Cast a line to catch a Fisher

 New members of Beit Knesset Hanassi may recognize the dedication and effort that must have been made by others before they joined but, as time passes and the generations roll on, they may never get to meet those who made Hanassi what it is today, and will never know about their contribution to our community.  In the following article Dr Pessy Krausz offers an appreciation of one of our vintage old-timers, Joan Fisher (who donated the striking parochet in the main shul). Here;s what Pessy has to say:

The Joan Fisher Family Saga

If you took a fishing rod and cast a line with all your might, it might whizz its way via Warsaw, Kfar Chassidim, Melbourne, and Sydney—before taking a deep plunge and emerging in Jerusalem. Most specifically, in Jerusalem’s Beit Knesset Hanassi.

There, among many august matrons, sits our heroine—Laurel Joan Hadassah Fisher (née Marks), born 3 August 1927. She graces its front row while gently turning the 60-year-old pages of her Siddur/Chumash, bequeathed to her by her mother, Naomi. Just last Shabbat, Joan pointed it out to me proudly, saying, “Look at my mother’s beautiful handwriting!”

Photo: Joan (on the left) with Pessy Krausz

It was in this very Siddur that her husband Sam used to mark the place of the weekly Torah reading, slipping in notes for Joan and pointing out any parts that differed that week.

This same Sam—whose given names were Shalom Baruch—was named from the Prophets: Shalom and Baruch both appear in the Haftarah of Behar, which was read on the Shabbat following his birth in Warsaw in 1924. Little did this Polish-born babe know that when his father travelled to Australia to join cousins, not only would he miss his son's Brit, but it would be three years before he could amass enough funds to bring his wife and child to join him.

In the early 1930s, Sam’s mother turned to her husband and said, “The time has come for us to join your family in Eretz Yisrael.” Sam’s father came from a family of Yablone Chassidim, whose Rebbe had already told his disciples in the 1920s that their future lay in the Land of Israel. To that end, the Chassidim purchased land in what would later be known as Kfar Chassidim, nestled in the foothills of the Carmel mountain range.

In 1934, Sam and his parents arrived—coming first to Haifa, and then moving on to the Kfar. Sam added fluent Hebrew to his mother tongue of Yiddish. During that time, he wrote to his grandfather in Warsaw in beautiful Hebrew. Warren, who was present during my visit with Joan, shared that the family still has one of Sam’s original letters from Kfar Chassidim, dated 1937!

Photo: The parochet that Joan dedicated to Sam.

Life in Eretz Yisrael was difficult in those early days of Aliyah. Sadly, the economic conditions forced Sam’s father to return to Australia—once again, without the means to bring his wife and son along. During his father’s absence, young Shalom—who had already made Aliyah in 1934—celebrated his Bar Mitzvah, once again in his father’s absence.

Eventually, his father was able to send for his wife and, by then, two sons—Sam and his younger brother, Jack. They departed on the last ship through the Suez Canal around April 1939. Settled once again in Sydney, they welcomed a third son, Mark.

Joan’s own life became intertwined with Sam’s through a string of happenstances. She was the second in a family of five—she told me proudly, reeling off their names in order: Clarice, Joan, Leo, Harold, and Michael. As I sat, mesmerised by her tales of life in a modest suburb not far from Sydney, I had to remind myself to keep jotting down notes for Joan’s Hanassi Shul Profile—to which, fortunately, she agreed to contribute.

She told me that, growing up, the only other family on their street with five children was Catholic. There were some Jewish families, but, in her words, “they kept nothing.” Joan’s mother, by contrast, was punctilious in her observance—sending Joan across town on several buses to buy kosher meat. The kosher section had the hechsher on the main side of beef, and the butcher would cut her requested portion from that. On returning home, Joan would be met with her mother’s anxious question: “Where’s the kosher stamp?” And Joan would stammer her assurance, “Mummy, it was on the top of the beef, I promise!”

Why was it Joan who ran the errands, I wondered—especially since she had shared, rather despondently, that her older sister Clarice had a bicycle, and she did not. But then Warren proudly showed me a trophy his mother had won—a silver cup inscribed HPMPCC and Junior Joan Marks, 1938—when she was only 11 years old. What does HPMPCC stand for? Hurlstone Park Methodist Physical Culture Club. Duly impressed, our bubble was quickly burst by Joan’s ever-grounded perspective: “I was sent there because I was ungainly—not like Clarice—always knocking things over. Best of a bad lot!”

Still, it was the elegant Clarice who unwittingly became the matchmaker. She was working in an office and had forgotten her lunch. It was Pesach, and their mother sent Joan to deliver it. Off she went on that fateful errand—and who should spot her but none other than—you’ve guessed it—Sam. He pursued his dream girl.

He must have seen the lifelong qualities Joan possessed, such as the compassion she showed by moving to Melbourne to live with her widowed grandmother. “She was all on her own, and there were many of us,” Joan explained. “Mind you, if a boyfriend came along she didn’t approve of, she’d come into the room waving her watch saying, ‘It’s time, don’t you think?’”

Indeed, it was time. Time for Sam.

Joan no doubt recognised in Sam a man who could swim above the tide of fate, fight for his values—and win the heart of the girl he loved. Since Sam’s hardworking father had missed both his Brit and his Bar Mitzvah, Sam worried he might miss his wedding, too. Thankfully, he was present and gave his blessing to Joan and his son. Not long afterward, sadly, he passed away at just 45.

Still, he lived to see the cork that Warren later showed me—pulled from the wedding’s celebratory champagne bottle, engraved with the initials SBCJ: Shalom Baruch – Laurel Joan, 3 May 1950.

Together, Joan and Sam created a warm, welcoming home. Their four children grew up with guests around the Shabbat table as a regular part of life. Sam became increasingly active in communal affairs—especially education and the Chevra Kadisha—with Joan by his side. A whizz-kid touch typist from business college, she typed Sam’s many speeches and often contributed to their content.

At their golden wedding celebration in Jerusalem, Sam openly expressed his appreciation of Joan for this and so much more.

And here’s a little secret! One summer, quite by chance, Joan and Sam, and Neville and I, found ourselves in St. Moritz. Joan’s beautifully served meals—cooked on the hotel balcony and set out on a pristine white cloth—put my own humble picnic-style efforts to shame!

Sam was totally dedicated to Chinuch—Jewish education—in the fullest sense. He championed Sydney’s Moriah College for decades, committed to its excellence in Jewish and Zionist values. In recognition, when the school moved to its new Queens Park campus, they named the main walkway after him: The Sam Fisher Walk (Sam’s own story is available here).

In addition to Chinuch, Sam served as Vice President of the Sydney Chevra Kadisha, frequently performing Taharot before funerals. He also served for years on the board—and as president—of Central Synagogue, Sydney’s largest.

It’s little wonder that each of their four children, one by one, made Aliyah. Yet when the first—Jeffrey—left for Israel, Joan cried buckets. When Jill made Aliyah—more buckets. When Warren went, she did not cry. Eventually, she turned to the youngest and asked, “Lindsay, when are you going?!”

The line was cast—and the golden fishing rod led Joan and Sam themselves to make Aliyah in December 1992. They continued their communal involvement with gusto.

Joan volunteered with the renowned Yad Sarah, faithfully driving Victoria—blind and nearly deaf—to weekly swimming sessions at Jerusalem’s Institute for the Blind for over 20 years. Even after Joan stopped, Victoria continued to call Warren each New Year with greetings for the family.

For 15 years, Joan also transferred the Hearing Clinic’s paper records to computer at Hadassah Hospital, Ein Karem—until one day, she saw the name of her own great-grandchild. She knew then her mission was complete.

Sam served as Gabbai for the Hanassi Shul morning minyan. Henry Israel, Shul president from 2014–2018, remembered Sam as a devoted and non-confrontational Gabbai who drew others in. He encouraged congregants to participate and personally urged Henry to layn (read the Torah). “He is much missed,” Henry said.

After 20 years of service to the community, Sam passed away on 1 April 2012.

Joan and Sam donated the beautiful Ner Tamid to Hanassi Shul. Later, Joan honoured Sam’s memory with the donation of a rich blue velvet Parochet set adorning the Aron Kodesh. She praised the late Moshe Loshinsky z”l, beloved Gabbai, for his tireless work ensuring its completion.

We look forward to celebrating Joan’s birthday soon—on 3 August 2025. Let us, among the four generations she and Sam nurtured, raise a glass to her unwavering compassion, dignity, and grace.

May she go from strength to strength—ad me'ah ke-esrim—until 120, as she was at 20.

LeChaim!