Thornhill Kollel Parochet: A Dream Come True
Thornhill Kollel Parochet:
A Dream Come True
It actually started way back in tenth grade. Morah Elias was my Navi teacher—and from day one, I was completely fascinated by her. She was so put together, so stylish. I noticed everything: her outfits, her shoes… meanwhile, I was sitting in the back of class sketching fashion designs in my notebook instead of paying attention (oops).
But more than that, she took me seriously. I would come to her with all my big hashkafa questions, and one thing she told me has stayed with me ever since: “Your disadvantages are your greatest advantages.”
Years later, as a young mother working at a graphic design firm in Bnei Brak, I called her and shared what felt like a far-off dream: “One day, I want to open my own parochet company.”
Her response? Immediate. “I have a client for you.”
That “client” was her husband’s kollel. They were moving into a new building and needed a parochet—and somehow, despite the fact that I had never actually made one before, Morah Elias made that first job happen. Completely. That moment changed everything.
Fast forward a few years, and Morah Elias did it again.
When the Thornhill Kollel in Toronto—under the leadership of Rabbi Scheiner—began a major renovation with YossiG, she nudged (and nudged and nudged) her son-in-law, Rabbi Yisroel Goldman, the Executive Director, to bring me on for the parochet.
Once I saw the architectural renders by Yossi G, I knew this couldn’t be a standard design. I spent an embarrassingly long time analyzing every detail before reaching out to Ana Epremashvili, YossiG’s Design Director, with an idea: a crushed velvet parochet matched exactly to the walnut veneer, with embroidered lines echoing the ceiling’s asymmetrical lighting, and a tone-on-tone typographic pasuk.
Her response set the tone: refined, minimal, and fully aligned.
It actually started way back in tenth grade.
Morah Elias was my Navi teacher—and from day one, I was completely fascinated by her. She was so put together, so stylish. I noticed everything: her outfits, her shoes… meanwhile, I was sitting in the back of class sketching fashion designs in my notebook instead of paying attention (oops).
But more than that, she took me seriously. I would come to her with all my big hashkafa questions, and one thing she told me has stayed with me ever since: “Your disadvantages are your greatest advantages.”
Years later, as a young mother working at a graphic design firm in Bnei Brak, I called her and shared what felt like a far-off dream: “One day, I want to open my own parochet company.”
Her response? Immediate. “I have a client for you.”
That “client” was her husband’s kollel. They were moving into a new building and needed a parochet—and somehow, despite the fact that I had never actually made one before, Morah Elias made that first job happen. Completely. That moment changed everything.
Fast forward a few years, and Morah Elias did it again.
When the Thornhill Kollel in Toronto—under the leadership of Rabbi Scheiner—began a major renovation with YossiG, she nudged (and nudged and nudged) her son-in-law, Rabbi Yisroel Goldman, the Executive Director, to bring me on for the parochet.
Once I saw the architectural renders by Yossi G, I knew this couldn’t be a standard design. I spent an embarrassingly long time analyzing every detail before reaching out to Ana Epremashvili, YossiG’s Design Director, with an idea: a crushed velvet parochet matched exactly to the walnut veneer, with embroidered lines echoing the ceiling’s asymmetrical lighting, and a tone-on-tone typographic pasuk.
Her response set the tone: refined, minimal, and fully aligned.
From there, it became a true collaboration—with Ana, Mateo Trujillo, and the full YossiG team. Precise blueprints, custom Hebrew fonts, fabric sampling—every detail was intentional.
And standing in the finished space, seeing it all come together, I couldn’t help but think back to tenth grade—and to the teacher who believed in me long before I believed in myself.
And standing in the finished space, seeing it all come together, I couldn’t help but think back to tenth grade—and to the teacher who believed in me long before I believed in myself.
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