Sofer David Brand z"l

I

t is with profound sadness that the Memorial Scrolls Trust shares the news we have just received that our beloved Sofer David Brand died in Israel at the beginning of February. Baruch Dayan Ha-Emet. May his memory be for a blessing.

A Visit from the Brands

This morning the MST had the great pleasure of meeting 2 of the grand-daughters of Sofer Brand. They are in town for a family wedding and their mother told them that they must check out the museum! In a mixture of English, Yiddish & Ivrit we shared the story of the scrolls and the part that their zaide played in preserving and restoring these last witnesses to Jewish life in Bohemia and Moravia before the Shoah.

Sara & Chaya were excited to hear about the work of their grandfather and to see the rooms in which it took place and the tools that he used. They took many photographs for the folks back home.

I was also able to speak with their mother, Sofer Brand's daughter, since they called her when we were chatting in the MST office. She mentioned that Sofer Brand's health is not too good at the moment. We shall add Eliyahu David ben Feige to our prayers for healing.

Sofer Brand Redux

To all the friends of the MST who know and love the story of our first sofer, David Brand, we would like to offer for your enjoyment this photograph. The picture was taken by the Salamons when they visited him in Israel in December 2013. Except for a couple of white hairs, he really doesn't look a day older than when he was working at Kent House!


To learn more about Sofer Brand and the work he did for the Czech scrolls please visit the MST website via the link here.

Repair and Restoration of MST Scrolls - An Essay

Repairs and Restoration

an essay by Philippa Bernard and David Brand, first published in “The Czech Memorial Scrolls Centre:  A Historical Account”, MST 1988

When I asked David Brand how it was that he became a sofer (scribe), he told me that he was born a sofer. The ancient and honourable profession was frequently passed down by fathers who instructed their sons in the intricate and scholarly traditions which govern the writing, restoration and conservation of the Law of Moses as inscribed in the Sefer Torah – the Book of the Law.

Little has changed since the days of Ezra, to whom is attributed the distinction of being the first of the scribes. In biblical times the scribes were not only the writers of the Hebrew code and its accompanying traditions, but were learned men who also interpreted the law, pronounced on religious questions and, together with the Pharisees, led their people in their endeavour to understand and fulfil the word of God. Today a sofer is honoured as he has always been, but most of his work is confined to the repair and maintenance of existing Scrolls of the Law. The Sefer Torah comprises the five books of Moses, the Pentateuch:  Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers and Deuteronomy. To write out the whole Torah takes a sofer about eighteen months and the cost amounts to some thousands of pounds; so whenever possible existing scrolls are made usable for synagogue services according to ancient custom and with meticulous attention to the rules governing the work of the sofer. On the relatively few occasions when a new scroll is received by a community it is welcomed with great rejoicing; and where old traditions survive there is dancing in the streets through which it is borne to its new home. The last lines of a new Sefer Torah are traditionally left blank by the scribe so that members of the community for whom it is destined can perform the mitzvah (good deed) of writing in a word or two of the remaining text.

When the 1,564 Czech scrolls arrived in London in February, 1964, it was clear that most of them would require much attention before they could be made available for synagogue use. A few months later David Brand called at Kent House in Knightsbridge, where Westminster Synagogue had had its home for a few years, and asked if any work was available for an experienced scribe:  little did he expect to find enough work to occupy him for more than twenty years! The Brand family have made their home at various times in Israel, Paris and New York as well as in London, for the scribe’s profession is in its nature somewhat nomadic. Where scrolls need repair, there must the wandering sofer rest, to move on again when the work is completed. Seldom can a scribe have found so large a task as that which confronted Mr. Brand.

A Sefer Torah which is in perfect order, and meets all the requirements ordained by custom for use in prayer, is deemed to be kasher, “fit”, a word also applied to permitted food; both circumstances relate to the pursuit of holiness according to ancient ritual. A kasher scroll is one that contains not a single error, and meets the other traditional requirements:  that the ink should be black and clear, the writing meticulous and elegant, and all the rules relating to the dimensions and style of the calligraphy carefully observed.

The scroll itself is of parchment made from the skin of a sheep. To form a scroll each piece of parchment is joined at the side edges with gut; this is made from cow sinews, soaked in water and joined together in long lengths. The animals from which the skin is to be used for the making of gut are set aside for this purpose only; the skins for parchment are also strictly reserved and the processing is never confused with any other.

The writing itself forms pages, or columns, and each piece of parchment between the sewn joins must carry not less than two and not more than six columns. The space between columns must be the width of two fingers, and the margins on both sides are even. To align the ends of the lines letters may be extended in width but not otherwise enlarged; the column width is that taken up by three times the longest word in the Hebrew text:  l’mishpachotechem (to your family). The effect of these conventions is that whilst the overall size of a Torah scroll varies in accordance with the size of the lettering and the top and bottom margins, the proportions remain always the same.

Each column comprises 42 lines of script, representing, it is said, the 42 stops on the journey of the Israelites to Mount Sinai. The breaks in the writing indicate the verses into which the text is divided; some are open breaks leaving the line uncompleted; others are breaks within the line. In the narration of the five books of the Torah, ten special letters are to be written larger than the rest. One is bet, the first letter of the very first word of the Hebrew bible:  B’reshit – In the beginning. Six letters are written smaller than the rest and six must appear at the beginning of a column. At the very end of the scroll the last line must always be a full line.

No marks of any kind may be made on the parchment other than the written text, so in order to set out the page neatly and to preserve straight lines and correct spacing, a small wheel of regular spokes is used; this is run over the sheet to define the line spaces and each point marked by the spoke is linked by a faint line ruled with a sharp knife; a pencil may not be used.

The equipment used by the scribe is also of great ritual importance. Each scribe either makes his own or purchases what he needs, usually from Israel. The ink, which must be very clear and black if it is to last for hundreds of years, is made from tree galls which are boiled and mixed with gum arabic and a preservative. The pen is a quill of sufficient strength and width usually from the feather of a goose. It is soaked for some hours in water to make it sufficiently malleable to be cut and shaped. The point must be sharp enough for the finest script with the side of the tip slanted and smoothed for broader strokes. The pen inevitably becomes blunt as it is used, and after several sharpenings it must be discarded and another made.

Other tools used by the scribe are readily available. He needs a fine awl to pierce the parchment for stitching, a strong steel needle to take the gut thread, and most important of all a very sharp knife. Errors of transcription, damage to the parchment or smudging of the lettering must all be rectified according to the strictest and most meticulous rules.

The ordering of the work of the sofer is aimed at achieving as nearly perfect a result as possible. The purity of the parchment must be visible round every letter, with none touching the text. No stain or mark may appear anywhere, and corrections must be made in such a way as to be almost undetectable. The name of God is treated with the greatest reverence; it must always be written in one attempt, with no interruption “though the king himself should come into the room”. If any mistake is made in the writing of the divine name, the whole part must be cut out and rewritten. This is done by removing that section of parchment which offends, and replacing it with another. The edges of both the new piece and the body of the work are chamfered down to match each other and the new piece glued in. A similar technique is used to replace any other damaged portion, and the final result is almost invisible to the naked eye. The glue used in this process is also made by the scribe. He boils small pieces of cow skin until they dissolve into a clear liquid which hardens when cold. Water is added and it is then warmed gently over a candle flame to be used and re-used whenever needed.

Whilst the strictest rules apply to the correction of errors made in the course of writing a scroll, an area of script which has been damaged or stained later is regarded more leniently. It too must be immaculately repaired, but it is sufficient for the surface to be gently scraped away, dusted with powdered chalk and rewritten. Repairs must cover whole letters or preferably words; individual letters must not be interrupted for repair.

Styles of calligraphy differ somewhat between Sephardi (Spanish and Portuguese) and Ashkenazi (German) communities. At least one of the scrolls from Czechoslovakia was written in the Sephardic style, though most of the communities of Bohemia and Moravia were of German origin.

The scrolls themselves varied greatly in size; some were neat and small with tiny script of immaculate elegance, others were so heavy that they could hardly be lifted; these were possibly of Russian origin, says Mr. Brand, where “the men are big and strong”.

When the scrolls were first examined at Kent House, it was realised that much work outside the scope of a scribe would be needed; the wooden rollers round which the parchment is wound, and the binders which secure the wound scroll, also needed close attention. The wooden rollers are known as Etz Chaim (tree of life). Many were severely damaged in the destruction of the Czech synagogues, and some were much worn by constant use. Vestiges of painted decoration, gleams of metal adornment, traces of Hebrew inscriptions were faintly decipherable. A skilled craftsman was needed to put into usable order the scrolls that Mr. Brand had repaired. For many years the scrolls committee was fortunate in having the services of Mr. Frank Jones; he was no less a craftsman than Mr. Brand in his field. Under his care strong wooden racks were built to support the scrolls as they were examined, carefully numbered to correspond with the available information about their origin. Wood was burnished, metal polished and the rollers rendered strong and firm to carry their traditional burden. Sadly Mr. Jones died before he could complete his task, but his place was taken by a young cabinet-maker from Brighton, who also felt privileged to work on the project.

The binders wrapped around the scrolls were of great variety;  silk, cotton, velvet, wool – all had to be examined, washed and pressed. They proved to be of such interest that a researcher from the Hebrew University in Jerusalem came to London to investigate the collection.

The Czech scrolls and their appurtenances have been repaired and restored with devoted care, employing both traditional and modern skills in a spirit of reverence and pride.

abridged for the MST website in August 2014

NB In 1988 Philippa Bernard shared with us Sofer Brand’s vision of sofrut – the work of a scribe. There is some division in the Jewish community regarding whether or not women are permitted to write a Torah scroll for ritual use. While women are free from the obligation of writing a Torah, this does not necessarily mean that they are forbidden to write one. The Memorial Scrolls Trust is proud to work with a traditionally-trained soferet (female scribe) as part of our scribal team.

Summer Closing at the MST Museum

A beautiful and rare colour photograph of Sofer David Brand working on the MST Scrolls!

Now I have your attention, please note that unless you have already arranged a personal tour of the museum, we shall be closed 1-15th August. We shall respond to all voice and e-mail as soon as we return on Monday 18th August.

Thank you for your patience and understanding.

Did You See Us in the Times on Saturday?!

In case you do not have a subscription, which may make it harder to access the article by Jenni Frazer, here is the article in the London Times from 25th January. You might also try the link here.

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• Monday, January 27

Ghostly parchments from the vanished Jews of Mitteleuropa

David Brand at work on a scroll: he spent nearly three decades repairing the parchments and redrawing the lettering

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  David Brand at work on a scroll: he spent nearly three decades repairing the parchments and redrawing the lettering

Jenni Frazer

Published at 12:00AM, January 25 2014

Jenni Frazer reports on the improbable survival of a precious hoard of 1,500 Torah scrolls

Just over half a century ago two lorries turned into a side road near the Knightsbridge barracks in central London, and a ghostly cargo was unloaded.

Fifteen hundred and sixty four sacred Torah scrolls, collected and catalogued from the war-torn Jewish communities of Bohemia and Moravia, had arrived in London on a dank February morning in 1964, an extraordinary testament to the Czech Jews to whom they had once belonged.

The story of the Czech scrolls is both heartbreaking and uplifting. Collated in near impossible conditions in 1942 by the curators of the Jewish Museum of Prague, the scrolls survived, unlike their cataloguers, few of whom lived through the Nazi Holocaust.

And after the defeat of the Nazis, the scrolls lay forgotten in the disused Michle Synagogue, near Prague, until the communists, desperate for hard currency and looking for goods to sell, stumbled across them.

The scrolls were not the Czech state’s to sell, though this appears hardly to have mattered. The postwar Jewish Museum fought tooth and nail against the sale, but lost. At least 50 scrolls from the Prague collection were sent to the young state of Israel in 1964, although present-day religious authorities in Israel deny all knowledge of them.

At any rate, the Czech communists still wanted to sell the rest: and they did not want to sell them off piecemeal, but only as a complete collection. A London art dealer, Eric Estorick, had been going to Czechoslovakia regularly since the end of the war and became aware of this extraordinary cache of Torah scrolls.

He approached a lawyer and philanthropist, Ralph Yablon, who had helped to acquire Kent House, the Knightsbridge building that became the premises of the Westminster Synagogue.

Yablon spoke to the Westminister Synagogue’s rabbi, Harold Reinhart. The scholar Chimen Abramsky was dispatched to Prague to evaluate the scrolls; and for an undisclosed sum — some say £30,000, some say £80,000 — a deal was done anthe Torah scrolls were sent to London.

Quite why the scrolls were collected and catalogued in Prague in the first place remains a point of contention. For many years it was believed that the Nazis were collecting Judaica in order to establish a Museum of an Extinct Race. But now, according to Evelyn Friedlander, the curator of the present-day collection at Westminster, this idea has been discredited.

“It seems to have been the inspiration of the Jewish community in Prague,” she says. “The city’s Jewish Museum had been established in 1906 and the curators were academics and professionals in their forties and fifties, in the prime of their careers.” One, the librarian, Tobias Jakobovits, was the uncle of Immanuel Jakobovits, the long-serving Chief Rabbi of Britain until 1991.

As the war progressed rural Jews began gravitating towards the bigger cities in Czechoslovakia. So when, in 1942, a letter went out from the Jewish community of Prague asking the far-flung congregations to send their Torah scrolls and other synagogue Judaica to the capital, the Jews of Bohemia and Moravia responded quickly. “Everything,” says Evelyn Friedlander, “was catalogued meticulously. We know where every scroll came from: they were labelled in Czech and German, giving the name of the community or congregation.” Czech, of course: but German, too, because this extraordinary task was carried out under Nazi supervision.

“The curators thought they were saving Judaism by saving the scrolls,” says Mrs Friedlander. Many of the scrolls that arrived in London were tied with a separate cloth binder, some dating from the 17th and 18th centuries. In the 100 volumes of catalogue still in the Prague Jewish Museum, there are also details of where the binders originated, some exquisitely embroidered, some examples of local folk art, some honouring members of the congregation or marking special events such as births, barmitzvahs or weddings.

All the binders were flung in with the Torah scrolls unloaded from the first of the London lorries. On the second lorry, says Mrs Friedlander, “there is a story that there were messages in among the scrolls, scraps of paper saying ‘please help us.’ But no one knows what became of them.”

A team of nine scribes — experts in the parchment on which a Torah scroll is written and the actual inscription of the scroll — was assembled at Westminster Synagogue, to examine every single scroll and recatalogue them. But when that task had finished, it was still necessary to have someone work on the scrolls so that they would be fit to send out on loan to congregations. Minute repairs and meticulous redrawing of the Hebrew lettering can only be carried out by a qualified scribe.

At this point, laughs Friedlander, “a sort of miracle happened”. A man knocked on the door of the synagogue, dressed in full strictly Orthodox clothing, and announced himself as a travelling scribe who wondered if there was any work for him. Did the synagogue, perhaps, have a scroll or two for him to look at?

One can only imagine David Brand’s face when he was ushered in to take stock of 1,564 scrolls. Brand, who now lives in a retirement home in Israel, stayed for 27 years, carefully working on the collection and using the same sort of ancient inks and quills used for centuries by Jewish scribes.

And why was it so important for the scrolls to be restored? Because once they were in the West, hundreds of communities all over the world wanted to use a rescued Czech scroll in their synagogue services. The Westminster curators decided to send out as many as they could on long-term loan. There are thought to be about 1,000 scrolls now in use in North America, and about 100 in the UK. Communities as far apart as Alaska, Puerto Rico and Hawaii have asked for the loan of these iconic Torah scrolls.

On February 9, in Westminster Synagogue, a special service will be held to mark the 50th anniversary of the arrival of the Czech Torah scrolls in London. Many of the congregations which have borrowed a Czech scroll will attend — and will bring their scroll with them, to walk in procession around the synagogue. It will be an impressive and almost certainly emotional sight.

And among the congregation, it is hoped, will be Shlomo Fischl, who now lives in Israel. He comes from Horazdovice, in Bohemia, the congregation whose Torah scroll is now used by Westminster Synagogue

A Wandering Sofer Comes to Rest

This photograph shows Sofer David Brand working on a Czech Scroll at his desk on the third floor of Kent House. Not long after the scrolls arrived at Westminster Synagogue, he was walking along Knightsbridge and saw the sign on the street corner (no longer up since these days it is not considered secure to publicly announce the presence of a synagogue). He knocked on the door and asked if there were any Torah scrolls that needed mending.  "Come in, sit down," he was told, "er ... we have one thousand, five hundred and sixty four Torahs!"

Sofer Brand stayed with us for 27 years until he retired and moved to Israel, where he still lives.