Uncovering the forgotten legacy of Mrs. Jennie Miller Faggen, the most prolific Torah philanthropist of the interwar era

With additional Research by Gavriel Schuster and Chaya Sarah Herman 

Photos: Rabbi Dovid Kamenetsky, Philadelphia Yeshiva Archives, YIVO, Temple University Archives, Kedem Auctions, DMS Yeshiva Archives, Jewish Exponent, Philadelphia Enquirer, Mir Yeshiva Archives, NYC Municipal Archives, LIbrary of Congress, Sotheby’s, Gratz College, Kevarim.com, Yoeli Hirsch, Shmuel Bitansky

Special thanks to Rav Shmuel Kamenetsky and family for their guidance, assistance, and encouragement

This article has been excerpted from Dovi Safier’s upcoming book on Jennie Miller Faggen (2024)

One serene summer morning, a stranger entered the prestigious Ponevezh Yeshiva in Bnei Brak. He walked through the building determinedly until he found a wall of dedication plaques. Then he stopped, and began to scrutinize each one. The students looked at him curiously before returning to their learning.

Finally the man turned around. “Where can I find Rabbi Kahaneman?” he asked in an American-accented  Hebrew.

A nearby student, sensing the urgency in the stranger’s voice, escorted him to the office of Rav Avraham Kahaneman. As his son, Rav Eliezer Kahaneman, would later recount, this was no ordinary encounter. The man had come from Philadelphia with a question that would lead them both on a remarkable journey through time.

“Where is the plaque commemorating Jennie Miller’s 1929 dedication?” he asked. Rav Avraham, puzzled, pressed the stranger for details. With a trembling hand, the man removed a frayed, yellowed contract from a worn manila envelope. The document bore the signatures of Pesha bas Reb Yisroel Miller (Jennie Miller), the Ponevezher Rav — Rav Yosef Shlomo Kahaneman, and Rav Ephraim Eliezer HaKohein Yolles — the Philadelphia  rabbi who helped draft the contract.

The truth dawned on Rav Avraham. Decades prior, before the horrors of World War II, Rav Avraham’s father, the Ponevezher Rav, had traveled from Lithuania to fundraise in America. There he met Jennie Miller Faggen, a Philadelphia woman of uncommon means and generosity. Profoundly moved by his impassioned speech at a local synagogue, Jennie had pledged $8,000 (which is approximately equivalent to $700,000 in 2023 when measured using gold as an inflationary measure.) to construct a new building for the Ponevezh Yeshiva, to be named “The Jennie Miller Building” in her honor.  The contract specified that Jennie would retain naming rights were the yeshivah ever to relocate to Israel.

Trapped in Mandatory Palestine as war erupted, the Ponevezher Rav never returned to Lithuania. The yeshivah was obliterated, and its students and faculty were ruthlessly exterminated by the Nazis. Undeterred, the Ponevezher Rav resolved to resurrect the yeshivah in Bnei Brak, where it would ultimately become an iconic institution, surpassing its predecessor in stature and influence.

Confronted with the stranger and the long-forgotten contract, Rav Avraham Kahaneman faced an ethical quandary. Although the contract mandated Jennie’s naming rights, the yeshivah had not relocated to Israel; it had in fact been utterly destroyed and reborn under the same name elsewhere.

After much contemplation, Rav Kahaneman chose to honor the spirit of the contract and the memory of Jennie Miller Faggen. He commissioned a plaque commemorating her benevolence, acknowledging that her acts of charity deserved eternal recognition and celebration.

That plaque still hangs in Ponevezh today. It’s a rare reminder of a great woman who dedicated her fortune to buttressing the yeshivah world when Torah learning was hardly valued in America. Other than that plaque, scarce public reminders exist to commemorate her extraordinary generosity. It would take months of tenacious research, serendipitous leads, and several privileged conversations with the venerated rosh yeshivah of Philadelphia to unveil the full story of Jennie Miller, a patroness of yeshivos and gedolim, who was largely forgotten to history.

A young Ponevezher Rav with his son and successor Rav Avraham and son Yankele Hy”d

Chapter I: The Box in the Basement

IT

all began with a box in my basement.

I contracted coronavirus during the dark days following Purim of 2020, when fear over the pandemic was at its peak. Under strict quarantine in the basement, I decided to peruse some boxes that had been collecting dust in storage.

While most frum collectors tend to focus on antique seforim and chassidic artifacts, I had been quietly amassing a different kind of collection, a treasure trove of documents that I had nicknamed my “Vilna Genizah.” Within its dusty confines lay a range of fascinating materials, including letters, marketing materials, and fundraising ledgers from early 20th century yeshivos. Through the contents of this collection, I hoped to gain a deeper understanding of the yeshivah world during a critical time in its history.

Now, as I perused the diverse files for something of interest, a small pamphlet slipped out onto the dust-covered floor. The booklet was embossed with bold English letters proclaiming, “THE WORLD FAMOUS YESHIVA COLLEGE OF TELSHE, LITHUANIA.” It was dated 1929 and seemed to have been prepared by the yeshivah in advance of a fundraising visit to the US by Rav Elya Meir Bloch, the son of the rosh yeshivah Rav Yosef Leib Bloch.

The document began by outlining the more than half-century history of the yeshivah and quickly reverted to the current financial state of the yeshivah, which like most yeshivos at the time, was rather dire:

WHILE SPIRITUALLY the Yeshivah is at its height, its financial status is in fact all too lamentable. The budget of the Yeshivah — which is only $7,000.00 monthly — has not been met for many, many months….

American Jewry must fulfill its duty to our Torah and people and must rescue the famous Yeshivah of Telshe from closing its doors to the hundreds of applicants who are stretching forth their hands and clamoring for admission….

…Come to the support of the great Telshe Yeshiva and receive the reward of Heaven’s blessings that come to those who support the Torah. 

In the year 1927, when a delegation of the Yeshivah visited America, it succeeded with the cooperation of the venerable Rabbi B. L. Levinthal, of Philadelphia, to interest the benefactress of every good cause, Mrs. Jennie Miller, of said city, in the institution, in conjunction with the Yeshivah, and Mrs. Jennie Miller, in her generosity, has undertaken to cover the greater part of the budget of the said “KOLLEL RABBIS” and because of same, the “KOLLEL” hereafter shall be known as the “JENNIE MILLER KOLLEL.”

I was immediately intrigued. Could it be true that the renowned Telshe Yeshiva named its kollel after an American woman? This would seem highly improbable to anyone familiar with Lithuanian yeshivos. But here it was in black and white. I was determined to uncover the truth.

Forgotten Philanthropist

A Google search netted some positive results. YIVO’s digital archive contained several letters written to Jennie Miller from various gedolim and yeshivos. There was a thank-you letter from the Chofetz Chaim in Radin, a letter of acknowledgment from Rav Chaim Ozer Grodzenski wishing Mrs. Jennie Miller success in her endeavors, and most surprisingly, a missive from the Mir Rosh Yeshivah, Rav Eliezer Yehuda Finkel, written on the stationary of a Mir Kollel titled, “The Cohlel of Ten Rabbis on the name of Mrs. Pesha Miller, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.” So there were not one, but two kollelim named for this forgotten woman.

Next, I checked the comprehensive book Ketzur Chalamish: The Golden Age of the Lithuanian Yeshivas in Eastern Europe by the incomparable yeshivah historian Dr. Ben-Tsiyon Klibansky, where I found mention of regular donations that Jennie Miller sent to the Lomza Yeshiva under the leadership of Rabbi Yechiel Mordechai Gordon:

“In 1925, Rav Yechiel Mordechai Gordon secured a pledge from Pesha Miller for $200 a month toward the new branch of Lomza in Petach Tikvah. This would be sufficient to support ten students.”

More evidence of her generosity surfaced while I perused the online archives of the Jewish Telegraphic Agency, which reported in 1930 that Rav Menachem Mendel Kasher had obtained a commitment from Jennie Miller Faggen to support a kollel of ten scholars to assist him with the research for his groundbreaking Torah Shelaimah project.

This bold initiative was an encyclopedic work that combined the parshiyos of the Torah with all the relevant passages from Chazal across Shas and all midrashim, even obscure midrashim from original manuscripts. The 38 volumes published during Rav Kasher’s lifetime surely consumed the bulk of his time and likely could not have been produced without Mrs. Miller’s assistance.

Slowly but steadily, I began to sense the unusual dimensions of her philanthropy. I had already studied the lives of other great Torah philanthropists of the time, dynamic figures such as Irving Bunim, Harry Fischel, Samuel Kaufman, and Mrs. Necha Golding in the US; and the legendary Russian microbiologist Dr. Waldemar Haffkine and Mrs. Flora Sassoon in Europe. While these individuals were all well-known philanthropic icons, none seemed to have reached ennie Miller’s level of giving towards yeshivos. Why was so little known about her?

I

continued my research, and the basic contours of the story began to take shape: Jennie Miller was a remarkable woman who was born in America and had been widowed twice. For the bulk of her life, she resided in the Strawberry Mansion neighborhood of Philadelphia, and during the golden age of European yeshivos in the interwar period, she became likely the world’s most prolific supporter of Torah. For many years, dozens of yeshivos received donations from her each month, and her 18-room mansion at 1837 North 33rd Street hosted some of the greatest gedolim of the era.

These gedolim described her in glowing terms. In a 1934 letter from Kletzk, Rav Aharon Kotler referred to her as “Esteemed Mother of Torah.” At the end of that same year, a letter of gratitude from Rav Yosef Eliyahu Henkin paid tribute to her generous support of Torah scholars: “Chanukah greetings to you, a modern Chashmonaite, who is most zealously and wholeheartedly aiding in the preservation of Judaism in our generation!”

Why, then, was her name so unfamiliar? How had her legacy of generosity fallen so utterly into oblivion? Surely there was an annual pilgrimage to her gravesite, I reasoned. Perhaps there were plaques paying tribute to her at the Mir Yeshiva in Yerushalayim, Lomza Yeshiva in Petach Tikvah, or the Telshe Yeshiva in Cleveland. Why had not even one of my six Bais Yaakov-educated sisters ever performed a song or play dedicated to her? Someone must have written a book or even an extensive article about her. Perhaps it was out of print or published in a hard-to-read academic Yiddish?

To find out more about Jennie Miller — and to understand why she’d virtually disappeared from the public consciousness — I realized that I needed to find something more than a newspaper blurb or sefer dedication (of which there were many). I would need to find someone who knew Jennie Miller personally.

After discovering that she’d lived into her nineties and passed away in 1968, I began to hope that there would still be someone around who remembered the good deeds and magnanimity of the woman popularly known in Strawberry Mansion as “Aunt Jen.”

The eBay Clues

I began sounding out fellow students and teachers of history. My email to noted Jewish historian Professor Shnayer Leiman was a good start. He responded:

Yedidi David,

I am, of course, familiar with the name Jennie Miller-Faggen. I have many of the envelopes she received from the various East-European institutions she supported. See attachment for a sample. But I know little about her.

He went on to suggest several others to contact for possible leads, but none had any further knowledge. I continued by trying some of my usual contacts. An email to Professor Shaul Stampfer netted me no results. The always-helpful Yeshiva University archivist Shulamith Z. Berger and her trusted teacher, Rabbi Dr. Aharon Rakeffet Rothkoff, were equally flummoxed. (Later on, Shulamith Berger was able to track down several letters in the YU Archive).

Arthur Kiron, the curator of Judaica Collections at the University of Pennsylvania, politely apologized that he could not offer any further information — but did send me several further local contacts. Then I tried Rabbi Moshe Kolodny, the long-time archivist at the America Orthodox Jewish Archives in lower Manhattan, and my close friend and colleague at Mishpacha Magazine, Yehuda Geberer.

Dr. Gil Perl, then Headmaster of Kohelet High School in Philadelphia and the author of a prolific book on the Netziv of Volozhin, couldn’t help me. My dear friend Dr. Zev Eleff was surprisingly lacking information. Someone suggested that I try the noted historian Gershon Bacon, who was born and raised in the area. (I even went so far as to reach out to Professor Noam Chomsky, whose father was involved in Jewish education in Philadelphia during Jennie Miller’s lifetime.) Klum. Gornisht. Nada. Nothing.

Even as the these historians lacked further information,  more clues began to appear in the form of primary sources. Letters and charitable receipts from venerable rabbinic figures and great yeshivos were regularly posted on the websites of various Jewish auction houses, book dealers, and even eBay.

Where were these letters coming from? There seemed to be dozens, possibly hundreds that had passed through these channels. Perhaps Jennie Miller had some descendant who was selling off the “family archive”?

I reached out to Chaya Sarah Herman, a preeminent Jewish genealogist who is a family friend and has helped me solve these sorts of mysteries in the past. I asked her to try and put together some sort of family tree. Perhaps once that was complete, a good old game of Jewish Geography would locate a relative who could fill in the elusive story.

Meanwhile, I endeavored to contact several rabbanim and rebbetzins whom I thought might know more. I emailed Rabbi Elazar Meir Teitz of Elizabeth, NJ, whose father Rabbi Pinchas Mordechai Teitz had been active in Telshe fundraising circles during the 1930’s and perhaps had visited Mrs. Miller. He apologized that he had nothing to share. I reached out to Rabbi Paysach Krohn, whose mother grew up in Philadelphia and had authored a charming memoir chronicling her childhood there. Surprisingly, he knew nothing about Jennie.

The great gaon Rav Moshe Brown of Far Rockaway, whose shul I grew up in, was one of Philadelphia’s brilliant native sons. Perhaps he would have heard something from his father, Dr. Joseph Brown? Or perhaps his Rebbetzin Leah (née Weinberg), who also hailed from an influential frum family in Philadelphia, would be familiar with Jennie? Neither of them had heard her name before. I asked my dear friend Rabbi Osher Rosenbaum to check with his great-aunt Rebbetzin Shoshana Gifter (wife of the Telsher Rosh Yeshivah, Rav Mordechai Gifter) — but she was unaware of the story.

After months of inquiries and research, I still hadn’t made the hoped-for progress. I had the bare outlines of a story, but not much else. I had established that a great philanthropic woman in Philadelphia donated tremendous sums of money to Torah causes in the early 20th century — but I hadn’t managed to track down the motive or real story behind her largesse, or even the source of her funds.

I could have given up and relegated the Jennie Miller file back to my basement. But just then, with the help of Chaya Sarah Herman, my very curious friend Gavriel Schuster, and literally dozens of visits to libraries, archives, and private collectors from across the world, I began to make progress. Finally, I began to cobble together bits and pieces of Jennie Miller’s life.