Celebrate the 2nd Night Passover Seder with Rabbi Farbman and your extended Temple Emanuel Family!
Members & Non-Members Welcome!
Early bird price of $42.50 until March 13th, $54 after.
Please register by March 20 – we will not be able to accept any reservations after that date!
Did you know it has been ten years since the TE house came down?
Six months have passed and I still think one of the best things about being TE’s President is chatting with members of our community. One thing that always makes me smile is how folks identify their relationship with TE based on the different buildings they were in. We have members who attended events “in the barn”, others who “spent a lot of time in the house.” For anyone who joined more than a decade ago, myself included, we brought our kids to Asepha in the house, we had meetings in the house and we remember the distinction between the house and the sanctuary.
For newer members who joined in the past ten years, TE looks today mostly how it was when you joined – minus the two new classrooms near the kitchen. Some might not even know what “the barn” or “the house” means. If that’s the case, be sure to ask around and you will hear some great stories of TE’s history.
Summer 2015 was when TE moved into the expanded main building and February 2016 was when the house came down. These were momentous events in TE’s history and we feel the impact of them every time we enter TE.
By having our school in the house and our services in the sanctuary, many in our community felt that there was a big divide, a “moat” as many called it, between our young families and the older members of our community. Our lay leaders kicked off an important project to unite TE called the One Campus Project. The goal was to bring all of TE together under one roof, so our community could learn, pray, meet, eat and interact all within one space.
I love the vision and energy that went into this project and I am grateful for those who invested so much time and resources into creating our one, united, TE building.
One thing I’m focusing on this year is to make sure that all our members feel connected to all that TE has to offer, including our amazing school and services. I want our established members to connect with our younger families and share their TE stories. If you haven’t experienced a Sunday morning Asepha in a while, I highly recommend you attend- the room is packed and the energy is perfect. I want people showing up, signing up and helping out. We all make TE the special place it is today. Lately, there have been many events that bring us all together, like the Dreyfus lecture that Ed organized with the Adult Ed committee, the Havdalah event in November put on by our religious school parents and teachers, and Chanukkah Shabbat organized by Holli, Jill and Ann.
My hope for 2026 is that we continue to appreciate the beauty of our community and come together within our TE home. Happy 10th birthday to our One Campus and united community.
One of the most visible and meaningful ritual garments in Jewish life is the tallit, the prayer shawl that many of us wrap around our shoulders during worship. At first glance, it is a simple object – fabric, fringes, sometimes stripes of blue or silver – but in truth, the tallit carries centuries of memory, identity, and intention.
The Torah instructs us in the Book of Numbers: “You shall make for yourselves fringes (tzitzit) on the corners of your garments… and you shall look upon them and remember all the mitzvot of Adonai and do them.” The tallit, with its four-cornered shape and fringed edges, is our way of literally clothing ourselves in mitzvot. When we wrap in a tallit, we symbolically surround ourselves with sacred purpose before we begin to pray.
Traditionally, the tallit is worn during morning services (Shacharit), and service leader always wears a tallit as a sign of communal responsibility. Out of reverence, a tallit is never taken into the bathroom (our tradition is spiritually grounded, but also very practical!). At TE, there is also the custom to invite anyone who comes up to the bimah for the Torah service – whether for an aliyah, lifting or dressing the Torah, or another honor – to wear a tallit, marking that moment as especially sacred. And while both tallit and kippah are always welcome at TE as meaningful ritual expressions, they are never demanded.
B’nai mitzvah students often receive their own tallit as a visible sign of entering Jewish adulthood. Wrapped in a tallit for the first time as they are called to the Torah, they step into the privileges and responsibilities of a Jewish adult – including being counted in the minyan and standing as full participants in communal prayer. It is a powerful moment when tradition, community, and personal growth are woven together in a single garment.
Over generations, the tallit has evolved in both design and meaning. Traditionally worn by men, today in many Reform communities – including our own – people of all genders choose to wear a tallit as an expression of spiritual readiness and personal connection. Some tallitot are family heirlooms passed down through generations; others are chosen at moments of transition – b’nai mitzvah, confirmation, conversion, or weddings. Each tallit tells a story. The multi-colored tallit that I wear throughout the year was an Ordination gift from Rabbi Winer, a garment filled with so much meaning and personal connection…
The tallit also reflects our communal values of inclusion, intention, and shared sacred space. Some prefer a classic white wool shawl with dark stripes; others wear vibrant silks, handwoven fabric, or garments created in Israeli or local artisan studios. Together, this tapestry of tallitot mirrors the diversity of our congregation itself – many paths, one community. Some of us wear a tallit every time we pray; others bring it out only on special Shabbatot or holidays. Some have one tallit for life; others mark different chapters with different shawls. There is no single “right” way – only the invitation to let the tallit become a personal gateway into prayer.
As we gather each month, wrapped in these sacred garments, we are reminded that prayer is not only something we say, but something we step into. The tallit becomes our bridge between the ordinary and the holy, between the weekday self and the soul that reaches upward. May the tallit continue to wrap each of us – and our entire Temple Emanuel community – in warmth, memory, and blessing.
by Lindsey Sussman, Rabbi Michael Farbman, Olga Markus, Jeffrey Levick and Melissa Perkal
Lindsey: l’dor va’dor
My first core memory at TE was the Rosh Hashana service I attended shortly after we joined, over a decade ago. I had never been to a high holiday service and I went with a friend and her parents. My friend grew up at a conservative temple in Massachusetts and was also a new member and young mom at TE. I was sitting in a row with them and felt uncomfortable at such a big service and knowing so little. There was clearly a known orchestration to the day. As I sat there, I was in awe of how everyone knew the words, knew the order and joined in at the right times. What struck me at that moment was that generations of family members attended services just like this one, over decades and centuries, and recited the same words. Parents taught their children, who taught their children. I was jealous and impressed. I knew I wanted to be part of this tradition, to have the comfort and connection of this history and know it will live on beyond me. As my oldest daughter has shared with us, her favorite hebrew phrase is l’dor va’dor, from generation to generation and I understand why.
A decade or so later, I was struck with another powerful moment when a few of us had the honor, on behalf of the TE community, to deliver the gift of a Torah scroll to a new community in Valencia, Spain. Seven of us attended a Friday night service with members of Shir Jadash Comunidad. We entered an unmarked building on an industrial street. No signs or markings on the door. Inside was a large, modest space with a handful of folding chairs. Within an hour, there were at least 50 of us. Families from throughout the region, some who drove nearly an hour to attend, seniors, children, and even two families from Washington, D.C. who were in the area and heard about the congregation. While most of us didn’t speak the same language, we quickly fell into a shared experience. The service was done in a mix of Spanish, English and Hebrew. While our melodies were a little different, we were all having the same experience and knew the same words, the same flow. When Rabbi Farbman led us in Lecha Dodi on a borrowed guitar, the energy in the room expanded so quickly. You could feel it. Children were clapping along, voices were getting louder. It was amazing. The service continued with beautiful energy. Children were noisy on the floor in the corner, engaged but playing. Then after the service concluded, the congregants set up a dinner for us. Everyone helped bring out food, take care of one another. After dinner, without discussion, clean up happened, again as a group activity. Jim is sweeping the floor with one of the local congregants, Scott is folding tables, Melissa is clearing food. Our TE group was seamlessly meshed with their community, not just for the service but for the small details that make a community work.
From that unmarked building, I could close my eyes and would think I was at TE. The songs, the words, the children, the energy. This congregation is like TE at its start, and in many ways still how we operate. We function only because of the community, those who donate their time and resources to make TE run. We have a lovely building and a strong and diverse community but at its heart we are still the same. It’s the person who picks up the broom, bakes the challah, has an aliyah, speaks up, shows up, that makes our community so strong. Valencia reminded me of that, but with the added joy and curiosity of a child, still feeling things out.
Rabbi Farbman: Torah as a living document…
In the midst of the celebration, a few of us were pulled aside by a member of the community who is a local journalist, for a few moments of reflection. The language barrier made it a little difficult to communicate, but we managed nonetheless!
They asked me to talk about this moment, about bringing the Torah. I shared briefly the journey, and the challenges – making it through security at JFK with the Torah required three levels of authorization, but we succeeded. Being allowed to bring the scroll onto the plane was not an easy feat, but with a little perseverance, the willingness of Iberia staff to listen to my explanations, the letters we prepared in advance and, perhaps most importantly, the articles in Spanish press published ahead of time, I was ushered onto the plane and shown to the overhead compartment in first class, where the Torah safely traveled (while we were at the back of the plane in our seats:).
I also acknowledged that of course, the most economical way of delivering the Torah to Valencia would have been to pack it carefully and to ship it with a courier. But the most economical is not always the most appropriate or the most meaningful! Navigating all the challenges along the way, and bringing the Torah by hand was not easy – but I cannot think of a more fitting way to bring the Torah from one community to another.
As I sat in the small, hot room, I proceeded to tell them that a community needs people – without people wanting to be together and spend time together, you don’t have a community. The community can exist without the building – even though having a place to call home is very, very helpful. The community can exist without the rabbi – even though having the rabbi teach and lead the community can help transform it in great many ways.
Rabbi Alona Lisitsa is helping Shir Jadash from afar, as she is only able to travel to Valencia a few times a year, but her knowledge, her teaching, and her support enable this nascent community to flourish and continue to grow. The community can exist without the formal prayerbook – TE had famously compiled many a loose-leaf prayerbook in its early days, leading to publication of our beloved ‘blue’ Seder T’filot Emanuel, long before we adopted Mishkan T’filah prayerbook of our movement. These days, one can even project the words of the prayers onto a screen or a wall, with visual t’filah! The presence of the well-laid-out prayerbook that contains transliteration for those who are only learning their way around the service is super helpful, even if it is just a printout, but a beautiful prayerbook does not make a community.
All of these elements are important, and as I said – none of them are enough if you don’t have people who want to come together, spend time together, pray and eat together and make a living community.
You can even make do without a Torah scroll – you can study from the book, and in the absence of a Torah scroll you can even read the weekly portion from a book – although customarily people are not called up for an aliya in those circumstances. But when you enter the Torah scroll into a small rented room, and place it into the hands of a community who are thirsting for its presence, you see the instant transformation, and it is beautiful.
I was honored to stand there, to witness the tears, to add my own tears to those of others in the room, as we celebrated this powerful moment in time. It was a true blessing to get to experience this moment of joy and community.
Jeffrey Lelvick: Community
In the beginning of this year, I noticed a short blurb in this publication that mentioned that TE was donating one of our Torah scrolls to a new Reform community in Valencia, Spain, and that a small delegation of congregants were planning on taking the journey to Spain to hand off the scroll in person. As a filmmaker, I recognized a compelling story and knew immediately I wanted to document it. It had all the makings of a great narrative: a nearly 100-year-old Torah from Poland, that had already lived a long life here in the U.S., was being donated to a community in a country where Jews were expelled over 500 years ago.
As I began filming and editing some initial footage, I was surprised to find myself welling up and crying at various points of the process. I was overwhelmed with emotion watching the scribe restore the scroll. As I recorded the Shavuot service where Rabbi Farbman read the Ten Commandments from the outbound Torah, I couldn’t take my eyes and camera off the flickering candles and the smiling faces of our fellow congregants who warmly followed along, nodding and singing during this intimate service. A few months later we did it all again, but this time in the company of our new friends and fellow Jewish travellers–the members of Shir Jadash in Valencia.
A sun-scorched Valencia was awaiting us when we arrived with the Torah in early July. And while the sparkling Mediterranean Sea and waving palm trees indicated that our humble home in Orange was far away, the community and warmth of the members of Shir Jadash felt incredibly familiar. Its members welcomed us into their small space with smiles and open arms, as if we had known each other for years. It was as if somebody started playing a vinyl record in Connecticut, lifted the stylus, and it put it back down in Spain. The language barrier was real, however, when Rabbi Farbman began strumming and singing Lecha Dodi, if there was any space between our communities, it quickly evaporated, and in that moment, we were one community, sharing our customs and hymns as they have been passed on through generations. As the president of Shir Jadash tightly held the donated Torah under the chuppah the group had created with a tallit, tears streamed down his cheek. From behind the camera, I too, choked up witnessing such beauty derived from such a natural act of providing this community an essential part of our tradition.
At various moments, I found myself wandering away from my camera to sing along and pray with the group, as if I were being pulled in by an unseen force. I’ve come to understand that force as the need for any of us–all of us–to be part of a community. I instinctively felt like I was part of the small community there and part of a much larger Jewish community during my few days in Valencia. As I spoke with the local members, who came from diverse backgrounds–from Catholics who became Jews by choice to others who had been unknowingly practicing Jewish rituals as children, I realized that they had found a community that spoke to them, that fulfilled the need to be together, to share meals, and to sustain themselves. The neshama of their community is deeply Jewish, and I’m not sure if that’s because of its diversity or in spite of it.
As I dig deeper into my footage to revisit and log what I captured, I’m struck by how much I shot of the Torah itself. From the scroll being placed in the overhead bin on the plane to being gently placed into the arc of Shir Jadash for the first time, it is clear to me that this sacred object is not one to be placed on a shelf and admired, and that perhaps the sacredness is not necessarily only from the words scribed on its parchment, but stems from the community it creates when it is unrolled and read in together in a shared space.
Olga: Pride and Joy
Pride and Joy—these are the two most powerful emotions that continue to resonate with me following our recent journey to Valencia, Spain, where we had the profound honor of accompanying a Torah scroll to its new spiritual home, on behalf of the Temple Emanuel community. As I stood before the congregation of Shir Jadash Comunidad, presenting the gifts from our Religious School—talitot and a Torah yad purchased with Tzedakah contributions from our students, families, and faculty—I was filled with an indescribable sense of pride and deep, abiding joy. What a blessing it was to take part in such a sacred mitzvah.
The weekend was marked not only by ceremony, but by a heartfelt human connection. There were tears of gratitude, hugs of friendship, and bursts of laughter that echoed across language barriers. We embraced one another not as strangers, but as a long-lost family. The shared joy, the emotional resonance of the Torah’s arrival, and the warmth of genuine hospitality created moments I will never forget.
Following Shabbat lunch, a member of Shir Jadash asked me, “How does it feel to leave your Torah scroll behind?” I paused for only a moment before responding without hesitation. I replied, “It doesn’t feel like leaving it behind at all. On the contrary—I am filled with deep gratitude and immense pride, knowing we have delivered the Torah into the welcoming arms of its new, loving, and gracious home.”
Shir Jadash Comunidad, in so many ways, mirrors our own beloved Temple Emanuel. It is a warm, sincere, DIY-spirited congregation, full of individuals who open their hearts to newcomers. Despite our different native tongues, we felt entirely at home. The bonds we formed over just a few days were real and moving.
I believe this journey marks not an ending, but a beautiful beginning—a first step toward a long-lasting relationship between our two communities. There is something indescribably powerful about standing together with fellow Jews across the world, realizing that regardless of distance, language, or tradition, we are all united as part of K’lal Israel—the sacred and enduring global Jewish family.
As for me, I will carry this unforgettable experience in my heart, and do my best to share its spirit and meaning with all of you. Am Yisrael Chai—the People of Israel live!
Melissa Perkal: Joy
For me, my love of being Jewish is the joy. The joy of community, the joy of song, the joy of meals shared, the joy of prayer, the joy of being able to give back to those who need it, the joy of learning, the joy of shared experiences. Sometimes, that joy seems to go underground and become dulled by unthinking repetition. The trip to Valencia and Shir Jadash Comunidad was a return to joy. It was a profoundly joyful and rejuvenating experience. So many of the trip’s details have been shared by my fellow travelers, so I won’t repeat them here. I think my newest task is to help re-ignite the joy here at home. It’s made even more exciting by finding a community in Spain that reflects that joy back to us and is ready for us to return to them at any moment.
by Peter Stolzman
For most Jews, the Torah elicits a variety of feelings and meanings. The scrolls we use in our worship services teach us the lessons and history of the Hebrew people. Some think of the Torah as the divine word of G-d, others feel it is a chronological history of the beginnings of a people.
When the ark is opened and the Torah scrolls are revealed we can look in awe. It awakens a spiritual longing in many as well as a deep connection with who we are and what we are called upon to do. However, we relate to the text it is a symbol, perhaps the primary one, of our identity.
Temple Emanuel is currently home to five Torahs. Some we know a piece of their history and some we are less knowledgeable about. The following is a brief history of our Torah scrolls.
When Temple Emanuel first came together as a community in 1962, we did not have a Torah of our own. Instead, our student rabbi, Robert Goodman, would use a borrowed scroll when needed. In 1967, using our first Torah he performed a triple bar mitzvah for Andrew Levine, Jeff Lipson and Danny Salzman at the JCC in New Haven. TE had just acquired its first Torah, the Holocaust Torah.
Written in 1880, the Holocaust Torah was used in Horazdovice, Czechoslovakia. During WW2 it was “collected” along with other articles of Jewish life, by the Nazis. The scroll’s congregation was exterminated. After the war, this Torah and approximately 1500 others were found and transported to Westminster Synagogue in London, United Kingdom. The synagogue had the room to store them and set about the task of having them restored and repaired. Once in good condition, they were given on permanent loan, to newly established congregations around the world. TE’s Lois and Paul Levine traveled to London to get ours. In 1967 we received #1178, our first scroll.
On a visit to Westminster, I was told that the restoration had been very slow and was expensive, as only trained scribes could do the work. However, in 1965 an itinerant scribe, David Brand, knocked on the door and asked if they might have any work? Twenty years later and after 770 Torahs, he had repaired all he could.
In 2007 this Torah was retired as it needed repairs. It was placed in a display case in the TE lobby until the congregation was able to restore it and return it to active service. It was returned to the Ark in 2020. Every family that wished was invited to work with the scribe and restore a letter, thus fulfilling the commandment to write a Torah. It was a wonderful experience. This Torah is easily recognized as the tallest and lightest in our ark. It is written in Beit Yosef font and is unglazed, making it lighter than a glazed scroll.
In addition to the Holocaust Torah, Temple Emanuel acquired two Torahs in 1979 from Beth Israel in Derby, and in 1981 from Temple Rodeph Shalom of Ellenville, NY. The Ellenville scroll is a small, in height, Torah. It is glazed so it is heavy and is approximately 100 years old. It is originally from Romania and is currently in our ark along with the Holocaust Torah and a medium sized Torah, on permanent loan from the Jewish Home for the Aged by way of the Jewish Federation. We received this Torah in 2021.
The Torah scroll from Beth Israel in Derby was originally from Germany and is about 100 years old. It is said to have “beautiful writing” and is housed in a separate portable ark.
The other gift from Beth Israel, is a Polish Torah, approx. 100 years old. After having a scribe repair our Polish Torah, previously in the Rabbi’s office, Rabbi Farbman and a small group from Temple Emanuel escorted the Torah to its new home, Congregation Shir Jadash in Valencia, Spain. Our congregation was proud and pleased to provide this first Torah to a newly formed congregation. The Rabbi was able to conduct a Torah service in its new location on 7/5/25. May it have a long and flourishing life..
Our final Torah is displayed in TE’s lobby. This Torah is also on loan from the Jewish Home for the Aged through the Jewish Federation. We received it around 2020. It is not kosher as it is not in perfect condition and is unrepairable. While we cannot use it for services it is a welcome reminder of who we are when we enter the Temple. It also provides an up-close view of the text and how a Torah is written.
You can learn more about the making of a Torah scroll here.
Some information in this article was gathered from Congregation Beth El’s (Berkeley, CA) website and Temple Emanuel archives and interviews with past and present congregants.
Temple Emanuel houses in our Ark the Holocaust Memorial Scroll #1178, a scroll that belonged to the destroyed Jewish community of Horazdovice, Czechoslovakia, a community that perished in the flames of the Holocaust. This scroll is one of several hundred Czech Torah scrolls that survived the Holocaust, eventually coming to the Westminster Synagogue in London, and from there distributed to Jewish communities around the world. A young Temple Emanuel of Greater New Haven was fortunate to receive the Horazdovice Torah back in 1967.
The Horazdovice Torah at Temple Emanuel
This scroll was part of every Bar and Bat Mitzvah at Temple Emanuel from 1967 – 2007. A deeply meaningful Torah, this Holocaust scroll brought our community into the direct line of European Jews who were murdered by the Nazis and could not themselves perpetuate the Jewish people. As we read from and touched this sacred scroll, we carried out the laws and commandments of our faith, and we remembered and honored the Jews of Horazdovice whose voices were stilled. In 2007, the scroll was retired from service because it was damaged, fragile and deemed non-kosher. We placed the scroll in a case visible to all as we entered the synagogue, to preserve its meaning and connection to our history.
The Restoration of the Horazdovice Torah
In 2019, a Torah scribe inspected our Torah scrolls, those in the Arc and also the Holocaust scroll in its display case. The scribe found that 2 of our scrolls in the ark required some repairs to remain kosher. To our great surprise and delight, he found that the Horazdovice Torah scroll could be repaired and once again be made kosher! Many TE members were excited that this wonderful and important scroll might again be made kosher, and be returned to our ark. TE students researched and presented information about the Horazdovice Torah and its history. Temple Emanuel members rallied support and contributed funds to not only restore and rededicate this scroll but also to repair the other TE Torah scrolls and establish a small fund to support the continued maintenance of our Torah scrolls, and mounted a successful campaign to raise the funds needed to restore and rededicate this important Torah scroll. Each TE family had the opportunity to write a letter in the Torah scroll with the scribe, a meaningful fulfillment of the mitzvah. The now-kosher scroll was re-dedicated and returned to the ark. This scroll, connecting us to the hundreds of years of Jewish life from the lost community of Horazdovice, brings Jewish practice and tradition to new generations of Jews at Temple Emanuel. This rededicated kosher scroll now is once again being used at Temple Emanuel for Bar and Bat Mitzvahs, and for special Torah services.
The Story of our Holocaust Torah Scroll
Our Holocaust Torah was first endangered when the Munich Agreement was signed on 29 September 1938. Britain and France agreed to Hitler’s demand to be given the German-speaking border regions of Czechoslovakia, and the Germans marched in. The Jews from about sixty congregations in the prosperous industrial and commercial towns in the Sudetenland had 2 or 3 days to flee to the interior, which was still a free and sovereign country. They left behind their synagogues, which were in German hands in time for the destruction of the Pogrom of November 1938, when synagogues across the expanded Germany, which now included the Sudetenland, were burned or vandalized and looted. In almost every case the ritual treasures of these Sudetenland synagogues were destroyed or lost.
In the remainder of Czechoslovakia, which included Prague, the synagogues and their swollen congregations were safe for the time being, and there was no program of destruction, even when the Germans invaded the rest of the country in March 1939. In 1940, the congregations were closed down, but the Jewish community administration was used by the Germans to execute their stream of decrees and instructions. In 1941 the first deportations started and the mass deportations of the Jews took place throughout 1942 and into January 1943.
The Nazis decided to liquidate the communal and private Jewish property in the towns, including the contents of the synagogues. In 1942 Dr Stein of the Juedische Kultusgemeinde in Prague wrote to all Jewish communities, instructing them to send the contents of their synagogues to the Jewish Museum in Prague. Thus the Torah Scrolls, gold and silver and ritual textiles were sent, along with thousands of books. The remaining Jews were deported in 1943 and 1944, but quite a number survived.
The inventory of the Prague Jewish Museum expanded by fourteen times as a result, and a large number of Jews were put to work by the Germans to sort, catalogue and put into storage all the items that had come from over one hundred congregations in Bohemia and Moravia. It needed over forty warehouses, many of them deserted Prague synagogues, to store all these treasures. When the task was eventually completed, the Jews who had been put to this work were themselves deported to the Terezin concentration camp and death. There were few survivors.
It was once accepted that the accumulation of this vast hoard of Judaica was intended by the Nazis to become their museum to the extinct Jewish race. There is, however, no evidence that any such museum was ever planned. The Prague Jewish Museum had been in existence since 1906, and was not created in order to house the Judaica collected in 1942. In 2012, the Prague Jewish Museum published “Ark of Memory” by Magda Veselska, a history of the museum that includes a clear explanation of how it was the Jews of Prague that worked before, during and after the war to protect a legacy that was threatened with destruction.
After the defeat of Germany, a free and independent Czechoslovakia emerged, but it was a country largely without Jews. Most of the surviving Jews in Prague and the rest of Bohemia and Moravia were from Slovakia and further east from Subcarpathian Ruthenia. Prague, which had had a Jewish population of 54,000 in 1940, was reduced to under 8,000 by 1947, and many of these were to leave. On 27 February 1948, after less than 3 years of post war freedom, the Communists staged a coup and took over the government of Czechoslovakia. The Prague Jewish Museum came under government control, and was staffed mainly by non-Jewish curators.
In 1958 the 18th century Michle Synagogue became the warehouse which housed hundreds of Torah Scrolls from the large Prague Jewish community and what was left from the smaller communities of Bohemia and Moravia. The collection did not include scrolls from Slovakia, which the Germans had put under a separate administration. Eric Estorick, an American living in London, was an art dealer who paid many visits to Prague in the early 1960’s. He got to know many Prague artists, whose work he exhibited at his Grosvenor Gallery. Being a frequent visitor to Prague, he came to the attention of the authorities. He was approached by officials from Artia, the state corporation that had responsibility for trade in works of art, and was asked if he would be interested in buying some Torah Scrolls. Unknown to him, the Israelis had been approached previously with a similar offer, but the negotiations had come to nothing. Estorick was taken to the Michle Synagogue where he was faced with wooden racks holding anything up to 2000 Scrolls. He was asked if he wanted to make an offer, and replied that he knew certain parties in London who might be interested.
On his return to London, he contacted Ralph Yablon, a well-known philanthropist with a great interest in Jewish art, history and culture. Yablon became the benefactor who put up the money to buy the Scrolls. First, Chimen Abramsky, who was to become Professor of Hebrew Studies at the University of London, was asked to go to Prague for twelve days in November 1963 to examine the Scrolls and to report on their authenticity and condition. On his return to London, it was decided that Estorick should go to Prague and negotiate a deal, which he did. Two lorries laden with 1564 Scrolls arrived at the Westminster Synagogue on 7 February 1964. After months of sorting, examining and cataloguing each Scroll, the task of distributing them began, with the aim of getting the Scrolls back into the life of Jewish congregations across the world. The Memorial Scrolls Trust was established to carry out this task.
Each Memorial Scroll is a messenger from a community that was lost, but does not deserve to be forgotten. Temple Emanuel’s restored Horazdovice Scroll carries that message to our congregants and to our future.
