From The Chair
For some time members have been telling me that on occasions
they cannot hear clearly some of the readers on the
bimah, even though the mikes are working. With that in
mind I discussed the situation with Rabbi Yuval and the Executive,
and it was agreed to explore the possibility of installing
a new modern sound system, as was the case in
the Schindler Hall. As I write this report the new system
has just been installed, hopefully to everyone’s satisfaction,
even though I am sure someone will say, “it’s too loud, turn
it down”. Over the years, not only at SPS but at other venues,
I have heard people shout out to the person talking
“can’t hear you, speak up”. I find that response insensitive It puts the speaker off and is embarrassing for them. If there is a
problem, a “sorry I am finding it difficult to hear you, would you mind
speaking up” is a softer response, and does not make the speaker
feel so demeaned.
Southover, the organisation who use our site five days a week teaching children on a one to one basis, have extended their association with SPS. All the old portacabins by the side of the Schindler Hall are being replaced by brand new buildings, allowing Southover to gain more pupils and comply with Ofsted standards. Financially it also means that, importantly, we continue to have a steady stream of income from them. Inevitably, whilst the work goes on, there might be some inconvenience for people using the site, but it should not last too long until normal service is resumed.
At the end of February and into early March, the “Beast from the East” engulfed most of the UK in a blanket of snow and biting easterly winds. There were a number of amber and red warnings, urging people not to make unnecessary journeys, and to stay at home. SPS was not immune from the problems that the snowy weather and minus temperatures brought to bear. So much so that Purim celebrations had to be cancelled, and Shabbat services were put at risk because the site was covered with snow and ice. On the Friday morning, with the best of intentions, it was decided to close the site. It was not something we wanted to do, but after consultation between Rabbi Yuval, two members of the executive and the site maintenance/ security officer, health and safety concerns were deemed to be a major problem. An e-mail was sent out to the membership explaining the dire situation we faced. Subsequently I received a number of emails and telephone calls questioning the decision. Most understood the dilemma we were in, but two expressed righteous indignation; amusingly, both hardly ever set foot in the Synagogue from one month to the next. Even though it was still snowing quite heavily, I checked the weather for Saturday which appeared to be slightly better. After conversations with Rabbis Jacobi and Keren, I took the decision to send another e-mail informing members we would do our utmost to be open for business in the morning. Twelve people attended and we had a very fulfilling service in the round. Thank you to those who braved the elements, but where were the other members who, surprise, surprise did not venture out. As the saying goes “there’s nowt so queer as folk”.
For the first time in the last few years we held a new members event. After the service on Shabbat morning 10th March we had an extended kiddush allowing council members and presidents to chat with the new members. It went very well and everyone seemed to be at ease with each other. Thanks to everyone, especially the lovely ladies of the House Committee who supported the exercise in communal engagement. Hopefully, if we get a steady stream of new members we can repeat the occasion next year. The first event in the 75th anniversary programme is nearly upon us, as at the end of the month a celebratory quiz is taking place. I am sure it will be well supported and a good and enjoyable time will be had by all.
Robert Dulin
Southover, the organisation who use our site five days a week teaching children on a one to one basis, have extended their association with SPS. All the old portacabins by the side of the Schindler Hall are being replaced by brand new buildings, allowing Southover to gain more pupils and comply with Ofsted standards. Financially it also means that, importantly, we continue to have a steady stream of income from them. Inevitably, whilst the work goes on, there might be some inconvenience for people using the site, but it should not last too long until normal service is resumed.
At the end of February and into early March, the “Beast from the East” engulfed most of the UK in a blanket of snow and biting easterly winds. There were a number of amber and red warnings, urging people not to make unnecessary journeys, and to stay at home. SPS was not immune from the problems that the snowy weather and minus temperatures brought to bear. So much so that Purim celebrations had to be cancelled, and Shabbat services were put at risk because the site was covered with snow and ice. On the Friday morning, with the best of intentions, it was decided to close the site. It was not something we wanted to do, but after consultation between Rabbi Yuval, two members of the executive and the site maintenance/ security officer, health and safety concerns were deemed to be a major problem. An e-mail was sent out to the membership explaining the dire situation we faced. Subsequently I received a number of emails and telephone calls questioning the decision. Most understood the dilemma we were in, but two expressed righteous indignation; amusingly, both hardly ever set foot in the Synagogue from one month to the next. Even though it was still snowing quite heavily, I checked the weather for Saturday which appeared to be slightly better. After conversations with Rabbis Jacobi and Keren, I took the decision to send another e-mail informing members we would do our utmost to be open for business in the morning. Twelve people attended and we had a very fulfilling service in the round. Thank you to those who braved the elements, but where were the other members who, surprise, surprise did not venture out. As the saying goes “there’s nowt so queer as folk”.
For the first time in the last few years we held a new members event. After the service on Shabbat morning 10th March we had an extended kiddush allowing council members and presidents to chat with the new members. It went very well and everyone seemed to be at ease with each other. Thanks to everyone, especially the lovely ladies of the House Committee who supported the exercise in communal engagement. Hopefully, if we get a steady stream of new members we can repeat the occasion next year. The first event in the 75th anniversary programme is nearly upon us, as at the end of the month a celebratory quiz is taking place. I am sure it will be well supported and a good and enjoyable time will be had by all.
Robert Dulin
Thursday 5 April 2018
Words From The Rabbi
This month we will be celebrating Israel’s 70th birthday. Those
who went out with ecstasy onto the streets of Tel Aviv to
celebrate her birth in 1948 were unsure whether they would
be dancing at her first birthday. Yet, seventy years later, and
Israel is an island of economic, social and military stability in
the very volatile region of the Middle
East. I was born in Israel and there I
spent half my life. I am proud of my
Israeli identity and I keep close
connection with my family and friends
there. It amazes me how at almost
every visit I see how Israel is growing and changing before my eyes.
I also consider myself lucky to be a proper Ashkefaradi. I am 50% Ashkenazi from my father’s side, and I am 50% Sepharadi from my mother’s side.
The story of my parents and their (somewhat unlikely) marriage encompasses in many ways the story of the birth of the State of Israel. My father was born in Alsójára, a small village in Transylvania. He was wise enough to leave before the war and after some wandering in Europe, he made his home in Haifa. Like many men in the yishuv (the Jewish population in Mandatory Palestine) He served in the British army during WWII. After the establishment of Israel he became a pioneer in Hatzor, in the Upper Galilee. His entire immediate family perished in the Holocaust together with the majority of Jews who were left in the area. My father, the only remnant of his family, lost his faith in the Almighty and led a secular life.
My mother was born in the town of Demnate at the foot of the Moroccan High Atlas Mountains. The family moved to the Moroccan capital Rabbat before setting off for Israel in the late 1940s and early 50s. The vast majority of new immigrants from Arab countries to Israel at the time were sent to abandon Arab villages or newly-formed settlements in remote places in the Negev and Galilee. My family was no exception. Most of them were sent to the abandoned Arab village of Beit Dagan (Bayt Dajan in Arabic). I remember as a child playing among the ruins of the Arab village. The state of my grandparents’ house and the houses of their neighbours were just a little better than the state of these ruins.
On arrival in Israel, and at her request, my mother was separated from the rest of her family and was sent to Hatzor. There she tasted the life of a pioneer in a variety of outdoor jobs in the harsh winter and scorching summer days of the Upper Galilee. She met my father shortly after arrival, and the rest is history. I am fortunate to be Ashkefaradi because it gives me the opportunity to understand both worlds. These worlds were parallel in the young state of Israel. I recall that in my childhood Ashkefaradi children were a rare and strange phenomenon. There were times where I had to cling to one of my identities and hide the other. Hardly anyone in my predominantly Sepharadi primary school knew that I had an Ashkenazi father. The same happened at my predominantly Ashkenazi High School. I recall a few incidents where hiding my ‘other’ identity literally saved my skin.
Seventy years after the establishment of the State, social undercurrents in Israeli society create a situation where there are many more Ashkefaradi children and adults. In my childhood there two types of music. There was the ‘mainstream’ Israeli and Western music that you could hear on the radio and purchase in record shops. Then there was the ‘alternative’ Mizrachi (oriental) music you could only purchase in dodgy cassette tape stalls in the marketplace in Tel Aviv's Central Bus Station. Nowadays many of Israel’s top singers use Mizrachi music or combine it with Western and ‘classic’ Israeli music. Omer Adam, one of the top Mizrachi singers in Israel, a Yiddisher mama, of Polish descent.
Seventy years after the establishment of Israel, the boundaries between people, denominations and places of origin are gradually disappearing. The Zionist project was remarkably successful on many levels. However, there was a heavy price to pay for this success. Some of the heavy price was paid by those Jews who came from Arab and oriental countries, who sometimes were treated like primitive and ignorant second-class citizens, as if they were ‘the enemy’. Many of the problems faced by those who were coerced into settling in remote places with no job security, no future and no hope are now faced by their second and third generations. This perhaps could explain the overwhelming support of right-wing political parties form those who live in Israel’s ‘development towns’. It will take a great deal of change to convince them to vote for left-wing parties, historically associated with the Ashkenazi domination and oppression of the 1950s and 60s. I believe that these deep social wounds at the time of Israel’s early years could be healed over time, and with a great deal of effort and willingness.
Happy 70th birthday Israel, may you go from strength to strength, and may you continue to be a beacon of light, hope and stability in the quick sands of the Middle East.
Rabbi Yuval Keren
I also consider myself lucky to be a proper Ashkefaradi. I am 50% Ashkenazi from my father’s side, and I am 50% Sepharadi from my mother’s side.
The story of my parents and their (somewhat unlikely) marriage encompasses in many ways the story of the birth of the State of Israel. My father was born in Alsójára, a small village in Transylvania. He was wise enough to leave before the war and after some wandering in Europe, he made his home in Haifa. Like many men in the yishuv (the Jewish population in Mandatory Palestine) He served in the British army during WWII. After the establishment of Israel he became a pioneer in Hatzor, in the Upper Galilee. His entire immediate family perished in the Holocaust together with the majority of Jews who were left in the area. My father, the only remnant of his family, lost his faith in the Almighty and led a secular life.
My mother was born in the town of Demnate at the foot of the Moroccan High Atlas Mountains. The family moved to the Moroccan capital Rabbat before setting off for Israel in the late 1940s and early 50s. The vast majority of new immigrants from Arab countries to Israel at the time were sent to abandon Arab villages or newly-formed settlements in remote places in the Negev and Galilee. My family was no exception. Most of them were sent to the abandoned Arab village of Beit Dagan (Bayt Dajan in Arabic). I remember as a child playing among the ruins of the Arab village. The state of my grandparents’ house and the houses of their neighbours were just a little better than the state of these ruins.
On arrival in Israel, and at her request, my mother was separated from the rest of her family and was sent to Hatzor. There she tasted the life of a pioneer in a variety of outdoor jobs in the harsh winter and scorching summer days of the Upper Galilee. She met my father shortly after arrival, and the rest is history. I am fortunate to be Ashkefaradi because it gives me the opportunity to understand both worlds. These worlds were parallel in the young state of Israel. I recall that in my childhood Ashkefaradi children were a rare and strange phenomenon. There were times where I had to cling to one of my identities and hide the other. Hardly anyone in my predominantly Sepharadi primary school knew that I had an Ashkenazi father. The same happened at my predominantly Ashkenazi High School. I recall a few incidents where hiding my ‘other’ identity literally saved my skin.
Seventy years after the establishment of the State, social undercurrents in Israeli society create a situation where there are many more Ashkefaradi children and adults. In my childhood there two types of music. There was the ‘mainstream’ Israeli and Western music that you could hear on the radio and purchase in record shops. Then there was the ‘alternative’ Mizrachi (oriental) music you could only purchase in dodgy cassette tape stalls in the marketplace in Tel Aviv's Central Bus Station. Nowadays many of Israel’s top singers use Mizrachi music or combine it with Western and ‘classic’ Israeli music. Omer Adam, one of the top Mizrachi singers in Israel, a Yiddisher mama, of Polish descent.
Seventy years after the establishment of Israel, the boundaries between people, denominations and places of origin are gradually disappearing. The Zionist project was remarkably successful on many levels. However, there was a heavy price to pay for this success. Some of the heavy price was paid by those Jews who came from Arab and oriental countries, who sometimes were treated like primitive and ignorant second-class citizens, as if they were ‘the enemy’. Many of the problems faced by those who were coerced into settling in remote places with no job security, no future and no hope are now faced by their second and third generations. This perhaps could explain the overwhelming support of right-wing political parties form those who live in Israel’s ‘development towns’. It will take a great deal of change to convince them to vote for left-wing parties, historically associated with the Ashkenazi domination and oppression of the 1950s and 60s. I believe that these deep social wounds at the time of Israel’s early years could be healed over time, and with a great deal of effort and willingness.
Happy 70th birthday Israel, may you go from strength to strength, and may you continue to be a beacon of light, hope and stability in the quick sands of the Middle East.
Rabbi Yuval Keren
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