by Israel Kipen
“Mount Scopus College was born and established amid doubts, warnings, indifference, hostility, lukewarm assent, faint praise, but little backing. There were few open enthusiasts and workers…”
When it finally opened in the beginning of the 1948 school year, 153 pupils were enrolled in the primary school. A very important factor in the wider acceptance of the school by parents was the fact that the children of leading communal personalities such as Maurice Ashkanasy, Trevor Rapke, among others, sent their own children there. The launching of the school into reality, however, was an act of faith; it was a feat of determination; and, under the circumstances, it was, arguably, an irrational act, considering that virtually none of the doubts and difficulties it faced had yet in the least been resolved at the time of its opening. Indeed, the problems only intensified and plagued the school throughout the whole first decade of its existence. True, there were problems of finances, of ambivalent acceptance of the school and even open hostility to it from influential quarters. But, in my view, the gravest issue it faced was that of its ideological direction. Those who opposed the school could easily enough articulate their objections; it was more difficult for those who supported it, however, to define the kind of school they most truly wanted. For example: how much Jewishness was to be incorporated into its curriculum, and what sort of Jewishness was it to be? Should such Jewishness be purely religious or purely cultural? If it was to be religious, was this to be compulsory? Should the “geography” of the Siddur, or prayer-book, take pride of place in Jewish instruction and the Bible be the textbook for Jewish history, or should Jewish history be taught as the history of a nation as gleaned from history books, and, if so, from which history books? How should the establishment of the Jewish State, almost synchronous with the opening of the school, be integrated into its spirit, and how should Hebrew be integrated into its program?
There were none associated with the school at the time who had been exposed to any precedent in the running of such an institution which might offer some degree of guidance. I recall my first visit to the Principal’s office. The sole decoration on the wall was a Japanese etching. There was nothing else in any way visible that might affirm the Jewish content or spirit of that school. Abe Feiglin, who became the school’s first Principal, had, at the time of his appointment, never seen a Jewish school in action, let alone been part of one. Different people held different ideas of how to direct its development and where to locate its centre of gravity. Maurice Ashkanasy believed he could influence the school from his office at Selbourne Chambers. Joseph Solvey and I argued against him, affirming that the ultimate authority and direction had to be vested with the Principal – an argument which he later conceded. Meanwhile, Abe Feiglin as headmaster could do no more than model the school according to his own understanding of what a Jewish school should be, even if it did not wholly tally with the understanding of many of its founders or with the majority of parents who sent their children there. For the College seemed to be developing in a way that was out of step with the tantalising and vital issues that affected world Jewry at that time. Whatever Jewish spirit was inculcated in the pupils had more to do with the Biblical past, while its spiritual or religious aspect seemed limited to the teaching of different blessings, grace after meals, daily prayers and of some Biblical texts. Even those who sat on the School Council seemed oblivious to this basic issue of the school’s remoteness from events of the day. The concerns that taxed them more deeply were the school’s financial difficulties which they sought to correct; they were also more troubled by details such as their children’s appearance, the school uniform, and the surface gloss, while such considerations as what the College stood for, as where it had to head, as the kind of child it aimed to produce, were left untouched, for these were wholly beyond their experience and, therefore, beyond their capacity to articulate. Benzion Patkin, who had known very clearly the kind of school he had wished to see, was a prisoner of the people he had surrounded himself with. In theory, his initial concept had been sound, but the practice and execution of the project had become subject to tugging in so many, often contrary, directions that what was left was a compromise situation that left the College with little in the way of a distinctive face or living Jewish spirit.
To take charge of the Hebrew part of the curriculum, Rabbi Dr E. Schwarz was brought from overseas. He was a young man at the time and a scholar, but was also first and foremost a rabbi. Hence, the thrust of his programme was predominantly of a religious nature. Despite our ideological differences, I enjoyed a good personal relationship with him. He saw that I knew what was required of a modern Jewish school and understood my expectations. However, he was constrained not only by his calling but also by the directives he was given by the school’s administrators. He would at times confide his difficulties to me, and told me on one occasion that when he presented a particular programme to Abe Feiglin for approval, Abe responded by asking, “What will Kipen say to this?”
From 1949 onwards, I was a member of the School Council, representing the State Zionist Council. I took over this position from Joseph Solvey when he was elected Chairman of the Education Sub-Committee of the Victorian Jewish Board of Deputies and sat on the School Council in this capacity. The Zionist movement was vitally interested in the existence and development of the College. It fought the opponents of the scheme in the preliminary stages prior to any final decision at sub-committee levels; it argued its case on the plenum of the Advisory Board and held many internal meetings and assembly sessions to define the philosophy and character of the College. In my role as State Zionist Council representative, I expressed its concerns about the school’s shortcomings from the perspective of the Zionist movement. In doing this, I had to argue sometimes in the face of overwhelming odds. But, these odds notwithstanding, I was not deterred from speaking my mind, however uncomfortable my views may have been to some; while the presence and support of Joseph Solvey on the School Council made my task more effective. What I must here record, however, is that despite my frequent criticisms of different aspects of the development of the College, the disputes I engaged in never spilled over into personal animosity. I fought many battles with Abe Feiglin, for instance, but on a personal level we remained the best of friends. The same was true in relation to other members of both the Executive and the Council. I suspected, however, that many members of the Council intuitively and emotionally supported my position on the issues I was constantly raising, but for reasons of their own never ventured to air their views.
Those matters which concerned me most were the spiritual and intellectual direction of the College, particularly vis-a-vis its Hebrew studies content. I argued repeatedly that, although the study of Jewish tradition and religion was not unimportant, Mount Scopus College as a communal school had to mirror the majority sentiments and concerns of the Jewish community at large. Specifically, this meant that as a school established after the Second World War and in parallel with the emergence of the Jewish State in Israel, it had to incorporate such realities into its program and reflect, positively, the spirit that was then animating the Jewish people all over the world, not least in Melbourne itself. Accordingly, I pleaded for a broader and more enlightened program of Jewish studies which would incorporate a contemporary interpretation of Jewish history, a study of modern Hebrew literature and some notion of contemporary national Jewish issues. This plea stemmed from my conviction that it was incumbent upon a modern Jewish school to convey to its students such knowledge as would stimulate them to appreciate and identify with the concerns and aspirations of their own generation and thereby become an integrated part of a rejuvenated Jewish people. Were the school not to do so, the very rationale behind its existence and its very purpose would be placed under a serious question mark.
Though my views may have seemed obvious, they did not necessarily fall on receptive ears. Other members of the Executive and Council were less than persuaded that such broadening of Jewish Studies should be implemented. Th
ose representatives representing religious interests, in particular, were opposed to any divergence from a fully religious orientation in the school’s Jewish education. Meanwhile, anti-Zionists argued that national Jewish sentiments should have no such integral place in a Jewish school in an English-speaking country. Other members sat on the fence, committing themselves neither one way nor another.
Such opposition notwithstanding, I persevered with my campaign within the governing structure of the school. My own situation sometimes became untenable at Zionist assemblies at which harsh criticism was often voiced against the Governors of the College over the direction the school was taking. At such times, my task became one of ameliorating the mood of those assemblies, for I knew that any changes in the direction of the College could only be achieved by concerted and persistent argument, debate and persuasion from within, without letting the fledgling school become a communal political football. In time, I was invited to serve on the Executive of the school as well, where actual policy decisions were made. Here, too, I continued to press for reform, seeking, as before, to upgrade and broaden the Jewish content of the curriculum.
Jewish studies were not the only problem area. With the opening of the secondary division, certain shortcomings were emerging with regard to the general standards of the College and to its chances of producing a successful matriculation class, when the school opened in 1949 with a full primary division, it accepted all applicants. Unavoidably, some of the children enrolled were of less than average ability, while others had problems which they brought with them into the school. Consequently, the first matriculation results attained were anything but pleasing. The College faced a crisis. Parents of children confronting matriculation the following year began to doubt the wisdom of keeping those children there. The impact of the results was such that, even at lower levels, there were insufficient enrolments to start a first year primary class. The College had to face its first moment of truth. It was decided to place an advertisement in the Australian Jewish News to the effect that only a few places remained for the following year’s Grade One class and that enrolments would close by a certain date. The advertisement paid off. Those parents who had been hesitating till then suddenly became anxious not to miss out on the few places and a stream of new enrolments followed.
While the results of the first matriculants had a negative effect in one way, they had another, more positive, consequence as well. Until then, the complaints that were voiced by the Council members had to do with the insufficiency of sport at the school. Nobody complained that the standard of education was inadequate. All this now changed; the educational purposes of the school were measured by a new yardstick; and, suddenly, people became more attuned to my original pleas for the intellectual and spiritual improvement of the school, and responsive to my arguments that such betterment was not simply a luxury, but an absolute necessity if the entire enterprise was ultimately to succeed.
After years of pleading, I finally persuaded the executive to devote a special meeting to the formulation of policy in relation to Hebrew studies. Such a meeting was called and held at the home of Alwyn and Yetta Samuel in Airdrie Road, Caulfield. Apart from the Executive, Rabbis Rappaport and Danglow, of the Melbourne and St Kilda Hebrew Congregations respectively, and Manuel Gelman were invited to attend and advise. I remember clearly the private conversation between the two rabbis before the meeting started. They were discussing attendances at their synagogues. Rabbi Danglow said that he was not concerned how people came to his synagogue on the Sabbath as long as they came. (Travelling on the Sabbath is forbidden according to Jewish law). Whatever his private views may have been, Rabbi Rappaport declined to endorse such a position. I also recall Rabbi Danglow remarking that the Jewish religion had become one of pots and pans, at which I pricked up my ears, considering that he was an Orthodox rabbi.
When discussion about Jewish education at Mount Scopus College opened, Rabbi Danglow was the first to speak. What he said stunned me. “I do not want the pupils to speak Hebrew,” he said, “I do not want them to write Hebrew; all I expect from them is that when they come to the synagogue they should be able to follow the service.” I expected there to be a challenge to the Rabbi’s statement which, to me, was unacceptable, but, to my astonishment, there was complete silence. Hence, as no-one ventured to engage him in discussion, I asked to speak. I must have spoken with some feeling, for, after I had finished, I felt someone tugging at my sleeve. It was Rabbi Rappaport who, leaning over, whispered to me in Hebrew: “Divrei chachamim b’nacht nishmaim”, which translated as: the words of the wise are spoken with equanimity. In other words, he was telling me to mellow my tone, though without necessarily changing my line of argument. What this whole episode attests to is the mood prevailing in the Executive at the time. The very fact that a rabbi who was philosophically opposed to the creation of the College in the first place should have been invited to advise on its curriculum is in itself instructive. Being familiar with Rabbi Danglow’s views, the Executive could have had little doubt about the advice it would be receiving. But it was symptomatic of that body’s collective mind that in matters which pertained to Jewish education, one turned to a rabbi as an authority, regardless of what his views may be. This episode took place seven or eight years after the establishment of the College. It indicates how much the school was still groping in the dark about fundamentals, and indicates, too, the kind of advice it was receiving in the cause of its educational betterment.
The struggle for both higher educational standards and improved Jewish studies was hard and frustrating, but not in vain. Changes for the better did take place, even if these were at times slow and barely perceptible. Some excellent Hebrew teachers came to the College. Mr Klag, a European Hebraist, who was the principal of the Bialik Sunday School, accepted the position of senior Hebrew master. Dr J. Ronda, who hailed from Czechoslovakia and was a very competent teacher and specialist in Hebrew grammar joined the College. Other Hebrew teachers were brought from Israel through the Torah department of the Jewish Agency. These were orthodox individuals whose approach to Hebrew teaching yet differed markedly from the prevailing norm that existed before their arrival.
By the very nature of their Israeli origin, they brought Israel and its spirit into the classroom. The men were not only obliged to have their heads covered while at school, but were further expected to observe the Sabbath in public. One Hebrew teacher was carpeted for having been seen carrying a newspaper under his arm on the Sabbath.
Further, emissaries were brought from abroad to conduct the annual fund-raising appeals for the College. They were usually rabbis who served the dual purpose of raising money and imparting a religious character to the image of the school. This was deliberate. The overwhelming majority of parents who sent their children to Mount Scopus College were non-religious, while some were even anti-religious. Their purpose in sending their children to the school was to provide them with a Jewish environment and cultural surrounds. Having made their decision, these parents had no option but to accept the added religious dimension of the school – which many did with a simple shrug and dismissive, self-persuading argument that “it will do no harm”. Against these, there were some ultra-religious parents for whom the school was not religious enough. However, as Mount Scopus College was, at the time, the only Jewish day-school in Melbourne, they were glad to accept whatever was available. By the nature of its monopoly on Jewish education in the early 1950s, the College was a communal compromise. What was not enough for some was too much for others. This applied to religious studies as it also applied to the teaching of Hebrew. While some parents were highly vocal about the emphasis Hebrew and Jewish studies ought or ought not be given, the majority were more pragmatic and laissez-faire on the matter, tending to regard these subjects as simply the icing on the larger cake that was a sound general education that would enable their children to enter whatever professional careers they should choose.
Such compromises as took place were not wit
hout their price. Trying to be all things to all people leads often to pleasing only very few. At Mount Scopus College, there were two distinct groups which were not prepared to compromise their convictions. On the one hand, the religious Zionists, centred around the Mizrachi movement, were unhappy both about the paucity of depth in Jewish learning and the lack of a more pronounced Zionist spirit. On the other, the non-religious Zionists were frustrated by the absence of a national Jewish identity in the school’s approach to its Jewish program and by its lack of demonstrative identification with, and fervour towards, the newly reborn State of Israel. They also objected to the tendency to teach Jewish national history in terms of religion and to treat Hebrew as the language of the Bible and prayer-book as against the living thriving language of a new, authentic and creative society in Israel. They, too, in unison with their Mizrachi counterparts, demanded greater depth of Jewish learning with emphasis upon present-day Jewish existence seen in its own right.