How to Become a Doctor

In the autumn of 1956, there was an opportunity for the family to escape Communist Hungary and they made their way to London, where my father had a brother. I was living in Israel when my parents and two younger brothers arrived in London in December 1956. On my uncle’s advice, Moshe, who at the time was only 10 years old, had been enrolled in Getter’s Cheder where he was very unhappy, so he was transferred to Yesodey Hatorah School in Amhurst Park. Moshe was not exactly ecstatic about this move, however he became good friends with a boy who, like him, had academic ambitions and so he fitted in. At the time, we lived in Queen Elizabeth’s Walk, Stoke Newington. Moshe enjoyed going to the nearby Clissold Park, where there was a sort of mini zoo and an ornamental fish pond. One day he decided to go fishing, to take his catch home and ask our mother to cook it, but a couple of "shkotsim" (impudent boys) forced him to throw his fish back. He just could not understand why he should throw it back.

Later on, our parents bought a house in Clifton Gardens, South Tottenham. My other brother David and I were already married, so there was a spare room and it was let to a boy named Max from Yorkshire, who came to London to learn watch-making. Moshe did not see eye to eye with him. Moshe’s old interest in insects renewed. One day he had made his way to the New Forest and dug up two colonies of ants and installed them at opposite ends of the garden. He spent hours watching the antics of these ants; being of separate colonies, they waged war against each other. The battle ground included the kitchen and backroom. So, one day, when Moshe was in school, Max drowned both colonies. Moshe was inconsolable and could not forgive him.

The future doctor occupied the small box room over the entrance, in which he only emerged from for meals. He spent his solitude reading and studying. Our father decided to buy a motorcar for him to drive and to be at our parents’ beck-and-call for transportation. This was a car like no other, an old Morris Minor without heating and with indicators that were red bars that popped out of the sides of the car. At one time, he drove my twins to Stamford Hill and on the way, one of the wheels and the axle parted company. Thank G-d there were no injuries. I have no idea how he managed to get the children home.

After he passed his GCEs, our father took Moshe to Manchester Yeshivah where he studied hard for a couple years. On his return, Moshe decided that he wanted to study medicine, and was almost accepted, however, as the Medical School had not heard of the Yesodey Hatorah Grammar School, they came out to Stamford Hill to investigate and Moshe was promptly rejected. This suited our father, who had been worried about the prospect of hillul Shabbat (breaking the laws of Shabbat) in regard to pikuach nefesh (saving a life). He then applied to the Imperial College Engineering Department, following his other brother’s footsteps. Moshe was accepted and he became an electronics engineer, gaining his degree with first class honours. To become a member of their professional society, Moshe had to work as an engineer for, I think, two years. His first job was with the Post Office and part of his duties was to climb telephone poles to carry out repairs, but he soon left this position to join Thorn Electronics with easy access to Stamford Hill. After he became a member of the electronics engineer’s professional society, Moshe applied to St Bartholomew Teaching Hospital (Barts) to study medicine. His undergraduate academic achievements at Imperial College and professional standing in the electronics field, had finally opened the door to Moshe's medical training.

Moshe was in his last year at Barts when he realised that there were interesting extra-curricular opportunities at the Medical School. Barts kept sailing boats on the Welsh Harp and he decided to try his hand at sailing. He had never sailed before and neither had I, but how hard could it be? Well, we quickly found out, as we were dunked in the shallow waters of the Welsh Harp more often than biscuits in tea. Never one to give up, my young twins were also taken by Moshe to the Welsh Harp to try sailing and, guess what, had a similar experience.

Moshe started his practice in the mid-1970s in our mother’s home in South Tottenham, using the front room as his surgery and the backroom as his waiting room. The Stamford Hill community loved Moshe – he was their “frum” (religious) doctor. His telephone never ceased ringing; people were just popping in for a consultation. On the flip side, he had no uninterrupted Seder, Shabbat lunch or family simcha, but these were HIS patients and he would fight for their fair treatment at any hospital.

Reb Moshe Shmuel ben Avraham, Dr Paul Rübner, has left a wonderful example to his descendants. To his patients he was the Yiddishe Dr Findlay of N16 and its environs.