‘The Jewish Deaf Association has always been there for me. It is like my family’

Miriam has spent much of her adult life involved with the organisation, as a member, committee secretary and fundraiser. She calls it her family.

Miriam Solomon (centre) with Sue Cipin OBE (JDA CEO), Chief Rabbi, Trudy Kling (JDA chair) and Caroline Janner (JDA trustee)[Missing Credit]

There was also a surprise guest. Chief Rabbi Sir Ephraim Mirvis joined the celebrations to meet Miriam, a member of Finchley United Synagogue, who taught the Chief Rabbi how to sign “Happy Birthday” in British Sign Language (BSL).

“It was a privilege to have the Chief Rabbi visit me on my special birthday,” Miriam says, smiling at the memory from her green upholstered armchair. “He gave me a special letter, which I will treasure forever.”

We sit in Miriam’s living room to reflect on her life, joined by JDA support worker Lisa Mansur, who uses a combination of BSL and lipreading to help us communicate.

Born into an Orthodox Jewish family in Manchester, Miriam was one of three siblings, all born deaf. At just three and a half, she was sent with her older sister, Josephine, and younger brother, Myer, to the Residential School for Jewish Deaf Children, in London, a boarding school founded in 1860.

Siblings Josephine, Myer and Miriam (bottom) Solomon as children (Photo: courtesy)[Missing Credit]

It was there that many of Miriam’s earliest memories were formed. She returned home only three times a year – for Chanukah, Pesach and the summer holidays, and while at school, she learnt Hebrew, attended Shabbat prayers, won prizes and trained in dressmaking.

“I don’t remember very much about first arriving because I was so young, but I remember being happy. I picked things up very quickly at school. I was talking by the time I was five,” she says.

“There was very good discipline at the school. It wasn’t strict in a bad way. Everyone behaved and we had very good staff. The teachers didn’t sign to us. We had to speak to the teachers, but among ourselves, of course we signed.

“We had Hebrew lessons two or three times a week. I learnt basic Hebrew. I still know things like the blessings for the bread and the wine. We had prayers every Shabbos in the assembly room. I still remember those prayers now.”

While the girls did dressmaking, the boys did tailoring instead. “I enjoyed dressmaking. I made blouses and things like that. I was always reading books. As soon as I finished my lessons, I would go back to my books.”

One person Miriam remembers particularly fondly is the school matron, Miss Novinsky. After recently discovering that her grave had been left unmarked, Miriam decided to pay for her gravestone.

The mention of her former matron makes Miriam teary. “I really loved her and she loved me,” she says. “Sometimes on Sundays, other children had visitors, and I had nobody there, so Miss Novinsky would take me out. She took me to Kensington Gardens to see the Peter Pan statue. I still remember that.”

Miriam’s school years were cut short by the Second World War, when her father decided that Miriam, her siblings and their mother should move thousands of miles away to Australia.

“I should have stayed at school until I was 16, but I left when I was 14 because of the war,” she says, recalling the four-week journey overseas.

“My father did not come with us; he had to remain in England during the war. I didn’t know at first that my father wasn’t coming with us. If I had known that, I’m not sure I would have gone.”

For the next eight years, Miriam lived in Melbourne but stayed in touch with former classmates.

“I did miss people from school. We wrote letters to one another,” she says. “We were all so close because we had lived together. We had eaten every meal together and had slept in the same dormitories.

“I remember one girl sleeping near me telling me she had a secret boyfriend. She asked me to write a letter for her to give to him, so I wrote him a love letter for her,” she smiles.

After returning to England, Miriam eventually found a new community that would shape her life.

Miriam with JDA support worker Lisa Mansur (Photo: JDA)[Missing Credit]

She recalls: “In 1953, we moved to London because we found out that the Jewish Deaf Association had been set up.

“There, I got to know lots of deaf people through JDA. I joined the youth committee and later moved onto the adult committee. I was always the secretary. I have helped to fundraise money for JDA. More and more money is needed every year.”

The shared identity, not only of being deaf but also of being Jewish is something Miriam values. “We understand each other so well. Lots of people from the community married one another. There were a lot of marriages.”

She adds: “In 1957, 39 of us went on an organised holiday to Switzerland for three weeks. It was wonderful. We went up the mountains, to Geneva, Zurich and all over. The weather was wonderful as well.”

For Miriam, who never married and has outlived both her siblings, that sense of family has become something of a lifeline.

“JDA has always been there. It has been my family,” she says.

Siblings Josephine, Myer and Miriam (Photo: courtesy)[Missing Credit]

Reflecting on what has changed for deaf people since she was young, Miriam reflects: “Over 100 years, everything has changed.

“There are better job opportunities for deaf people now. Deaf people can do better jobs and there are more careers open to them.”

Yet, many of the things Miriam enjoyed as a child remain part of her life today.

“I still read books. I have so many books. At the moment, I am reading poetry, I like old English poetry. Sometimes, poetry makes me cry.”

We talk through her framed poems, as well as photographs around her home, including a striking portrait of Miriam aged 30 in a blue silk dress, its full skirt spread around her. That image was taken by her late brother Myer, who was a skilled photographer and handbag maker, and he was once pictured showing his craft to Queen Elizabeth II. “My brother, Myer, was a wonderful photographer,” she says, looking at the image of herself in the dress and reflecting on her lifelong love of clothes. “The dress was pale blue, my favourite colour. I don’t like black; it is moody, it is miserable.”

Miriam Solomon in her beloved dress (Photo: JDA/courtesy)[Missing Credit]

At this, Miriam’s support worker Lisa Mansur, who has worked at JDA for nearly 24 years, smiles.“At 100, Miriam is still Miriam. She is independent, she knows her own mind and she decides how she wants to live.”

JDA’s CEO Sue Cipin OBE says: “It was a real joy for all of us at JDA to celebrate Miriam turning 100. Miriam’s stories of her extraordinary life show how much has changed for deaf people, and the crucial role JDA has played in her life and the lives of generations of Jewish deaf people. She is fiercely independent, full of character and still completely engaged with the world around her.

"Miriam has seen JDA and the Jewish deaf community evolve over generations. With JDA beside her, Miriam will always have the love, care and support she needs to live a safe, healthy, happy life.”

Back in her living room, Miriam’s memories of a century remain strikingly clear. “I have seen a lot of changes during my lifetime, but I am still interested in what is happening, and I still like trying things,” she says.

Her secret? “I take every day as it comes.”

For more information, visit the Jewish Deaf Association's website.