The poorhouse helped hundreds of suffering Toronto families in 1880-81.

But one large "family" was conspicuously absent from the House of Industry's forbidding door on Elm St.: the Jewish community.

No Jewish immigrant sought so much as a crumb of bread from the poorhouse, according to historical records in the City of Toronto Archives.

The reason? With a mere 534 Jews living in the city, the Jewish community took care of its own needs — resembling a close-knit family. What's more, Jewish immigrants then arriving in the city after fleeing murderous pogroms in Czarist Russia were better prepared to survive in Toronto, compared to immigrants from England, Ireland and Scotland.

"They could all read and write. They could all speak a little English, at least one other language and Yiddish. And they all had valuable skills, such as baking, sewing and tailoring," said City of Toronto archivist George Wharton.

"Since East European Jews weren't allowed to own land, they were used to selling goods and services instead of growing produce for a livelihood. This experience was a real advantage in any city; they knew how to work, live and survive by functioning as small businessmen."

Earlier immigrants from Western Europe "fitted into Toronto society quite easily," added Howard Markus of the Ontario Jewish Archives. "They prospered, and they in turn helped the East European Jews" when they began to arrive after the pogroms of 1881.

"The established Jewish community had a religious obligation to assist the new immigrants. They didn't want them to be a drain on the public purse," Markus explained.

The culture of self-help centered around synagogues, which provided social assistance along with religious support and guidance.

(Early in the next century, landsmanshaften — Jewish mutual benefit societies made up of people from a town, village or region of the Old Country — actively assisted newcomers.)

The community's religious faith and generous assistance to those in need were the glue that bound the extended family. Another uniting force was the Ladies' Montefiore Hebrew Benevolent Society. Most of its members were the wives of prominent men belonging to Holy Blossom synagogue.

"It was all about connections, connections and connections," Wharton said.

The Jewish experience in Toronto contrasted sharply to that of Anglo-Celtic newcomers, whose alarming difficulties often make despairing reading in House of Industry "visitor" ledgers. Reports of "habitual drunkenness" of breadwinners, many of whom reportedly deserted their wives and children, are painstakingly detailed.

The heads of these families often described themselves as bottlers, marble polishers, sewer diggers, stone cutters, sail riggers, sailors, gardeners and farmers — occupations that were not in high demand when land and lakes were frozen.

"It was unknown for a Jewish man to abandon his wife and children. It was contrary to any acceptable code of the Jewish community," Wharton said.

"If a Jewish husband did leave the home in those days, he would be the lowest of the low, a total outcast. Nor was drunkenness a serious social issue in the community."

To assist Jewish newcomers, Toronto synagogues welcomed immigrants and provided accommodation; helped them find jobs; supported those in dire need, and took great interest in the education of immigrant children.

The Ladies' Montefiore Hebrew Benevolent Society gave financial help to newcomers. And if jobs couldn't be found, it provided money and railway tickets to another city where work might be available.

It wasn't all roses, but with dogged persistence — and with the help of the well-organized community — Jewish immigrants prospered as family units. The Jewish "family" in Toronto and across Canada was small, but it had a long reach. Like the House of Industry, it worked minor miracles, too.