Nehardea Magazine

Journal of the Babylonian Jewry Heritage Center
No.15, Winter 2005/2006

BABYLONIAN JEWS IN THE DIASPORA

MAKING IT TO HARVARD

Prof. Daniel Khazzoom, San Francisco

Harvard took longer to process my application than the rest of the universities I contacted. Like all others, Harvard asked for college transcripts and letters of reference from my instructors. Then Harvard's Department of Economics asked me to write an economic analysis on a subject of my choice and submit it to the Department. Harvard was the only one among the universities I contacted that required such a paper.

In the paper I prepared to meet Harvard's requirement, I wrote an analysis of the factors that affected unemployment among the immigrants in Israel in general, and the Middle Eastern immigrants in particular. Three weeks after mailing that paper, I was thrilled to receive a letter notifying me the Economics Department had determined I had the academic qualifications to enroll in the PhD program, without going first through the Masters program.

But before I could proceed to Harvard I had to fulfill first one more requirement. The letter required that I demonstrate to the University that I had at my disposal four thousand eight hundred dollars to pay for my tuition fees and living expenses during my first two years in graduate school.

I did not have that kind of money. I barely had one hundred liras, the equivalent of about $30, sitting in my bank account. How was I going to come up with $4800? Besides, Israel had foreign exchange controls. Even if I had the required money in Israeli liras, I could not just walk into a bank and exchange it for dollars. I needed first to apply to the authorities for permission to buy dollars.

Upon receipt of the Treasury's notice, Bank Leumi routinely provided with an official one-liner addressed to ÒTo Whom It May Concern". It stated, ÒThis is to certify that the Treasury has allotted to (so and so) the sum of ($5000)". I planned on sending that letter to Harvard. My hope was that the wording of the letter might lead Harvard's officials to conclude that the dollars were in fact sitting in my account with Bank Leumi, and that they would accept the letter as the evidence they sought. It was a gamble. I was not sure it would work. But if it did, it would give me breathing time until I came face to face with having to pay for my tuition fees and living expenses. Maybe by then I could think of a solution.

The trip to Jerusalem took close to two hours. I was calm and at peace with myself when I walked into the office in the Treasury building where the committee held its meeting. The committee was made up of five men and one woman.

Prof. Daniel Khazzoom

The chair called me in. He told me the committee was impressed with my credentials and with the way I had made the case for my application. With a grin, he told me the committee had voted to approve my application. I was thrilled. I was elated. I had made it! True, I had other hurdles ahead of me. But I didn't care. They all had to do with money. But the worst was behind. I wanted to go out and announce it to the skeptics, to those who urged Òrealism", to those who counseled against aiming high and to those who exhorted me not to risk disappointment.

I received Bank Leumi's one liner a few days after my trip to Jerusalem and mailed it by express mail to Harvard. I believe it was late April 1958 when I received a formal letter of admission from Harvard. The letter included also a statement certifying to the US Consulate in Tel Aviv that I had provided the University with the necessary evidence of financial responsibility. The Consulate issued me a student visa a few weeks later on the strength of Harvard's attestation.

I now turned my attention to the next hurdle - paying for my trip to the US. The one-way airfare to the US was 950 liras, approximately the equivalent of $320. I had about 100 liras in my bank account. My classmate and faithful friend, Albert benHayeem, had 200 liras in his savings account. When he learned that I had been admitted to Harvard, he closed his savings account and gave me the 200 liras. Friends and members of my family chipped in. None of those was financially well off and none held a good-paying job. But they did their best, and I felt grateful for their help. Since I had served the Consumers' Co-operative Society a little over a year, the Society Treasurer's scheme of firing me from the Society would entitle me to a severance pay for the equivalent of a little over one month's salary. I was moved by what the treasurer had relayed to me. I felt grateful. The Society paid me 330 liras in severance pay. That was more than a third of my airfare.

Photograph of the 150-lira check from the Babylonian Educational Fund given to Prof. D. Khazzoom to cover his airfare deficit

When I added all the help I had received to the money I had in my bank account, I was a little less than 150 liras short of the amount I needed to pay my airfare. I tried to think of where else I could ask for assistance or borrow money. I could think of only one other organization Ð the Fund for the Education of Immigrants from Iraq. On several occasions before, I was very tempted to contact the Fund and ask for their help. But I refrained from doing so. How could I have the temerity to ask for their help? In the past I had let those people down when they needed my help. How could I now turn to them for help? Some members of the Fund's governing board were part of the same group of leaders of Babylonian Jewry I had opposed. How could I now turn to them and ask for their help with a straight face, having been so unsupportive of their effort on behalf of the Babylonian community and so disdainful of their efforts to preserve any of the traditions of Babylonian Jewry? That Fund was the embodiment, the quintessence of those traditions. It reflected the worldview of the Jews of Iraq, their ranking of societal priorities and their conception of what counted in life. Having been so hostile to the preservation of the Babylonian traditions, how could I justify to myself benefiting from those same traditions just because they happened to serve my needs? I wavered as I wrestled with the problem, but concluded that logic required me to stay away from the Fund.

As I wracked my brains trying to think of other sources I could contact for assistance, it occurred to me to write to Bekhor Shitrit, on the off chance that he might offer advice on what to do or suggest new avenues for me to pursue. Bekhor Shitrit was the scion of an illustrious Sephardi family who had lived in Israel for many generations. He served as the minister of police in the Israeli government. In the past I had written letters to members of the Israeli cabinet asking for help, but never heard back from any of them. But not this time. I received a prompt response from Mr. Shitrit. In it, he acknowledged the receipt of my letter and assured me that he would be back in touch with me once he had had time to think of a way of helping me. I was encouraged. I wrote to thank him for his helpful attitude.

About two weeks later, I received a letter from the Fund for the Education of Immigrants from Iraq informing me that Minister Shitrit had contacted them about my query and asked them to help me cover the shortfall I had. The Fund promised they would do what was needed to help. I felt a whirling sensation as I read that letter. I had tried to avoid the Fund in light of what I had done in the past, but here I was. I had come full circle back to them. How could I accept their help, having been so unhelpful when they needed my help? How should I respond to them? How could I face them? I did not know how to proceed. I could not sit down and write a response to their letter.

A week or so later I received another letter from the Fund. In it the Fund notified me that they would have a check for 150 liras for me to pick up in a few days. When I went to pick up the check, two middle aged men in their sixties were sitting in the office. One of the two got up to hand me the check. He looked at the check while it was still in his hands, then lifted his eyes and looked at me. As he handed the check to me, he shook hands with me and with a big smile on his face he said, ÒWe are very proud of you". I fought back tears, as I stood and looked at him. I could only murmur ÒThank you". I felt choked with emotion. Here was a community that I had dismissed and had distanced myself from for most of my life in Israel - up until the time when I returned from England in the fall of 1956 and began to change my view on things. And yet when the chips were down, they did not hold back. They came through. And they did so with magnanimity. It was mind boggling for me to think of the contrast between the way I reacted when they needed my help and the way they reacted when I needed their help.

As I walked out of that office, I stood and gazed at the check. I looked at the inscription and I scrutinized the signatures. I was pleasantly surprised to notice Minister Bekhor Shitrit had countersigned it. I thought back on my efforts to get to graduate school, on the road I had to travel and on the struggle I had to go through to put the pieces together, one piece at a time Ð piece, by piece, by piece. That check was another one of those pieces. But it was more than a check; it had more than monetary value. It was part of my history. It epitomized the magnanimity of the Babylonian community, its scale of values and its willingness to come to my rescue, even though I had turned my back on it when it needed my support. That check capsulized also my resolve to continue my education, and it symbolized what I was and what I had been through. It carried a message, and I wanted that message preserved. I wanted it to remain as a living reminder that would speak to immigrants, to the poor and the downtrodden,"Do not give up on education for want of money, and do not get discouraged before you have tried. Do not look at the whole mountain of hurdles that lie ahead and declare 'What is the use of trying?' Tackle one hurdle at a time. It could be that if you try you might still not make it, but if you do not try you surely will not make it. Look at me. I am not out of the woods yet, but see how far I have managed to go. You can do it too".

[Exerpts from a coming book]

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BABYLONIAN JEWS IN THE DIASPORA
MAKING IT TO HARVARD Prof. Daniel Khazzoom, San Francisco
Harvard took longer to process my application than the rest of the universities I contacted. Like all others, Harvard asked for college transcripts and letters of reference from my instructors. Then Harvard's Department of Economics asked me to write an economic analysis on a subject of my choice and submit it to the Department. Harvard was the only one among the universities I contacted that required such a paper. In the paper I prepared to meet Harvard's requirement, I wrote an analysis of the factors that affected unemployment among the immigrants in Israel in general, and the Middle Eastern immigrants in particular. Three weeks after mailing that paper, I was thrilled to receive a letter notifying me the Economics Department had determined I had the academic qualifications to enroll in the PhD program, without going first through the Masters program. But before I could proceed to Harvard I had to fulfill first one more requirement. The letter required that I demonstrate to the University that I had at my disposal four thousand eight hundred dollars to pay for my tuition fees and living expenses during my first two years in graduate school. I did not have that kind of money. I barely had one hundred liras, the equivalent of about $30, sitting in my bank account. How was I going to come up with $4800? Besides, Israel had foreign exchange controls. Even if I had the required money in Israeli liras, I could not just walk into a bank and exchange it for dollars. I needed first to apply to the authorities for permission to buy dollars. Upon receipt of the Treasury's notice, Bank Leumi routinely provided with an official one-liner addressed to ÒTo Whom It May Concern". It stated, ÒThis is to certify that the Treasury has allotted to (so and so) the sum of ($5000)". I planned on sending that letter to Harvard. My hope was that the wording of the letter might lead Harvard's officials to conclude that the dollars were in fact sitting in my account with Bank Leumi, and that they would accept the letter as the evidence they sought. It was a gamble. I was not sure it would work. But if it did, it would give me breathing time until I came face to face with having to pay for my tuition fees and living expenses. Maybe by then I could think of a solution. The trip to Jerusalem took close to two hours. I was calm and at peace with myself when I walked into the office in the Treasury building where the committee held its meeting. The committee was made up of five men and one woman. Prof. Daniel Khazzoom The chair called me in. He told me the committee was impressed with my credentials and with the way I had made the case for my application. With a grin, he told me the committee had voted to approve my application. I was thrilled. I was elated. I had made it! True, I had other hurdles ahead of me. But I didn't care. They all had to do with money. But the worst was behind. I wanted to go out and announce it to the skeptics, to those who urged Òrealism", to those who counseled against aiming high and to those who exhorted me not to risk disappointment. I received Bank Leumi's one liner a few days after my trip to Jerusalem and mailed it by express mail to Harvard. I believe it was late April 1958 when I received a formal letter of admission from Harvard. The letter included also a statement certifying to the US Consulate in Tel Aviv that I had provided the University with the necessary evidence of financial responsibility. The Consulate issued me a student visa a few weeks later on the strength of Harvard's attestation. I now turned my attention to the next hurdle - paying for my trip to the US. The one-way airfare to the US was 950 liras, approximately the equivalent of $320. I had about 100 liras in my bank account. My classmate and faithful friend, Albert benHayeem, had 200 liras in his savings account. When he learned that I had been admitted to Harvard, he closed his savings account and gave me the 200 liras. Friends and members of my family chipped in. None of those was financially well off and none held a good-paying job. But they did their best, and I felt grateful for their help. Since I had served the Consumers' Co-operative Society a little over a year, the Society Treasurer's scheme of firing me from the Society would entitle me to a severance pay for the equivalent of a little over one month's salary. I was moved by what the treasurer had relayed to me. I felt grateful. The Society paid me 330 liras in severance pay. That was more than a third of my airfare. Photograph of the 150-lira check from the Babylonian Educational Fund given to Prof. D. Khazzoom to cover his airfare deficit When I added all the help I had received to the money I had in my bank account, I was a little less than 150 liras short of the amount I needed to pay my airfare. I tried to think of where else I could ask for assistance or borrow money. I could think of only one other organization Ð the Fund for the Education of Immigrants from Iraq. On several occasions before, I was very tempted to contact the Fund and ask for their help. But I refrained from doing so. How could I have the temerity to ask for their help? In the past I had let those people down when they needed my help. How could I now turn to them for help? Some members of the Fund's governing board were part of the same group of leaders of Babylonian Jewry I had opposed. How could I now turn to them and ask for their help with a straight face, having been so unsupportive of their effort on behalf of the Babylonian community and so disdainful of their efforts to preserve any of the traditions of Babylonian Jewry? That Fund was the embodiment, the quintessence of those traditions. It reflected the worldview of the Jews of Iraq, their ranking of societal priorities and their conception of what counted in life. Having been so hostile to the preservation of the Babylonian traditions, how could I justify to myself benefiting from those same traditions just because they happened to serve my needs? I wavered as I wrestled with the problem, but concluded that logic required me to stay away from the Fund. As I wracked my brains trying to think of other sources I could contact for assistance, it occurred to me to write to Bekhor Shitrit, on the off chance that he might offer advice on what to do or suggest new avenues for me to pursue. Bekhor Shitrit was the scion of an illustrious Sephardi family who had lived in Israel for many generations. He served as the minister of police in the Israeli government. In the past I had written letters to members of the Israeli cabinet asking for help, but never heard back from any of them. But not this time. I received a prompt response from Mr. Shitrit. In it, he acknowledged the receipt of my letter and assured me that he would be back in touch with me once he had had time to think of a way of helping me. I was encouraged. I wrote to thank him for his helpful attitude. About two weeks later, I received a letter from the Fund for the Education of Immigrants from Iraq informing me that Minister Shitrit had contacted them about my query and asked them to help me cover the shortfall I had. The Fund promised they would do what was needed to help. I felt a whirling sensation as I read that letter. I had tried to avoid the Fund in light of what I had done in the past, but here I was. I had come full circle back to them. How could I accept their help, having been so unhelpful when they needed my help? How should I respond to them? How could I face them? I did not know how to proceed. I could not sit down and write a response to their letter. A week or so later I received another letter from the Fund. In it the Fund notified me that they would have a check for 150 liras for me to pick up in a few days. When I went to pick up the check, two middle aged men in their sixties were sitting in the office. One of the two got up to hand me the check. He looked at the check while it was still in his hands, then lifted his eyes and looked at me. As he handed the check to me, he shook hands with me and with a big smile on his face he said, ÒWe are very proud of you". I fought back tears, as I stood and looked at him. I could only murmur ÒThank you". I felt choked with emotion. Here was a community that I had dismissed and had distanced myself from for most of my life in Israel - up until the time when I returned from England in the fall of 1956 and began to change my view on things. And yet when the chips were down, they did not hold back. They came through. And they did so with magnanimity. It was mind boggling for me to think of the contrast between the way I reacted when they needed my help and the way they reacted when I needed their help. As I walked out of that office, I stood and gazed at the check. I looked at the inscription and I scrutinized the signatures. I was pleasantly surprised to notice Minister Bekhor Shitrit had countersigned it. I thought back on my efforts to get to graduate school, on the road I had to travel and on the struggle I had to go through to put the pieces together, one piece at a time Ð piece, by piece, by piece. That check was another one of those pieces. But it was more than a check; it had more than monetary value. It was part of my history. It epitomized the magnanimity of the Babylonian community, its scale of values and its willingness to come to my rescue, even though I had turned my back on it when it needed my support. That check capsulized also my resolve to continue my education, and it symbolized what I was and what I had been through. It carried a message, and I wanted that message preserved. I wanted it to remain as a living reminder that would speak to immigrants, to the poor and the downtrodden,"Do not give up on education for want of money, and do not get discouraged before you have tried. Do not look at the whole mountain of hurdles that lie ahead and declare 'What is the use of trying?' Tackle one hurdle at a time. It could be that if you try you might still not make it, but if you do not try you surely will not make it. Look at me. I am not out of the woods yet, but see how far I have managed to go. You can do it too". [Exerpts from a coming book]
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