Part II
The following is a true story of moral courage, of the
uncompromise of values that has become the hallmark of the
Bais Yaakov model of the Jewish Daughter. Names have been
changed.
Story synopsis: Abraham Cohen, stingy business magnate,
decides to adopt one philanthropic project to ease his
conscience. His arbitrary choice is a seedy-looking girls
seminary, which he is invited to visit.
Rabbi Schwartz and Abraham Cohen were a study in contrasts.
Rabbi Schwartz, cloaktails trailing haphazardly behind him,
sidecurls dancing erratically, gesticulating wildly, looking
just as disorganized and absentminded as always -- alongside
Abraham Cohen, looking very much the giant on Wall Street
that he was. Steel grey temples added yet further prominence
to his immaculate appearance, his regal carriage, his
flawless grooming. His expression plainly showed his
surprise at finding himself in such a dump. But good manners
prevailed; he just smiled limply and nodded pleasantly to
everything Rabbi Schwartz said.
In the corridors, students stood in animated knots, long
flared skirts, stockings, high necks, long sleeves. When
Rabbi Schwartz introduced him as the school's new
benefactor, they greeted him with smiles, blushed if he
stared too long at anyone special. Abraham Cohen tried to
identify what or whom the girls reminded him of and was
shocked when he realized that they simply looked Jewish.
He looked around and saw the girls, not as they were, but as
they might be: trim and pert in his Chic Sophisticate
Originals, manicured and coiffed. A little less of that
wholesomeness and enthusiasm. Poised and mannered like his
own daughters. True, he wasn't always sure if they were
real... especially when they blinked their lashes and put on
the act... But how sleek they were, and so elegant.
To think what he could do in a place like this! He'd shape
those adorable lumps of clay into fashionable young
debuteens. He'd teach them style, he'd give them grace. He'd
resuce those kids from their Jewish ghetto and give them a
polish and a poise that would be his signature on their
personalities. Jewish mothers like his own were dead and
buried. These would become slick young chicks that would be
able to hold their heads high in any society.
Abraham Cohen was actually beginning to enjoy himself. Even
his wife would be green with envy at his new find. Let the
rabbis plan the curriculum whichever way they wanted. If
those girls were crazy enough to want to devote their lives
teaching something as antiquated as religion, let them go
right ahead; they had his blessings. But they'd do it in
style!
And Mama! Mama would finally have her nachas and let
him sleep nights. He'd have done his share for Judaism. He'd
have repaid his debt to the society that had weaned him.
Mama would rest in peace at last.
*
"I'll tell you, Rabbi," Mr. Cohen was saying with a vibrancy
surprising even to himself. "Just give me the O.K. and I'll
give you a place to be proud of. Of course, I won't
interfere with any school policies or curriculum. That's
your department. Just allow me to attend to the frills and
the bills."
The autitorium got the first treatment. Wall to wall
carpeting was installed, velvet draperies hung, gold
scrolled wallpaper lined whatever walls weren't paneled.
Furniture arrived in three bonded vans. When the weary,
rotund dean of Students walked up to the mangnificent
podium, you could sense that she felt totally out of place.
But hardly anyone was listening to what she had to say
anymore. The magnificance all around was too distracting.
Classrooms underwent similar face lifting. A luncheonette
was installed. A dormitory for out-of-town students was
opened. And personally directing every move was Mr. Abraham
Cohen, the tycoon who directed millions in the American
economy.
And Abraham Cohen never tired of reassuring Rabbi Schwartz:
"I tell you, Rabbi, you're going to have some fine school
here one day; the finest finishing school in the whole
country."
Rabbi Schwartz nodded happily. Finishing school, shminishing
school. As long as the teachers got paid and the electricity
didn't get turned off. And the student body had doubled
since Abraham Cohen had entered the school. To look at them
made your heart swell. True daughters of Sara, who dwelt in
the tent; modest, innocent, inconspicuous... With Jewish
daughters such as these, Judaism would never perish.
Every so often, Abraham Cohen would march in with a group of
business associates. As they looked around the building and
observed the girls in anticipation for their `coming out'
action, they all showed surprise, totally unprepared to find
that such total innocence and honesty still existed in the
twentieth century.
"That's just the way my Bubby looked," the vice president of
Modish Enterprise whispered to Mr. Cohen, overwhelmed with
sudden loving memories of his past. The student he'd pointed
to would look down in flustered embarrassment, the blush
rising to her face, making her even more fetching. Those
Madison Avenue gentlemen would stand in the back of the
classrooms, listening respectfully to the lectures that they
couldn't comprehend, and witness with disbelief the serious
intellectual enthusaistic response of the students to the
subject matter being discussed. Before leaving, they'd write
out checks in figures the likes of which Rabbi Schwartz had
never dealt with before.
When Abraham Cohen arranged for an informal `poise group' to
meet after classes, the administration gave it little
thought. As Mr. Cohen explained, it was primarily a series
of lectures on personal hygiene and good posture. It was, in
fact, supposed to be just that. But Miss Carr, who prepared
debutantes for their `coming out,' was so aghast at what she
found when she met the girls, that she revised the original
program; these students needed a lot more. Make up
application, hair grooming, understanding fashion trends
were just a beginning. A large mirror was installed in the
main corridor.
Slowly, hardly noticeably at first, when classes were
subsequently dismissed, there were no longer animated
discussions about the subject matter just learned. Instead
there was a mad scramble for the mirror outside. Mascara
and lipstick brushes were carefully lifted out of newly
purchased cosmetic kits and face painting began. Of course,
it was just to experiment, the girls, laughing in
embarrassment, reassured one another.
Unanimous opinion was that Miss Carr was a doll. So patient
and helpful. So charming and knowledgeable. And she cared so
much about them. How they loved to hear her tell them
stories about her students at Sarah Lawrence; of their proms
and debuts and beaus; a world so totally foreign to the
world that they lived in, so distant from everything they
knew or had ever experienced. Nevertheless, the least they
could do was pay attention to what Miss Carr was trying to
teach them. They should really put more effort into trying
to look like menchen. Looking like a shlump
was not exactly the seal of kashrus. They could even
become goodwill ambassadors of religion. So fashionable. So
chic. So poised and charming. And religious too!
So, during recess, they rushed to the mirror and primped and
painted and dreamt of all the worlds they would conquer in
the name of religion. And even the bell, announcing
resumption of class, couldn't pull them away from their
newly discovered destiny. Anyhow, that history teacher was
really a bore! And the way she dressed! She really looked
like a Grandma Moses.
Strange things were happening. Whereas the halls had always
been full of laughing, shouting, alive young girls, an
unnatural quiet now reigned.
[Final part next week.]
