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

Holocaust Memorial Day

As we do every year, my husband and I attended Barnet’s Holocaust Memorial Day annual event, held at the fabulous surroundings of the Quadrangle at Middlesex University in Hendon. 

Two of the strongest lessons that we brought away from this year's event, for which the theme was The Power of Words were: 

1. Words are powerful and can mend, raise awareness, show that we have the guts to stand up and be counted - as well as hurt and destroy. As can silence. Fascism didn't start with actions - it started with the words of the fascists, and the silence of the rest. This was a timely reminder to ALWAYS speak out. Even if we make one person think again, it is worth it. At the very least, we are speaking up on behalf of those who can’t or won’t. We are showing that WE are not complicit. 

2. There is no point calling the Nazis monsters. They were normal people doing monstrous things. If we forget that, we are in danger of thinking it can't happen again. This was the point of view put forward by one of the school girls who had been part of the organised trips to Auschwitz. Hope for the future lies with this fantastic programme and these young people who will keep the message going long after the last survivors have left us. 

On a final note, Jethro and I were again disappointed at how few people who were not of the war generation attend this memorial event. It lasts less than 90 minutes, it is moving and varied, we hear wonderful speeches and hear spine-chilling words and music. As we leave, small children hand out snowdrop bulbs to commemorate the thousands of children who died in the Holocaust – so that we can come home and plant them as an ongoing memory. 

Please think about going next year – you will not be sorry, and the many older people present will not have to feel that they are alone. 

Marilyn Rowland 

SPS Donation Thank You

We were thrilled to have received a donation from SPS of £1,182.50, Jewish Deaf Association’s share from this year’s High Holy Day Appeal. Thank you so much. 

JDA receives no government support and relies entirely on voluntary donations. You can be assured that every penny raised will go towards maintaining our life-enhancing services for people in the Jewish community and beyond – people with all kinds of hearing loss, from babies diagnosed at birth to people losing their hearing due to illness, accident or ageing, to multiply disadvantaged older Deaf and Deafblind people. For our oldest, most vulnerable clients, we take the place of family and are by their side through illness, bereavement and end-of-life care. 

JDA welcomes everyone with hearing loss into our friendly, Deaf-friendly community centre based in North Finchley, with technical help, personalised support and a range of stimulating activities to suit all ages and all levels of deafness. We also reach out into the community, helping older people living in care with hearing loss. 

Please pass on our sincere gratitude to the members of the congregation for their kind contributions. Each and every one of them has made a significant difference in the lives of vulnerable deaf people, many of whom depend on JDA completely – to get them out of the house, accessing the support they so desperately need, socialising with people who understand them, knowing we are there for them, our skill and dedication helping put zest and purpose back into their lives. Your generous donation has helped us keep doing what we do best. 

Many thanks again. 

Warm regards, Marilyn

FLORENCE by Marilyn Rowland

On a recent visit to Florence, Jethro and I spent a glorious afternoon visiting the famous synagogue in what still appears to be a small but thriving Jewish quarter.

In 1868 David Levi, President of the Hebrew University, bequeathed his possessions for the building of this new synagogue. On first approaching it you are struck by the sight of the huge oxidised dome and you can’t help noticing the similarity to a mosque.

This is because the Sephardis who built it based it on the Moorish style, with a dome flanked by towers. The interior of the synagogue is stunning and walking around is awe-inspiring. The ladies’ galleries are picked out by sun streaming through the beautiful stained glass windows. 

From September 1943, entire Jewish families were deported from Florence, including children and residents of the Jewish Home for the Aged. Almost all of them - over four hundred in number -perished in Auschwitz. The doors of the holy Ark still bear marks inflicted by Fascist bayonets. During the Nazi occupation the synagogue was used as a garage, and it was also mined by the retreating Germans. Outside there is a garden filled with exotic plants and a Sukkah was there too - a very peaceful and moving place. The names of the 248 Jews of Florence who were murdered by the Nazis are memorialised in the garden, where a smaller plaque lists Jews who died fighting for Italy during the First World War. 

The first floor museum is fascinating, with some sections illustrating the history of the Florentine Jews, including during World War Two, and also displaying some very impressive – and very old - religious and ceremonial objects from brit gowns to yads. Next door to the synagogue is a lively Kosher restaurant – we tried to eat there but it was bursting at the seams!

By Marilyn Rowland

Emeritus Rabbi Harry Jacobi's 92nd Birthday

92 years young! I felt very privileged to be invited to celebrate Rabbi Harry’s birthday with him together with some close friends at Finchley Progressive Synagogue. We were treated to a wonderful study session given by both rabbis Harry and Margaret about Berashit followed by a sumptuous lunch and birthday cake. May you remain in good health and celebrate many more Harry. 

Jane Greenfield 



In the year 2007 the Synagogue’s competent administrator Jeannine Cohen leB us and the feeling was she would be very hard to replace. After interviewing a number of candidates, Lynda Cowper as she was called in those days was far and away the best, and was given the job. In November this year Lynda Cannon, as she is now called, will have served the community for ten years. In that time she has proved to be every bit as good as Jeanine. Lynda is the friendly, capable, first port of call for members/people who contact the office. Over the years she has integrated well with the community and has served on the Fundraising committee, as well as being on the Kiddush rota. She also has the knack of being a whiz at finding cheaper deals from utility companies, and negotiating insurance policy renewals, saving the synagogue a considerable amount of money. Her only flaw is that she still supports the North London red football team; however we forgive her for that idiosyncrasy. On behalf of the community, I would like to thank Lynda for her hard work and commitment to SPS. Long may that association continue. 

Robert Dulin 

What's The Biggest Synagogue In The World?

Wikipedia would have it as the Belz Great Synagogue in Jerusalem, but for a short time on the Erev Shabbat of 18 August just passed, that certainly wasn’t the case. I know – I was there. 

And where was that? Ruth and I were on board the Royal Caribbean liner “Serenade of the Seas”, celebrating our silver wedding. These days, the Serenade ranks as a relatively modest vessel. Its 90,000 tonnes, twelve decks and space for 2,500 passengers comes well down the list of largest cruise vessels afloat. But for that Shabbat, it (or at least, as small part of it), did become the biggest shul in the world. 

We’d cruised before, and I remember the last time we were aboard I’d seen a line in the day’s cruise calendar saying that there would that evening be a self-led Erev Shabbat service. Wherever it was, I never found it. Perhaps it was in too remote a part of the boat, or there weren’t enough Jews on board to make a minyan. 

But I thought I’d try again this year when I saw the same line in this year’s cruise calendar. And after all, the entertainments team had been boasting of how many different nationalities they had on board. “And 63 Israelis…”, they had said, after going through the list of Yanks, Brits and other assorted Euros afloat. So it had to be worth a try. “I’ll see you in ten minutes” Ruth, ever sceptical, said to me as I set off. 

I found the venue easily enough, a separate area just off from one of the main dining rooms. And there were other people – about twenty. The ship had provided all of the necessaries. Two electric candles (definitely no naked flames at sea), some siddurs (definitely not ULPS), a cholla (definitely large enough to feed the whole ship) and two bottles of kosher wine (definitely not on their regular wine list). 

I thought, “well, we’ll do a few hamotzis and that will be it” – but no, we more or less did the whole service, supplemented at each break by our going around the room, saying who we were and where we were from. And as it happened, almost all of us were either from the States - or Southgate! Yes, there were indeed three families who had never met before, who lived within a 15-30 minute drive of each other and who had other mutual acquaintances. We all spent time comparing notes on schools, shuls and Rabbis. And two of the 63 Israelis - a couple from a kibbutz up near Kinneret - added to our diversity. 

And the funny thing was, I’d never seen any of the people anywhere on the ship before that moment. Perhaps that’s not surprising when there are 2,500 of you. But on the Saturday following, we kept on bumping in to each other at every turn! 

And the other funny thing is that amidst all of those nationalities (and presumably faiths) on board, I never saw publicity for any other similar gathering. No Jumu’ah, no Vedas, no Communion. Why was that? Is it just the Jews who choose to cruise? Or are we more keen than others to connect with fellow believers from around the world? Perhaps that’s something to do with there being fewer of us – we’re that much more keen to make those links. 

And so for that Erev Shabbat, the Serenade certainly was the biggest shul in the world – for me at least. It certainly made for a different and fun Shabbat and if we’re ever afloat again, I’ll look out for a repeat event. 

Julian Sampson