I was fifteen when I first heard of Gateshead Seminary. I had
recently lost my father, and our family was preparing to
move. During this time of confusion, grief and transition, a
relative who resided in Gateshead wrote that we might be
interested in a new institution, which had been founded in
his town — a seminary for girls.
We were amazed. Never before had we heard of a Talmudic
Yeshiva for girls, which was what we mistakenly thought it
was. Even boys' Torah education was still "at sixes and
sevens" in the post WWII flurry. The world was busy picking
up the pieces and attempting to put itself together again. It
seemed strangely apt that our family was striving to
accomplish precisely the same thing after our own personal
tragedy.
I was immediately entranced by the idea of a higher Torah
education. Against all odds, my father had succeeded in
implanting in me a love for Jewish learning while I was
growing up in a town that could boast of few Shomer
Shabbos families, and even fewer with hair-covering
ideals.
Enthusiastically, I set about making inquiries. Would I be
eligible for admittance to this new school of learning? Much
to my disappointment, I discovered that not only was I too
young but perhaps of greater import, there was no way we
could afford the tuition.
The matter was soon forgotten, however, in the travails of
moving and settling in my new surroundings. Three years were
to pass before it would resurface, this time in the strangest
of circumstances.
In the last year of high school, in common with all my peers,
I applied for a university entrance scholarship. After a
seemingly interminable waiting period, I was summoned for an
interview at my college of choice, Kensington College for
women, London University , and soon after that I was informed
that I had been granted a scholarship.
For a week I walked on air, and together with my family made
endless plans. Then suddenly I came down to earth with a
bang. What was I going to use for money? True, the Stanfield
Education Committee was offering a scholarship grant of a few
pounds a week; which would just about cover tuition and
dormitory fees. But I had to eat kosher — a
dormitory was unthinkable for a frum girl.
What now? I discussed the situation with my non-Jewish class
teacher. Could I explain my predicament to the education
committee? Would they consider augmenting my grant for
religious reasons? Hardly likely, but what could I lose by
asking? After all, England was supposed to be a tolerant
country. They were proud of that! True, it was rather
unreasonable to expect that their religious tolerance would
stretch to the point of their being willing to fork out more
money. But I had to try. It was my only option.
I wrote them a letter explaining the situation and waited
patiently for a reply. Two weeks passed without any news. I
began to give up hope.
Then one day I did receive a letter, but not from them. It
was addressed in a hand I did not recognize, on an expensive
embossed envelope. I opened it eagerly. A certain member of
the Jewish community named Councilor Singer was requesting me
to come to his home to discuss something with him. I was
completely mystified. Whatever could this important personage
want to talk to me about?
The following Sunday morning, duly spruced and scrubbed, I
presented myself at Councilor Singer's home. His wife showed
me into a cheerful morning room and settled me in a
comfortable armchair.
Presently a middle-aged man entered and greeted me
pleasantly: Councilor Singer himself.
"Good morning," he commenced. "I know you are wondering what
this is all about. Did you know that I am a member of
Stanfield Education committee?"
"No," I replied, tensing. Suddenly all was clear. He was
going to rebuke me for my chutzpa in writing that
letter! I looked at the ground but Councilor Singer was
continuing.
"You said some interesting things in that letter you wrote
us. What's all this about not being able to eat in the
college dining facilities? I am Jewish too, you know, and I
am aware that observant Jews don't eat the same meat or
something. But I have never before heard that you can't eat
in the same place. Couldn't you just refrain from eating
pork?"
"No," I explained. "It's not just pork. It's all meat, and
it's not just meat but nearly every item of food has to be
kosher. As a matter of fact it's not only food but
even the dishes have to be kosher too."
"Well, well." Councilor Singer seemed quite overwhelmed. "But
how do you know all that?"
"Because I am from a religious family," I replied simply,
"and my parents taught me that this is what our Torah
teaches." And for good measure I added, "That's what G-d
wants us to do."
"I see," he said thoughtfully, and I think he really was
convinced by my sincerity. I wondered if he would be able to
convince the other members of the education committee. We
talked a little more of my family, the loss of my father, our
move from Belfast, and my mother's financial situation.
Finally Councilor Singer announced, "O.K. Business. Look, I
think I am in a position to help you. I am pretty sure the
committee will go along with my recommendations; and you have
convinced me that you really are sincere. I could recommend
you for a higher grant due to these exceptional
circumstances."
My spirits rose. I felt my mouth turning up in a smile of
delighted gratitude. But it was his next words which were to
turn my world topsy-turvy, and prove Who was really running
the universe.
"However," he continued, "I feel this is an enormous
responsibility. I have a daughter your age. Before helping
her along in any direction, I would want to be sure that that
is what she realIy wants. Unfortunately you don't have a
father to do that for you. If I recommend you, I will be
taking the responsibility of propelling you in that
direction. Now I am ready to do that, but on one condition;
namely that you are sure and certain that that is what you
want, and nothing else. So tell me Leah, are you a hundred
percent certain that you wish to study classical languages in
University?"
Looking back, I find that an extraordinary question. After
all, if I wasn't sure, what was I doing there, writing
preposterous letters to that august educational body, and
bothering this kind, caring gentleman? Perhaps it was meant
as a solely rhetorical question. If so, Councilor Singer was
in for a surprise; for my response was even more sensational
than his query. In fact it amazed even me.
"Well, I'm sure I want to teach," I heard myself say, "but
there is something I would like to teach even more than Latin
and Greek."
"What's that?"
"It's teaching Jewish subjects — Torah subjects."
"Oh — then why don't you?"
"The same old bugbear — no money." I explained how
Gateshead Seminary was a private institution, with no public
funding.
"It's rather like a Talmudic Yeshiva except that it's for
girls," was the closest, though rather erroneous, description
I could manage. I fear that he gained from my portrayal a
rather hazy concept of what a seminary actually is, as indeed
I had myself at that time. We must not forget that this whole
concept of a higher Jewish education for girls was a
completely novel idea in England of the forties, the
brainchild of Mr. Kohn, of blessed memory, its founder and
Principal.
Councilor Singer listened carefully to my explanation. A few
moments of silence elapsed. "You know," he brought out
slowly, "I've heard over and over again that the Jewish
communities need good teachers to educate the youth. If the
gentiles are prepared to allocate you a grant in order to
study their culture, why should the Jews not do the same to
enable you to teach Jewish subjects?"
"But under whose auspices?" I was perplexed. For a moment I
wondered if my would-be benefactor was as naive as myself,
but I soon perceived my error.
Councilor Singer was smiling knowingly. "I have a good idea.
It so happens that I saw a notice posted at the Jewish Center
announcing a meeting of the Jewish Education Committee for
this very afternoon. You know — the committee in charge
of Stanfield Talmud Torah. I'm not a member, myself, but no
matter. I propose to go there today, present your story to
them, and ask if they would finance your education at this
seminary you wish to attend!"
I was absolutely flabbergasted. Events were rapidly pursuing
a course I had not dreamed of. "But I never studied at
Stanfield Talmud Torah," I reminded him. "I had already
graduated when we moved here."
"So what? You live here now. Besides, you could always offer
to teach for them when you qualify," he added shrewdly.
Nothing more could surprise me in this strange "wonderland"
that Stanfield had suddenly become. Councilor Singer attended
the meeting as promised. The Jewish Education Committee did
agree to his peculiar proposition — namely that they
should finance the education of a girl whom they did not
know, who had not been educated in their Talmud Torah, at a
seminary they had never heard of, at the request of a
gentleman who was not even a member of their committee!
From a natural point of view, we might say that this amazing
decision was wrought in large part due to the influence of
the President of the Committee, a certain Mr. Anshel Klein,
who bore the proud distinction of being one of the few
Shomer Shabbos members. To any believing Jew, however,
the hand of Hashem was strikingly clear.
What impelled Councilor Singer to ask me if I really wanted
to attend university? Why did I reply as I did? Was it
because subconsciously I had never given up hope of a
seminary education all the intervening years? I prefer to
believe that my father of blessed memory was pleading with
Hashem to place these words in our mouths, so that I should
not waste years of my life studying the culture of Yavan and
Edom, our arch enemies, instead of our own Holy Torah.
Thus it came about that exactly one week after my interview
with Councilor Singer, I found myself in Gateshead Seminary.
This was miracle number one.
But it's not quite the end. Miracle number two was perhaps
even more remarkable. Mr. Kohn, our Principal, had written
that it would be better if I did not wait for the
commencement of the new term in September. He would like me
to get the "feel" of the place by coming right away for the
Yomtov of Shavuos; so that when the new term began I would
already be "heimish."
That was why I was already there so soon after my interview
with Councilor Singer. As events turned out, if it were not
for this early arrival, I would never have arrived at all. My
whole life would have been different.
The very next Sunday following that crucial meeting, there
was another meeting of the Stanfield Jewish Education
Committee; this time to elect new officers. Sad to relate,
Mr. Anshel Kline was not re-elected. The new president, a man
who was completely irreligious, saw no reason to honor the
prior decision of the previous officers to send an unknown
girl to what he labeled "that meshuge frum place" and
they wrote me to come home.
I shall never forget my anguish on the day I received their
letter, which soon became sodden with my tears; as I
succumbed to feelings of utter despair. In the one week I had
been there I had grown to love the seminary, the teachers, my
classmates and of course the wonderful Torah lessons, with
all my being. I was more convinced than ever that this was
where I belonged and this is what I wanted to do with my
life. And now it appeared that I was losing this marvelous
new world, so soon after I had acquired it.
But I was reckoning without the outstanding kindliness of our
Principal, Mr. Kohn, of blessed memory, to whom I shall be
eternally grateful.
"What nonsense!" he said, on learning of my predicament. "Now
we know you, we want you to stay. We don't want to lose you
any more than you want to go. Do not worry at all about
tuition. That's our problem. We want you to stay for the full
three years."
Our sages relate that when the time for the yeshua
comes, Hashem does not delay it even a moment. That's how it
was when Yosef was hurried out of prison, and rushed before
Pharoh, and that's how it will be when Moshiach comes. And
that's how it was when I came to Gateshead.
