From the Hasidic school to Princeton

The eldest of four children, Chayim Lowen was 9 years old when, one spring day, he ran away from the Montreal Hasidic school he attended, determined never to set foot there again. At dinner time, he remembers climbing over the fence and running away.

Fifteen years later, Chayim is still running… At 24, after an extraordinary ultramarathon, the young Quebecer has just entered the prestigious Princeton University. There he won a scholarship allowing him to realize a dream that would have been unattainable if he had remained at the Hasidic school: doing a doctorate in mathematics.

At 9 years old, the child who had grown up in the Tash Hasidic community in Boisbriand before being enrolled in an ultra-Orthodox Jewish school in Outremont was obviously far from imagining that this first afternoon of truant school would change forever. never his life and that of his family. Following his escape, his entire family, after breaking with the Tash community of Boisbriand a year earlier, was forced to climb over the Hasidic fence. Inspired by the audacity of their eldest son, Clara Wasserstein (aka Shifra) and Yochonon Lowen (aka Yohanan) then threw themselves headlong into an obstacle course for the right to secular education for Hasidic children. Their fight was told in 2017 in the very touching documentary by journalist Émilie Dubreuil I want to know¹.

What made Chayim run away from Hasidic school at age 9?

“I didn’t know exactly what I was doing! “, told me the shy student, joined at Princeton, where he has just settled.

He generally avoids thinking about this painful period of his life. “I feel like I’ve lost several years of my life, like I’ve lost my childhood. »

Looking back, Chayim realizes that, without really knowing what he was running towards, he knew very well what he was fleeing: a school that made him unhappy, devoted essentially to reading religious texts, and where he saw children being subjected to corporal punishment – ​​a practice decried by his parents which marked a breaking point with their community.

The rest was not a smooth ride. When his parents managed to enroll him in a Montreal school offering a secular education and respecting the Quebec educational system, Chayim was behind in his learning. The parents, who had themselves been deprived of their right to education and lived in poverty, could not help him with his duties.

Thirsty for knowledge, studious and persevering, Chayim nevertheless made up for it brilliantly, even finishing his secondary studies with the Governor General’s medal.

Before choosing to continue his studies at Princeton – he was actually spoiled for choice, having also been admitted to Harvard, Stanford and the University of Chicago – Chayim was also a scholarship recipient at the University of Toronto. He earned a bachelor’s degree there last spring. A baccalaureate in science with distinction which had already made his parents extremely proud.

Shifra’s eyes light up when she talks about it.

“Convocation was really exciting for us. I felt like I had reached the top of a mountain. I was overcome with joy thinking of my son’s incredible perseverance. »

Let’s say that this son had someone to look after, I said to myself as I listened to his parents tell me about it in the same café in the Côte-des-Neiges–Notre-Dame-de-Grâce district where I had met them for the first time, in 2014.

At the time, they were still at the beginning of their rise. Although they grew up in Quebec, they seemed to me like refugees in their own country. To learn French, Shifra, even though she had grown up in Boisbriand, had to enroll in courses intended for immigrants. In the Hasidic schools she and her husband attended, the language of instruction was Yiddish.

When they left secondary school, they had no modern scientific knowledge. They did not know the existence of the St. Lawrence River or the theory of evolution. Yohanan didn’t even know the meaning of the word “science”, the word that now appears on his eldest son’s university diploma.

At the foot of the mountain, the parents tried to rebuild their lives with few resources and a lot of determination. Above all, they tried to offer their children the secular education of which they had been deprived. By taking their case to court, they also wanted to ensure that no other Hasidic child suffered what they suffered.

Although their appeal was ultimately rejected by the Superior Court of Quebec, it still had the merit of shaking things up². Because between the moment the couple began the legal process and the moment the judgment was rendered, progress was noted in the schooling of Hasidic children.

The parents would have hoped for more. But they remain convinced that the tough climb will still have been worth it. There is no question for them to be satisfied with the fact that their four children are now pursuing post-secondary studies. Because this unfinished fight does not only concern their children.

“I couldn’t sleep soundly knowing that other Hasidic children were being left behind,” Shifra told me.

From Princeton, where he intends to continue to honor the right to education for which his parents fought, Chayim can only bow to the tenacity of his parents.

“It’s remarkable what they managed to do. They did very well with very little. »

Esther’s dream

For Esther Lowen, 22, the journey of her big brother Chayim is an incredible source of inspiration.

“I’m really proud of him, even if I don’t really understand what he does! », says the young woman, laughing.

In Montreal, following in her brother’s footsteps, Esther has just started university studies in music, after taking a detour into cinema at CEGEP.

“Music is the love of my life. This is why I live. But I never had the money to study music. When I wanted to study music at CEGEP, it was complicated because I hadn’t taken any courses and I didn’t have the prerequisites. Cinema was more accessible. For me, what was important was to create. »

Esther’s detour into cinema was marked by great successes. The short movie The Odyssey of Lost Shadows which she co-directed won a “Coup de coeur” prize at the Intercollégial du cinéma which took place at the Cégep de Rimouski in June 2022.

By pursuing music studies at university today, Esther feels like she is realizing an old dream, which was inaccessible to her growing up in the Hasidic community.

“In the community, we censor the music we have the right to listen to. When I grew up there, there were no musical instruments – at least not in the families I knew. No radio. We listened to tapes of men singing prayers. Women were not allowed to sing in public. If a woman sang, it was alone at home or with other women. »

Although the rules tend to relax in certain Hasidic communities and more and more women find creative ways to defy the prohibitions, women in the Tash community are still not allowed to sing in public, observes the mother. of Esther, Shifra.

In her other life in Boisbriand, the mother of four children herself composed religious songs which were performed by men. During her childhood, she herself was not allowed to sing at home. “There were families who allowed it. But my father, no. Even when he wasn’t home, it was considered a sin. »

Playing musical instruments was also forbidden in the house where she grew up. But certain adjustments were sometimes possible. “The ban only concerned real musical instruments. »

Today, seeing her daughter have the chance to fully live her passion for music delights her. “It’s a wonderful feeling! »

Esther remembers that it was thanks to her father, who defied prohibitions, that she was introduced to music. “My father would cheat and bring home cassettes and CDs from the library with Yiddish songs. He taught us songs. »

Since then, the whole family has loved music. “I would say that my family is a bit of a choir! »

Esther remains particularly attached to Yiddish singing. “That’s where I’m from. »

Although her family lives on the fringes of the Hasidic fold, they have not cut all ties with their community or renounced their rich Jewish cultural background.

“We are no longer the same believers we were. We believe in our heritage. We believe in our people,” Shifra, who now tries to earn a living as a coach with Hasidic parents.

Esther considers herself lucky to have had parents who ensured that she could realize her dreams and enjoy a freedom that they themselves were deprived of. At the same age as her, they had already been married for four years and already parents of young children, forced to take a path that they had not freely chosen.

“You don’t know how lucky you are,” a Hasidic man who lost his family leaving the community told her.

“I thought indeed that I could never understand. Because I was never married in this community, I never had to do anything my parents did. It’s true, I’ll never know how lucky I am. But what I know is that I owe my life to my parents. I feel like I owe them a debt that I can never repay. »

Seeing the pride in Shifra and Yohanan’s eyes when they talk about their children, I told myself that it won’t be necessary to call the bailiff.