David Smigel, Staff Writer
This article was published in conjunction with “Struggle and Triumph: A (Brief) History of the Oldest Shul in Washington Heights.”
How does a shul, once vibrant and bustling with families numbered in the hundreds, now stand desolate, struggling to even get a minyan on Shabbat mornings? Perhaps more pertinently, what can we do to help it?
When I first passed through the hallowed red doors of Congregation Beth HaMedrosh Hagodol (BHH) of Washington Heights, located near 175th and St. Nick, I knew I had to write about it. The night before, on leil Shabbat, a friend had told me that he was assembling enough men to complete a minyan in an old shul a few blocks away from Yeshiva University. He described a building replete with history, artifacts and warmth, an unmissable experience that would also help out its older congregants. On a whim, I agreed to tag along.
We arrived somewhat late after a 15-minute walk, yet to my suprise, the minyan was not in full swing, but standing at a halt. They had been waiting and, with our arrival, were finally able to begin reciting Shema. Sitting there, I couldn’t help but spend my davening admiring my surroundings.
I was struck by the stunning marble aron (ark) and its impressive, crimson red parochet (curtain) featuring the Luchot (Tablets of the Law) flanked by lions, the whole thing illuminated by a series of bulbs lining its top. Looking up, that same image was echoed on a stunning stained glass window, shining a ray of light into the otherwise dim beit knesset. Intricately carved wooden chandeliers centered with Magen Davids hung from the peeling plaster of the ceiling, though only the front two were lit. Similarly styled lighting fixtures line the walls, though some of them at skewed angles. An ornate backlit mosaic adorns the ceiling and more stained glass windows rest atop memorial plaques dated back over a hundred years. I understood what my friend was talking about, the walls were teeming with history.
That’s not even to mention the sheer volume of, for lack of a better descriptor, things that the place was brimming with. The shelves positioned along the walls sported scores of seforim, many of which appeared as old as the place itself. What was once the women’s section above had transformed into a storage of diverse articles I can’t even begin to catalogue and the kiddush room was similarly stocked with hoards of artifacts and wonders.
The siddur I held was half-English, half-Russian. I wondered what waves of immigrants must have gone through the place for such a tome to be needed. My Chumash was of a collection I did not recognize, dated long before my own birth. As an old cantorial pamphlet was passed to me, I pondered what other treasures might lay in the archives of the building.
During Torah reading, all of us visitors were given aliyot. The warmth with which we were summoned felt incredibly personal, like the community was welcoming us as one of their own. One man, not from our group, evidently also a visitor who seemed less familiar with his Jewish roots, was called up and needed a transliteration of the brachot. I was touched to see the patience with which he was treated and the clearly powerful emotions the experience evoked in him.
When kiddush came, I was astounded by the hospitality and vigor with which our hosts insisted on serving us. My friends quickly found themselves engaged in lively conversations with congregants, cradling warm bowls of cholent. I, meanwhile, found myself with a small kitten in my lap and an amiable, excitable dog at my feet, who whined whenever I stopped giving him attention. Even more surprising was the axolotl tank in the corner; we all got a chance to see them up close. We returned to YU satisfied, excited to tell our other friends about the experience and for our next visit.
I’ve since returned to BHH many times. Every week, I am greeted by the same welcoming faces, warm davening and delicious kiddush – the same familiar scenes play out without exception. I’ve gotten to know the community that calls this shul home and have grown very attached to the place. What pains me, though, is to hear the difficulty they face every week in gathering a minyan for Shacharit on Shabbat. I’m not on campus every weekend to attend and, even when I am, there just aren’t enough people aware of this hidden gem.
The congregation has been in operation for over 109 years and the shul itself is now entering its hundredth stationed at its current address. In its prime, in the mid-sixties, the shul had a bustling 354 families registered as members. It was the first Orthodox congregation established in the upper Washington Heights and is now the last remaining of its era. Throughout the years, it has gone through dramatic ups and downs, yet has stood the test of time and been steadfast in securing its future.
Crushingly, the shul has once again hit hard times, its days of prosperity feel like only a memory. The lower floor, once home to its second minyan, is now rented out to a public nursery school. Its old aron kodesh (holy ark) sits in the corner, reduced to a simple storage closet. The words “dah lifnei mi atah omed” (know before Whom you stand) still hang above it, attesting to its formerly sanctified status.
When I attended minyan on Shabbat Chanukah, there was a pause at the end of davening as the congregants deliberated whether or not the shul had the minhag of saying mizmor shir chanukat. When the chazzan (cantor) asked, no one knew, attributing it to the many years the shul has gone without a Chanukah minyan. That we were able to bring one to them after so much time was incredibly moving.
I asked Shimon Iskowitz, who recently inherited leadership of the shul along with his wife, Gabrielle, how the shul keeps running. Without hesitating he answered, “Hashem keeps it running,” he said, “It doesn’t make sense that it’s still here when all the other ones didn’t [make it], there’s something particular that kept the shul going.”
“As I see it, as long as there’s a minyan, He’s got a reason to keep a building for that minyan.”
In the future, Shimon wants to keep the shul open for Jews of all backgrounds to experience an Orthodox minyan and feel welcome. He cited the perspective of Gabrielle’s father, the recently deceased president, and his open reception of Jews. His outlook was that of a Holocaust survivor who preached that, “Hitler didn’t ask if you took a bus to shul,” Shimon recalled, “if you’re Jewish, you’re Jewish.” He mentioned that the shul was always welcoming to immigrants of various roots.
Since inheriting control of the institution, Gabrielle and Shimon have been learning the ropes of running their own shul. They recognize their present obstacles; Shimon mentioned the struggles of being located outside of the eruv. The shul was established well before the idea of building an eruv in Manhattan was even a thought and the eruv never made its way there. This poses an issue for drawing in crowds, particularly those with young children.
“Publicity is one of the things we very much need,” Shimon told the YU Observer. “We open for four hours one day a week. We have people who live within a block or two who come by and say ‘I’ve never seen it open’ and other people say, ‘Wow, that shul’s still functioning?’ People who live in the neighborhood!”
The shul has fought tooth and nail to survive, it has pushed against several attempts to acquire it and change its culture over the course of more than a century, and won’t be stopping now. Rabbi Abraham Rappaport, who led the congregation from the fifties to the seventies, wrote on its determination, “In spite of constant threat of assimilation, the Shul did not waver. In the face of continuous demands of help and sustenance, the Shul did not succumb… It survived two world wars, it passed through a depression, it lived through two waves of immigrations.”
Surely the shul will get through this as well.
Photo Caption: Congregation Beth HaMedrosh Hagodol
Photo Credit: Shimon Iskowitz