Part 2
Beis Yaakov, the burning torch that was transferred from
Poland to Eretz Yisroel, underwent unbearable hardships at
its outset. However, Rav Lieberman, the teachers, students
and their parents who believed in the path that had proven
itself in Europe, tenaciously continued. The mounting debts
left the first school in a dilapidated building. The teachers
received paltry salaries and there was no equipment. But in
spite of all this, "We didn't feel miserable or poor!"
veteran students testify.
A Constant Shortage
"Who cleans here?" wondered Rochele, when she found a piece
of paper under her desk.
"Shh!" her friend hushed her. The other girl fixed her with a
penetrating glance, waiting to hear the big secret. The word
was whispered quietly so that no one would hear.
"Really?" Rochele was surprised. The friend nodded her head,
warning her friend not to repeat what she'd just heard.
But secrets have a way of being discovered. Without money for
a custodian, the principal had to shoulder this burden as
well, and so changing light bulbs, buying supplies, and
maintenance joined the long list of duties that fell on his
shoulders. Even the school office that was moved to the
neighboring building, which had been rented from the offices
of the Toras Chaim Yeshivah, was far from looking like an
orderly office.
The desk, the only piece of furniture in the place, was the
gift of Rav Yerachmiel Wexler, one of the rich of Jerusalem
(later the son-in-law of Hagaon Rav Betzalel Zolty
zt'l). R' Yerachmiel supported Beis Yaakov and from
time to time even contributed generous sums for the lofty
purpose. Rav Hillel well remembered one of these donations,
the sum of ten pounds, which sufficed to pay the salary of a
teacher for five months! Because of a constant dearth of
cash, Rav Hillel didn't hire a porter to bring the desk to
the office on David Yellin Street but carried the heavy desk
himself through a number of streets to its destination. After
it was positioned in place, the room looked more like a real
office, but even carbon paper worthy of its name wasn't to be
found there. Therefore Rav Lieberman copied worksheets for
the girls and letters in numerous copies by hand.
Even the office typewriter that arrived a few months later
was the gift of a wealthy Jew by the name of Chernilevski, a
friend of Rav Hillel, who recognized the value of his special
project and donated the valuable machine.
Days of Hunger
The tuition that the girls paid was a pittance that didn't
cover the many expenses. In fact, with the opening of the
school, two types of payment were set according to the
financial situation of the family: The higher level was three
pounds a year, in other words thirty grush a month (300 mil),
while the lower payment was one pound a year, which was
divided into payments of 10 grush a month.
"Those who paid three pounds, usually paid in checks and
promissory notes," Rav Lieberman related, "but when I went to
the bank to cash them, it turned out that not all of them
were honored. Many checks were returned and we were charged
fees. And so, some of the families actually didn't pay
anything. On the other hand, families with hardly any means
who were asked to pay one pound a year paid as they were
asked."
In those difficult days, even a small coin could not be found
in the homes of most of the families and the low tuition was
also a distressing debt. In spite of this, no student was
ever sent home because of non-payment of tuition! Moreover,
in all the years of the school, none of the girls knew
themselves whom tuition was being paid for and for whom it
was not.
"We also care for girls whose parents are desperately poor,
bnei yeshivah and kollels and lately, refugee
girls," wrote Rav Lieberman in 5699. "It goes without saying
that we don't receive any tuition payment from most of the
parents and some pay tuition that adds up to pennies. And not
only that, but we also make efforts to help them out with
shoes and clothing."
In those fledgling years, Rav Hillel was wont to pass among
the classes, his eyes open to everything that transpired. He
well remembered everyone by name, asked after the welfare of
the parents and was remarkably up-to-date on the situation of
each girl even years after the girls had finished their
studies.
One day, he noticed that student R. hadn't brought anything
for her midmorning snack. (Students rarely ate breakfast at
home.) Because of the difficult economic situation in her
home, her parents preferred to save the bit of bread for
lunch. Also the next day, he noticed that the girl didn't
take out a sandwich from her bag. On the third day, when he
walked into the class, he offered the girl a sandwich, which
he had brought from home. From that day on, R. received a
sandwich, which the devoted principal took care to provide
her with.
"At home, they already knew that there was no need to prepare
food for school," R. testified, "and that my sister and I
would get sandwiches at school."
The shortage of one hot filling meal a day was well known
among the people in Israel. A survey of activities in 5704,
that was sent from the Beis Yaakov Center to Agudas Yisroel
in London, related that "in most of the existing Beis Yaakov
schools, `Hadassah kitchens' provide free or subsidized meals
to poor students. The number of those receiving the meals
made up about fifty percent in each one."
"In those days obtaining nourishment was difficult," the
teacher Leah Binkah relates. "and many children didn't
receive enough vitamins and nutritious food. At one point,
the school nurse, a Mrs. Orenstein, appeared each day in
class and would provide for each student a tablespoon of cod
liver oil and a candy which was meant to sweeten the terrible
taste."
A Narrow Passage
Soon there was a different sort of shortage — in
classes. The students were forced to learn in a second shift,
so that the graduates began learning as soon as the lower
classes finished. Starting classes in the early afternoon
seemed strange. The morning was the time for learning in
every school around the world and the turnaround confused the
children's normal day. But having no choice, the girls got
used to leaving the house when the sun was high in the sky
and returning home in the evening when darkness had already
crept over the streets.
During the afternoon shift, there wasn't as much recess
because everyone wanted to end early and return home quickly.
During the Second World War, a blackout was often announced.
Then the streets were much darker in the evening and the
black shadows chased the girls home. In the late evening
hours, the students did their homework and studied for tests
by the light of a single light bulb that spread a weak light
in the best of circumstances or by the light of a kerosene
lantern, which, in those days, lit many a home.
With the expansion of the school, more and more classes were
added to the second shift. Eight years after Beis Yaakov was
founded, all the girls from fifth grade on learned in the
afternoons.
Crowding Together with Expansion
Notebooks were a valuable commodity. The teachers made sure
that the previous notebook was used to full advantage before
they allowed a new one to be begun. The pencil was the
writing utensil of choice in the first years of the school
and the graduates were given permission to write with ink and
an inkwell, a task that required skill and much care. The
fountain pen was a special invention that made writing easier
but a number of years passed until the inkwell was completely
replaced.
There was a small choice of crayons for pencil cases but the
girls made do with them, lovingly decorating their
notebooks.
During the cold winter days, when the cold permeated the
small classes, learning was halted for a few minutes and the
girls warmed themselves up with calisthenics.
The girls provided themselves with an active social life.
They didn't expect anyone to organize or provide activities
or entertainment for them but initiated them themselves.
Thus, talented dramatizations were put together with literary
language; humorous newspapers were printed and the shared
experiences fused the girls into a united group.
*
The two-room apartment that was rented three years previously
was already too narrow to accommodate all the girls who
knocked at the gates of Beis Yaakov. Soon, the entire floor
was rented. The two apartments, which were joined, put four
large rooms and two smaller hallways, which served as a class
and teacher's room, at the disposal of the school.
A large copper bell rang rhythmically. A few seconds later,
the silent schoolyard was filled with active exuberance. In
the absence of a proper teachers' room, the teachers sat on
both sides of the low stone fence, warming themselves in the
winter sun, exchanging registers. They preferred sitting
there, in the improvised teachers' room and not in the
entrance between the classrooms that was allocated to
them.
The girls who attended the growing school were never rejected
because of lack of space. It's true that the classrooms were
tiny, but it was always possible to squeeze in a bit and let
another girl in. The desks ordered for the school were built
according to special measurements — the width of each
desk was half of the standard width. Thereby it was possible
to let more girls into the narrow space.
"There were three girls for every desk," recalls Mrs. Dina
Shapira who, in the year 5696, began learning in second
grade, "whereas the teacher didn't have her own desk! My
teacher, Mrs. Elbaum, used to put her books down on the desk
of the student in the first row, both maneuvering around and
sharing the small space."
The following years saw no improvement in the situation. The
demand to study at the school increased while the classrooms
remained as they were. "In a certain year, we learned from
eight until twelve in the first shift, from twelve to four in
the second shift and from four to eight in the evening in the
third shift! All because of a lack of space," recounts F., a
veteran student and teacher.
"It was the first years of the establishment of the State,
when in the first grade over a hundred girls learned in
parallel classes. I taught 52 girls and the teacher of the
other class, Mrs. Rachel Rozmarin, taught 53. Of course we
had the biggest rooms in the building on David Yellin Street
but even they weren't big enough and four girls crowded
around each desk!"
Being excused in the middle of a class was a complicated
logistical feat, as there was no aisle between the desks. For
a long time, the eighth grade learned in a long narrow back
room, which was really a storage room with no window, with
two girls left on the threshold.
"The changing of shifts was a sight to see and had a bit of a
life-threatening element," Rav Hillel remarked. "Dozens of
girls went out into the hall, which in winter was full of
coats, and opposite them, the girls were coming in. It was
equally crowded for hand washing, and the teachers did what
they could to ensure that order was kept."
[to be continued]
