It was the task that ultimately one day would have to come and as unpleasant and uncomfortable as it was it would have to be done. With the passing of my dear father, R. Yehuda ben Yosef Pessah, zt"l, my mother asked of me to come to her apartment to glean through his two large portfolios and a large leather briefcase which contained his important documents that he had saved when we left Greece after the Holocaust and from our arrival to the United States. This process would take hours to complete. My thought was of convincing my mother to just disregard them and throw them out, however, she argued against it. The portfolios only contained old telephone bills, rent receipts and utility stubs. Of no particular value, what impressed us were my father's organizational skills. All were placed in order by year and date and duly noted when payment was made. It was the contents of the large leather briefcase that presented Mom with an emotional and sentimental rush. An official Greek application applying for out immigration to the United States, documents written in Greek and signed by character witnesses attesting to my father's background, original birth certificates for my brothers and myself, our Greek passports, letters from the Jewish community attesting that my father had graduated the Rabbinical Seminary of Salonika, a letter from the Greek government regarding my father's military service and his first contract when he served in the capacity of rabbi at the Kehilla Kedosha of Janina in the South Bronx - his first position in the United States.
Each document, each paper, each letter tearfully read by my mother, was neatly folded and left on the kitchen table. Mom would carefully remove her handkerchief from the pocket of her green and yellow apron, dry the tears from her eyes and continue reading. She was reliving in her mind their married life during the war years hiding in the mountains of Northern Greece while her husband was fighting the Nazis in the underground movement. It was best not to interfere in her emotional and sentimental state.
Taking whatever documents that were left in the briefcase, I sat in the living room and continued reading. Tucked in between two other documents was my acceptance letter from Yeshiva University, signed by the Dean of Admissions, Rabbi Dr. David Mirsky, zt"l. Reading this letter in amazement, my only thought and question was: Why would Pop save this letter? By nature he was not an emotional or sentimental person. Something must have caused him to save it. Returning to the kitchen, I showed the letter to Mom. She told me: "That was one of Pop's happiest days in his life. He realized that in some way we made it in our new country. He was so proud of you. Your going to Yeshiva University meant so much to him." I never knew about this because he never told me
Arriving home that night, when my wife and children were fast asleep, in the complete silence of the night I began thinking about my acceptance to Yeshiva and the events that led to my decision. My plans for after High School did not include attending Yeshiva for college. Upon completing my college application forms I had asked Pop to sign them and the financial aid statements. "Where is the application for Yeshiva?" he asked. "Pop, there isn't an application for YU because I don't intend to go there," I replied. "It is a wonderful school. You will get a wonderful Jewish and academic education. The rabbis and professors there are the best. Dr. Samuel Belkin even has a PhD in Greek philosophy. Just apply Joe, I think that it would be a very rewarding experience for you," Pop said. How could I have refused him? When Mom joined our conversation I knew that I was outnumbered, what could I do? How could I refuse them?
A week later Pop came home and mentioned that Yeshiva would have an Open House in mid-October. How he found out I would never know. The Yeshiva application was completed and with $10 fee was sent out. Throughout this process, my intent was to pacify my parents and hopefully get accepted to the college of my choice with an academic and/or athletic scholarship. How would my parents not accept such an offer? Possibly Pop would also forget about Yeshiva's Open House. But if Pop remembered in which section of the Talmud to look up a certain law, the exact page number of the law, the discussion between which rabbis took place, according to whose opinion the law is based on, what the commentators had to say, etc. - then Pop would certainly remember the day and time of the Open House.
When the day finally arrived, Pop and I boarded the bus on the corner of 167th Street and Walton Avenue in the Bronx to Amsterdam Avenue in Manhattan. We walked towards the Main Building. It was a beautiful, clear and sunny Fall Sunday morning. What transpired in the next four hours was only to understand the basic philosophy of Aristotle. In his work "On Man in the Universe," Aristotle states that reality is based on one's individual perception of his surroundings by the use of the one's senses. Pop saw a beautiful large campus; I saw a very small one. I only saw the Main Building, the college dorm, an old library and wooden Army barracks that were used for classrooms. The only patch of green grass was between the college and High School dorms. It was, at that time, called the Danciger Campus. The Open House took place in the Mendel Gottesman Library. I counted less than twenty people of whom only eight were prospective students. We sat through the speakers and heard their "YU pitch." Pop glowed with enthusiasm as each speaker spoke. I was bored to death but sat impatiently. Having already visited other colleges with expansive beautiful campuses, new buildings, large gyms with NBA style basketball courts, swimming pools and acres of beautiful grounds, I thought that there was nothing redeeming about the Yeshiva campus of the early 1960s to compare with other colleges that would have changed my mind or perception. The only thing that Pop and I agreed upon that day was that my mother's cooking was far better than the food we ate in the cafeteria.
The bus ride home was quiet and uneventful. Pop read from his pocket size sefer Mishnayot while I stared out the window. "Joe, it doesn't pay to go home yet. We will recite Mincha in the Kehilla [beit kenesset] first and then go home. Is it okay with you?" I nodded affirmatively. Sensing that what had transpired that day would not change my mind about attending Yeshiva, Pop told me: "Whatever you plan to do after High School will be fine by us. Just bring honor to God, yourself, our family and our people. Do not pursue wealth or glory and remember the words of King Solomon, who said: One who acquires knowledge acquires everything. Also remember the words of Socrates, who said: The good life is a life of knowledge." Pop never brought up the subject of my attending Yeshiva again. Looking at his eyes behind his glasses I sensed that he was still emotional but kept it to himself.
By early Spring of my senior year, acceptance letters were being received and Mom and Pop were quite happy. One university even offered me a partial athletic scholarship to run on their outstanding track team. Yet nothing was heard from Yeshiva. It was only after the holiday of Pesach that Mom received a call from Yeshiva's Office of Admissions and the call was returned that afternoon. "Dr. Mirsky would like for you to come in this Sunday morning at 10:30 for an interview. Would you be able to make it, Joseph?" the secretary asked. "Yes, I can," I replied. It was the best course to take. Go to the interview and then choose the college of my choice.
That Sunday morning dressed in my black suit, clean white shirt and blue tie - this young man went out to meet his educational destiny. It was difficult to find the Office of Admissions in Yeshiva's Main Building. Fortunately for me, a high school student told me to use the entrance around the corner. Arriving late displeased me, because by nature I always like to make a good first impression by arriving early. The office was small but the morning sunshine brought a glow of warmth and brightness to the room. No other candidates had arrived as of yet. The secretary welcomed me and asked me to have a seat. It was during this period that thoughts and issues ran through my mind. Did a Sephardic Jew belong in this Ashkenazic institution? Would my culture, customs and European upbringing conflict with theirs? Would my parents be able to afford the $1,200 yearly tuition? And most importantly - would I be able to compete academically with some of the best young Jewish minds?
The secretary finally escorted me to Dr. Mirsky's office and closed the door. It was to be the meeting that would ultimately change my mind about enrolling in Yeshiva and it was also to play a definitive role in a relationship which would span decades with a decent, intelligent individual: Rabbi Dr. David Mirsky. He stood up, shook my hand and greeted me: "Welcome to Yeshiva University, Joseph. Welcome to our school and hopefully one day you will call it yours as well." He was a man of average height, on the stocky side, clean shaven, wore eyeglasses, spoke softly and his black hair, combed to the back, was capped with a kippa. Dr. Mirsky's blue suit was neatly pressed and he wore a white shirt with cufflinks and a blue tie with a tie pin. "Forgive me for keeping you waiting, but it seems that all of my calls come at the same time," he said.
For about ten minutes he recounted Yeshiva's history, its importance to the Jewish people and how his position as Dean of Admissions was to seek our promising Jewish young men with potential for each incoming class. "Let me review with you your High School transcript and letters of recommendation," he said. Dr. Mirsky seemed particularly interested with the fact that I was born in Greece and was fluent in Greek, Spanish, Ladino and Hebrew.
"Joseph," Dr. Mirsky told me, "I would like for you and your parents to consider attending our school and with your background, going to the T.I. [Teacher's Institute] program. Our students are not exposed to other Jewish cultures, especially the Sephardic. We need to have an interaction between our people. It was only fifteen years ago that the Nazis in Europe murdered over six million of our people. Your family is testimony that Jews survived the Nazi horrors and throughout this terrible ordeal, Baruch Hashem you all survived. Not only don't we have Sephardim attending Yeshiva, let alone survivors of that terrible period. We don't have a fancy campus or buildings. Our students swim in the pool at George Washington High School and our basketball team plays their home games at Power Memorial High School in midtown Manhattan. But we can guarantee you and your parents that you will receive the best education here than anywhere else because our classes are very small and our rabbis and professors are highly educated and competent. You will increase your knowledge here. While we don't have a varsity track or baseball team - we will match the partial scholarship that you were offered with our education financial aid scholarship."
I sat there speechless. Dr. Mirsky reasoned with me as a parent would with their child, "I've made arrangements for one of our senior students to take you one a tour of our campus." He escorted me out of his office and directed the next candidate in for an interview. Waiting for the guide to arrive, I digested our meeting and it became obvious that Dr. Mirsky was on a personal mission. He made me feel comfortable and addressed many of the issues that bothered me. As time passed, the door to Dr. Mirsky's office opened as he escorted out the candidate he had interviewed. "Why is Joseph still here," he asked. "The student guide never came and hasn't called. I tried reaching his dorm room but there is no answer," she replied. "My next interview isn't until 2:00 pm, I am going to take Joseph on the campus tour myself," he told her.
We toured the building, peeked into classes in progress and Dr. Mirsky answered every question that I had. Rabbis, professors and students we passed greeted him. "This is Joseph. He is visiting our school as an applicant and hopefully will become a member of our Yeshiva family," he said. When we arrived at the college dorm, he led me to the corner for the main lobby. "This is our dream. This is our future," he told me. He was pointing to a new model on the table entitled "Blueprint for the Sixties." We looked at a model of a new library that would be built on one block, a new office/classroom building and the old Army barrack classrooms would be torn down. (Unfortunately, the model did not show a gym with locker rooms or a swimming pool.) "You must be hungry, because I know that I am," he said. Taking out my wallet to pay the $1.25 lunch fee, I heard Dr. Mirsky say "You are my guest today and it will be my pleasure to pay for you." As we sat eating our lunch we talked about the proposed new campus and the effect that it would have on the growth of Yeshiva. It was Dr. Mirsky's conduct and behavior that finally made me decide on becoming an incoming student for the Yeshiva College Class of 1964.
The four years of college went by as quickly as he had predicted. I was questioning, studying, learning and gaining knowledge daily from the most gifted, intelligent and talented rabbis and professors. Being surrounded by outstanding classmates motivated me to work even harder to succeed academically. Dr. Mirsky, somehow or other, managed to keep tabs on my progress. When he had time from his busy schedule, he and I would meet for a lunch - we still would argue who would pay. Our graduation was held on the campus on a terribly hot day. The featured guest speaker was the prime minister of Israel, Levi Eshkol. My family, as anticipated, was happy and excited that their eldest son had graduated college. My parents and I met with Dr. Mirsky in his office and we recounted the Open House and the interview. He then presented me with a graduation gift - a ceramic Yeshiva University mug that I possess to this day. Inside the mug was a note from Dr. Mirsky which read: Mazel Tov. I am proud of your work.
The four years became eight as I received an additional two degrees from Yeshiva. My only regret to this day is that I didn't pursue a doctorate degree in Jewish History and/or Education. It would have been a milestone to have all of my degrees from Yeshiva.
Whenever I had the opportunity to visit the campus I would stop by his office and Dr. Mirsky and I would chat. In later years, it was obvious that he had aged and he seemed physically tired. "I am much busier now than when we first met. Our incoming classes are much larger and Baruch Hashem, our school has grown to the point that we can compete with other colleges and universities. But I miss the days when we were a small family. I am glad that you and I saw both of these periods."
To this day I still make it a point to return to the campus either to attend a home basketball game, for a shiur or lecture, for the annual SOY Seforim Sale or to use the library for research work. But time and change do not stand still. As I stand on the corner of 186th Street and Amsterdam Avenue, I search for Dr. Mirsky and my rabbis and professors who helped mold and inspire me. I also miss them for their friendship and guidance. Every so often, I also miss that seventeen year old young man dressed in a black suit, white shirt and blue tie. What they helped me find, though, was the priceless treasure - "That the good life is a life of knowledge."
Mr. Joseph L. Pessah, YC '64, T.I. '67, Ferkauf '68, is an Educator and lives with his family in Oceanside, NY.
2008 Woodie Awards
