The gift of Elaine & Allen 
 Avner in memory of their parents 
 Herman & Pearl Seltzer Sweital 
 
 and Sim I Laura Moore Av 
 
 University of Illinois 
 at Urbana-Champaign 
 
 KtfNQlS HISTORICAL subvfv 
 

Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2012 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://archive.org/details/transplantedpeopOObyer 
 
TRANSPLANTED 
 PEOPLE 
 
 By YECHEVED 
 (ETTA BYER) 
 
 Reproductions of Oil Paintings 
 By SAMUEL BYER 
 
 • 
 
 Published by 
 
 DR. M. J. ARON and 
 other members of the 
 
 LIDER ORGANIZATION OF CHICAGO 
 
Copyright 1955 by 
 ETTA BYER 
 
 1500 W. Garfield Boulevard 
 Chicago, Illinois 
 
 Printed in the U.S.A. 
 
 International Printing Company 
 Chicago 
 
<? 7 3 . ?0 1 2 & . 
 
 DEDICATION 
 
 I dedicate this book to my beloved 
 father, the scholar; to my devoted 
 mother, to my beloved sister, Feigel; 
 to my beloved brothers, Moishe and 
 Nathan; and to my first husband, 
 Joe. 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER TITLE PAGE 
 
 Grandmother Gitl 13 
 
 Sister Feigel 15 
 
 Our Older Brothers 19 
 
 My Birth 21 
 
 Frumke, the Maid 24 
 
 A Village Wedding 26 
 
 The Holy Sabbath and the Holidays 28 
 
 The Epidemic 31 
 
 The Fire 33 
 
 Luptz Again 36 
 
 The Good Polish Priest 39 
 
 The Death of Grandma Gitl 42 
 
 I Study Russian 44 
 
 The Miracle 48 
 
 Our Neighbors 50 
 
 Some More Neighbors 52 
 
 A Holy Gift of a Mysterious Woman .... 58 
 
 The Czar's Justice 62 
 
 Unrest and Strike in Lida 64 
 
 My Journey to London 68 
 
 Frame-ups Against the Jews 75 
 
 My Arrival in Chicago 77 
 
 I Learn to Make Cigars 79 
 
 Our Married Life 84 
 
 My First Baby Boy 86 
 
 My Childhood Friends in New York 88 
 
 On My Way to Europe 92 
 
 At the German-Russian Border 94 
 
 Back in the Home Town 97 
 
 Springtime in Lida 103 
 
 The Jewess Who Was Converted 108 
 
 Abraham Ill 
 
 Kiev — A Russian City 115 
 
 Back in New York 117 
 
 Back to Chicago 121 
 
 We Go to Live in Elgin, Illinois 124 
 
 Chicago Again, and More Trouble 127 
 
 Without a Home 131 
 
CHAPTER TITLE PAGE 
 
 Chaim and Nathan are Married 134 
 
 Our New Son, Albert 137 
 
 Our Life in Chicago During World War I . . • 14-0 
 
 Albert is Hurt 144 
 
 We Buy Our Own Home 146 
 
 The Time of the Armistice 149 
 
 Meyer and Joe Buy a Building in Lida 152 
 
 Joe's Illness — William's Graduation 157 
 
 The Last Night with Joe 160 
 
 After the Funeral 163 
 
 I Marry an Artist . 168 
 
 William and Albert Happily Married 172 
 
 The Story of an Oil Burner 176 
 
 Time of Illness and Despair 178 
 
 Fred — Our Youngest Son 181 
 
 Dr. Zuker and Other Chicagoans 183 
 
 Labor Leaders 187 
 
 Eugene . V. Debs 191 
 
 Memories of Lucy Parson 194 
 
 Modern Great Men and Modern Dictators 197 
 
 Leaders of the Zionist Movement in Chicago 203 
 
 Rosa Raisa 205 
 
 What a Thrill to Meet Albert and Family 206 
 
 I Go Visiting, First to Sister Rose 208 
 
 Visiting My Girl Friends from Lida 211 
 
 The Spirits of the Madonnas 213 
 
 The Urge to Write 217 
 
 Poems : A Mother's Message 218 
 
 Israel and Satan 219 
 
 The Request of a Jewess 220 
 
 Useless 220 
 
 Transplanted 221 
 
 Pearl-fishing 226 
 
 Our Will 231 
 
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 
 
 I wish to acknowledge my gratitude to the late Dr. 
 Solomon Goldman for his very warm letter about one 
 of my Jewish poems. 
 
 I offer my sincere thanks to Eleanor Jewett of the 
 Chicago Tribune for her encouragement and for men- 
 tioning my manuscript in her column. 
 
 I express my thanks to Herman Kogan of the Chi- 
 cago Sun-Times for his prediction that "Transplanted 
 People" would be published some day. 
 
 I wish to express my appreciation to Gertrude Mar- 
 tin, book critic of the Chicago Defender, for her sin- 
 cere letter and best wishes. 
 
 I offer my thanks to Thomas Collins, writer of the 
 stories in the "Golden Years" column of the Chicago 
 Daily News. 
 
 I sincerely thank Irving St. John Tucker, writer, 
 artist in wood carving, and former art critic of the 
 Chicago American, for his best wishes. 
 
 I express my thanks to Michael Gambony, art direc- 
 tor of Hull House, who read my manuscript and en- 
 couraged me greatly. 
 
 I am deeply indebted to Bernard Apple, my English 
 teacher at Wells Evening High School, for his devo- 
 tion, patience, and sincere criticism. 
 
 I am very grateful to the assistant principal at Wells 
 Evening High School, John Sitowski, for his friendly 
 gesture in presenting me with a fine pen in recogni- 
 tion of my essay, "Pearl-fishing." 
 
 I am indebted to William Levine, our sincere friend 
 and my severe critic always. 
 
 I offer many thanks to Chaim Lieberman, well- 
 
 VII 
 
known columnist of the Jewish Daily Forward of New 
 York, who shared his column with one of my Yiddish 
 songs, arranged to have it sung on radio's Jewish Hour, 
 and published one of my articles in his column. 
 
 I am indebted to Jacob Segal, well-known editor of 
 the Chicago Daily Forward, who always encouraged 
 me, and who published my writings at various times. 
 
 I am indebted to my indulgent and helpful employ- 
 ers, Jacob Wagner and Joshua Diesenhous. 
 
 I am grateful to my husband, Sam, whose efforts 
 helped in the completion of my book. 
 
 E. B. 
 
 VIII 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 "Transplanted People" is the. story of how one 
 woman, always conscious of her origins in a small 
 town in Russia, made her way in the world. It de- 
 scribes how she left a land where a tyrannical czar was 
 the ruler to become "transplanted" in a democratic 
 country. Late in the book Mrs. Byer rejoices at the 
 good fortune of one of her sons, happily settled, and 
 recalls : 
 
 We had been such little people in Lida, lower than 
 grass. Now we were transplanted, branching out, 
 growing as normal Americans. My heart was full 
 of gratitude; it was a glorious feeling to 'belong' 
 here .... 
 
 Written by a woman whose formal education ended 
 before she was seven years old, the book will help 
 second and third generation Jews in America to under- 
 stand better their origins and to know themselves bet- 
 ter, for the struggles of Mrs. Byer are similar to those 
 of countless immigrants who made their way to Amer- 
 ica at the turn of the century. Having begun at six a 
 career of work that has lasted all of her life, Mrs. Byer 
 writes that she is sorry she did not study to be able to 
 master the English language, and regrets that she can- 
 not "express my thoughts and the experiences of my 
 life well." Parts of this book may be rough and uneven 
 — this is not the work of a professional writer. Yet 
 there are parts that contain a beauty of phrase that 
 makes certain passages unforgettable. 
 
 Mrs. Byer's story was originally intended for her 
 children and grandchildren. "I feel I have lived two 
 hundred or three hundred years," she has stated. "I 
 wanted my children to know my story." 
 
 IX 
 
While her education was finished at six, "our 
 house," Mrs. Byer has asserted, "was a house of 
 books." In London, where she lived from her thir- 
 teenth to her eighteenth year, she learned her first 
 English — at work, in a cigarette factory; at night 
 school, which she was able to attend several weeks 
 only; and at lectures. Mrs. Byer today is a working 
 woman, a sewing machine operator in a leather goods 
 manufacturing company in Chicago. She says her 
 shop is her university. 
 
 I first met Mrs. Byer sitting one March evening in 
 the office of the Wells Evening High School in Chi- 
 cago. She was a small, plain-looking woman in a 
 black winter coat. She had come early and the prin- 
 cipal had asked her to wait to talk with me. When I 
 arrived she told me that she wanted to take courses to 
 give her a better background for writing English. She 
 had a bound typescript copy of her autobiography with 
 her. It had already been written — and she was look- 
 ing forward to the day when it might be published. 
 
 Her enrollment was accomplished and she became 
 a member of a class in American literature that was 
 already four weeks into the semester. Her enthusiasm 
 for writers like Whitman and Frost, Cather and Sin- 
 clair Lewis, was contagious, caused a stir, aroused de- 
 bate. She was a full-fledged participant in class activ- 
 ity, by far the oldest member at the age of sixty-eight. 
 In fourteen weeks of attendance every evening Mon- 
 day through Thursday, through good weather and bad, 
 she missed class only one time, and that for the pur- 
 pose of making up her income tax return. To her, at- 
 tending class was a privilege, almost a sacred rite. 
 
 At the end of the semester Mrs. Byer rose on the 
 last day. "When I first came to school, I was fright- 
 ened,** she said to the class. "I didn't know if I would 
 fit. You were so young, and I had never been to school 
 in this country before. I want you to know that today 
 
I love you. I have enjoyed every minute of school, 
 and I have come to look upon you as my classmates 
 and my young friends." 
 
 Away from class Mrs. Byer works at her * 'machine." 
 With immense pride she will show the products of her 
 work and demonstrate how she operates her machine. 
 With gratitude toward her employer she has said, "The 
 shop and the bosses taught me to work and made me 
 economically independent. Every inch of my shop is 
 to me dear." "To learn is always a pleasure," she 
 once stated. School gave her "a spiritual pleasure," 
 work "an economical pleasure." 
 
 Having worked all of her life thus far, Mrs. Byer 
 has a strong desire to continue to work. She finds dig- 
 nity, self-respect, a feeling of independence, and the 
 thrill of accomplishment in her work, and when she 
 speaks of it, a glow of pleasure exudes from her. 
 
 Her husband is Sam Byer, a Chicago artist whose 
 paintings, particularly of Jewish subjects, have been 
 widely exhibited in Chicago and other cities, and today 
 are frequently reproduced. Mr. Byer's paintings are 
 to be found among the pages of the present volume. 
 
 Mrs. Byer's home, a two-room apartment on Chi- 
 cago's near Northwest Side, is clean and neat, en- 
 livened by more than a dozen green plants that fill one 
 corner and decorate other parts of it. And on the walls 
 are many of her husband's paintings, that make of her 
 home a permanent exhibition gallery of the most im- 
 portant of his canvasses. 
 
 Although Mrs. Byer's autobiography contains 
 "beautiful memories of a plain and simple people," it 
 contains also accounts of restriction, persecution, and 
 suffering. For Mrs. Byer and others of her generation 
 who came to America, it is a miracle that they sur- 
 vived "the previous life" with its misery and could 
 settle in the United States to raise their families and 
 become "normal people." She has said: "I love this 
 
 XI 
 
country with all my heart and soul. I love the freedom, 
 the value, the opportunity of it." 
 
 Her story tells of a person driven from place to place, 
 but there is no ire, no anger, nor hate in her narrative. 
 "I don't write with hatred towards people," she has 
 said. "I write warm towards people." 
 
 At the close of her book Mrs. Byer says, "Now that 
 I am old, I feel relieved. I think only of the past and 
 of today. The doubt of tomorrow is off my shoulders, 
 and I feel at ease. It is no tragedy to grow old." 
 
 How Mrs. Byer discovered a pursuit, which she calls 
 "pearl-fishing," to fill in her last years is described in 
 the last episode of her book. "Pearl-fishing" refers to 
 the search for knowledge and truth, which Mrs. Byer 
 has undertaken at a large city night school. She likens 
 her school to a "holy temple," one whose "wide doors" 
 are "open for all people, big and small, young and old, 
 of all nations, colors, and creeds." Night school is, 
 therefore, another manifestation of the democracy that 
 she loves so much. 
 
 Freshness of spirit invigorates Mrs. Byer as a 
 person; it also invests the pages of her book. 
 
 Bernard Apple 
 
 English teacher 
 
 Wells Evening High School 
 
 Chicago, Illinois 
 
 January 24, 1955 
 
 XII 
 
GRANDMOTHER GITL 
 
 My father's mother, Gitl, was a beautiful woman, 
 and, for those years, very cultured. She could read. 
 She was considered a wise person. But luck was against 
 her. She had been married and widowed three times. 
 The three husbands, although intellectually strong, 
 were physically weak, and died at an early age. 
 
 Grandmother was left a widow with two children. 
 The daughter, Hilda, was like her mother, beautiful 
 and healthy. The son, Israel Joseph, was like his 
 father, thin, round-shouldered, weak in body, but spir- 
 itually and mentally strong. He was a fine scholar. 
 
 Grandmother Gitl, tired of caring for sick men most 
 of her life, loved her beautiful daughter, but neglected 
 her son. He attended the Yeshivah, slept where he 
 could, and ate at the tables of hospitable people. At 
 the age of seventeen, he came to the small town of 
 Lupz to study in the local Yeshivah. Most of the 
 Yeshivah students came from poor families or were 
 homeless orphans who depended on the hospitality of 
 the community for their food. (This custom of feed- 
 ins: a poor student each day at a different house was 
 called "eating days.") 
 
 It often happened that there were not enough hos- 
 pitable homes to go around, and the unlucky student 
 simply went hungry on his "short day." It was on 
 such a short day, on a Friday night, when no one at 
 the synagogue invited Israel Joseph for supper, Reb 
 Shael, the shames (sexton), took the boy to his house 
 for the Sabbath Day. 
 
 Reb Shael Shlame and his wife, Esther Libe, lived 
 with their five daughters and an only son in a small 
 
 13 
 
home. There was no dowry for any of the girls of 
 marriageable age. The third daughter, Rachel, told the 
 young man to come back in the middle of the week. 
 Then she would wash and mend his clothes. Before 
 long, Israel Joseph proposed to Rachel, and since no 
 dowry was mentioned, Rachel's father gave his bless- 
 ing after the boy pasced his scholastic test. 
 
 After the wedding, the young married couple came 
 to Lida, where Israel Joseph's mother and sister Hilda 
 lived and supported themselves by selling flour, salt, 
 and a few other articles of food. His mother and his 
 sister were very angry at Israel Joseph because he had 
 married before his older sister. 
 
 Grandmother Gitl, being in the flour business, put 
 her daughter-in-law to baking bread and chaleh (white 
 bread) to be sold in the market place. At least they 
 would have something to eat. 
 
 The young couple's first child, a baby girl whom 
 they named Nechame, died in infancy because the un- 
 dernourished Rachel had no milk for her baby. 
 
 After the baby's death and the marriage of her older 
 daughter Hilda, Gitl softened and opened a flour store 
 together with her son and daughter-in-law, and they 
 lived together in the same house. 
 
 14 
 
SISTER FEIGEL 
 
 The second child of Israel Joseph and Rachel, my 
 parents, was also a girl. They named her Feigel. 
 
 Their economic status had changed a little for the 
 better. Rachel did the housekeeping while Grand- 
 mother Gitl, the businesswoman, worked with father 
 in the store. 
 
 Mother Rachel nursed the baby girl. Feigel was 
 blonde, the most beautiful and healthiest baby among 
 the Jewish children of Lida. As she grew up, she was 
 also the best in cheder. She was educated in Hebrew, 
 Russian, and Yiddish. Feigel was very good-natured 
 and loved to work. Everyone in Lida said that my 
 parents were blessed with a wonderful daughter. She 
 loved to read and was well-acquainted with fine 
 Hebrew literature. She was the pride of our family, 
 and everyone looked up to her. 
 
 At the age of twelve, she was hired to work in a 
 wholesale grocery at an annual wage of twenty rubles. 
 They praised her because she was a hard worker. 
 She carried heavy bundles and boxes like a man and 
 kept the stock in order. She also did a fine job of 
 bookkeeping, for which she was much admired by the 
 business people in Lida. 
 
 Father never touched her earnings, which she saved 
 for her dowry. 
 
 When Feigel was about nineteen, a shadchen (mar- 
 riage broker) , was sent by the rich, aristocratic family 
 Kamenov to my parents to propose the marriage of 
 Feigel to their oldest son, Granum. 
 
 The Kamenovs were rich snobs, and considered 
 themselves religious. They owned several properties 
 and stores and also lent money on high interest to poor 
 
 15 
 
people. They had several children. Two daughters 
 and a son were fine, normal people. Granum, the 
 oldest, and one girl, a freak, were below normal. 
 Granum was short, unsociable, quiet, not good-look- 
 ing, and of low mentality. The girl never walked nor 
 talked. She lay in bed and squeaked. They were all 
 glad when she died in her early twenties. 
 
 What a match for Feigel, the most wonderful girl 
 in town! Father was pleased and happy as he rubbed 
 his hands with joy at the prospect of having the 
 Kamenovs for his in-laws. Mother complained that 
 the young man could not talk as a normal person, and 
 she was against the marriage of her Feigel to Granum. 
 
 I recall one Saturday night when the small children 
 were asleep, strange men and women came to our 
 house. Mother and Feigel covered the table with our 
 best tablecloth and served them schnaps, wine, and 
 tarts. The rabbi came, did some writing, and joyfully 
 broke a dish. Then everybody cried loudly, "Mazel 
 tov (good luck)! Feigel is engaged to Granum!" 
 Her dowry, the fruit of her twelve years of labor, was 
 six hundred rubles. His rich parents gave her a gift, 
 a gold watch. 
 
 When I came to work the next morning at the cigar- 
 ette factory, which belonged to Granum's rich uncle, 
 Samuel David Rubin, they all laughed at me, and I 
 felt ashamed. I was almost ten years old, and had 
 worked there for some time. They said, "Your father 
 has sold his beautiful daughter to a nobody; he has 
 pushed the most capable girl in Lida into a pile of 
 mud." 
 
 Mother was sad and begged Father to break the 
 engagement. Better now than a divorce later. But 
 Father said he was a man of his word and could not 
 break it. Feigel did not like Granum, and was ashamed 
 to walk with him, but she loved and obeyed her father. 
 
 A year later, just before the wedding, Father real- 
 
 16 
 
ized his mistake and wanted to break the engagement, 
 but Feigel refused. "It's too late now. I cannot shame 
 him and his family. It is not his fault." So they were 
 married, and Feigel moved in with her mother-in-law, 
 a very fat woman by the name of Beile, and her father- 
 in-law, who was called Isaac. They were rich but 
 miserly. 
 
 Feigel had to plan how to make a living right after 
 the wedding. Experienced in business, she opened a 
 wholesale tobacco, notions, and stationery business in 
 partnership with Uncle Rubin's wife. Feigel did all 
 the work, while her husband's family, who considered 
 themselves above her, did nothing. 
 
 A few weeks after the birth of her first boy (whom 
 they named Shaye, after Beile's father), Feigel had to 
 travel to Warsaw to buy merchandise for the store. 
 They hired a wet nurse until her return. It was decided 
 that Feigel should take with her a new-born dog to 
 nurse, so that her milk would not dry up. She hid in 
 a corner of the train, and nursed the little creature. 
 Her fellow travelers wondered what was the matter 
 with the beautiful young woman with the tiny dog. 
 A few days later, she was arrested and had to explain 
 in court why she carried the puppy with her. The 
 people all roared with laughter when they heard the 
 explanation. Feigel came back to Lida with lots of 
 merchandise and was teased by many for the great 
 idea. They said, "Israel Joseph's daughter, Feigel, has 
 no time to lie in bed after childbirth." 
 
 Her first-born, Shaye, was a fine, healthy, normal 
 boy. A few years later, she gave birth to another boy, 
 whom they named Shael Shlame, after the grandfather 
 from Luptz. Unfortunately, he was as stupid, homely, 
 and subnormal as his father. 
 
 Feigel's life with Granum was a bitter one. She was 
 the hardest-working, most warm-hearted, most edu- 
 cated woman in the Jewish community, and everybody 
 
 17 
 
respected her; but she remained simple and humble. 
 
 Feigel and Granum lived together about seventeen 
 years; then he became sick and died. Four months 
 after his death, she gave birth to an exceptionally 
 bright boy, whom she named Granum, after his father. 
 She kept her word and never remarried. 
 
 At that time, Feigel began to be interested in 
 Palestine and the Zionist movement, and gave money 
 and jewelry to the cause. She said, "I don't under- 
 stand how some Jewish people can be against 
 Palestine as a Jewish state." When her husband died, 
 she sent her oldest son, Shaye, to Palestine. 
 Later, when the youngest boy, Granum, grew up, she 
 sent him to his brother, who was working in Haifa, 
 building homes with other pioneers. He was an active 
 worker in the Histadruth. Granum became a lawyer. 
 Now he has mastered seven languages. Both brothers 
 are married. They went through all the struggles in 
 Palestine for over a quarter of a century. 
 
 My beloved sister Feigel with her sick son remained 
 in Lida and was slaughtered by the Nazis in 1942. 
 Our father died a few years earlier, at the age of 86. 
 Mother lived to be ninety and died a natural death two 
 weeks before the Nazis came to Lida. 
 
 All of us will mourn forever our beloved, wonderful, 
 and good sister Feigel Kaminov. (More about Feigel 
 in later chapters.) 
 
 18 
 
OUR OLDER BROTHERS 
 
 Father and Grandmother Gitl worked in the store. 
 Mother was a good housewife, and the little family 
 lived the normal life of a storekeeper in our town. 
 Business was seldom good, but we always hoped God 
 would help. A new red wooden cradle was bought for 
 the new-born son, and Father was the happiest man 
 in the world. Now God had given him a Kadish to 
 secure a little bit of heaven for him after a hundred 
 and twenty years. The new son was named Nosen, 
 after Father's father. 
 
 Nosen was strong and healthy, very good-looking, 
 a quiet, good-natured, and peaceful boy. As he grew 
 older, he studied in the cheder and Yeshivas outside 
 of Lida, and ate "days," as was the custom in those 
 years. Later, he remained in Lida and helped our par- 
 ents in the store after Grandma died. He had a gentle 
 character, and was liked by everybody. 
 
 A few years later, another boy was born. Father 
 was very proud to have another son. The red wooden 
 cradle rocked again, and in it was a red-faced chubby 
 baby. He was named Meyer, and became the strongest 
 of all the children in the family. He was short and fat, 
 stubborn, and altogether different in character. He 
 had a brilliant mind, and a good appetite. He was 
 always hungry. In cheder he was a very good scholar, 
 but he used to beat up all the children and take away 
 everything they had. There were always complaints 
 about him, and he was nicknamed "the Devil." He 
 often created disturbances around the house and beat 
 his brothers and sisters black and blue. My father 
 used his leather strap on him very often, and he was 
 finally sent out of town to the Yeshivas to study the 
 To rah and to eat "days." 
 
 19 
 
Meyer was the problem child of our family, and our 
 parents grieved that such a clever and brilliant boy 
 had to be driven from home. Before Passover, or 
 Rosh-ha-shonoh (the New Year), Father wrote him 
 to come home. They bought him new clothes and told 
 him to behave ; but he did not change, and everyone in 
 the house was glad when the holiday was over and 
 he left. 
 
 Meyer left for the big city of Vilna, where he entered 
 a trade school and became a locksmith. At the age of 
 thirteen, he invented a special kind of lock. He read 
 a lot and had a fine mind. He was well educated for 
 his age. However, he was peculiar and not at all 
 sociable; he could not get along with people. 
 
 Meyer always was very stingy and thought his 
 sisters and brothers extravagant. He never married 
 because he feared the responsibility. 
 
 He studied political economy, and how he knew 
 the theories of figuring! He believed himself to be 
 the most logical person in the world, and he figured 
 out it surely would be more economical to remain a 
 bachelor. In practice, however, it did not quite work 
 out that way; he was the richest in the family, so he 
 had to help raise many of the children of his sisters and 
 brothers, who married without figuring or logic. They 
 raised fine families, but what of Meyer? He became 
 a clever bachelor — his logic failed him. In later chap- 
 ters, we shall hear more about him. 
 
 20 
 
MY BIRTH 
 
 I first saw the light of day in Lida in the month of 
 October, 1884 or 1885. I was the fifth child born 
 to a poor family, and, being a girl, was not too wel- 
 comed by my parents. Father looked at me and sighed, 
 "Where will I get a dowry for such a creature?" 1 
 was named Yecheved. 
 
 They told me later that I was puny, sickly, and 
 not good-looking. Everyone in the family said, "She is 
 the fifth wheel on a heavily loaded wagon." Never- 
 theless, they said that I had the strongest character 
 of all the children. Grandma Gitl said that the house 
 and the table were too small for such a big family. 
 Mother worried because I looked sickly, but later 
 decided I would live because my eyes were bright. 
 I now occupied the red wooden cradle. 
 
 I grew, but I was always small for my age. How- 
 ever, I was fast in running, jumping, and other things. 
 I liked work of all kinds and soon became Mother's 
 helper. She trusted me with peeling potatoes, warning 
 me that the peelings should be thin. Mother had be- 
 come an expert in baking ; her chalehs and black heavy 
 loaves of pumpernickel were the finest and best-tasting 
 in Lida. When she had six big loaves of bread baking 
 in the oven for the whole week, the house was warm 
 and smelled deliciously of fresh bread. 
 
 Mother bought me a tiny thimble and we mended 
 clothes or darned stockings. We polished the candle- 
 sticks for the Sabbath. Mother was pleased with my 
 work. We sang together all kinds of folk-songs, spir- 
 ituals, the lyrics of the rabbis and the Chasidim. 
 
 My education started when I was four and one-half 
 years old, and finished at six. My father, that fine 
 scholar, was my Hebrew and Yiddish teacher. He 
 
 21 
 
taught me to pray, and read the Psalms and the Bible. 
 He said that I could become a fine scholar if I were 
 a boy — but I had enough education for a girl. I 
 could study further by myself by reading books. 
 
 I began to work in the store of my sister Feigel and 
 her partner. I had to put the stock in order, sweep the 
 store, and deliver bundles of goods to storekeepers. It 
 was a wholesale store, and on Monday market days, 
 after the peasants left the market, I used to go collect- 
 ing bills. The grown-ups asked me, "How is it you 
 bring more money than the other collectors?" My 
 answer was, "I don't know why — they smile at me, 
 so I smile at them, they pat me, and put money in my 
 package." 
 
 My sister's partner was also the owner of a big 
 cigarette factory, and I was often sent there for goods. 
 As I watched the girls working and singing, I wanted 
 to work there too. The foreman was a cousin of my 
 father's, and I begged him to let me work in the place, 
 so he took me in. I became a good and fast worker. 
 The foreman made me work in partnership with his 
 own little girl, but she could not produce as much as I. 
 We worked together for some time, until I refused and 
 wanted to work for myself. 
 
 I read books of all kinds, novels and histories. I 
 was much impressed by "The History of the Spanish 
 Inquisition," "Uncle Tom's Cabin," "Daniel Deron- 
 da," Jules Verne's "Around the World in Eighty 
 Days," and other books about faraway lands. I devel- 
 oped a great desire to travel, to leave home and family, 
 and to establish my life in a free country. 
 
 On Saturdays, girls and women used to come to 
 our house and listen to the stories I read to them. 
 Mother smiled and was proud of me. Even at that 
 early age, it hurt me deeply to think of the pain and 
 suffering of the Jewish people, of their tragic past, 
 their land and destroyed Temple, a people driven from 
 
 22 
 
land to land, strangers everywhere. Oh! How I de- 
 spised persecution and prejudice! How I deplored the 
 poverty of the ghetto! Jewish children were not 
 allowed to go to the forest or field, or to swim in the 
 river, and often were beaten by non-Jewish children. 
 We Jewish children understood. We were grown-ups 
 at a very early age. Our childhood was short. 
 
 23 
 
FRUMKE, THE MAID 
 
 Our red wooden cradle was always rocking a new 
 baby. After me came Rose, a very beautiiful blonde 
 baby girl. Within another few short years, two more 
 boys occupied our famous cradle. There was no more 
 happy excitement when a new baby came; four boys 
 and three girls were more than enough for any family 
 in Lida. Grandmother Gitl worried that the small 
 store wouldn't earn enough to support such a large 
 family. When the work became too hard, Grand- 
 mother and Mother decided that they had to have help. 
 
 They hired a maid named Frumke. She was a fine, 
 simple, and honest person. She became very devoted 
 to our family, and loved the children dearly. It was 
 easy for us to work with her. When Mother made 
 both gefillte fish and tsimes (another delicacy) for the 
 Sabbath, Frumke protested that we were too extrava- 
 gant — one dish was enough. 
 
 One Thursday evening, Frumke was sent to the 
 brewery for liquid yeast to prepare the chalehs for 
 Sabbath. A big dog jumped at her; she fell, broke the 
 bottle, and the glass cut her arm to the bone. She 
 came home bleeding and pale as a ghost. We were 
 horror-stricken, because all of us loved Frumke. 
 Mother rushed her to the doctor, who bandaged her 
 arm. Frumke's arm was in a sling for a long time, 
 and Mother did all the work. 
 
 On a beautiful summer day, Mother and Frumke 
 carried a big basket of clothes to be rinsed in the river. 
 They placed the basket on a big wooden stand. Some 
 women were washing clothes nearby. The water was 
 clean and deep there. Mother washed the clothes while 
 Frumke helped her. Suddenly, Mother felt dizzy and 
 fell into the river. Frumke jumped into the river, for- 
 
 24 
 
getting all about her injured arm. She held on firmly 
 to Mother until the women pulled them out of the 
 river. The wound on Frumke's arm was bleeding and 
 the stitches came open, but she was happy. 
 
 On the Sabbath, Father told us girls to take care of 
 everything so that Frumke could rest. "She works 
 all week," he said. When Mother got over the shock, 
 she told everyone that Frumke's parents in heaven 
 had saved her life. 
 
 25 
 
A VILLAGE WEDDING 
 
 It was a very cold winter day. My father and sister 
 Feigel were ready to go to a wedding. One of the 
 five daughters of Uncle Artchick was going to be 
 married. 
 
 Uncle Artchick was considered a rich man. He 
 had a farm, cows, horses, and chickens. He was a 
 healthy, middle-aged man with a reddish beard. 
 Everyone thought he was very stingy, but I considered 
 him pleasant. He sent a peasant with a sled to bring 
 our family to the wedding. The peasant was drinking 
 tea while Father and Feigel dressed. I asked Father to 
 take me along because I loved weddings with the 
 music and dancing. Father said, "No, you are too 
 small. When Uncle Artchick marries off another 
 daughter, I will take you. So, you had better grow 
 fast." 
 
 I put on my coat and shawl and waited near the 
 sled. I saw Father and Feigel get into the sled. The 
 peasant whipped the horses, and they went away. I 
 began to run after it. Mother called and begged me to 
 come back, but I said if Feigel was going, I, too, should 
 go, and continued to run after the sled. We were out 
 of town. The road was covered with ice and snow, the 
 wind was blowing, but I still followed them. Near 
 the woods, they stopped and waited for me. They 
 picked me up and took me in the sled. Father said, 
 "You will pay for this when we get home." 
 
 In the evening, we arrived at the farm. The house 
 was warm and clean. On the table there was fine 
 chaleh (white bread), plenty of gefillte fish, wine, and 
 schnaps. Musicians were playing. Jews and peasants 
 danced together. I was the only child there, and every- 
 body was good to me. Father told them how I ran 
 
 26 
 
after the sled and how stubborn I was. "But," I said, 
 "I love weddings and music, and I don't care if they 
 whip me tomorrow." We slept there, and the next day 
 we had a fine dinner. I told Uncle Artchick that he 
 was the finest man and that his entire family was most 
 friendly. 
 
 By the time we returned home, Father forgot about 
 my punishment, and even praised my courage. I'll 
 always remember the fun of running after the sled and 
 being at that village wedding. How free and pleasant 
 such a wedding was celebrated by the simple people of 
 the farms! 
 
 27 
 
THE HOLY SABBATH AND THE HOLIDAYS 
 
 Most of the Jewish people in Lida were poor as 
 those in many other small towns in Russia and 
 Poland. They eked out a living in small stores or on 
 stands in the market place. On market days when the 
 peasants came from the farms and villages to buy and 
 sell, the storekeepers hoped for a good day which 
 would provide a living for the whole week. On other 
 days, the market place was almost empty and there 
 were more stores than customers. It was quite normal 
 in Lida to buy one-sixth of a herring, which came with 
 a cup of herring brine and made a fine meal with a 
 baked potato. When a storekeeper noticed a cus- 
 tomer coming, he tried to pull him into the store, and 
 the lucky one who made a deal was envied by his 
 competitors. The people in Lida usually bought a 
 small piece of butter for one kopek. Father used to 
 say, "No matter what we do or do not eat, the stomach 
 has no windows, no one can see or know about it. 
 But we must not take things from other people, or even 
 touch them. By all means, be honest." Nevertheless, 
 the lives of these poor people were enriched by a pro- 
 found faith that the Almighty God above would help 
 and provide for them. 
 
 On Friday, by some miracle, the women managed 
 to prepare a fine Sabbath dinner from one pound 
 of meat and little else. Everyone seemed to live a 
 whole week on the Sabbath meal. Friday was the 
 busiest day for the women. They cleaned, cooked, 
 and baked for Friday night and Saturday. All the 
 children had their faces scrubbed, their hair washed, 
 and were running around happily in their Sabbath 
 clothes. 
 
 As the Holy Sabbath arrived with the sunset, all 
 
 28 
 
workers left their work benches, the storekeepers 
 closed their stores, and the market place became empty 
 and forgotten. The village peddlers in their wagons 
 rushed home for the Sabbath. They carried their stock 
 of combs, matches, and other small items which they 
 peddled in the villages; all week they slept in some 
 barn and ate black bread and onions. If they were 
 lucky enough to earn something, they had a happy 
 Sabbaath. If the week was bad they hoped that God, 
 who provides even for a worm in the ground, would 
 surely provide for them. So, everyone rushed home 
 to greet Queen Sabbath. 
 
 The table was covered with a white tablecloth. The 
 candles in their shiny brass holders burned with a 
 bluish-red flame, and their flickering light threw shad- 
 ows on the walls. Mother held her hands over those 
 candles and prayed for her family every Friday eve- 
 ning. Every Jewish home seemed like a glorious castle, 
 and the hearts of the Jewish men and women were 
 filled with joy and holiness on the Sabbath Day. Sad- 
 ness, troubles, and worries were forgotten until the 
 new week. 
 
 People living normal lives in free countries do not 
 seem to appreciate the spiritual beacon of the Sabbath. 
 But to the families in small towns in Russia of that 
 day, who had nothing but their eternal faith in the 
 Almierhty God, the Sabbath brought glory and com- 
 fort. They felt nearer to God on that great day of 
 days. Often they brought home a guest, a homeless 
 boy or man, to share with him the food, of which 
 thev had so little themselves. 
 
 On Saturday all people, dressed in their best, walked 
 leisurely to the only place they had, the synagogue. 
 They prayed, listened to the rabbi, and heard the 
 cantor chant, in his beautiful voice, the holy prayers. 
 Then they returned to their homes rested and at peace. 
 They ate the meal that was cooked on Friday and 
 
 29 
 
kept hot in a warming oven overnight. Then they 
 slept or rested. Towards evening they went back to 
 the synagogue to bid farewell to the Sabbath with a 
 last prayer. All their daily worries returned with the 
 end of the Sabbath at sunset. A new and sad week 
 arrived. Mother stood praying near the darkened win- 
 dow from which shadows crept everywhere. Nothing 
 was left of the Sabbath glory but the melted wax on 
 the candlesticks and a few crumbs on the tablecloth 
 as Father prayed over the big "Havdole" candle for 
 a good week. 
 
 30 
 
THE EPIDEMIC 
 
 I recall one very hot summer in Lida when an epi- 
 demic of typhoid fever and a mild form of cholera 
 broke out. Many people and small children were sick 
 with terrible cramps and vomiting. Everybody was 
 frightened. The police ordered everyone to keep the 
 town clean and to boil the water. In many homes, 
 grown-ups and children died like flies. The synagogues 
 were crowded with men reading the Psalms and the 
 women standing near the opened Holy Ark. The smoke 
 of the burning candles made the crowded room even 
 more stifling. One funeral followed another to the 
 cemeteries, and the mourners asked the dead to inter- 
 cede for the living and stop the epidemic. 
 
 In our house the children were sick and Mother 
 worked hard caring for them. We were fortunate; 
 none died. However, the youngest, Chaim, was very 
 sick with typhoid fever, and had a high temperature. 
 The doctor lit a match and opened the boy's eye, and 
 when the pupil did not move, we thought he was 
 dying. Although he recovered, he remained speech- 
 less for a long time. 
 
 During Chaim's sickness, my parents put me on a 
 covered wagon with many boxes of merchandise and 
 sent me to my grandparents in Luptz. The old folks, 
 whose home was overfilled with their other grandchil- 
 dren, were not overjoyed at my arrival. My aunts 
 looked at me crossly, as if to say, "What are you doing 
 here?" I felt miserable. I longed for my baby brother, 
 Chaim, and did not like Grandma's cooking. Her 
 noodles were dark; my mother's were lighter and 
 tasted better. I wanted to go home. 
 
 Through Luptz there flows a very wide and shal- 
 low river, the Nieimen, and everybody's ducks, geese, 
 
 31 
 
and little children swim or play in the water. The 
 women wash their clothes in it. I found great joy in 
 the river, and was always there. One day, a little girl 
 took me to her home, where they gave me supper, 
 and I fell asleep in a corner. When I was finally found, 
 after my people hunted for me all night long, I got 
 a good licking. The next day I was put on the same 
 wagon that had brought me, and returned to Lida. 
 I was happy to be home again and hold my favorite 
 brother, Chaim, in my arms. 
 
 32 
 
THE FIRE 
 
 In the early fall months come the Jewish holidays, 
 Rosh-ha-shonoh, the New Year, and Yom Kippur, the 
 Day of Atonement, when we fast for twenty-four 
 hours. We also pray all day long in the synagogue to 
 the Almighty God for forgiveness and a good year. 
 
 The sun shines bright, but the nights are cool. The 
 trees in the orchard are heavily laden with ripe fruit; 
 the gardens are filled with all sorts of vegetables to be 
 stored in the basement for the long winter. Chickens 
 and roosters are scratching in the dirt unaware of their 
 destiny to be slaughtered on Yom Kippur as capores 
 (sacrifice) for our sins. A mild wind blows the yel- 
 low, dry leaves about. Fear and sadness are in the 
 air. Mother tells us that even the fish in the river 
 shudder on the Day of Justice. Children, as well as 
 adults, learn the significance of the holidays. 
 
 Mother baked the finest chalehs, shaped in the form 
 of a ladder reaching to God. If a customer com- 
 plained that the flour we sold was not very good, she 
 showed them her delicious chalehs made of the same 
 flour. 
 
 That year, Rosh-ha-shonoh and Yom Kippur passed 
 pleasantly. Everybody hoped for a good year, and 
 began to celebrate Succoth (the Feast of Tabernacles), 
 an ancient Hebrew holiday on the order of Thanks- 
 giving. They built small tabernacles covered with fir 
 branches. It was fun to eat in a succo. The last holi- 
 day of the month is Simchas Torah (Rejoicing in the 
 Law). In the synagogue, the men carried the sacred 
 scrolls of the Torah, while the younger boys marched 
 around the room with flags decorated with burning 
 candles stuck into an apple or potato. Everyone was 
 happy on that day. 
 
 33 
 
Suddenly someone screamed, "Fire! Fire!" Russian 
 hooligans had spilled kerosene in Jewish streets, and 
 soon the entire town was in flames. The worshippers 
 at the synagogue carried the Torah and holy books 
 to safety across the river. Tailors carried their sewing 
 machines, cobblers their benches and tools, women 
 their children and house goods to safety, crying, "God 
 has punished us for our sins." 
 
 Mother had already put the smaller children to bed 
 when she heard the cry of "Fire!" She looked out of 
 the window and saw that the sky was red. A brisk 
 wind was blowing the flaming tongues of fire in every 
 direction. Quickly, she took baby Chaim into her 
 arms. Sister Rose, Brother Moshe, and I were holding 
 on to her skirt as we followed the people who were 
 running across the river. 
 
 Two of Father's customers, who were peasants from 
 the village, came to our store with a wagon to help. 
 They saved several sacks of flour, and also a copper pot 
 with money, which they gave to Father. They invited 
 him to come to them with his family, offering their 
 helo, although they were poor themselves. 
 
 We were sitting half-naked in the damp pasture, 
 warmed by the heat of the flaming town. We children 
 enjoyed the spectacle of the flaming reflections in the 
 river, as we never had seen such a beautiful scene 
 before. 
 
 The next day, the entire town was in ruins. "How 
 will I ever start again?" Father cried bitterly. Nobody 
 was insured. He arranged for Mother and the four 
 small children to go to Luptz, to stay with Grandma 
 Esther Libe and Grandfather Shael Shlame, a 24-hour 
 journey. 
 
 First, we were taken to the home of our two good 
 friends, the peasants Felka and Adamka. They lived 
 in one big room with a dirt floor and built-in brick 
 oven. It was lighted with pine splinters. The peasant 
 
 34 
 
women baked potatoes and put them into a sack for 
 our journey. Mother said, "It is all right to eat baked 
 potatoes ;they are kosher." 
 
 The boys Nosen and Meyer were sent by Father to 
 other small towns to study Torah in the Yeshivas. 
 Grandma Gitl, Feigel, and Father rented a room with a 
 Jewish family near the Polish cemetery. Everyone 
 who had a lot started to build a barracks, with the help 
 of the Jewish people from other towns who sent food 
 and clothes and helped rebuild our town. 
 
 35 
 
LUPTZ AGAIN 
 
 The day after the big fire, Mother and we four small 
 children arrived in Luptz, at the home of Mother's 
 parents. What a terrible welcome we received! The 
 weather was cold and damp, and we all had to sleep 
 on the floor. Everyone was angry. My grandfather 
 and grandmother, who now were old and tired, said, 
 "It is better to lie in the grave. There, at least, it is 
 peaceful and we can be alone." At that time, we did 
 not understand the suffering of the old folks. They 
 had around them three married daughters, with their 
 hungry, half-naked children. It was a torture to see 
 them. 
 
 Our grandparents lived in a house which had one 
 big room. There was a brick oven built high to the 
 ceiling, with a space like a small room or closet. Near 
 the top was a big opening, the warmest spot in the 
 house, and Mother put us up there. She cooked potato 
 soup without butter or meat, but with an onion and 
 pepper it tasted like fish. Two of my mother's sisters, 
 with several small children, were also there. The 
 youngest sister, Chashe Feige, was so young and wide 
 she could hardly walk. 
 
 Grandpa was still a synagogue sexton, and he had 
 to make arrangements for funerals. The dead in Luptz 
 were carried on a stretcher, on people's shoulders. 
 The body was covered with a black cloth. That fright- 
 ened me, and no one explained things to me or con- 
 soled me. I was afraid of the shadows, and imagined 
 that the Angel of Death was always passing our win- 
 dows. I hated Luptz, and disobeyed Mother and every- 
 one else. I cried and begged Mother to send me back 
 to Lida, to Grandma Gitl. She told me we had no 
 home there, but as soon as Father could find one we 
 
 36 
 
would all go back. However, I could not wait. 
 
 One night late in November, when the weather 
 was frosty and the moon shone bright into our win- 
 dows, we heard Aunt Chashe screaming. There were 
 two old women around her, and pots of water were 
 boiling on the stove. The screaming went on for a 
 long time and awakened the neighbors, but in the 
 early morning, we heard the women exclaiming joy- 
 ously, "Mazel Tov!" Twin girls had been born. My 
 poor aunt brought many twins into the world. We 
 saw blood all over, and the mother and her babies 
 were lying in a wooden bed on a straw cover, woven 
 like a rug. The babies were bundled up like little 
 mummies, but they gave me a new interest in life. I 
 occupied myself loving and patting them like dolls. 
 Soon, all three sisters began to quarrel, each saying 
 to the other, "You do not belong here." The children 
 were barefoot and hungry. They quarreled constantly. 
 The old folks began to tell us to go back to our own 
 towns and that they really were worse off than dead, 
 having no peace or privacy. 
 
 It was in the middle of that dreadful winter in Luptz 
 that I got disgusted with everything and everybody. 
 The future seemed gray and hopeless. I could not look 
 at the sour faces. I was choked up with misery. Look- 
 ing through the frosty windowpanes, I noticed a cov- 
 ered wagon with boxes and bundles. I heard the driver 
 say that he was going to Lida. Quickly, I ran out of 
 the house in my bare feet over the ice and snow and 
 hid in the wagon between the boxes. My family had 
 seen me and ran after me. I cried out to the driver, 
 "Please take me along to Lida to Grandma Gitl!" The 
 good driver covered me with an old sheepskin and 
 some rags, and gave me a red apple. Mother tried to 
 pull me out of the wagon, saying, "There is no room 
 for you." I replied, "The place where I love to be is 
 with Grandma Gitl. I'll sleep with her and will be 
 
 37 
 
quiet as a kitten." Finally, Mother and the other 
 members of my family went back into the house, and 
 I knew my venture was successful. Tears of joy were 
 flowing down my cheeks, and the kindly driver wiped 
 them off and comforted me. The next day he brought 
 me to my sweet Grandmother Gitl. How welcome I 
 was ! We had only one room, far away from the town, 
 but it was quiet and peaceful. Sister Feigel said that 
 I came like an angel from heaven, and just as unex- 
 pectedly. They put big shoes on my feet, and Grandma 
 hastened to knit stockings for me. She cooked barley 
 soup for me, and I was once more warm and happy. 
 
 Nearby was a Polish cemetery. Their dead were 
 also carried into the church, but I was never afraid of 
 the Christian dead, I don't know why. Perhaps 
 because they were strangers to me. They had colorful 
 processions and were always dressed nicely at the 
 funerals. To my childish mind, it seemed more like 
 a holiday; they ate and drank, and there was no sad- 
 ness or crying amongst them. They believed their dead 
 were going to heaven with their sins forgiven, so what 
 was there to cry about? Later, I understood that all 
 people mourn their dead, even at fine ceremonies. 
 Tears are shed by all people everywhere, over the entire 
 world, because of their losses. 
 
 38 
 
THE GOOD POLISH PRIEST 
 
 Toward the end of that long winter, when the sun 
 was high in the sky and the days grew longer and 
 milder, my beloved Grandma Gitl bundled me up and 
 took me to the store. She had a big fire-pot covered 
 with ashes to keep the heat all day that kept us 
 warm. Carpenters were working there to complete 
 the roof. 
 
 We sold sacks of flour and other articles in our 
 store. One day, a very tall, strong, handsome elderly 
 man came in. He had a kind smile and silvery hair, 
 and a closely cut beard. He wore a long, black cloak 
 with little black buttons all the way down and a silk 
 beaded rope around his waist. His head was covered 
 with a black round silk cap. Around his neck was a 
 white collar, and a gold cross was on his chest. He was 
 a Polish priest. He bought a sack of flour, but did not 
 bargain like the other customers. He told his servant 
 to take it home, and remained to talk with Father. 
 
 The priest said, "Lida is in ruins, but I will try my 
 best to influence rich people to supply money to rebuild 
 the town nicer than before the fire. As long as I shall 
 live, there shall not be any restrictions among the 
 people. We are all God's children." 
 
 Behind his church the woods stretched for miles, 
 and a deep river flowed through them. There were 
 many swamps. His plan was to drain the swamps 
 and build artificial lakes which all the people could 
 bathe in in the summertime and skate on in winter. 
 People could picnic there and enjoy the beauty of 
 God's nature. My father listened to him and could 
 not believe his ears. Never had he heard a priest talk 
 like that to a poor Jew. The priest said also that he 
 
 39 
 
would buy goods in all the stores in town and wanted 
 to be friends with everyone. 
 
 In spring, the work of this great Polish priest actu- 
 ally began, and when the job was completed the area 
 was a green paradise. Young and old came to the open- 
 ing of the amusement place, which was called the De- 
 cansky Most. When the good priest saw the crowds 
 coming, he was the happiest man in the world. The 
 children kissed his hand, and he kissed them on the 
 forehead. He gave us the fruits of his orchard. 
 
 Everyone in Lida loved him, and he was invited to 
 Jewish affairs. He often discussed religion in a friendly 
 spirit with Rabbi Isaac Jacob Raines. When the Rus- 
 sian Czar Nikolai the Second was crowned, there were 
 great celebrations all over Russia. In Lida, also, candles 
 were lighted in all the windows. School children, 
 dressed in their best, marched to Decansky Most to 
 celebrate. We all hoped reforms would come to Russia, 
 making the people free. The rabbi and the priest rode 
 together at that celebration. 
 
 Going to Decansky Most developed in me a great 
 love for plants and flowers. Our big family lived, after 
 the fire, in two small rooms in the back of the store. 
 The rooms had been rebuilt with bad bricks, and the 
 mortar never dried. In winter, there was frost on the 
 walls and the double windows were tightly closed, but 
 it was cold and damp inside. The small children were 
 put on top of the oven near the ceiling. At the bottom 
 of the oven, there was an opening for the chickens 
 which Mother raised for Passover. 
 
 One day at the open window of a rich-looking 
 house I saw a beautiful blooming plant. I could not 
 resist; I climbed up and tore off a tiny branch. I 
 replanted and cherished it. It grew nicely, but one of 
 our chickens wanted to look out of the window and 
 broke my precious little plant. I cried bitterly over my 
 loss, and kicked the chicken with my foot. Father 
 
 40 
 
caught hold of me and threw the flowerpot out into the 
 cold. I swore that some day, when I was big, I would 
 have plants growing in all my windows. Father ex- 
 plained, "We are raising chickens for the Passover. 
 If you damage the chicken, it will not be kosher, and 
 how can Mother make matzo balls without chicken 
 fat or without eggs?" As I listened, he said, "Remem- 
 ber, the chicken is more important than the plant." 
 
 An egg was a luxury, and we seldom ate one, even 
 in the summer. Hot potatoes and herring were the 
 usual nourishment of the family. We had a little meat 
 on the Sabbath only. The Sabbath and the holidays 
 were colorful. Father told us their significance and 
 symbols. Passover was my favorite holiday; we drank 
 wine and Mother prepared delicious meals. At the 
 Seder table, Father and the children sang the beautiful 
 old songs from the Agada, and Father and Mother 
 seemed like king and queen to us. We children were 
 happy that we had been freed from slavery in Egypt, 
 and that the great liberator, Moses, had given Phar- 
 aoh what he deserved. 
 
 -I) 
 
THE DEATH OF GRANDMA GITL 
 
 The following spring Mother returned to Lida for 
 Pesach with the three small children. Father rented a 
 few rooms from a dressmaker. The store was rebuilt, 
 and Feigel worked in a store, while Mother was busy 
 with the big family. Grandma Gitl was not the same 
 any more. I slept with her and she often coughed. 
 She was not as active as she used to be. She told 
 Mother she ought to take more interest in the busi- 
 ness because such a large family needed a lot. But it 
 seems that Mother had never forgiven her for com- 
 plaining that Father had married the "old maid from 
 Luptz." So Mother told Grandma that there was 
 enough work to do at home and she was old enough 
 to know what to do without being told by her mother- 
 in-law. The two women now quarreled very often, 
 and my father always took his mother's part. 
 
 One day in the fall, on a Monday market day, when 
 Grandma helped in the store, they quarreled again. 
 Grandma came home sick with a high fever. The 
 doctor said it was pneumonia and that her end was 
 nearing. I sat quietly near her bed, and she patted my 
 head and blessed me. She sent for a very pious woman 
 to say the last prayers with her. The woman read 
 aloud as Grandma murmured in a weak voice words 
 that I shall always remember: "My mighty belief is 
 that the Messiah will come. It may take a long time, 
 but he will come. Dear God, forgive my sins. You 
 built and I destroyed. You repaired and I broke" — and 
 other words like that. With her fist on her heart, she 
 pleaded for forgiveness. That night she died. They 
 laid her gently on the floor, as was the custom, and 
 covered her with a black cloth. Many candles were 
 burning around her. I sat on the floor and was not 
 
 42 
 
afraid of her, but my heart cried within me, "Why 
 do people have to die?" I began to think of the many 
 bad things that happen to people, and no one could 
 tell me why. 
 
 Sitting on the floor beside her, I understood my 
 great loss. Never again would Grandma Gitl wear her 
 beautiful bright-colored Turkish-designed shawl over 
 her brocaded, sparkling ornaments, and her big golden 
 earrings. She had resembled a beautiful and exotic 
 queen of the fairy tales. When she carried a big basket 
 with matzohs and wine for her Christian customers, 
 Grandma's friends patted me and gave me colored 
 eggs. 
 
 After the funeral Mother had a very guilty con- 
 science. She said that if she had not quarreled with 
 her, perhaps Grandma would still be alive. Night 
 after night, Mother had terrible nightmares that Grand- 
 ma was choking her. She became pale and sickly, 
 frightened of her own shadow. The rabbi advised 
 her to measure Grandmother's grave, and, according 
 to the measurements, light candles in the synagogue 
 every night for a whole week. It was done, and 
 Mother's conscience tortured her no longer. Sister 
 Rose slept in Grandma's place. 
 
 I have never forgotten Grandma Gitl's stories that 
 the Messiah will come on a white horse to redeem us, 
 that Palestine will be a Jewish country with all the 
 Jewish people living there, and that even the dead will 
 crawl underground until they reach the Holy Land. 
 We will be free, sitting under the shade of the fig 
 tree, and have plenty of food in the land where milk 
 and honey flow. 
 
 43 
 
I STUDY RUSSIAN 
 
 As soon as my Hebrew and Yiddish education with 
 Father as my teacher was completed, my greatest 
 desire was to be admitted to the Russian school, which 
 was sponsored by the government. The schoolhouse 
 was a small wooden building with two entrances, one 
 for boys, the other for girls, and fine, small rooms for 
 the teachers. 
 
 No Jewish boys and only a few Jewish girls were 
 admitted to the government school. The richer Jew- 
 ish children attended private Russian schools. 
 
 How I envied all the children who were going to 
 the free school, carrying their school books and lunch- 
 es, dressed in dark brown uniform dresses and black 
 aprons, and in white pinafores on royal holidays. 
 
 One beautiful fall morning, at the beginning of the 
 school year, I begged Father to take me to school. I 
 combed and neatly braided my dark brown pigtails 
 with red yarn. I put on nice fresh clothes. "Perhaps 
 I'll be lucky enough to be admitted," I hoped. I 
 looked at Father and noticed that he wore his old 
 clothes. I asked him to put on his Sabbath clothes. 
 In Lida, the Jewish people never wore holiday clothes 
 in the middle of the week. "So," Father said, "flour 
 comes from God. Mazel (luck) comes from God also. 
 Maybe my floury clothes will be lucky for you." My 
 young heart beat fast as we approached the school. 
 
 There was a big crowd of newcomers about my age 
 at school. I was the smallest of them all. The children 
 looked at me, laughing and remarking how small I was. 
 
 The teacher was a tall, blonde, beautiful young 
 Russian woman, aristocratic in her manner, and kind 
 and pleasant. She was a sister to the parish priest 
 of Lida. 
 
 44 
 
The priest was a tall, handsome old man. His eyes 
 were cold and strict. Under his high, round cap, down 
 the back of his head, fell long silver hair, reaching 
 almost to his waistline. A short wide nose, big white 
 eyebrows, and a heavy moustache and beard adorned 
 his face. His cloak was wide, long, and black, and the 
 sleeves were shaped like a cape. A cross on a golden 
 chain hung on his chest. 
 
 The teacher looked at me, and our eyes met. She 
 smiled at me in a friendly way, and admitted me to 
 first grade. "Thank God," I whispered to Father, 
 "I, too, am a school girl." 
 
 I danced all the way home, and for the first time in 
 my young life, Father patted me on my bony cheek. 
 
 When Mother heard the good news, she rushed to a 
 store and bought brown and black material for my 
 uniform. Father bought me a secondhand textbook 
 and an arithmetic book. Shortly after, I began to read 
 and write. My papers were neat. Teacher was pleased 
 and showed my handwriting to the other pupils. 
 
 Next to me sat a beautiful Polish girl who was my 
 age. She was blonde, and twice as big as I was. She 
 lived near us, with her old grandmother. Her name 
 was Afanacia. We became friends, and she was often 
 in our house. 
 
 We walked to school together, but as soon as she 
 met non-Jewish children, she ran away from me. She 
 used to tell me how beautiful their church was, and 
 how poor our synagogue was, because all the beggars 
 slept there. "It is true," I told her, "but there is only 
 one Cod and he is everywhere, and even beggars 
 must have a place to sleep. They come and go to 
 other towns, and we must be kind to strangers. Other- 
 wise, God will punish us." 
 
 The boys' teacher was a refined Russian young 
 man. He played the violin. He soon formed a choir 
 of boys and girls. My friend Afanacia and I were 
 
 45 
 
placed in the first row. My eyes filled with tears of 
 joy and pride that I belonged to the school choir. The 
 Russian school songs remained with me forever. Even 
 my American-born children love them. I enjoyed the 
 choir so much that I did not care even when the chil- 
 dren in the back row pulled my pigtails. 
 
 Jewish girls were excused from religious lessons. 
 We could stay in the corridor, but I loved to hear 
 the music. Nothing could stop me from listening. 
 I sang all the Russian religious songs, and at home my 
 family sang them, even though they did not under- 
 stand their meaning. 
 
 We were taught handiwork, such as knitting, cro- 
 cheting, and embroidering small items like towels, 
 stockings, gloves, and laces. I never could understand 
 why Teacher gave me many colors of yarn to em- 
 broider roses all around a big bedspread by cross-stitch- 
 ing. It was a big job for a little girl. 
 
 I loved my beautiful, good teacher, and I tried my 
 best to please her. I asked her to permit me to take 
 my handiwork home. I promised to be careful and 
 not to soil it. I wanted to finish it for the spring exhi- 
 bition our teacher planned. So, as always, Teacher 
 smiled at me and granted my request to work at home. 
 
 I developed a liking for poetry, and soon learned 
 some poems by heart, poetry by Alexander Pushkin 
 and Lermontov. Before going to bed, I would write 
 the poems several times and read them in the middle of 
 the night. Next morning, I knew them by heart. So did 
 Afanacia. My whole family learned the poems from 
 me. When visitors or directors came to school, Teacher 
 called on Afanacia and me to recite. 
 
 That glorious winter passed quickly. All the girls 
 had completed their handiwork. Many items were 
 admired and sold, including my bedspread. This was 
 a glorious achievement for me. Thank God for my 
 mother, who taught me to sew with a needle, thimble, 
 
 46 
 
and thread. All the children were happy with their 
 work and accomplishment. 
 
 That spring, I recall, Easter and Passover came 
 about the same time. My mother packed several 
 matzohs in a white linen cloth, and a good bottle of 
 wine. Mother and I dressed in our holiday clothes, 
 and went to visit my beloved teacher. Mother 
 bowed deeply and expressed her gratitude for Teacher* s 
 kindness to me, and gave her a gift. Teacher was 
 pleased, and told Mother to feed me up so that I would 
 grow bigger. 
 
 At the end of the school season, Afanacia and I 
 were promoted from the first to the third grade. * 'Thank 
 God," I said to myself. 
 
 Soon dark clouds gathered around me. A new law 
 came, allowing only ten per cent of the girls to be ad- 
 mitted to school to be Jewish girls. After a hundred or 
 so Christians were admitted without examination, 
 there remained room for only ten of the fifty Jewish 
 children. We were all frightened and nervous. I was 
 so nervous during the examination that I could not 
 talk. Soon I was outside crying with the others who 
 were rejected. My hopes for a Russian education were 
 shattered and finished at the age of seven. 
 
 My friend Afanacia remained in school. 
 
 47 
 
THE MIRACLE 
 
 I recall distinctly it happened on a Monday market 
 day before Easter and Passover. Many peasants and 
 their families came to town to shop for Easter. The 
 roads and the market place were slushy with the soft 
 melting ice and snow and crowded with peasants 
 returning to their villages. 
 
 My girl friend Afanacia and I were running home, 
 happily, from school. We saw from afar a big crowd 
 of people near my parents' store. There were also 
 several policemen. The peasants and their wives 
 were shouting at my father. It seems that a peasant 
 tried to carry away a sack of flour without paying for 
 it. When Father tried to stop him some of the peasants 
 hit him with their whips. The Jewish people came to 
 Father's defense. The police captain and several of 
 his men tried to stop the riot. Father was ready to 
 take an oath on the holy scroll that the man had not 
 paid him, provided that the peasant and his wife 
 took an oath on the holy cross. 
 
 The whole crowd, the police, and the peasant with 
 the sack of flour on his shoulder marched to the 
 rabbi. With tears in their eyes, my father and mother 
 swore that they had not received payment. The police 
 captain asked the peasant what kind of money he 
 gave Father. The peasant scratched his head and re- 
 plied that he paid Father with two ruble bills and re- 
 ceived change. The captain looked into Father's purse. 
 There were no two paper rubles there. "Well," the 
 captain said, "let's go to the priest." So, the whole 
 crowd marched to the priest. When they reached the 
 bridge, the police captain unsheathed his sword and 
 screamed at the peasant, "Remember, Ivan, if you 
 swear falsely on the holy cross, I'll cut you to pieces 
 
 48 
 
with this sword and throw you into the river." The 
 peasant and his wife began to shiver. They bowed 
 and kissed the captain's boots, and confessed that 
 they had not paid. 
 
 "Rush to your village, you dirty dog," the captain 
 screamed, and kicked him with his boots. "Pay him 
 now." The peasant paid and ran away. It was obvious 
 that pogroms could be stopped, as well as encouraged, 
 by black forces. The whole town talked about the 
 miracle and the fine gesture of a Russian police captain. 
 
 49 
 
OUR NEIGHBORS 
 
 We moved in with a dressmaker who lived in an 
 old house on a narrow dark back street. The street 
 brightened up only when the candles shone through 
 the windows on Friday nights. 
 
 Small and narrow stairs led to an attic, where 
 two sisters, also dressmakers, lived. The oldest, Re- 
 becca, who was about twenty, mothered her youngest 
 sister, about twelve. 
 
 These girls came from a small village. Their par- 
 ents sent them to live in our town to be among Jewish 
 people for fear the girls would marry non-Jewish boys. 
 
 Both girls were beautiful. Everyone enjoyed their 
 singing of peasant and Russian songs. Rebecca had a 
 sweetheart, a Jewish soldier, who came from deep 
 Russia. When he was off duty, he painted signs. He 
 sketched the little houses, and tried to paint portraits. 
 I sat near him on the floor and watched him work on 
 canvas. This was my first acquaintance with art. I 
 must have been a severe critic. I looked closely at 
 the wet, painted canvas, and did not like the smearing. 
 I did not believe he was an artist because his work was 
 so rough. I loved the fine reproductions of good artists, 
 but Rebecca encouraged him and was proud of his 
 work. All the peasant women of her village gave her 
 work. While working, she sang arias from "Faust," 
 and a beautiful Russian song, "Carry My Soul to the 
 Blue Horizon, and Place It among the Golden Rocks.** 
 
 It so happened that a new-born baby was found 
 drowned in the river, and a new song, "Under the 
 Green Bridge,*' became popular. The words of the 
 song expressed the suffering of a rich girl who was 
 misled and gave birth to her baby on a stone under 
 
 50 
 
the bridge. The sad melody and beautiful words broke 
 our hearts. 
 
 The police also came to question Rebecca. She 
 swore to the police that she never had a baby, and 
 if she did, she would keep it. 
 
 Now I often wonder why, in our deserted corner 
 of the town, there were no drunkards, thieves, or 
 prostitutes, just poor, pious, God-loving people who 
 were enriched by the faith that God would not forsake 
 them. 
 
 51 
 
SOME MORE NEIGHBORS 
 
 Next door to us lived Sarah, the cripple, and her 
 family of five. Her husband, three boys from two to 
 six, and another child on its way comprised the family. 
 
 Sarah, although a cripple, was a good wife and 
 mother. Her knee was attached with a leather strap 
 to a crutch. She was thin, good-looking, clever, and 
 always in a good humor. Many peasant women 
 brought her work. She mastered her sewing machine 
 with one foot. She washed her clothes sitting on the 
 floor, which was sprinkled with yellow sand. Green 
 plants decorated her windows. 
 
 Sarah was a native intellect. She spoke natural phil- 
 osophy and wisdom. She never complained about her 
 hard luck. 
 
 Sarah's husband was a shoemaker, but seldom 
 worked at his bench. He was handsome and refined, 
 but dreadfully sick, for he was a chronic epileptic. I 
 often saw him lying on the floor in a fit of convul- 
 sions with glassy eyes, while Sarah sat beside him, 
 wiping the foam off his mouth. When the spell passed, 
 Sarah carried him to bed, wiping her tears. 
 
 Although both of them were handicapped, they 
 were a happy family. They sang beautifully. Every- 
 one loved them. My sister Feigel befriended them 
 often. So, our narrow alley was a musical corner 
 where everybody sang. Sarah's proverb was: "I am 
 not lonely, and possess great love for my family and 
 friends." 
 
 My parents wanted me to become an apprentice 
 to Sarah. "Dressmaking is a good trade for a girl," 
 they said. My answer was: "I love to sew, to be able 
 to make fine stitching by hand, and there is lots of fun 
 in mastering a sewing machine, but I will never be- 
 come a dressmaker." 
 
 52 
 
"Why not?" they wanted to know. My reply was: 
 "All dressmakers work forever for their husbands 
 and families, but there are no married women at the 
 cigarette factory. I shall never work for a husband. 
 It is enough to give him a dowry to marry me." My 
 answer was "No." 
 
 My choice to become a cigarette maker material- 
 ized, but it did not protect me from working after 
 marriage. To work and to provide was a necessity 
 for me, and I enjoyed being a good worker at cigar- 
 ettes and cigars, and in later years as a sewing ma- 
 chine operator on leather goods. Self-supporting 
 people are lucky. It is good to be useful in old age. 
 My hopes are to continue to be useful as long as 
 possible. 
 
 Across our narrow back street lived a shoe repair 
 man who specialized in patching old shoes. He was 
 a tired, stooped old man, and his grey, bushy eye- 
 brows and beard almost covered his whole face. 
 
 On Saturday in the Synagogue, his place was near 
 the door. He loved to sit at a big table while the 
 people sang the Psalms. His eyes and face would 
 light up with sheer delight when he was able to listen 
 and pray among people who knew so much more 
 than he did. 
 
 His wife was the homeliest woman in town. (She 
 had been born noseless.) She was always screaming 
 and cursing at her husband and neighbors. She was 
 clever and ambitious, and the most tragic of mothers. 
 Their only daughter of marriageable age was physi- 
 cally and mentally ill. This unfortunate mother said 
 she would never stop searching for a cure until she 
 found it. Her child must be cured. 
 
 No one knew how she managed to travel with her 
 daughter through many big cities in Russia and visit 
 the greatest clinics, where the doctors told her that 
 her effort was in vain. She did not give up, and hoped 
 
 53 
 
for a miracle from God. He would listen to her 
 prayers. Again and again, she wandered with her 
 daughter from town to town to many rabbis, and 
 was blessed by many of them. 
 
 They gave her holy scripts and charms to remove 
 the evil spirit of a sinning soul which might have en- 
 tered the girl's body. "A remedy must be found to 
 drive it out," they said. Mother and daughter came 
 home exhausted, but without a cure. The girl was 
 the same as before. 
 
 Later, the mother and daughter dragged themselves 
 to witches, witch doctors, gypsies, magicians, and 
 brought home several kinds of herbs. However, all 
 their efforts were in vain. Finally, they gave up. The 
 stubborn spirit would not leave the girl's body. Per- 
 haps God wanted it that way to punish them for 
 their sins. 
 
 They hated all their neighbors and children. We 
 pitied them. We were all accustomed to watch her 
 lying in the mud in convulsive spells. 
 
 Epilepsy was considered a sort of an evil spirit of 
 a sinning soul of an unknown ancestor. It was all 
 surrounded with superstition, and mystic remedies 
 were used. All were afraid of such a strange, weird 
 human disease. They said it was caused by evil spirits 
 carried by the wind. 
 
 Chaskel Long Legs, a very tall, middle-aged man, 
 was also one of our neighbors. His cheekbones and 
 pitiful eyes craved for sympathy, and everyone was 
 always kind to him. 
 
 He had become the favorite infant in our town 
 many years ago. He was an unclaimed foundling. 
 One very cold winter night, several strangers who 
 slept behind the oven at the synagogue heard a baby 
 cry. Following the cry, they soon found a crying 
 baby boy, who was about two weeks old. 
 
 A note, sewed on the rags, asked the finder to be 
 
 54 
 
good to the child. It also said that he was a Jewish boy 
 named Chaskel. Chaskel was circumcised. 
 
 The community got together in the middle of the 
 night, and a wet nurse was called. She proposed that 
 she be paid a year in advance. She was blessed with 
 a quantity of milk, and God wanted her to have one 
 more child. She would be a mother to the foundling. 
 The community agreed with her, and accepted her 
 proposition. They paid her a year's wage in advance. 
 Everyone was happy. Thus, Chaskel found a mother 
 and a home. 
 
 A few weeks later the foster mother brought Chas- 
 kel back to the synagogue, explaining that she had 
 found it impossible to nurse the boy because of his 
 appetite. "He needs a couple of wet nurses. I cannot 
 supply him with all the milk he needs. Get a cow. 
 I cannot nurse him anymore." So, the crowd de- 
 manded the money they had paid her. "The money,** 
 she replied, "is gone. I am sorry, but we bought new 
 shoes for all of us. You cannot use them." 
 
 A special meeting was held, and a letter was sent 
 to the highest court in St. Petersburg. 
 
 Many years passed. Chaskel became big and tall, 
 and grew a beard. The whole town raised him. He 
 studied at the Yeshivahs, eating "days." He was 
 famous for his long legs and big appetite. He often 
 ate at our home on Fridays and Saturdays. Mother 
 always tried to satisfy his demands for food. 
 
 Years later, a letter came from St. Petersburg. It 
 was the answer with the decision from the highest 
 court in the land. It ordered that the wet nurse con- 
 tinue to nurse Chaskel. It was a somewhat belated 
 decision. 
 
 One of our outstanding neighbors was the widow 
 Sheina Libe. She was well-known, and loved and 
 respected by rich and poor. She was a cultured person, 
 and had a shelf of books in her tiny room. She had 
 
 55 
 
no family of her own. She used to say that the 
 whole town was her family. It was true. 
 
 Sheina Libe was clean, straight, pleasant, kind, and 
 always smiling. She often said that all the orphans 
 were her children. "I shall care for them," she said, 
 and she did. 
 
 She always carried a white linen bag, filled with 
 food for the poor. She also collected coins in her 
 white handkerchief, and delivered these to all the 
 places where help was needed. She never told the 
 names of the people to whom she brought relief. 
 Everyone called her a saint. Her books were loaned 
 out for one kopek a week. They were yellow and all 
 worn out. I was one of her customers. 
 
 Once I asked her why she charged money for 
 reading her books when she always got them back. 
 She replied, "Tochterke (Little Daughter), for this 
 kopek Sheina Libe drinks a little pot of chicory for 
 breakfast." I began to understand the value of a 
 kopek. 
 
 Sheina Libe also collected money and gifts for 
 orphan brides, because marrying off poor girls was 
 considered a great deed. 
 
 At their weddings, when they were coming home 
 from the canopy, she danced all the way with the big 
 wedding chaleh. There was music on the street, and 
 everyone clapped to greet the great woman, to whom 
 all doors were open. Sheina Libe is unforgettable to 
 our country people. 
 
 It would be unfair to omit the family of our land- 
 lord, the family of my little friend, Ida, and her par- 
 ents. Our landlord was a Hebrew teacher. Besides 
 his many pupils, he also had half a dozen of his own 
 children. The school, kitchen, bedrooms, and nursery 
 were located in a few rooms. Reb Berl Joseph was a 
 kind, middle-aged man, and a fine scholar. He and 
 his family were loved and respected, even by his 
 tenants. 
 
 56 
 
In those years, rent in Lida was paid by the year, 
 at the convenience of the tenants. No one was ever 
 evicted for not paying rent. 
 
 Reb Berl Joseph's wife was a beautiful woman. 
 She was handicapped by a lame arm, and Reb Berl 
 always helped raise the children. Both possessed such 
 natural wisdom that in later years their handsome 
 sons and beautiful daughters never quarreled among 
 themselves or with other people. We lived with them 
 for almost seventeen years, and we will always remem- 
 ber the fun we had on Saturday nights, singing or 
 playing lotto. Furthermore, we continued our friend- 
 ship in this country, and our educated American 
 sons and daughters call themselves country people of 
 the vanished Lida. Most of our country people rest 
 in peace in the cemeteries here. Just a few now 
 remain. 
 
 57 
 
A HOLY GIFT OF A MYSTERIOUS WOMAN 
 
 Our town, Lida, became famous on account of the 
 fire, and started rebuilding through investments of 
 wealthy merchants, who arrived from the large cities 
 of Russia and Poland. 
 
 The entire community gathered at the ruins of the 
 synagogue square to discuss plans for rebuilding. 
 The merchants offered to loan money on liberal terms 
 to those who owned lots, providing that only bricks 
 and metal be used in the construction of the new 
 homes, in order to prevent another catastrophe. The 
 propositions were accepted with gratitude and enthu- 
 siasm. It was also decided to rebuild the synagogues 
 first. 
 
 "Our temples must be rebuilt first," they cried. 
 "With God's help, they will bring us all good luck." 
 The meeting adjourned with prayers, blessings, and 
 hope. 
 
 Very soon, at the synagogue square and all over 
 town, carpenters installed high and low scaffolds. 
 There appeared big piles of bricks of several colors, 
 shallow boxes filled with mixed cement, frames for 
 windows and doors, and boards for stairs and floors. 
 Diggers pitted deep foundations for basements. Every- 
 one hoped for a better future. Suddenly, people began 
 to quarrel. Since there were no records of the sizes 
 and extent of ownership of the properties, the people 
 argued over the lots. 
 
 After the ruins were cleared, neighbors began to 
 accuse each other of stealing land. Women with 
 babies stood deep in the freshly dug ground shouting, 
 "We will stop the work! This is our lot!" They all 
 rushed to the rabbi. He was quite busy settling 
 property disputes. 
 
 Walls were going up rapidly. How the children 
 enjoyed climbing the scaffolds, making figures, houses, 
 
 58 
 
and mud pies! This was enjoyment such as we had 
 never known. 
 
 Everyone worked. The merchants enjoyed good 
 business, and the town grew prosperous. 
 
 My father, the head of the Chasidim congregation, 
 was appointed to watch over the workers and pay 
 them their wages every Friday. 
 
 One Friday the community ran short of money 
 just as the building of the small synagogue was almost 
 completed. The workers gathered near our store 
 demanding their pay. 
 
 Father pleaded with them to be patient, in hopes 
 that the funds would arrive at any moment. "We 
 cannot wait," the workers screamed angrily. "You 
 know we must get paid today. We cannot come 
 empty-handed to our wives for Sabbath." There was 
 almost a riot. They threatened to beat up Father. 
 "What kind of a manager are you?" they demanded. 
 "It is your duty to prepare our pay beforehand," they 
 cried. Many people came to help, and half of the 
 needed money was raised. The workers departed 
 peacefully to receive the Holy Sabbath. 
 
 As soon as the crowd left, a cab arrived at the 
 market place. An elderly woman arrived with a trunk. 
 She was well-dressed, and must have been a beauty 
 in her youth. 
 
 The lady said she came from a big city. She was 
 wealthy and wanted to help. She had been born here. 
 Her parents moved away when she was still an infant. 
 She heard about the fire. "Here I am," she said. 
 
 She did not mention a husband, family, her busi- 
 ness, or how she earned her fortune, and refused to 
 give her name or tell whence she came. Everyone was 
 amazed and puzzled about her. She told the cab driver 
 to take her to an inn near the railway station. 
 
 On Saturday evening she gave the community a 
 large sum of money to complete the entire synagogue 
 
 59 
 
square. There was no rejoicing. No one could explain 
 why. The mysterious woman ordered a Holy Scroll 
 of Law from the safer (a copyist of holy scrolls). A 
 safer is considered holy, and his work sacred. He must 
 immerse himself in the ritual-font (mikvah) daily 
 before work. A scroll is written on parchment. It 
 must be spotless and have no mistakes. At that time, 
 scrolls were written with a pen made of a good 
 feather. 
 
 The safer was isolated during his work, locked in an 
 attic so as not to be disturbed. It took a long time to 
 complete a scroll. Before the scroll was completed, the 
 woman bought a beautiful dark-blue velvet mantel 
 artistically brocaded with gold. 
 
 The four handles were made to order by an artist 
 jeweler. I distinctly remember that summer night 
 when we celebrated the completion of the big syna- 
 gogue and the Holy Scroll. All lamps and candles 
 were lit that night. Outside, there were several tables 
 covered with white tablecloths, beautiful twisted 
 chalehs, and all kinds of food: fruit, candies, schnaps, 
 and wine. The strange lady bought and paid for every- 
 thing. Never before had there been such a celebration 
 in Lida. 
 
 Everyone was invited. Jew and Gentile, officer and 
 soldier attended. The good Polish priest was also 
 present. 
 
 The rabbi and the scholars received the honor of 
 carrying the completed Holy Scroll from the safer' s 
 attic. They walked slowly under a canopy which was 
 held by four young men. Everyone carried lit candles. 
 A copelia (music band) followed the procession, play- 
 ing tunes for the rabbi and the Chasidim. 
 
 The mysterious lady, dressed in her best and wear- 
 ing her beautiful jewels, carried a big twisted chaleh 
 and salt. She called all the women and girls to join her. 
 It was customary to bring bread and salt when enter- 
 
 60 
 
ing a new building. It was also customary to greet 
 distinguished people in the same manner. The rabbi 
 placed the scroll in the Holy Ark with prayers and 
 blessings, and the people bade each other "mazel tov" 
 (good luck). 
 
 The people were served at tables. Groups of men 
 greeted the new moon. Young men and women, big 
 and small, danced in the moonlight. Such a fantasti- 
 cally realistic and beautiful celebration is unfor- 
 gettable. 
 
 A vanished world of spiritual glory was created by 
 a mysterious woman in our town long ago. I heard 
 women whispering to each other, "Who is she?" 
 Others asked, "Why is she veiled in secrecy?" Still 
 others questioned, "How did she accumulate her 
 wealth?" No one knew any of the answers. 
 
 The men quietly questioned each other, and won- 
 dered if a Holy Scroll coming from the unknown 
 woman was kosher. No one could tell how her for- 
 tune was made. 
 
 "If her life, past or present, was questionable, we 
 do not know whether to bless or condemn her. We 
 must not judge the unknown," said one. 
 
 "She surrounded our town with glory. She said 
 she was born here. Perhaps her grandparents lie in 
 our cemetery. Why does she not speak?" asked 
 another. 
 
 We are all sinners. Her sins did not quench her 
 spark of faith and decency. She possessed a strong 
 desire to bring happiness to the people of Lida. 
 
 That great celebration was followed by shadows 
 of doubt. It seems good deeds cannot wipe out 
 deep stains. Thoughts of suspicion lingered on. The 
 people of our town could not solve the mystery. They 
 sighed and gave her the benefit of the doubt. 
 
 The next day she bade everyone good-bye. The 
 people were relieved. They never heard from her 
 again. 
 
 61 
 
THE CZAR'S JUSTICE 
 
 Jewish students were not admitted to the universi- 
 ties of the big cities in Russia; they were not even 
 allowed to live in the big cities. Only a tiny percentage 
 could enter the universities, and they were the sons of 
 very rich merchants who paid a certain amount of taxes 
 every year. But a number of Jewish boys and girls 
 lived in Jewish homes under cover. They were pur- 
 sued by the police, who accepted graft to overlook 
 them. 
 
 Since prostitutes were allowed to live in the uni- 
 versity cities on a yellow ticket, many Jewish girl 
 students bought yellow tickets from the police to 
 be able to live and study in the big cities. Thus many 
 Jewish girls managed to finish their studies and re- 
 ceived diplomas to practice medicine, dentistry, or 
 become midwives. They came home with their 
 diplomas to the small towns, opened offices, estab- 
 lished fine practices, and made good livings. This 
 made them forget all about the ugly yellow ticket. 
 
 Here is a true story of what happened in Russia 
 after a terrible pogrom in a small town. Many Jews 
 had been beaten and killed by Russian black forces. 
 A great Jewish lawyer sent a petition to the czar 
 himself, describing the horrors that the Jewish people 
 had to undergo. He pleaded with the czar to stop 
 those terrible pogroms. The czar answered that he 
 would come and investigate in person. 
 
 As soon as the officials heard that the czar was 
 coming, they hurriedly ordered the people to clean up 
 the town and repair the damaged houses. When the 
 czar arrived, all was peaceful and quiet. He passed 
 through the streets and did not see anything wrong. An 
 old Jew was walking to the synagogue with his tallis 
 
 62 
 
(prayer shawl). "Who is he?" asked the czar. "This 
 old Jew is going to pray," was the answer. The czar 
 passed by a gutter and saw a man lying there drunk. 
 "Who is this man?" asked the czar again. "Oh, he 
 is a Russian drunkard," they replied. "Well, he lies 
 on his own ground," said the czar. Thus ended the 
 czar's investigation. 
 
 63 
 
UNREST AND STRIKE IN LIDA 
 
 After the coronation of Nikolai the Second, czar of 
 all the Russians, a revolutionary movement to make 
 Russia a free country with a constitution, freedom of 
 the press, freedom of speech, the right to organize 
 labor, and to free all political prisoners began. As a 
 result of the great unrest, strikes broke out all over 
 the country. 
 
 Organizers from big towns came to Lida to help 
 the strikers gain higher wages and better living con- 
 ditions. The right to belong to unions was also de- 
 manded. A general strike all over Russia was to start 
 at the same time. The workers in our factory were to 
 meet in the woods of Decansky Most, early in the 
 morning. 
 
 Rubin, the boss of the cigarette factory, who was 
 my sister's partner, called me to the store on the eve- 
 ning before the strike. He had heard something about 
 it and asked me what was going on. My co-workers 
 knew that I was a relative of the boss and threatened 
 me if I told the boss about their plans. So, I promised 
 not to say a word. In the back of the store, the boss, 
 the foreman, my sister Feigel, and Father asked me 
 questions which I refused to answer. When they con- 
 tinued to question me, I said, "I don't know." They 
 told me that I was lying. Father became angry and 
 said I was stubborn and had no respect for grown- 
 ups. He pointed his finger in anger at me, saying in- 
 dignantly, "Such an undergrown creature wants to 
 overthrow the Russian czar and change the system." 
 Finally I said to them, shivering, "I will not be a 
 moser (informer). If you people want to know what 
 is going on in a big factory, go and work there and you 
 will find out." They kicked me out. 
 
 64 
 
Father always went to the synagogue early, but that 
 morning he did not go ; he watched me. All the work- 
 ers of the town left for the woods. Father was home 
 with me, but later he went away. The moment he 
 was gone, I ran to the woods to find the crowds of 
 workers. I searched for them all day, but in vain. At 
 last, hopeless, I had to give up the search. I was lost. 
 A peasant showed me the way to town, which I 
 reached when it was dark. I was hungry, thirsty, and 
 tired. Everyone was waiting for me when I got home. 
 Father pulled me outside, called all the children to 
 watch me, stripped me naked, and whipped me with 
 his leather strao. Our landlady's daughter, my friend 
 Ida, took me in, washed me, and gave me something 
 to eat. Then my tears began to flow. 
 
 Next day I was told, "Do not set your foot in the 
 factory. Your job has been taken from you. No one 
 will give you work in Li da." My whole family abused 
 me. That night my decision was made. I had saved 
 one hundred and twentv rubles for my dowry. They 
 should give me sixty rubles, and they could keep the 
 rest. I would go to London, where I hoped to find work 
 and be free. If I lived, that would be fine. If I didn't, 
 I would not care. A little girl could find some work in 
 a big world. If they refused to give me my money, 
 or tried to prevent my going away, I would go to the 
 church for help. I wanted my money at once. 
 
 My father, Israel Joseph, had done his fatherly duty 
 by punishing me for the crime of being disobedient, 
 ignoring his commands and warning not to follow the 
 crowds to the woods, not answering the questions 
 about the strike planned in my employer's cigarette 
 factory, and refusing to be a moser (informer). Now 
 my mother, Rachel, started on her motherly duty in 
 the shrillest notes. "What do you mean?" she 
 screamed at me in fear and anger. "You will go to the 
 churches to ask for help? Are you planning to be 
 
 65 
 
converted and become a Christian? Woe is me! You 
 will become a shikse (non-Jew), and perhaps later 
 on, you will marry a non-Jewish boy and our grand- 
 children will be Pogromshikses. Should such evil words 
 be spoken of a decent Jewish girl? Never, never! You 
 deserve to be scalded with boiling water, and you 
 should become so helpless that even the churches will 
 refuse to help or care for you. Is this my reward for 
 struggling to raise such a tiny, ugly mouse? It might 
 have been better if you had died in infancy instead 
 of our first-born girl, Nechame!" 
 
 Poor Mother. The tears streamed down her cheeks 
 and her motherly heart almost broke. How little she 
 knew that I was with my people and my faith with 
 all my heart and soul. I had been only a tiny grain of 
 sand swept along in the hurricane of the Russian 
 Revolution. How I missed my beloved Grandma Gitl! 
 I felt like an orphan left alone in a fierce storm. But 
 I was not helpless. 
 
 That night my little friend brought me my money 
 which Sister Feigel had given her. I packed a small 
 basket and put in some biscuits which my friend's 
 mother had baked for me. Very early the next morn- 
 ing I was on the train to Vilna. where my brother 
 worked in a trade school. In Vilna there were also 
 strikes and unrest. Meyer went with me to an agent 
 who knew how to smuggle people across the border 
 to Libau, where they could take a boat to London. 
 
 That same morning, in Lida, the people talked about 
 how Israel Joseph's daughter had been stripped and 
 beaten by her own father in the middle of the street, 
 how she was unable to face anyone, and had run 
 away. Men and women berated my father, saying that 
 all the young people had gone to the woods, that he 
 had been wrong to beat me in the street. They told 
 him to go and find me. "It is criminal," they said, "to 
 drive away such a very young girl from her home." 
 
 66 
 
The whole town was upset, and I became a martyr in 
 their eyes. 
 
 Father came to Vilna that same day and found me 
 with my brother. He cried, and he begged me to come 
 home with him. I told him that I would not find work 
 in Lida, and it was too late. Then he warned me to be 
 careful and not to be misled, and I promised I would 
 watch my step. I bade him Good-bye, and he left 
 alone for Lida, as I left for London, England. 
 
 I did not write home for a whole year. I was embit- 
 tered against my parents and sister, but more so 
 against my boss, Rubin, himself the father of children 
 and rolling in wealth, who had chased me out of his 
 factory because I refused to tell him about the plans 
 of the strikers. My parents wrote to all the people 
 from Lida who lived in London to find me. They 
 pleaded with me to write to them, which I finally did. 
 
 I heard from home that Czar Nikolai instead of 
 granting reforms had crushed the revolution with 
 pogroms. The prisons were filled with prisoners — men, 
 women, and children. Many had been exiled to Si- 
 beria. The czar and his advisers started the pogroms 
 of the Jews. The czar said the Jews were revolu- 
 tionists, and the workers said the Jews were the 
 bourgeoisie, and they all cried, "Beat the Jews and save 
 Russia!" Later, my family wrote me that they were 
 ^lad I was in London. Some of my girl friends had 
 been arrested and sent to Siberia. I was free in 
 London, and worked in a big cigarette factory. 
 
 67 
 
MY JOURNEY TO LONDON 
 
 My brother Meyer, who lived in Vilna, arranged 
 for my trip. A strange man picked up my basket and 
 took me to a place where many other immigrants were 
 waiting for a train to the port of Libau on the Baltic 
 Sea. There we saw a great ship being loaded with 
 boxes and bundles, getting ready to leave on the 
 following day. 
 
 The immigrants were mostly Jewish men, women, 
 and children. A woman with her two young daugh- 
 ters, who were traveling to London to their father, 
 befriended me. The ship was crowded. Our quarters 
 were in a dark corner, crowded with narrow beds, one 
 on too of the other. We were on deck when the 
 heavily loaded ship started off. For the first time in 
 my young life, I saw the sea. The horizon seemed 
 far off, and the unfriendly winds frightened me. It 
 seemed to me that the ship was breathing heavily. It 
 listed to the right and to the left. The steam whistled, 
 and a heavy plume of smoke rose into the air. Green 
 and white waves stretched and jumped as far as the 
 eye could see. White sea gulls followed our ship. It 
 all seemed like a colossal carousel. I began to feel sick. 
 The other people also felt sick. They looked pale and 
 green, and most of them soon crawled into their beds. 
 I was seasick the entire journey, and could not eat 
 the potatoes and herring which were given to us. 
 
 After several days, cries arose: "Land! We see land! 
 It is England. We are free!" It was early in the 
 morning. 
 
 I had been given the address of a cousin, Alte, who 
 worked in a shop as a buttonhole maker. She lived 
 with her parents. Her father was a Hebrew teacher, 
 and also a peddler who sold goods to people on the 
 installment plan. They were very kind people. A man 
 from a Jewish society, the Board of Guardians, first 
 
 68 
 
took many of the immigrants to a place where we were 
 given food. Then he took me to my cousin, telling 
 me that if I needed help or advice I should come to 
 him. 
 
 Everybody said that I was small for my age. I was 
 thirteen then. "If the Londoners will be good to me," 
 I told them, "perhaps I will grow taller." How I 
 yearned to be tall ! Alte took me to a store and bought 
 me a red shirtwaist and a long skirt to make me look 
 taller. She braided my dark brown hair with a fine 
 ribbon. I was surprised and amused when they told 
 me that I was very good-looking. 
 
 I went job hunting. I walk around and tried to 
 read the names of the streets. I went into cigar and 
 tobacco stores asking for work. Luck was with me. 
 I found a job in a Jewish store, in a rough Cockney 
 neighborhood, on Salmon Lane. This was a business 
 street near the docks, and for the first time I saw 
 people of a different color: Chinese, Japanese, and 
 other races. 
 
 My boss, Mr. Wolfson, had a bench standing in his 
 store window. He gave me a white apron, a big pile 
 of yellow tobacco, and cigarette paper, and I began 
 to work in the window. My fingers moved fast. Was 
 I not an experienced old hand at cigarette-making 
 from Russia? Big crowds of people gathered in front 
 of the window. All day long they watched me work, 
 and many people came in to buy the cigarettes I made. 
 What a wonderful feeling it was to have found work 
 in a strange country, especially in England ! 
 
 At three o'clock in the afternoon, I was given strong 
 tea with cream, and bread and jam. I felt right away 
 that I was going to be big. My boss and his family 
 were very good to me; they were Russian Jews from 
 Ekaterinoslav. I have learned that there are fine and 
 good people among all races and creeds in the world 
 of free countries. 
 
 69 
 
I worked during the day and attended school at 
 night. I envied every little girl who could speak 
 English. Slowly, I began to read children's stories in 
 the textbooks and to write neatly. My teacher took 
 a great interest in me, introducing me to the other 
 teachers and telling them that all my folks were in 
 Russia and I was alone in London, praising my love 
 for work and study. 
 
 On Saturday nights my cousin Alte took me to 
 lectures or political debates. I met many revolution- 
 ists who had escaped from Russia. There was Count 
 Peter Kropotkin, an exile from my homeland, and 
 Rudolph Rocker, an exile from Germany. At the 
 Wonderland, the biggest hall in London, at a protest 
 meeting against the pogroms in Kishinev and other 
 Russian cities, a very old woman spoke in French. 
 They told me she was Louise Michel, and that she had 
 taken part in the French Revolution. I frequently 
 wondered whether she really had. On Sundays, in 
 summer, we used to go to Hyde Park, where speakers 
 and groups of people around them spoke freely, even 
 criticizing the British government, while the police 
 kept order. 
 
 The Salvation Army sang in Whitechapel, on one 
 corner. At another corner spoke a socialist or anarchist, 
 or perhaps a missionary. People listened, and went 
 away peacefully. 
 
 I often wondered about the contrast in London. 
 There were so many rich gentlemen in high hats, and 
 beautifully dressed women. The department stores 
 were overflowing with clothing of all kinds, but many 
 people were lying near the churches, homeless and in 
 rags. Women sold themselves for a roll and a kip- 
 pered herring. I witnessed people carrying shoes and 
 other email articles to the pawn shop. There were 
 saloons on every corner where men, women, and chil- 
 dren were drinking. Some women even nursed their 
 
 70 
 
babies in those places. But rich and poor alike loved 
 the king and queen. 
 
 The following year, my boss's brother, a young boy, 
 came from Russia. They asked me to teach him the 
 trade and to find another job for myself. When he 
 was able to take over, I found work at Aldgate, in a 
 very big factory employing about five hundred work- 
 ers. When I applied for the job, the foreman looked 
 me over. "You are too little," he said. "You look 
 like a child." I pleaded with him. "I am fourteen. 
 I come from Russia. I am alone in London and need 
 a job." "But," he exclaimed, "where shall I put you 
 when an inspector comes — under the table?" "That's 
 good enough for me," I said. So he took me in. 
 
 I was not afraid, because I knew that I could do the 
 work. He put me at a table, gave me a pile of tobacco 
 and paper cases, and put me to work. He was amazed 
 at the speed of my thin fingers. "How long have you 
 been working?" he wanted to know. "All my life," 
 I answered. 
 
 Each two cigarette makers had one cutter to cut off 
 the edges, but I was so fast that the foreman had to 
 give me a cutter all for myself. Whenever an inspec- 
 tor came, I dove under the table and hid until he was 
 gone. By and by I grew a little taller. When visitors 
 came to watch the people work, the foreman used to 
 bring them over to me, and they wtached my flying 
 fingers make the cigarettes. Other workers raced with 
 me to see who could make a "fifty" faster. I never 
 lost a bet. 
 
 Many of the men workers came from Odessa, a 
 big city in Russia near the Black Sea. They were 
 tough, vulgar boys who tried to flirt with me. They 
 nicknamed me "Mamotchka," which means "little 
 mother." However, one of them warned me to beware 
 of all these men. "They are dangerous. Watch your 
 step," he said. I thanked him for watching over me. 
 
 71 
 
There was an older girl in the factory who be- 
 friended me. She was beautiful, well-educated, and 
 refined. Everyone respected Celia. She lived with 
 her old mother, and had a sweetheart who was sick 
 with tuberculosis. I was proud and glad to have Celia 
 for my friend. At lunchtime we formed a reading 
 circle for half an hour. We read Victor Hugo, "The 
 Count of Monte Cristo," and "The Man Who 
 Laughs." We went together to see the works of art 
 in the museums. How I loved to see the wonderful 
 paintings of the great masters, Gainsborough, Rey- 
 nolds, Rubens, Rembrandt, Leonardo da Vinci, and 
 others! What treasures of art! I wished that I could 
 sometime meet a living artist. 
 
 One event I especially remember was when the 
 beloved Queen Victoria died of old age. All the build- 
 ings and streets of London were draped in lavender 
 and black. The people all mourned the loss of their 
 good and clever queen. In a free country, a queen 
 is beloved like a devoted mother. Great masses of 
 people crowded the sidewalks when the black-draped 
 carriage and horses took the queen on her journey 
 into eternity. I was reminded of Grandma Gitl, who 
 had also closed her kind eyes and departed into 
 eternity. 
 
 Then came the coronation of King Edward VII. 
 I remember how enthusiastic the British people were 
 as everyone danced in the street. They know how to 
 celebrate. 
 
 When the London hospital built a new addition, the 
 king and queen were at the opening. They were the 
 first to unlock the door and step in. In spite of the 
 hospital's enormous size, there still were not enough 
 beds, and only those who were dangerously ill could 
 be admitted. I saw patients wheeled in pushcarts by 
 their relatives to the hospitals, but there was no room 
 for them. At the clinic or dispensary, patients had to 
 
 72 
 
wait for treatment almost all day. They were served 
 tea. 
 
 Missionaries lured Jewish patients to come to their 
 hospital, but before treating them they made them 
 listen to prayers and speeches about Christianity. 
 
 At night school I met a very fine chap about seven- 
 teen years old. He was tall and handsome and could 
 play the accordion, although he had never taken a 
 lesson. He was an apprentice in a cabinet factory and 
 could make lovely things out of wood. His name was 
 Morry, and he was his mother's only son. He took 
 me to see his parents and they liked me, but they 
 remarked, "He is so tall and you are so short." I was 
 about two years younger than Morry, and even my 
 high heels did not help. We went out together, 
 but I was always worried that he might break off with 
 me. How proud I was when he came to meet me and 
 take me home from work ! 
 
 It happened that my eyes became red and tired, and 
 even closed, at school. The teacher advised me to go 
 to a hospital and have them examined. The doctor 
 gave me drops and said that I needed glasses. In those 
 years only old folks wore glasses. When my boy 
 friend's mother saw the big glasses on my small face, 
 I felt that my romance was shaky, and so it was. 
 
 Upstairs, in my boy friend's house, there lived a 
 widow with a beautiful daughter. She was tall, well- 
 dressed, and spoke fine English. The two older women 
 became very chummy, and the widow said to Morry's 
 mother, "What kind of a girl did your son pick? She 
 is all skin and bones, and wears glasses." 
 
 What chance did I have? True, my boy friend told 
 me he loved me only, and that we would be married 
 when he was about twenty. I was happy, because I 
 loved him deeply. 
 
 It was fall, and the Jewish holidays came. I waited 
 and waited, but my friend did not come. Two weeks 
 
 73 
 
passed. I missed him terribly. Everything seemed 
 empty and dark. I felt that if he had only told me, it 
 would not hurt quite so much. When I could not bear 
 it any longer, I went to knock at his door, and his 
 mother came out. 
 
 "He will not go with any more," she said. "He 
 is keeping company with a girl of his own size, the 
 girl from upstairs." 
 
 Well, I wished her a Happy New Year, and went 
 away. They teased me in the factory about my losing 
 my boy friend. I became pale and thin, and I had a 
 terrible feeling that everything was finished. 
 
 About that time I met a rabbi's daughter, who took 
 me home with her. The rabbi saw I had a book about 
 astronomy, and told me I should not read such a book. 
 
 "Why not?" I asked him. "God created the world, 
 the moon, the planets, and the stars. Why should we 
 not learn about them?" 
 
 He looked at me and borrowed the book. The whole 
 family was very good to me. They asked me to be 
 their guest at dinner every Friday and Saturday. By 
 and by time cured the pain of my first love. I began 
 to dress nicer and go out with girls and young men. 
 
 The factory where I worked was sold to some 
 American company. Everyone said the work would be 
 done with machines and not by hand. They said 
 that we would have to find other lines of work. It 
 was at that time that my older brother, Nathan, came 
 to London, and we arranged to go to America together. 
 
 Shortly before our departure, Morry and his mother 
 came to see me. They had heard that I was leaving 
 for America. Morry brought me a beautiful bouquet 
 of roses and asked me to forgive him. 
 
 "Stay in London, and we will be married," he 
 begged. 
 
 "It is too late," I answered. "I do not trust you 
 any more." 
 
 74 
 
FRAME-UPS AGAINST THE JEWS 
 
 Those were evil days for the Jews in many coun- 
 tries of Europe. The slogan "Kill the Jew and save 
 Russia" spread like wildfire to many Russian cities. 
 A Christian boy was killed by someone in a Russian 
 town, and a Jew named Mendel Balis was arrested 
 for the crime. His trial caused a sensation and was 
 the cause of pogroms in many parts of the country. 
 The Jews in the United States protested, and President 
 Theodore Roosevelt sent a strong note to the czar of 
 Russia, who did nothing to stop those outrageous 
 persecutions. Later, the United States even broke off 
 relations with Russia. While the anti-Semites were 
 proud of their success, the poor Jews became discour- 
 aged and almost helpless. Mendel Balis was later 
 freed of all charges. 
 
 There was also antisemitism in France, a free coun- 
 try, the most cultured of all. Some military men 
 falsely accused a Jewiish army captain, Alfred Drey- 
 fus, of giving away military secrets to Germany. His 
 accusers prepared all kinds of proof and procured false 
 witnesses, and Alfred Dreyfus was found guilty of 
 treason and sent to Devil's Island, where only the worst 
 criminals were sent. There was much bitterness and 
 indignation among the Jews the world over. If a non- 
 Jew commits a crime, the law punishes that one indi- 
 vidual; but if a Jew commits a crime, his entire race 
 is often punished with him. 
 
 And it happened that one day a famous writer, a 
 non-Jew, looked into the matter and became aroused. 
 He wrote a thunderous pamphlet, "I Accuse!" stating 
 that Captain Alfred Dreyfus was innocent. The world 
 shuddered and listened. He collected proof for his 
 statement, and many honest and conscientious men 
 
 75 
 
arose and demanded justice with him. The great writer 
 was a Frenchman, Emile Zola. He exposed the fraud 
 and dirty lies, and did not rest until Captain Dreyfus 
 was freed and back from Devil's Island, a broken, aged 
 man. Dreyfus was given back his sword with all hon- 
 ors. Many of his enemies left France for other coun- 
 tries. 
 
 It would be wrong to say that the Jews lived hap- 
 piily ever after. Antisemitism is a cancer that seems to 
 remain militant. To make the Jewish people scape- 
 goats for their blunders and intrigues of dangerous 
 demagogues. 
 
 In this hour of darkness there appeared a Jew of 
 aristocratic appearance — tall, dark, and handsome, 
 with a magnificent black beard. His name was Dr. 
 Theodore Herzl, from Vienna. He had written a book- 
 let, "The Jewish State," in which he set forth his idea 
 that the problem of the Jewish people could be solved 
 only by their return to Palestine, their homeland of 
 long ago. Many Jews were inspired by that idea; 
 others had no faith in the Zionist movement and said 
 Dr. Herzl was a dreamer. Nevertheless, many out- 
 standing Jews from all over the world came to the 
 first Zionist Congress, held in Basel, Switzerland. 
 There the cornerstone of the Zionist movement was 
 laid. Rabbi Isaac Jacob Raines, from Lida, was a 
 delegate to the first Congress. 
 
 Zionism took roots and spread all over the world, 
 for there were many who understood Dr. Herzl' s idea 
 and had faith in his prophecy. Unfortunately, he died 
 young, but such great leaders as Dr. Chaim Weitzmann, 
 the scientist; Israel Zangwill, Max Nordau, and others 
 took up his work. After almost fifty years of struggle, 
 the dream became a reality and many lived to see the 
 Jewish independent free state of Israel recognized by 
 the United Nations. The bones of Dr. Herzl were 
 brought to rest in Israel, the land of his dreams. 
 
 76 
 
MY ARRIVAL IN CHICAGO 
 
 While I lived in England, many people in Lida had 
 emigrated to America, among them some members 
 of my family. 
 
 My father's sister, Hilda, had married a strong and 
 healthy farmer, David, but both were disappointed in 
 their marriage. David thought that Hilda, a city girl, 
 would make a businessman out of him. Hilda thought 
 that she would live on a farm, have plenty of every- 
 thing, and nothing to worry about. She was the 
 careless type, easygoing, and not too fond of work. 
 Soon the babies started coming. But the couple quar- 
 reled constantly, and one fine day David left for 
 America. Hilda was left behind with four girls and 
 a boy. They came to Grandma Gitl and Israel Joseph, 
 who had to provide for this family and scrape enough 
 money together to send them to David in America. 
 
 David had become a peddler, and sold merchandise 
 to farmers around Chicago. The family was reunited, 
 but thev were not happy together. Their life was not 
 peaceful. The daughters grew uo. The oldest, Bessie, 
 became a dressmaker. Her younger sisters, Sophie 
 and Rose, learned to be cigar makers. The smaller chil- 
 dren went to school. When David came home for 
 the Sabbath, he gave Hilda money to buy and pre- 
 pare good food, and the girls also gave their wages 
 to their mother. But Hilda put most of the money 
 away for a rainy dav. She was a poor housekeeper. 
 On Sundays the girls had to do all the housework, 
 which made them feel verv disgusted. They com- 
 plained bitterly that other families lived better than 
 they. At least there was harmony and peace. When 
 the three girls grew up David left home, and no one 
 knew where he went. He just disappeared. 
 
 77 
 
The three girls had to keep up the family. Their 
 mother gave birth to another boy. When young men 
 came to call on the girls, Hilda always found fault 
 with them. Bessie had the finest character of all the 
 children. She carried all the responsibilities, and made 
 their clothes. Sophie, the beauty of the family, mar- 
 ried an old bachelor who was a cigar maker. He was 
 homely and shiftless, and after a while they left for 
 San Francisco. Bessie and Rose rented a little flat, and 
 they moved away, but they provided as before for 
 the rest of the family. 
 
 My brother Meyer had also come to Chicago. He 
 was a locksmith. When my brother Nathan and I 
 came from London, our boat was five days late. No- 
 body came to meet us at the railway station in Chicago 
 when we arrived in the middle of the night. I could 
 speak English, so we took a streetcar to the address of 
 Bessie and Rose. Although it was late, the house was 
 lit up, and everyone was awake and upset. It hap- 
 pened that, the very same night, David had come to 
 visit the family. Both sisters were bitter against him 
 for unloading the responsibility of the family on their 
 shoulders. Although our cousins had invited us to 
 come, we received a cold welcome, and it was a sleep- 
 less night for all of us. 
 
 Next day, Brother Meyer came and told us bluntly, 
 * 'Remember, you did not come to me. You came to 
 America.*' 
 
 I told him that it was well understood, but his words 
 fell like stones on my heart, and I was sad and sorry 
 to have left London. 
 
 Had I made a mistake to leave so many friends 
 behind in that wonderful city with the great art mu- 
 seums, the fine theaters, and the gorgeous West 
 End? I wondered. 
 
 I would have been happy to go back to London 
 that day. 
 
 78 
 
I LEARN TO MAKE CIGARS 
 
 When Bessie and Rose left for work the next day, 
 I remained alone in the house. It was the end of 
 summer, about Labor Day, but the weather in Chi- 
 cago was very hot. My cousins had left food on the 
 table for me. There were butter, cheese, and fruit that 
 I had never seen before. There also were bananas, 
 which I did not know how to eat, and vegetables and 
 milk. I cooked soup, scrubbed the floor, and washed 
 the windows. After washing my clothes in the sink, 
 I went out on the porch to hang them up, and locked 
 myself out. There I was in my bare feet, with few 
 clothes on. Finally a neighbor opened the door for 
 me. I covered the table with a clean cloth and pre- 
 pared a dainty supper for us all. Then I washed, 
 dressed, and braided my hair nicely. When my cousins 
 returned from work that evening, they were agreeably 
 surprised to find everything nice and clean. They 
 kissed me and said, "You are a fine girl. You will be 
 all right in America." 
 
 Then I no longer felt like a stranger. I was on solid 
 ground, and happy to see smiling faces again. 
 
 After Labor Day, the workingman's holiday, they 
 found a little work for me in a tobacco store on Jeffer- 
 son Street. I made cigarettes in the back of a store, 
 where it was dark and dirty, and again I wished that 
 I were back in London. At night my cousins ex- 
 plained that I would have to learn a new trade, mak- 
 ing cigars. Cigarettes were now made by machine. 
 They took me to a cigar factory, where many immi- 
 grants, men and girls, were learning the cigar trade. 
 I had to pay fifteen dollars in addition to two months' 
 work without pay. They taught me to become a roller. 
 It takes two people to make a cigar. The inside bunch 
 
 79 
 
is made of dry scraps shaped in a good piece of leaf 
 tobacco called * 'binder." Then it is put into a mold 
 and pressed into a nice shape. The roller has to roll 
 it in a fine leaf to complete the cigar. It looks simple — 
 it is only a cigar. But it not easy, for it requires skill. 
 Someone new, with clumsy fingers, may tear the leaf, 
 which is the most expensive part of the tobacco. How- 
 ever, our boss had lots of patience and understand- 
 ing, and many good cigar makers came out of his 
 factory. 
 
 I tried my best; even in my dreams I struggled to 
 make fine cigars. When my two months were up, the 
 boss told me he was pleased with my work and my 
 salary would be six dollars a week. He also promised 
 higher pay because my work was so good. I was 
 happy, not so much about the wage but because my 
 work was satisfactory. 
 
 Next to me in the factory sat a young man named 
 Joe. He was about five years older than I, and he 
 happened to be a friend of my brother Meyer. He 
 was pale, thin, and delicate-looking. The poor fellow 
 could not catch on, and had a hard time there. 
 
 One dav our boss came in with a big strong man 
 and introduced him as our new foreman, Mr. Copel. 
 Mr. Cbpel had the right to hire and fire, and we all 
 felt like a herd of scared sheep. He looked at every- 
 one's work, made some remarks, and showed the work- 
 ers how to do it. He said nothing when he looked at 
 my work, but when he came to Joe his face got red 
 and angry, and he said, "Your work is terrible. A 
 horse could do better than that." 
 
 As I was sitting next to Joe, I began to show him 
 how to improve the "bunches." He was a sickly, 
 nervous young man, and the work was a strain on 
 him. When his two months were over, he could not 
 earn anything. His life was full of trouble. His older 
 sister had come to him from Europe, and she tried to 
 
 80 
 
learn to make buttonholes, but the work was too hard 
 for her. So she reproached him continually for bring- 
 ing her to the cursed land of Columbus. 
 
 Our romance started simply. At lunchtime I would 
 give him delicious corned beef and salami sand- 
 wiches and dill pickles to strengthen his weak body. 
 He in turn would supply me with good literature to 
 strengthen my mind. Within a few weeks he had 
 learned to make "bunches"; we made fine cigars to- 
 gether. My friendship for him made him very happy. 
 Saturdays and Sundays we attended lectures at the 
 Masonic Temple, or took walks in the cool moonlight 
 and enjoyed the beautiful, glittering snow. 
 
 During my first year in Chicago I visited many of 
 the people from Lida. One friend told me that he had 
 just come from Pittsburgh, where he met a second 
 cousin of mine, a fine young man who had done very 
 well. He owned a building and a tailor shop, and 
 employed a number of people. This cousin, Samuel, 
 had been wanting to find me for years. He and his 
 younger brother, Ruben, had been orphans from child- 
 hood and they worked as tailors. Every year on 
 Purim they brought my father a gift of several bottles 
 of beer and lemonade. Even then Samuel thought of 
 marrying me. When I was in London he wrote for 
 my address, but Father refused to give it to him be- 
 cause he thought America was too far away. He 
 wanted me to stay in London. 
 
 My countryman asked me if I had a steady young 
 man. 
 
 "No," I said. 
 
 Joe would never dream of marrying before his sister, 
 and he had never proposed to me. We were just good 
 friends. 
 
 The man wrote to Samuel in Pittsburgh and told him 
 that he had found me, adding some complimentary 
 remarks about me. When I told Joe about it, he told 
 
 81 
 
me that he was very much in love with me. When we 
 were alone he cried bitterly for fear of losing me. He 
 said that he could not live or get along without me. 
 He insisted that we should get married in court the 
 following Saturday. I was about nineteen, and told 
 him that we must wait, but he refused to take no for 
 an answer. 
 
 So we were married on the following Saturday, 
 secretly, in court. I remained with my cousins as 
 before. On Sunday we worked half a day, and later 
 Jeo came to my house, where we ate together. Every- 
 one had gone out, and we were alone trying to make 
 plans for our married life. Someone knocked at the 
 door. 
 
 "I bet it is your cousin Samuel from Pittsburgh,*' 
 said Joe. 
 
 When I opened the door, there was my strange lover 
 from Pittsburgh. I was friendly to him, and offered 
 him coffee and a sandwich. He ate and looked at me, 
 
 "You have grown a little," he said. "You are a 
 nice girl." 
 
 Then he looked at Joe. I winked at Joe to keep 
 quiet. I put on a white organdy dress, with a white 
 bow in mv hair, and invited Samuel to go with me to 
 Douglas Park. 
 
 It was a pleasant summer night, with gentle breezes 
 and a bright romantic moon. Samuel told me he had 
 always booed to find me. that he had loved me from 
 earlv childhood, and that he was happy now. 
 
 "But who is that Joe?" he said. 
 
 I replied that Joe was a friend with whom I worked. 
 Samuel said that he could stay in Chicago onlv one 
 week. He would go to the department store with me 
 the next day, buy me some pretty clothes and a dia- 
 mond ring, and then I would go to Pittsburgh with 
 him as his bride. He had a sister and other members 
 of his family living there. Samuel was good-looking, 
 
 82 
 
a very fine and honest man, a good, hard worker, not 
 as brilliant as Joe, but he would make a good, simple 
 husband. 
 
 I was in a terrible predicament. If he had only writ- 
 ten me first before he came ! I simply could not bring 
 myself to say, "I am already married." So I told him 
 I would give him my answer in a few days. 
 
 When my cousins came home from work on Mon- 
 day, I had to tell them that Joe and I were married on 
 Saturday, and that Samuel had come from Pittsburgh 
 on Sunday and wanted to marry me. They just 
 looked at me and said, "Such a greenhorn, and already 
 two men want to marry her!" 
 
 They laughed at my English with the British accent. 
 
 Well, the whole family assembled, with Meyer and 
 Nathan, Joe and Samuel, and I had to come out with 
 the truth. 
 
 I said plainly, "Joe and I were good friends. He 
 was in trouble, and just because I am stronger than 
 he, I could not refuse him." 
 
 Samuel offered Joe five hundred dollars to divorce 
 me. 
 
 Joe replied, "If she is worth five hundred dollars, 
 I'll keep her. I hope Etta and I will not get lost in 
 America." 
 
 The next dav Samuel wished us good luck and a 
 happy life, and left for Pittsburgh, alone. I remained 
 with Bessie and Rose. 
 
 83 
 
OUR MARRIED LIFE 
 
 Now everyone knew how we had married hastily, 
 without any planning, and we were criticized by 
 our family. In our minds we also blamed ourselves. 
 We rented four old rooms near Maxwell Street for 
 ten dollars a month. Both my brothers, Nathan and 
 Meyer, came to live with us, saying that now it would 
 cost us only four dollars a month. Nathan was also 
 struggling as a bunch maker. We bought old furniture 
 for thirty dollars, including a stove for the kitchen. 
 When everything was straightened out, we bought a 
 few plants, and it looked like a beautiful home to us in 
 our new country. Food was so cheap that it cost us 
 only fifty cents a day. 
 
 Joe and I worked together. When the stock was 
 good, we made more money, but when the leaves 
 were small or torn, I had to slow down and Joe bawled 
 me out. We did piecework. Joe was inclined to be 
 very jealous, and became angry even when I talked 
 to women. 
 
 When I began to make arrangements to move away 
 from my cousins, Bessie put me on her lap and 
 hugged and kissed me. She cried bitterly, "You mar- 
 ried Joe, and now I am left alone. I'll be so lonely 
 when you leave me. I cannot go on this way." 
 
 She stopped going to work, stayed in bed all day, 
 did not dress, and hardly ate. Poor Bessie became 
 melancholy and deuressed, and when she took a street- 
 car one day, she fell and was badly hurt. Finally the 
 family sent her to her sister Sophie in San Francisco, 
 and when Bessie did not improve she was placed in a 
 mental institution. Sophie was unhappy with the hus- 
 band she had married but did not like. She had a little 
 
 84 
 
girl, and worked in a cigar factory until she contracted 
 tuberculosis and had to go to a sanatorium. 
 
 Moshe, another brother of mine, came from Lida, 
 and all three brothers lived with us. Quite a big family 
 for such small quarters. Friends, cigar makers, and 
 neighbors came in the evening, and the house was full 
 of people and smoke. There was no privacy for a 
 young married couple. Saturdays and Sundays I 
 cooked, washed, and ironed clothes. My brothers pre- 
 pared meals and left the dirty dishes on the stove and 
 table. There were ashes all over the place. I began 
 to cough, and had a pain in my chest. I told Joe I was 
 overworked. They all laughed at me and said that I 
 was crabby. The four men around me were great 
 philosophers, talking about how to improve the world 
 situation; but when a tired little woman asked them 
 to help around the house, they paid no attention. 
 
 85 
 
MY FIRST BABY BOY 
 
 In the month of October, when the weather was 
 damp and the nights were cool, my first baby was 
 born. For three days I suffered labor pains. The in- 
 tern who carried me from the delivery room to the 
 ward said that I was as light as a child myself, because 
 I was so small and thin. My little boy weighed seven 
 pounds, was normal, and had light golden hair and 
 blue eyes. He resembled Joe. I was sickly and worn 
 out when I left the hospital. Joe took me home to a 
 filthy and cold house. There were newspapers, dirty 
 dishes, and a rusty stove, which everyone was using 
 but no one wiped off. 
 
 "Why isn't that stove warm?" I asked my husband. 
 "And why is the house as dirty as a pigsty?" 
 
 His answer was that I complained too much. 
 
 I put my clean little baby on a dirty, cold bed in a 
 dark bedroom, and asked Joe to go to the basement 
 and bring up some coal to build a fire. 
 
 "Why should I go for coal to the basement?" he 
 asked. "You have three brothers. Let them bring up 
 the coal." 
 
 I begged them to get some coal because I was so 
 tired and had to take care of the baby. 
 
 But they said, "We all pay you rent. It costs you 
 only a dollar a month, so why should we bring up 
 coal?" 
 
 So I took the pail and went myself. In the base- 
 ment, big rats jumped at me. I screamed and fainted. 
 When I was brought upstairs, I wished I were dead. 
 How could I live with such logical brothers and such 
 a smart husband, all lazy men? When people live 
 together, they have a responsibility toward each other. 
 They must help each other. 
 
 86 
 
My next door neighbor's little boy, born about the 
 same time as mine, was getting bigger and fatter each 
 day. She nursed him. I could not nurse my child 
 since I coughed a lot. I struggled with my work. The 
 baby and I were getting thinner every day. One eve- 
 ning it dawned on me that we had made a terrible 
 mistake in starting our married life, and I wondered 
 how I could ever pull through. Several months later 
 my baby got convulsions and died. Joe and I were 
 miserable. It was easy for him to blame me, and I 
 blamed myself for having taken such a foolish, imprac- 
 tical step. The baby and I did not get the care a cow 
 would get when she brought a calf into the world. 
 I looked with despair at the empty little bed and the 
 baby buggy, and asked, "Why did it have to happen?" 
 
 Then trouble of a different sort came. My husband 
 had developed an eye ulcer, and though he was in the 
 hospital for a long time, it would not heal. Finally we 
 were recommended to an eye specialist, Professor 
 Zuker, and under his care Joe's eyes began to improve. 
 At last it healed, but it took several years. 
 
 Again I worked at making cigars and kept house 
 for my three brothers. Spring came, the grass was 
 green, and the trees began to bud. I said to Joe, "Let 
 us move out by ourselves. It will be easier for me to 
 take care of a small place. My brothers are earning 
 money. They are healthy and will manage their own 
 lives. Please let us live by ourselves!" 
 
 Joe laughed at me and said I was a mean woman 
 because I could not stand my own brothers. When 
 all my pleading was in vain, I told him, "You can live 
 with my brothers and do your own housework. I'll 
 go to New York to work in a shop and be free." 
 
 I packed my little suitcase and left for New York, 
 alone. 
 
 87 
 
MY CHILDHOOD FRIENDS IN NEW YORK 
 
 When I arrived in New York, I went to find my 
 girl friend, Sarah Kelman, the daughter of a baker in 
 Lida. In the daytime Sarah worked in a dress shop; 
 at night she attended high school. She planned to 
 study medicine. Her family lived in New Haven, so 
 she lived by herself in two rooms on East Broadway. 
 There were no windows in her bedroom. She received 
 me in a most friendly manner,, and asked me to live 
 with her. Sarah advised me to forget my dead baby, 
 and suggested that I go to school with her and study. 
 
 Sarah had a good friend, Sadie, a cigar maker, who 
 was going to help me find a job. So the next day 
 Sadie took me along to the cigar factory. I made a 
 few cigars, and they hired me. A few days later they 
 promoted me to making the best cigars. 
 
 I helped Sarah with the housekeeping. It was easy 
 for me. It was springtime, and we thought that I 
 would start school the following fall. When I was 
 alone, my soul cried for my little boy. When I was 
 on the street, I looked into every baby carriage. I 
 thought that perhaps I would find at least one baby 
 that looked like mine, but there was none. 
 
 I wrote to Joe and my brothers that I was all set 
 with Sarah, and that I was doing no hard work and 
 hoped my health would improve. A few weeks later, 
 early one morning, Joe made his appearance. He had 
 sold the furniture for a few dollars and wanted to live 
 v/ith me in New York. I knew that it meant the end 
 to my rest and contentment. Joe promised that he 
 would help me around the house. He said he was 
 wiser now. There was one thing about Joe; he could 
 talk beautifully, and there was a great charm about 
 
 88 
 
him. People liked to listen to him. He was considered 
 clever and intelligent. 
 
 I said to him, "From bad leaves, we must make 
 good cigars, and from a bad marriage, we must make 
 a good one. Should we not try, we might possibly 
 regret it later on. We are in New York now, just you 
 and I, with no brothers and no family. Perhaps it 
 will work out." 
 
 He was happy, and I hoped for the best. 
 
 We rented three small rooms on the fifth floor of 
 a house near Sarah. Again I bought secondhand 
 furniture. We found a small stove in the flat, and I 
 cleaned up the place nicely. Joe looked for a job but 
 he could not find one, so we lived on my meager 
 salary. The summer was very hot in New York. I 
 had to prepare supper when I came home from work, 
 and wash clothes on Sunday. Hard work was with 
 me again. Joe was not very much help. 
 
 That year, 1 907, a depression started in New York 
 and all over the country. Many people were jobless. 
 There were about three hundred people working in 
 our factory, but many were laid off every week. As 
 a newcomer in the shop I expected to be laid off, 
 but instead the foreman told me to work on samples. 
 When I asked him the reason he said, "Your work is 
 not good either, but it is a little better than that of the 
 others." 
 
 The summer passed. In the fall people hoped that 
 there would be work for the Christmas season, but 
 more factories closed. 
 
 One night Joe and I attended a lecture. We came 
 home late, and it was cold. Joe had lost the key to 
 our flat, so we sat all night in a vacant flat that had 
 just been painted. In the morning a neighbor opened 
 our door. The house was cold. I began to cough, and 
 developed sharp pains in my chest. We had some 
 coffee. I took my lunch, and Joe accompanied me to 
 
 89 
 
work. It was cold and damp outside, and I started to 
 cough again. Then I spat blood. I felt very sick. In- 
 stead of going to work, we went to a doctor. My 
 weight was ninety-eight pounds, at least eighteen 
 pounds underweight. 
 
 The doctor said, "You are sick. You should never 
 work at making cigars." 
 
 He gave me medicine and an atomizer to inhale 
 steam, and prescribed rest, fresh air, milk, and eggs. 
 He also suggested that I go to a sanatorium. 
 
 "Well," said Joe, "you come from a consumptive 
 family. You have consumption." 
 
 I was too tired to care. I only wanted to rest. When 
 I came home I wrote a letter to my sister Feigel. I 
 told her that I had saved for a ticket to come home, if 
 they wanted me. Otherwise, I would go to Denver, 
 Colorado. Should I get better I might find work there. 
 If not, I would do what other sick people are doing. 
 Joe wore his overcoat in the house, and made no 
 attempt to build a fire in the stove. I realized then 
 that my marriage could only exist as long as I was 
 well and earned a living. But this was impossible in 
 my condition. 
 
 I rested for a few days, and when I felt a little better 
 I went back to work in the shop. I coughed a lot. Only 
 seven people remained at work, four girls, two men, 
 and the foreman. They knew that my husband was 
 out of work and that I was sick. 
 
 One day there came a letter from Feigel. 
 
 "Come home at once," she wrote. "I have spoken 
 to our doctor. Next summer we will send you to a 
 pine forest and you will be all right. Just come." 
 
 I bought a second-class ticket. Rates were cheap on 
 account of the hard times, and not many people trav- 
 eled in the winter. Once more I packed my little suit- 
 case, and Joe took me to the boat. But on the way 
 there he began to quarrel with me. 
 
 90 
 
He said, "You are going to Europe and will have a 
 good time there. What will I do all alone in New 
 York, without a job? I won't let you go. Let's take 
 the ticket back to the office. Perhaps they will give us 
 the money back." 
 
 I grabbed my suitcase from him and ran all the way 
 to the boat. He was left on the street all by himself. 
 
 91 
 
ON MY WAY TO EUROPE 
 
 I ran with my suitcase as fast as I could. I coughed 
 blood, but I reached the boat. They placed me in a 
 cabin with three other women. One was a Jewish- 
 Hungarian cook who had earned a lot of money 
 working in a restaurant; the second one had a rich 
 husband and was on her way to visit her family ; and 
 the third one was a very gay woman of doubtful 
 character. 
 
 The whistle blew, the smoke rose from the smoke- 
 stack, and the boat got under way; but it seemed as if 
 the docks and buildings were moving. How sad I felt 
 to be leaving America and the Statue of Liberty for 
 Russia! No good time could make up for the loss of 
 the United States. I loved every inch of it, although 
 I was sick and my husband was out of work. 
 
 I looked into the green waves, and felt a desire to 
 jump and finish it all. 
 
 "I have nothing but hard luck," I thought. "I am 
 no good to myself or anybody else. Why should I go 
 home and bother other people? Others are able to 
 bring presents, and I bring only sick lungs." 
 
 Sitting alone with my thoughts, I noticed how good 
 the fresh air felt. I had stopped coughing and felt no 
 more pain. In fact, I breathed deeply and something 
 wonderful seemed to happen to me. When the bell 
 rang for dinner I went in with the other passengers. 
 There was plenty of good food on the tables, and I ate. 
 I talked with the others, who were all smiling and 
 friendly, and it seemed to me I would get well on 
 the boat. 
 
 My journey was marvelous. No medicine, no sana- 
 torium, nothing in the world could have done me more 
 good than the fresh sea air, the rest, and the good food. 
 
 92 
 
I stopped thinking of the yesterdays and tomorrows. 
 I lived just for the moment, as I never had before. I 
 felt newly born. I watched the sun, the wind, the sky, 
 the clouds, and the sea gulls. 
 
 "Why," I asked myself, "do I have to carry such 
 a heavy burden all my life, trying to make more cigar- 
 ettes, more cigars than someone else? I don't under- 
 stand how to live. Joe will not die if I am gone; per- 
 haps it will be better for him if he has none to depend 
 upon." 
 
 There were a lot of Jewish people on board, and we 
 got together in the evening and sang folk songs. I 
 did some reciting, and received compliments on my 
 ability and good looks. What a change for me! I felt 
 good during the entire journey. After leaving the ship, 
 we went to Berlin, and from there to Yatkynin, on the 
 German-Russian border. 
 
 93 
 
AT THE GERMAN-RUSSIAN BORDER 
 
 We stopped in a crowded immigrant hotel in Yat- 
 kynin. On the following day we were supposed to 
 cross the border from Germany into Russia, to the 
 small border town of Worshbolov. 
 
 Everybody who went to Russia had to have a pass- 
 port. Now my real trouble began. I had neither an 
 American nor a Russian passport and could not travel 
 without one. The innkeeper advised me to go to a 
 certain banker in the town who knew many officials 
 on both sides of the border. He was the only one who 
 could help me. 
 
 The banker was a big red-faced man with a silvery 
 white beard parted in the middle like Kaiser Franz 
 Joseph of Austria's. I told him that I wanted to go to 
 Lida, Russia, and had no passport. 
 
 "I have a daughter living there who is married to 
 Dr. Warshawski," he told me. 
 
 "I know them both," I said. 
 
 He asked me a number of questions, and I told him 
 about the depression in America and that I was going 
 home to improve my health. 
 
 "It is dangerous for young women to travel without 
 a passport in Russia," he said. "They will throw you 
 into prison. However, a young mother who took her 
 sick child to Berlin left her passport with me. I may 
 give it to you, and one of my men will pick it up after 
 you have passed the border." He wrote down the name 
 of Nechame Drapinner for me to learn and said that 
 he would send a messenger in the evening, and if I still 
 remembered that name, he would give me the pass- 
 port. 
 
 All that day I repeated that name to myself and 
 asked the other passengers to call me by the new 
 
 94 
 
name. In the evening a neatly dressed woman called 
 to take me to the banker's house. I thought he lived 
 with his family and because his daughter and her hus- 
 band lived in my town he invited me as his guest. I 
 never was more mistaken in my life. 
 
 The woman took me into a beautiful mansion, but 
 it was very quiet there and I couldn't see a soul. She 
 left the house and I was all alone. My heart started 
 to beat very fast. In came the red-faced banker, and 
 he took me into another room, a richly furnished 
 bedroom. 
 
 "I am finished," I thought as he took me into his 
 big strong arms. 
 
 "Give me that passport quick or I'll scream," I 
 managed to say. 
 
 He merely laughed. "No one will hear," he said. 
 "You are a nice girl and I love you!" 
 
 While I struggled with him, my couqh came to my 
 rescue. I began to cough as never before. Blood 
 began to flow from my mouth and nose, and fell on 
 his beautiful rugs. In spite of it all, I was the stronger 
 and he the weaker. He gave ud. 
 
 "Here is your coat," he said. 
 
 I took a bis: vase and slammed it through the win- 
 dow. Then I grabbed a heavy marble statue and 
 screamed, "Give me that passport or I'll die on your 
 rue!" 
 
 My cough choked me. My face, my dress, the rug 
 were all smeared with blood. He threw the passport at 
 ir* and I ran outside. 
 
 It was a dry, frosty night. The snow was glittering. 
 I did not know my way back. I felt miserable and 
 sick again. 
 
 "How did I Ret so entangled that I have to be 
 ashamed to tell anyone about it?" I thought. 
 
 I almost wished I could lie down in the snow and 
 die, at the age of twenty-two. Just then, two people 
 
 95 
 
passed and I asked them for directions to my hotel. 
 They showed me the way and I walked there, although 
 my knees buckled and I continued to cough. When I 
 reached the hotel 1 was shivering and ill, but I clung 
 to my passport all night. Kind people carried me to 
 the border and told the officials that I had had a hem- 
 orrhage that night. They bought me a ticket to Lida, 
 and I was put on the Russian train. After we had 
 crossed the border, a man from the bank picked up my 
 passport. I rested quietly, drank some hot tea, and 
 felt better. Five hours later I was in Vilna. 
 
 It was cold in Russia. It was snowing when I stood 
 on the station platform waiting for my train to Lida. 
 Three men came up to me, two in uniform, and asked 
 to see my passport. It came to my mind that I would 
 have to smile, and I answered, "It is in my trunk at 
 the border. The banker of Yatkynin is sending it to 
 me by freight." 
 
 "Where are you going?" they asked me. 
 
 "To Lida," I answered. 
 
 One of them said, "Zemlichka (home town girl), 
 and to whom do you belong?" 
 
 I picked the richest man in town, and answered 
 smilingly, "The cigarette manufacturer, Rubin." 
 
 They accepted my answer, and I said good-bye in 
 Russian. 
 
 They replied, "Go with God." 
 
 Soon I was on the train, well on my way to Lida. 
 
 96 
 
BACK IN THE HOME TOWN 
 
 A snowstorm covered the whole town when I 
 arrived in Lida on a Thursday evening. The houses 
 looked very small from a distance, crowded one on 
 top of the other, and the soft light from their windows 
 fell on the narrow streets. I hired a one-horse sled to 
 take me to my parents' shop, and as I passed through 
 the market place, men and women, heavily bundled 
 up, came through the narrow doors of their shops to 
 greet me. Some ran to notify my parents, who had 
 not expected me so soon. I had a warm and noisy 
 welcome. 
 
 "How did you come without a passport?" they 
 asked. "Your clothes are not warm enough for our 
 winter." So the conversation went. 
 
 My sister Feigel embraced me warmly, and I told 
 her quietly that all I needed was a warm bed, my 
 explanations would come the following day. My 
 father's friend, Polacheck, had a nice spare room in 
 his attic. They built a fire in the stove, prepared a 
 clean bed, closed the windows, and everyone tried to 
 make me comfortable. I was ashamed to tell them how 
 sick I felt, and just begged them to go home. 
 
 I lay in bed. My head was pounding, my throat 
 swollen, my chest sore, and my face burned with a 
 high fever. The room spun around like a wheel, and 
 I suddenly felt nauseated. I got out of bed to knock 
 for help, and fell unconscious on the floor. The people 
 downstairs heard the noise, ran up, and found that I 
 had fainted. After they brought me back to conscious- 
 ness, they called Dr. Renered, a German physician 
 who practiced for many years in Lida. He said I had 
 a severe case of bronchitis and a sore throat. Then 
 he discovered that when the fire had been made, the 
 
 97 
 
chimney and windows had been closed. The coal 
 fumes had affected me, so the windows were opened. 
 After a week 1 recovered, and went to Dr. Renered's 
 office. He took down my history, and said that I was 
 allergic to cigars and I should never work at that 
 trade again. He gave me some kind of pills that 
 worked wonders with me, and I improved rapidly. 
 
 I told my folks about my experiences in America; 
 about the depression there, the jobless people; and I 
 also told them about my experience with the banker. 
 Father mentioned it to the banker's son-in-law, Dr. 
 Warshawski, who called the banker a rotten old rascal 
 and asked us not to tell his wife,, the banker's daughter. 
 Feigel bought me a new fur-lined coat. She also bought 
 me boots. 
 
 Things had changed in Russia during the years I 
 had been away. Outbreaks and revolutions had been 
 suppressed; the leaders were in prison or in Siberia. 
 The best seller among books was "Sanine" by Artsyba- 
 shev, which preached that everyone should take from 
 life what he possibly could. The young people 
 seemed to have lost their entire spirit to free Russia. 
 They had become vulgar and sexy; the cakewalk and 
 other dances had become popular. Singing and drink- 
 ing covered the failure of the revolution. 
 
 I inquired about the good Polish priest, and was 
 told that he had died a few years before. The whole 
 town, Christians and Jews, attended his funeral. All 
 cried, and vowed they would never forget him. 
 
 "How is Decansky Most now?" I asked. 
 
 "No more Decansky Most," they said. 
 
 "What happened?" I wanted to know. 
 
 It seems that a young priest had come to take the 
 old priest's place, and told the people of his church 
 that the old man had been wrong; that the Jewish 
 people were swindlers, that they were getting rich off 
 the Gentiles. The Polish people of the town held a 
 
 98 
 
meeting and decided to open twelve stores filled with 
 all kinds of merchandise, and the new priest preached 
 in his church to patronize the Polish stores only. The 
 stores were opened, clerks who received good salaries 
 were hired, and they began to do big business. 
 
 The Jews were forbidden to go to Decansky Most, 
 which was church property, and the little paradise was 
 neglected and deserted. However, a few months later 
 people stopped patronizing the church stores because 
 the prices were too high, the quality of the goods poor, 
 and each of the clerks was helping himself. So the 
 stores were closed, and stood vacant, like haunted 
 places. 
 
 My life had its ups and downs. Dr. Renered helped 
 me a lot and my cough was checked. I often went to 
 my sister's store, and since they were very busy, I 
 was taken on as a salesgirl. I became familiar with the 
 stock and prices and made many sales. Since I always 
 quoted the lowest price possible, nobody tried to bar- 
 gain with me. It was wonderful to have something 
 to do, and I was happy to make myself useful. They 
 paid me a salary, and we planned that I would live in 
 the pine woods to improve my health. 
 
 One Saturday night a soldier came into the store, 
 and I sold him a box of cigarette-paper cases. There 
 were little prizes in the boxes; his prize happened to 
 be a safety razor. He did not know what it was, and 
 I explained it to him. The soldier left for the bar- 
 racks; ten minutes later the store was filled with sol- 
 diers. Every box of cigarette papers was sold that 
 night. They found all kinds of prizes and two more 
 safety razors. After the soldiers came the officers, 
 and they bought all sorts of articles. They all wanted 
 me to wait on them. I tried to keep in the background, 
 but when soldiers or other people came in, they asked 
 for me. 
 
 It was flattering to know that so many people liked 
 
 99 
 
me. However, my brother-in-law, Granum, com- 
 plained because Feigel was always with me. I believe 
 he hated me, and I felt that perhaps I was a trouble- 
 maker and ought to go back to my beloved America; 
 but Feigel would not hear of my leaving so soon. 
 
 The depression in America had become worse, and 
 my younger brother, Moshe, had also come from Chi- 
 cago to Lida. Joe wrote a letter to my father that I 
 was not a good wife, that I had broken up our home 
 in Chicago and New York, and had left him alone. 
 Father turned against me. When Moshe came home 
 and saw that Feigel treated me as an only child, he 
 confirmed what Joe had written, and the family started 
 questioning me. 
 
 "Sunk again!" I thought, and then told them my 
 side of the story: 
 
 "I married Joe in Chicago. He really forced me. 
 saying that he loved me. and crying bitterly that I 
 shouldn't leave him. I befriended him when he could 
 not work, had nothing to eat, and was ill. I was satis- 
 fied to marry him because we could work together, 
 and I did not care that he made less money than I. 
 I Ji'k^d him, too. 
 
 "Then came into our lives, right after the wedding, 
 my three big brothers, who lived with us in our tiny 
 flat for the sake of economy. I worked in a cigar fac- 
 tory, and had to wash the clothes for evervone be- 
 cause I could not stand dirty clothes all over the place. 
 I scrubbed the floors, washed the windows, cleaned the 
 stove, and not one of those four men gave me a help- 
 ing hand. When I asked for assistance, they laughed 
 at me. When I came home from the hospital with my 
 tiny baby. I found my home dirty and cold, and I had 
 to sret coal from the basement myself. 
 
 "Are these the ethics men learn in the Yeshivah? 
 In the Holy Scripture is written, 'In the sweat of thy 
 brow, thou shalt eat thy bread!' Yes, I was sweating 
 
 100 
 
while they were eating. I had paid for all the house- 
 hold furniture. Why didn't they write to me in New 
 York and tell me to come back, that they would help 
 me with the housework? What did they learn in the 
 Yeshivah? They want women to work for them all 
 their lives, to give birth to children mechanically, 
 year after year. It is shameful how your sons were 
 raised, lazy, and without understanding the need to 
 help others so that everyone should be happier. 
 
 "I pleaded with Joe to move with me into two rooms 
 that we might be by ourselves. He would not. He 
 blamed me when the baby died. My educated broth- 
 ers made my home a pigsty." 
 
 For Father's special benefit I added: "When Lida 
 burned down, did you not send Mother and four of 
 your children to her parents? And did not Grandpa 
 Shael Shlame's daughters come to him when they were 
 sick and could not work to support their husbands and 
 children? And why did Moshe forget to tell you that 
 I was sick? Not every man is fortunate to marry a 
 Feigel. I know my husband did not." 
 
 I thought of Grandma Gitl and said bitterly, "I 
 shall go and shed my tears on her grave, and the cold 
 tombstone will feel and understand more than my 
 father and brothers. The people who gave them 'days' 
 to eat made a poor investment, for they did not learn 
 much. Felka and Adamke, common peasants, had 
 finer understanding than you will ever have. I am 
 working for Feigel, like any stranger. At the end of 
 the summer I will go home, but you men have made my 
 vacation bitter." 
 
 I added my hope that Moshe would find a good wife 
 in Lida and that she would take better care of him 
 than I did. 
 
 Mother and Feigel understood my explanation per- 
 fectly, and Feigel said to all of us: "I asked Etta to 
 come, and she is welcome to me even though the 
 
 101 
 
whole world should be against her. She has every 
 right in the world to get well, and I shall try my best. 
 I predict that when Joe hears she is better, he will 
 regret his foolish letter and will beg her to come back 
 to him. If Joe will cooperate, they may still build a 
 happy home together." 
 
 Father and Mother had nothing to say. Feigel cared 
 for me tenderly all that winter, and when spring came 
 my health improved. I was often invited to people's 
 houses, and life began to smile again for me, which 
 made Feigel happy. 
 
 Before Passover the community in Lida baked 
 matzos for the poor. Every day, for several hours, I 
 took part in rolling out the unleavened bread. We 
 sang and worked together, and it was really fun. 
 There were several young women working with me 
 whose husbands were in America and wrote their 
 wives about the hard times there and the scarcity of 
 jobs. The women were sad and worried lest their 
 men find other girls over there, so our songs often 
 were sad but beautiful. 
 
 Whenever a letter from America came, the whole 
 town knew about it, and everyone also knew that I 
 did not get any mail. 
 
 102 
 
SPRINGTIME IN LIDA 
 
 The snow in the fields had melted and the ground 
 was soft. The wheat was ready to sprout. Puddles 
 of icy water were all over, and the river was heavy 
 with huge ice cakes. The nights were frosty, but the 
 air was clear in the daytime. The sun shone brightly. 
 
 Passover, the festival of freedom for the Jews, was 
 approaching. The women were scrubbing and clean- 
 ing their homes from attic to cellar in preparation for 
 the holiday. Parents and children looked forward to 
 days of feasting on delicious matzo balls, fish, chicken, 
 and wine. 
 
 I had met in Lida a girl named Masha, who had 
 come to her mother from New York, where she left 
 her sweetheart. She was very beautiful; her long 
 braids were wound around her head like a crown. Her 
 mother lived in a small house near the pine forest. 
 Masha and I planned to stay together at her mother's 
 until the end of summer, and then return together to 
 New York. 
 
 On Passover Masha and I were walking near the 
 Russian church where several young men were stand- 
 ing. Suddenly one of them raised a big whip and 
 ©truck us with it. 
 
 We fled from them, screaming, "Good Lord, what 
 «* country! Why must the people act like this? How 
 dan we expect this type of ignorant, stupid young men 
 to rebel against the injustice of their government?" 
 
 We longed to be back in civilized America. At the 
 end of the holiday I moved to the house of Masha' s 
 mother. 
 
 My baby brother, Chaim, had grown into a tall and 
 handsome young man of seventeen. He went to school, 
 and also helped Father in the store. He was my only 
 
 103 
 
ambitious and hard-working brother. He was very 
 fond of Feigel and wanted to become a businessman. 
 He planned to go to America, but decided to wait 
 because Father would have to pay the government 
 three hundred rubles if Chaim failed to register for the 
 draft at the time of his twenty-first birthday. In the 
 meantime, Chaim worked for Feigel. Mother, Feigel, 
 Chaim, and I were the best of friends. I told Chaim 
 that in America he ought to go into the grocery and 
 butcher business. He was very devoted to us, and he 
 often came to see me in the country, bringing me 
 delicacies from Feigel. My health was improving. 
 
 Spring had finally come. The trees were full of 
 blossoms, the pastures were filled with yellow butter- 
 cups, the forest was fresh and green, the air was clean 
 and mild, and the birds trilled love songs. The big 
 wheel of the nearby mill was turning and the foamy, 
 rushing white waters fell noisily into the shallow, wide 
 river. Masha and I forgot all about America ; we were 
 surrounded by the great new magic world of nature. 
 We neither worked, rushed, nor worried. We felt 
 newly born, and seemed to be floating in the air with 
 the white and rosy clouds. 
 
 One day, as we were swinging on a high swing, we 
 saw a stooped young man approaching us. He had a 
 small black beard, white teeth, and the most beautiful 
 and kind dark eyes. He addressed us in Russian, in- 
 quiring about a family by the name of Milner, who 
 lived about a mile from our place. He said his name 
 was Abraham, and that Milner was his uncle; he came 
 for a vacation, as he was not well. We came to the 
 Milners' house and went in with him. His uncle, aunt, 
 and young cousin stared at the young man and seemed 
 frightened. They stood as stiff as statues. Masha and 
 I thought it wiser to leave. All the way home we 
 wondered what mystery surrounded Abraham. 
 
 He came to see us the following day, clean-shaven 
 
 104 
 
and young-looking, about twenty-five, but stoop- 
 shouldered, as if he had trouble with his spine. 
 Masha's mother brought us fresh milk and biscuits, 
 and we sat and talked. We were all eager to be friends, 
 but we did not learn much more about Abraham. I 
 thought he might tell us something. 
 
 "I'd like to tell you about myself," he said, "but I 
 cannot and must not." 
 
 We assured him we would not pry into his affairs, 
 but if he needed the help of a doctor, I recommended 
 Dr. Renered, who had helped me so much. But he 
 refused to go to see him. He asked permission to sleep 
 in the attic of Masha's house, and Masha's mother 
 arranged it for him. 
 
 Saturdays and Sundays we had many visitors. The 
 people who used to go to Decansky Most now came 
 to the pine woods instead. 
 
 The mill belonged to a cousin of Masha's mother, 
 and the elderly couple lived there with a very old 
 mother and two young sons. Near the mill stood a 
 small cabin, the home of a peasant and his family. 
 The man brought grain to the mill and delivered the 
 flour to town. His wife worked in the fields. She 
 was young, tall, and sweet, and reminded me of the 
 painting, "The Song of the Lark," and of other peas- 
 ant women in pictures of the French painter, Millet. 
 She walked around barefoot, her dress shorter in front 
 because she was in the last months of pregnancy. 
 She had a two-year-old baby girl, a blond, blue-eyed 
 child who resembled my own baby. She was called 
 Dochenka. I brought her something to eat ; she sat on 
 my lap and we soon became close friends. She was 
 constantly near me, and it made me very happy. Her 
 mother told me how poor they were. Her husband 
 earned so little that they did not even have bedding — 
 just a sack filled with straw for a mattress. She had 
 given birth to six babies, but five died at birth because 
 
 105 
 
they were large and there was no doctor or midwife 
 to assist her. So I told her to call me when the labor 
 pains came and I would go to my doctor and ask him 
 to help her. She kissed my hand and told her hus- 
 band about my offer to help. 
 
 One morning a few weeks later I was told that 
 the woman had given birth to a baby in the middle of 
 the night and the old woman of the mill had assisted 
 her. I ran to the cabin. The young mother lay in her 
 bed and cried. In a wooden tub, wrapped in clean 
 linen rags, lay a blue baby, the blood streaming from 
 her tiny mouth. 
 
 "Quick," the mother cried to me, "wash and dress 
 the baby and take it, with my husband, to the Polish 
 priest to have it christened!" 
 
 I washed the baby and wanted to give it some milk. 
 
 "No! The christening first!" 
 
 So I hurried, got the baby dressed, and the father 
 took it in his wagon and raced to the priest. 
 
 Soon he came back. The baby had died before it 
 reached the priest. Both parents wept bitterly because 
 they could not bury the child in the Catholic Polish 
 cemetery. 
 
 I put the little body back into the wooden tub and 
 prepared some food for the mother. I tied up the 
 mother's breasts so the milk would dry, and told the 
 father to gather up some boards around the mill for 
 a small coffin. 
 
 "Take a shovel," I told him, "and in the moonlight 
 dig a tiny grave under the cemetery gates, push in 
 the coffin, and cover it with soil. Then your baby will 
 be in holy ground. A newborn infant has no sins. 
 It is holy, and if you think you are sinning, may God 
 punish me." 
 
 The dead child was by now as yellow as wax. It 
 had lost all its blood. I put a little white dress on the 
 poor creature, put her little fingers together, and put 
 
 106 
 
a picture of Jesus and Mary in her hand. I cried, and 
 the tears flowed down my cheeks, for I again lived 
 through the agony of the death of my own child. The 
 three of us were heartbroken. Later the father pre- 
 pared the box and buried the child as I told him. 
 Masha and I went around the next day to all the 
 farmers in the neighborhood, and they gave us food 
 to cheer up those poor people. 
 
THE JEWESS WHO WAS CONVERTED 
 
 The village near the pine forest was called Maloyke- 
 shina, and the biggest and finest house there belonged 
 to a prosperous family. The husband was Russian, 
 his wife a converted Jewess. They were of middle 
 age, and had several sons. House and garden were 
 well taken care of, and some fine horses and cows 
 were in the green pasture. None of the Jewish people 
 ever talked to the woman. 
 
 When Masha and I went around to collect food 
 for the mother of the dead baby, we thought we would 
 drop in on these people and see what they were like. 
 The woman was standing in the doorway. As we 
 approached, we smiled and bade her good morning 
 in Yiddish. She looked surprised. We showed her 
 the basket with food for the poor people. 
 
 She asked, "How is it that you came to me, too?" 
 
 "You are a woman," I said, "why should we not 
 come to you?" 
 
 She invited us in, told us to sit down, and packed 
 the basket full of eggs, butter, salami, barley, and 
 beans. We thanked her, and soon got into a conver- 
 sation, telling her we had come from New York. One 
 of her sons also lived in America, on a farm. 
 
 I became bold and asked whether I might put a 
 few questions to her. 
 
 "Go ahead. Ask anything you want," she said. 
 "It is about twenty-five years since I have spoken to 
 Jewish people." 
 
 "First," I said, "how did you happen to marry a 
 Russian and become a Christian?" 
 
 "Well," she answered slowly, "I will tell you every- 
 thing. It feels good to get something off my chest. 
 My parents were very poor people. There were five 
 
 108 
 
daughters, all good-looking, but without any dowry. 
 One day my father brought home a silly-looking man 
 whom I was supposed to marry. I was horrified. 
 
 "Not far from us lived a Russian family. Their 
 oldest son was big, strong, and handsome, and always 
 smiled at me. Finally he declared his love for me. 
 
 ' 'Marry me, you lovely Jewess,' he said. 'I'll be 
 good to you and will never beat you or call you names 
 as others do. I shall not bother you if you do not go 
 to church. But a Russian cannot marry a Jewish girl 
 unless she is converted.' 
 
 "He was always near me," she continued, "and I 
 could not help returning his love, but it was a most 
 difficult decision to make, and I couldn't ask anyone's 
 advice. Finally I felt I would rather drown myself 
 than live without him. My heart was heavy, for I 
 knew I would shame my poor parents and sisters, but 
 I was either very strong or very selfish. We went 
 together to the priest, and he taught me a new religion, 
 which I never understood, and we were married. 
 My Russian in-laws said I was fine and beautiful. My 
 husband and I loved each other dearly. He is a hard 
 worker, fixes everything up to look nice, and he does 
 not drink. So we live quietly by ourselves, with the 
 horses, cows, chickens, and pigs." 
 
 "How does a Jewish girl feel toward pigs?" I 
 wanted to know. 
 
 "You get used to them." she replied. "I want to 
 cooperate with my husband, for he is the only one in 
 the world for me. My previous world is lost. Some- 
 times certain two-legged pigs are worse than the real 
 ones. A pig eats a lot, and when you kill him he gives 
 you meat and fat; he does not hurt anyone. When 
 the little pigs are born, they are as cute as other ani- 
 mals. Two-legged pigs sometimes talk of great things 
 and high rrorals. but in their hearts and actions they 
 are worse than the animals." 
 
 109 
 
I was reminded of the banker and some others I 
 knew. 
 
 "How do you feel when pogroms occur?'* I asked. 
 
 "I hate it, and it hurts me terribly," she said, "but 
 we are peaceful people." 
 
 "And how do you feel on Jewish holidays, such as 
 Passover?" I continued. 
 
 "It still hurts," she said, "but I keep busy. No one 
 has everything in life. I am lucky my marriage turned 
 out so well." 
 
 "Tell us how you feel toward your family." 
 
 "Our bridges are burned," she said. 
 
 Masha and I shook hands with the woman and 
 thanked her. 
 
 "A person is converted only on the outside," we 
 said. "Inside you remain the same." We parted with 
 a feeling of good will toward her. 
 
 There were two baskets full of food for our poor 
 family, and we prepared a fine supper for them. Little 
 Dochenka was with me every day. 
 
 110 
 
ABRAHAM 
 
 Every day during that summer Masha, Abraham, 
 and I went into the woods. Other summer guests 
 came to spend their vacation in our neighborhood, but 
 the three of us formed a closed circle which nobody 
 could penetrate. Abraham often brought me fresh 
 eggs and milk. I gained weight and felt fine, and 
 began to count the weeks when I would be back in 
 New York. But we were always puzzled about Abra- 
 ham; whenever a stranger came near, he quietly dis- 
 appeared. 
 
 It was the end of July. In the middle of the night 
 we heard a noise and there was a knock on the door. 
 When we opened it, there were several policemen with 
 revolvers, who immediately began to search the house. 
 We were terribly frightened when they climbed up 
 the ladder to the attic where Abraham slept. 
 
 They came down without him, and asked us 
 gruffly, "Where is he?" 
 
 "Who do you mean?" we asked innocently. They 
 began to scream: "You know the man who sleeps 
 here!" 
 
 "A number of people sleep here when they come 
 from the city," we answered. "We came from Amer- 
 ica for a vacation. Why should you bother us?" 
 
 They raged, but finally had to leave without hav- 
 ing found the one they sought. 
 
 We could not figure out how Abraham had dis- 
 appeared. A few days later I received a letter from 
 him. He had crossed the border, and was free in Paris. 
 
 Finally his uncle and aunt cleared up the entire 
 mystery. The Milners lived in another city, where 
 they owned a mill. Their two sons, Abraham and Berl, 
 received an excellent education and were college grad- 
 
 in 
 
uates. Berl went to America, but Abraham, the older, 
 was one of the revolutionary leaders. There was an 
 outbreak of strikes in Odessa, and a general was 
 killed by the revolutionists. Some of the leaders were 
 caught and sentenced to die. Abraham was among 
 those convicted and sentenced, but his parents pleaded 
 for him and the death penalty was commuted to a life 
 sentence in Siberia. His sweetheart, Fialka, had also 
 been involved, and was sent to Siberia with the famous 
 Anna Spiridonova. 
 
 After Abraham had been in Siberia about a year 
 and a half, some other revolutionists arranged for his 
 escape by bribing the prison guards with money. 
 While Abraham and his deliverers were racing in a 
 horse-drawn sled, he was shot in the back. Somehow 
 they managed to get him to a doctor, who removed the 
 bullet from his spine. He wore a special brace, but the 
 wound remained unhealed. 
 
 Abraham and his friends wrote me letters from 
 Paris. He planned to go to America, and his friends 
 were willing to provide him with money. They asked 
 me to arrange for a place in a hospital in New York 
 where he could be cured, and meet him at the boat. 
 I told them that I would do my best. Time went on; 
 Masha and I felt lonely without Abraham. 
 
 After the middle of August I went to town and 
 told my sister Feigel all about Abraham, and also told 
 her that I was ready to go back to America. My 
 doctor examined me, declared me well, and gave me 
 several boxes of pills in case I should need them. 
 Masha was not ready to return, and remained in Lida. 
 Feigel was happy that I had recovered. As she had 
 predicted, there came another letter from Joe, saying 
 that he loved me and was the best friend I had in the 
 world, I should come to him, and together we would 
 build a new home. Of course, soon the whole town 
 learned about that. 
 
 112 
 
In his letter Joe asked that I visit his people in Kiev. 
 His grandparents had lived there a long time and had 
 obtained special residential privileges. They had in- 
 herited a piece of land and an old house on a mountain 
 because some ancestor of theirs served twenty-five 
 years in the army of Czar Nikolai I. 
 
 I obtained a document from the police which per- 
 mitted me to stay in Kiev three days. It was a long 
 twenty-five-hour train ride from Lida to Kiev. I had 
 written my in-laws that I was coming on Friday. The 
 Russian trains of those days had seats which were 
 hinged and opened up like boards on which to sleep. 
 I had an "upper" cot. A small flame in a little lamp 
 dimly lit the coach. Across from me lay a big Cossack 
 who kept staring at me. He talked and smiled, but I 
 was frightened and did not answer. He offered me 
 some chocolate, but I refused to take it and turned 
 away. 
 
 "Don't be afraid of me," he said, and when we 
 stopped at a station he ran for a pot of tea and offered 
 it to me. Again I refused. All night he talked and 
 whispered to me. I was unable to sleep, and wondered 
 how I could get rid of his attention. 
 
 In Kiev he followed me out of the station. There 
 were many policemen, but how could I complain in 
 a big Russian city about a Cossack? He was very tall 
 and handsome, with light-green eyes, blond hair, and 
 a mustache. His boots were high and shiny. He wore 
 red-striped trousers tucked into the boots, and a wide 
 leather belt with a shining buckle encircled his gray 
 long coat. He wore a tall fur hat, and his chest was 
 covered with medals. As he picked up my suitcase, 
 he said, "I will help you. Where are you going?" 
 
 I finally decided to speak to him, and said politely, 
 "Please do not bother about me. I am an American- 
 Jewish married woman who came to visit in-laws. 
 What would they say if I came with a strange man — 
 
 113 
 
a Cossack? Please go away!" 
 
 He bowed and said, "You could have told me that 
 before. When you kept quiet, I believed it was all 
 right to follow you." 
 
 He said good-bye, and went away. What a 
 relief ! It must have been quite a sight to see the short 
 daughter of Israel Joseph walking alongside a tall 
 Russian Cossack. 
 
 On the train to Fastov my mind was occupied with 
 thoughts of Cossacks. I knew they came from the 
 Caucasian Mountains and the River Don region, but 
 we often saw them all over Russia. Cossacks are tall, 
 strong, handsome blond young men, their hair cut 
 close like a brush. 
 
 I also thought about my brothers who had been edu- 
 cated in the Yeshivahs. All the high morals and wis- 
 dom remained in the books, not in them. 
 
 I made a decision on that train. I should try not to 
 arprue, never try to imorove other people, but myself. 
 Admit my mistakes. I must try again to live with my 
 poor Joe. I knew even then that Toe and I could not 
 live peacefully together, but I realized we would not 
 separate until death would us part. 
 
 114 
 
KIEV — A RUSSIAN CITY 
 
 I took a cab to the house of my relatives. As we 
 drove along, it seemed to me that Kiev was the 
 cleanest and most beautiful city I had ever seen. It 
 was surrounded by tall, green mountains, and there 
 were parks, streets, and stores. What struck me most 
 were the numerous high-domed churches. Standing 
 on an enormous mountain and looking down at the 
 city, it appeared full of churches. I thought that it 
 must be wonderful to hear all those church bells ring 
 together, as on Christmas and Easter. At the station 
 I had seen a number of priests and nuns standing in 
 a corner where a light burned over an icon. Religion 
 appeared to be foremost in the city of Kiev. New York 
 and Chicago looked so different and plain, but they 
 were free and homelike. 
 
 Joe's parents lived in the town of Fastov, near Kiev, 
 which was also surrounded by mountains but was old 
 and poor-looking. My in-laws' little old house was on 
 the top of a high mountain, which we had to climb 
 until we reached the top. The walls of the house were 
 clean and whitewashed. The floors were scrubbed and 
 sprinkled with sand. There was a barrel of river water, 
 but I could not drink the water. 
 
 Joe's mother was blind, and she was thin and small. 
 Joe resembled her a lot. She kissed me and was happy 
 to touch her son's wife. His father was a very pleasant 
 old man. His sister Goldie, a young girl, looked very 
 small for her age, and a younger brother, Israel, who 
 was playing with a little goat, completed Joe's family. 
 Both children asked me to take them to America, but 
 I told them they must grow up first. How could I tell 
 them that I myself had no home in America? 
 
 On Saturday they served wine and cake to the 
 
 115 
 
many people who came to see me. The rabbi was 
 among them. They liked the way I spoke Yiddish, for 
 I am a Litvak. On the following day I took the train 
 back to Lida. 
 
 I was getting tired of Europe and was anxious to 
 return to America, which I considered my home. At the 
 end of August I packed my belongings. My family and 
 many people from Lida came to the station to see me 
 off. I had come to Lida in the winter, sick and lonely; 
 now I was healthy and chubby, sun-tanned, rosy- 
 cheeked, and on my way to America and my husband. 
 
 Feigel was happy to see me well again, but also 
 sad because we had to part and she loved my company. 
 The peasant couple with little Dochenka was also 
 there ; I kissed the child, and she gave me a little white 
 rabbitskin as a gift. I kissed everyone good-bye, 
 men and women alike. Four people were glad to see 
 me go: Father, Moshe, Granum, and myself. Mother 
 wiped her tears, Feigel and Chaim cried bitterly. The 
 train started moving, and I looked once more at Feigel, 
 whose tears flowed down her cheeks like pearls. 
 
 116 
 
BACK IN NEW YORK 
 
 The depression was coming to an end, and the work- 
 ing people had hopes for better times. The garment 
 and other industries began to get busy again. A new 
 neighborhood of beautiful steam-heated apartments 
 was being built in the Bronx. Joe and I rented a four- 
 room apartment there for thirty dollars a month, with 
 three months' concession. It was like living in the 
 country. The air was fresh, there was no smoke, the 
 rooms were light and sunny with no dampness. There 
 were varnished floors, kitchen cabinets, a sink and tubs 
 of white enamel, bookcases in the living room : it was 
 like paradise to us. We bought some furniture again, 
 secondhand of course. We did not buy much, for 
 we decided it would be easier that way. 
 
 There were about a hundred people working in my 
 shop when I returned there, and Mr. Pink, the good 
 old foreman, received me kindly and put me on 
 samples at the first table among the best workers. 
 Making samples is slow work, and when I complained 
 a little, he promised to make fifty cigars per day for 
 me. That man was kindness itself. He told me I 
 looked the picture of health, and I laughingly told him 
 not to give me "kinhonore" (a bad or evil eye). 
 
 Joe found a job in a small factory, making cheap 
 cigars. For once we were happy. That winter we 
 saved several hundred dollars and were looking around 
 to buy a store. We found a fine cigar store in Harlem, 
 where, at that time, white people of all nationalities 
 lived. We watched the store and liked it. There were 
 two living rooms in the back. Of course, we hated to 
 give up our nice apartment in the Bronx, but business 
 is business. 
 
 The store cost five hundred dollars, and we had only 
 
 117 
 
three hundred, but my brothers let us borrow the bal- 
 ance. In the beginning the store was good; then the 
 man who had sold it to us opened a new and modern 
 store right across the street. Joe and I blamed each 
 other. We should have put a restriction clause in the 
 bill of sale. 
 
 "What's the use?'' I told Joe. "Someone else would 
 have opened it." 
 
 Just when our troubles started I received a letter 
 from Abraham saying that he had arrived in New 
 York and he and his brother were coming to see me. 
 Joe did not like the idea of young men coming to visit 
 me. It gave me a little secret satisfaction to see him 
 a bit jealous. I begged him to be polite to the visitors, 
 but he would not promise. I was quite stout then, as I 
 was expecting a baby in about three months. 
 
 On Sunday I prepared a fine dinner for my guests. 
 All through the dinner Joe complained about the 
 many mistakes I made. I admitted freely that I had 
 made mistakes through my life, and tears began to 
 flow. 
 
 Abraham took my hand and said, in Russian: 
 "Tschortufka" (little devil), which was the nickname 
 he had given me in Lida, "you are going to have a little 
 boy, so what are you crying for? The whole world 
 makes mistakes. It is only normal. Joe loves you. He 
 is nervous because life is hard, and he expresses it in 
 complaints.* ' 
 
 After that Joe became quite friendly with him. 
 Abraham's brother, Berl Lapin, was a poet, and some 
 of his poems had been published in magazines. We 
 talked about literature. Joe invited them to come 
 often. 
 
 Joe's eyes became inflamed again. Then the New 
 York doctors advised him to go to Chicago to be 
 treated by our previous doctor. So we sold our store, 
 Joe left for Chicago, and I moved in with my friend, 
 
 118 
 
Rose Leader, and her husband, Clarence. He was a 
 tailor by day, and studied at night to become an engi- 
 neer. They had a little girl, Pauline, who was three 
 years old, and a little baby of five weeks. They were 
 fine, friendly people. I helped with the housework, 
 and it cost me only three dollars a week to live there. 
 Joe had given me a hundred and fifty dollars before 
 he left, and paid off my brothers. He was always 
 honest. 
 
 I went to register in a lying-in hospital. Most of 
 the patients there were unmarried girls. I entered the 
 hospital a few days before my confinement, and they 
 put me to work with the other girls. The labor pains 
 came, and I had a hard time, but I finally delivered a 
 fine, ten-pound boy. I was scared when I first saw 
 my baby, for his head had been injured and his little 
 face was black and blue. I was told that he had been 
 hurt by the instruments but would be all right. Many 
 of the girls did not even want to see their babies. They 
 told the other patients how they had been misled by 
 young men. I was happier than any of them, for I 
 had a husband; and I was beginning to hope for better 
 times, when I would be able to stay home and take care 
 of my little boy. 
 
 During my pregnancy I had attended a series of 
 lectures by Jacob Gordon, who had translated "King 
 Lear," "Shylock," and other plays of William Shake- 
 speare. He had also written a play on the Faust theme, 
 named "God, Man, and the Devil.' ' The play was a 
 great success on the Yiddish stage. I was so inspired 
 by the works of William Shakespeare that I named 
 my boy William. 
 
 During the restful days in the hospital, I made up 
 my mind that I would never break up with Joe again 
 and that I would stick by him no matter what mistakes 
 or misunderstandings might arise. It was a wonderful 
 feeling to nurse a baby again. His bruises had healed, 
 
 119 
 
and he was so handsome that everyone admired him. 
 I noticed that one of his eyes was inflamed. I took 
 him home to the Leaders and they all loved him. He 
 never cried. A doctor circumcised him, and there were 
 good wishes from all. 
 
 "Mazel tov! When he grows up, may we have a 
 better world for all people!" I wrote to Feigel in Lida, 
 and the whole family was glad that I had settled down. 
 
 Joe was in Chicago, and Dr. Zuker again took care 
 of his eye, which was in pretty bad condition ; but the 
 doctor promised to do the best he could for him. Joe 
 told him that I was in New York expecting a baby. 
 He went to see my brothers, Meyer and Nathan, who 
 Were always on friendly terms with him. Nathan told 
 him about his store in Oak Park ; he had saved up some 
 money and intended to go into a bigger business. Joe 
 told Nathan that he was eager to get the Oak Park 
 store as soon as I returned to Chicago. In the mean- 
 time, he found a part-time job making cigars, and he 
 waited for me and the baby. 
 
 120 
 
BACK TO CHICAGO 
 
 It was the year 1910, on a Passover night, when I 
 arrived in Chicago. In one hand I carried my belong- 
 ings; in the other I held my infant son, William, who 
 was now six weeks old. Through some misunderstand- 
 ing, no one came to meet me at the station; but I 
 was not scared or bitter, nor did I feel any self-pity, 
 for I had my boy and I was strong with confidence 
 that we would find our place in life, earning a living 
 and raising our precious child. 
 
 My husband, Joe, had a part-time job in a small 
 cigar factory in Elgin, Illinois. It was better than no 
 job at all. A kind stranger helped us to get on the 
 train to Oak Park, where my brother had a small cigar 
 store in an old shack. We planned to live in the back 
 of the store. I was to do the housework and take care 
 of the store when my brother was out. 
 
 It was early morning when we came to our desti- 
 nation, wet and shivering, for it was cold, rainy, and 
 windy. I had a hard time rousing Nathan, who was 
 sound asleep and did not expect us until the following 
 day. Since he was not prepared for us, we had to walk 
 to a Jewish neighbor, a Mr. Sam Schwade, a 
 printer on an Oak Park newspaper. They were a won- 
 derful family with many children. The youngest was 
 a baby like mine. They were most hospitable, gave us 
 a bedroom, kissed my baby, and said he would be the 
 future husband of their baby girl. We were all happy 
 and jolly. It was the beginning of a strong friendship 
 which lasted for many years. 
 
 The next day my brother brought us a baby car- 
 riage and we went to his store. The back, where we 
 were supposed to live, was filthy. The sky could be 
 seen through the cracks, and there were many rats. 
 
 121 
 
There came to my mind the old saying, "From bad 
 stock we must make good cigars." I put the baby to 
 sleep outside in the carriage and told Nathan, who 
 was a very kind-hearted and simple man, that we had 
 to clean up and make war on the rats. We covered 
 their holes with cement. We also placed rat traps, 
 baited with Roquefort cheese, around the place. We 
 washed the windows and the walls, and the place took 
 on a livable air. I arranged a small kitchen with 
 shelves for the dishes, and rented an attic room nearby 
 for sleeping. 
 
 Oak Park is one of the most beautiful suburbs of 
 Chicago. There are many fine homes, huge trees along 
 the streets, and well-kept yards with fine flowers. 
 After I had cleaned ud the store, I made an attractive 
 window display, and felt proud and hopeful again. 
 
 My brother's landlady lived in a handsome house on 
 the corner nearby, close to a terminal elevated station. 
 Our location was valuable business property, and she 
 would never give a lease, so as not to tie up the prop- 
 erty. She was an old widow. Her children were 
 wealthv, middle-aged people. Nathan made a good liv- 
 ing in his store, but without a lease he was never quite 
 sure how long it would last. 
 
 One day the landladv called me and the babv into 
 her house. I told her about myself and my husband, 
 and of our hope to start a new life together. The 
 woman was nearly blind, and a very religious Protes- 
 tant, with a heart full of kindness. She patted my 
 cheek, said I was a beautiful young mother, and that 
 she loved me and my baby. 
 
 When I came to the store the next morning, I 
 found a bis: pitcher of cream and a pot filled with 
 creamy oatmeal — a gift from the landlady, who had 
 told my brother she would bring me this every day 
 so I would be able to nurse my baby. 
 
 On Saturday Joe came to see me. How proud he 
 
 122 
 
was of his son William and of me! Every Saturday 
 morning Joe had to go to the clinic, where the doctor 
 treated his eye. I had been worried about William's 
 eye, which was always a little inflamed and shed tears. 
 So we took him to the clinic, too. Joe introduced us 
 to the doctor who had treated him for several years. 
 He examined the baby and told us that the tear sac 
 was closed and the tears could not flow into the duct 
 to the nose. The baby's eye had to be carefully treated 
 at least twice a week until he would be two years old. 
 Then the doctor would try to open the canal with a 
 silver needle, which might be sufficient. If this failed, 
 he would operate when the child had grown to school 
 age, and remove the sac entirely. The eye itself was 
 not in danger, and the doctor assured me that the child 
 was healthy and we should not worry. Thereafter, 
 twice a week, in rain or shine, I traveled with the boy 
 from Oak Park to the South Side of Chicago, where 
 the clinic was located. We became well-acquainted. 
 He often attended all the other patients first, leaving 
 us to last and giving us a lot of his time. He praised 
 our neatness, and introduced us to the other doctors 
 and nurses. He called me a good, old-fashioned girl, 
 and often went to the elevated with us. We became 
 very good friends. 
 
 123 
 
WE GO TO LIVE IN ELGIN, ILLINOIS 
 
 Joe rented for us, in Elgin, a furnished room and a 
 little kitchen which had an icebox. There was plenty 
 of light and sunshine, and after I had put them in order, 
 the rooms looked like the Garden of Eden to us. Joe 
 worked and I stayed home with the baby, who was 
 getting bigger and handsomer every day. 
 
 Before we left, I went to my brother's landlady to 
 say good-bye and express my gratitude for her kind- 
 ness and the friendship she had shown a strange, 
 lonely Jewish woman. She showed me a trunk she 
 had prepared for me, and when she opened it, I was 
 amazed to see all kinds of beautiful linen, towels, and 
 everything a house needs ; also, dishes, glassware, and 
 pots. She said to me, "Etta, dear, take this to Elgin 
 and be happy with your little family. M I kissed her 
 hands and cried, "Why are you so good to me?" She 
 said, "I am old and blind, you are young, and you shall 
 help build a better world. There is only one thing I 
 am sorry for," she added, "that you are not a Christian 
 and that you cannot understand the wonderful good- 
 ness of Our Lord, and when you die, you may not go 
 to heaven." I answered, "There are many rivers 
 which flow to the same ocean; good people of all na- 
 tions or races go to the same God. Do not worry 
 about me. I am not lost in the world down here, and 
 I hope I shall not be lost in the other world." 
 
 We sent that trunk to Elgin. We lived there for 
 about a year, until Joe lost his job, and that year was 
 one of the happiest of our lives. 
 
 While we lived in Elgin, we were very economical; 
 for we figured this would not last long, and we saved 
 some money in case we had to move again. 
 
 Elgin is famous for its big watch and case factory. 
 
 124 
 
We became acquainted with several business people 
 and some Jewish watchmakers who came to see us 
 often and became good friends with Joe. They brought 
 all kinds of toys for the baby, who started to walk. 
 
 One day I went into a big store to buy something. 
 The owner of the store was a very rich man who had 
 several daughters. The oldest was a very clever and 
 experienced businesswoman, with a dark complexion 
 and very plain features. I went up to this proud and 
 prosperous businessman and said to him in Hebrew, 
 "Sholom aleichem" (peace be with you! He looked 
 at me surprised, but answered kindly and said, "What 
 do you want?" So I told him I lived with my husband 
 in Elgin, that he was a cigar maker, that we came from 
 Russia, and my family lived in Chicago. "All well and 
 good,'* he said, "but what do you want?" I came to 
 the point. "You have several capable daughters and I 
 have brothers — what about it?" I said. He laughed 
 and replied, "You, little shrimp, have the nerve to 
 come up and talk to me — I think you are all right." 
 He called over his oldest daughter and introduced her 
 to me. I told her all about my brother Nathan. She 
 said, "If your brother has some qualities like you, it 
 might be all right." Well, it was arranged that my 
 brother should come to Elgin on a Sunday, and we 
 were all invited to their house for supper. 
 
 My brother Nathan was good-looking and strong, 
 but he was still a greenhorn, while she was an Ameri- 
 can girl. It worried me a little. 
 
 These people lived in a mansion, where everything 
 was of the finest. They sent a carriage for us. The 
 father carried my baby. Four daughters were there, 
 all of marriageable age, and the oldest was the home- 
 liest of them all. But she was very clever and intelli- 
 gent, and I really like her — in her manners and busi- 
 ness ability she reminded me of Feigel. Joe and Na- 
 than were introduced, and the girls were disappointed, 
 
 125 
 
for they thought Joe was the single man ; he was hand- 
 some and interesting to talk with. We became good 
 friends. The would-be couple wrote to each other and 
 went out together several times, but it did not work 
 out. Later, the girl married an American fellow, but 
 she had a miserable life ; for he ran after other women, 
 and they were divorced. Some years later she wrote 
 to me and came to see me ; she was successful in busi- 
 ness and had a wonderful home, but had no luck in 
 married life. 
 
 When we had to leave Elgin, we were sad and our 
 hearts were heavy. Everything had been wonderful. 
 We had not quarreled and had been happy. Now we 
 were homeless again and had to wander. 
 
 ?6 
 
CHICAGO AGAIN, AND MORE TROUBLE 
 
 Traveling from Elgin to Chicago, we were depressed. 
 We had no job and no home. But when we looked at 
 our darling boy, we took heart that some day we would 
 make good. 
 
 While we had been away from Chicago for several 
 years, my cousin Bessie had come back from Cali- 
 fornia, cured. She lived with her mother, Hilda, and 
 her sister Fay. Her brother Jack had graduated from 
 college and was a doctor of medicine, and George was 
 a druggist. Both Hilda's sons supported her in style, 
 which left her a lot of time for talking. 
 
 We came to their house on Roosevelt Road, and 
 they loved our little boy ; but Hilda said she could not 
 understand why we were always moving. There were 
 two vacant rooms in the attic of an old house nearby. 
 We rented them for eight dollars a month, bought the 
 most necessary furniture, and moved in. We had saved 
 up two hundred dollars, and Joe was looking for a 
 store again. 
 
 My brother Meyer, who owned a successful hard- 
 ware store with a partner, lived in the neighborhood, 
 and I called on him one day. He was not at home, but 
 his landlady invited me in. 
 
 "I have two funny boarders," she told me. "Your 
 brother can eat six eggs for breakfast, while the other 
 draws on the tablecloth, on the walls, and everywhere 
 else that is handy. He thinks that some day he will be 
 an artist." 
 
 She made tea and served us cookies, while her own 
 little boy played with William. 
 
 While she was talking about her husband, who was 
 also a cigar maker, her boarder, the future artist, came 
 
 127 
 
in. She introduced him to me, and I thought he looked 
 very handsome and refined. Being a friend of my 
 brother Meyer, he was very cordial and said he had 
 heard about me, that I like to travel, was always on the 
 go, and didn't stick to anything. 
 
 I answered that he was quite correct, that I was 
 the restless type. When I asked him to show me his 
 drawings, he was delighted to do so. He was a sign 
 painter by trade and had a small shop of his own. At 
 night, and on Saturdays and Sundays, he studied art. 
 He had taken a course in anatomy at the Art Institute 
 and received good marks, and he studied at Hull 
 House, founded by Jane Addams. 
 
 I looked at the drawings and said, "If my husband 
 were interested in drawing and painting, I would en- 
 courage him. It is a dream worth striving for." 
 
 He smiled and was pleased. Several months later, 
 I met him on the street. He was carrying a box of 
 candy and told me he was going to get married. I 
 wished him luck. 
 
 Joe had been combing the city for a store, and finally 
 located one on the South Side. It was a new corner 
 cigar store. Its owner made a business of opening and 
 selling stores, we heard. Joe took me there. It was 
 summer, children were buying ice cream cones and 
 pop, and business seemed to be good. There was a 
 living room in the back. We borrowed a few hundred 
 dollars from my brothers, bought the store, and moved 
 in. We did pretty well during the summer. 
 
 Nearby was a Catholic church and school. It was an 
 Irish neighborhood. One day some children started 
 throwing bricks and bottles into our store. We were 
 afraid to let our little boy go out, and were miserable 
 at the thought that Chicago was another Lida. 
 
 "Christ killers!" they shouted. Our hearts were 
 heavy. 
 
 I went to complain to the police. 
 
 128 
 
"Lady," they said, "you better move. They don't 
 want Jews here; we cannot stop that." 
 
 Oh, how tired we were of that word "move." Now 
 we were in trouble again, but we would not move. 
 This time we had to stick it out. 
 
 The summer passed. Another store opened near 
 the school. None of the children came to us any more. 
 As usual, Joe blamed me when things went wrong. 
 We were both very nervous. He managed to find a 
 part-time job in a small cigar factory, which helped a 
 little. We bought a few sacks of coal, but the small 
 stove did not give sufficient heat. We were cold and 
 uncomfortable. 
 
 It was November. Winter had started early that year, 
 with a near-zero temperature. An epidemic of diph- 
 theria broke out in our neighborhood. There were 
 quarantine signs on many doors. Our William took 
 very sick, and I called my cousin, Dr. Jack. He advised 
 us to have the child taken to the Isolation Hospital, as 
 our place was too cold, and he said for us to get a 
 good stove or we would all get sick. We called the 
 health department, and they took our baby away. 
 Joe and I were left alone in the cold, almost-empty 
 store. At the hospital we could see William only 
 through a window. 
 
 I said, "What are we going to do, Joe? What is the 
 sense of sticking to a store to which no one comes? 
 The Irish people among whom we live don't like us." 
 
 He asked me to have patience and at least stay over 
 the winter. Summer might be better. 
 
 "No," I replied. "Summer or winter, I cannot stay 
 among enemies. They don't like us, no matter what 
 the season. I won't live here." 
 
 I went to the hospital every day. After three weeks, 
 they gave me my pale little boy to take home. I 
 wrapped him in blankets and brought him back home 
 to the store. It was cold and damp in the back room, 
 
 129 
 
and by evening the child ran a fever again. Desperately 
 I wrapped him up again and took a street car to the 
 Michael Reese Hospital. But in my distress, I took the 
 wrong car and found myself in front of a cemetery. 
 I thought I would go mad, but I took another car and 
 finally arrived at the hospital. I told them that the 
 child had been taken home from the Isolation Hospital 
 that very day. 
 
 They called up the hospital and were told that his 
 diphtheria was cured and there was no more room for 
 him there on account of the epidemic. Well, they 
 examined William and found that he had pneumonia. 
 They promised that they would take care of him, and 
 told me to go home. 
 
 I could not go home. I felt like dying. I hid in the 
 washroom and stayed there all night. The next day 
 I went to Bessie and my Aunt Hilda, and told them 
 that everything was finished, that I had no home, no 
 husband, and no child. I begged them to let me stay 
 with them, that I would go to work in any cigar fac- 
 tory that would let me work, and that I would try to 
 find a place to live with my baby as soon as he was 
 well again. 
 
 The following Monday I got a job in a big factory, 
 and I slept in my aunt's house. Of course, Joe was 
 angry because I did not come back to the store, but I 
 told him to sell it. Once more we had failed. 
 
 130 
 
WITHOUT A HOME 
 
 I found a woman who ran a private nursery. When 
 William improved in health, I took him there. But he 
 cried every time I came and would not let me go, so 
 I decided to go to the Jewish Charities and ask for a 
 job in their nursery. I wanted to be with my baby, 
 who was about two years old then. They gave me a 
 job. How happy I was! I had a separate room for 
 myself, which was light and airy, and I received board 
 and twenty-five dollars a month. 
 
 There were about eighty children in the nursery, 
 ranging in years from one month to school age, and 
 only two women to take care of them. My job was 
 to take care of the little ones, of whom there were 
 about twenty. Their mothers brought them in the 
 morning and took them home at night. We bathed and 
 dressed the children in our clothes; when the mothers 
 came for them, they had to change the little ones into 
 their own clothes. I gave the babies their bottles and 
 diapered them, and was very busy all day. At night I 
 took care of my own baby, and I became very tired and 
 worn out. On Sundays Joe and my brothers came to 
 see me. 
 
 I hoped that the job would last a long time, but, 
 alas, it did not. The matron, or supervisor, of the nur- 
 sery told me that she came from a very fine and rich 
 family in the South. They had eighteen servants and 
 she had never done work of any kind, but she knew 
 the heads of the Jewish Charities, and they had given 
 her the position. I had noticed that she sometimes 
 called in a peddler and sold the clothes which had been 
 brought in for the poor children, and kept the money. 
 So I considered her a dishonest person. One Sunday 
 she ordered me to clean her room. Since we had a 
 
 131 
 
regular cleaning woman, I told her that I was hired to 
 take care of the babies. She rudely told me that if I 
 did not do as she wanted, she would find someone 
 else. There was a lump in my throat, and I knew my 
 job was very shaky. 
 
 The woman told the board of directors that I was 
 a person of doubtful character, that I had run away 
 from my husband and received men on Sunday when 
 I was alone, as people told her. I was questioned about 
 it. Several weeks later I began to cough, became very 
 sick, and was taken to a hospital. My baby remained 
 in the nursery, and at night the janitor's wife took 
 him home. One day the janitor visited me at the hos- 
 pital and told me that they had another woman in my 
 place and had put my belongings in the basement. 
 He also told me that my boy was dirty and his eye was 
 inflamed again, with no one to take care of him. Al- 
 though I was running a temperature, I asked the 
 hospital for my clothes and went to the janitor's place. 
 So here we were, sick and in need of a home. 
 
 The janitor's wife sent us to a poor family, who 
 gave me a room. I took proper care of my baby, 
 treated his eye with drops, and rested a few days. Then 
 I went back to the cigar factory. The woman took care 
 of William, and sometimes took him to the nursery 
 and home again at night. They were very kind to me. 
 
 Summer came and we were both much better. One 
 evening I took him to a movie with me, and when we 
 came ought I bought some cherries. We were walking 
 along, eating the cherries, when we met two matrons 
 from the nursery. One of them said, "So, you are 
 walking around eating cherries. 1 wonder what you 
 are doing for a living!" 
 
 I told her that I was working in a cigar factory, but 
 she said she did not believe me. 
 
 "Well, come to the shop and convince yourself," 
 I told her, and gave her the address. 
 
 132 
 
The next day I informed my boss and my fellow 
 workers that two old maids would come to investigate 
 me. Sure enough, a few days later they came to the 
 shop and asked the boss about me. He told them that 
 he had known me a long time, that I was a good cigar 
 maker, but could not work steady because of my 
 cough. 
 
 When I took William to the eye specialist, I told 
 him about our troubles ; that I was coughing, and had 
 to work at making cigars. He advised me to go to a 
 charity organization which sent women and children 
 to the country for two weeks. 
 
 I gave them all the details about the baby and myself, 
 and they suggested that I go to the Jewish Charities. 
 
 "They will do nothing for me," I told them. **I 
 worked for them, and they do not like me." 
 
 Nevertheless, insisting that we were in need of the 
 country, the case worker called up the Jewish Char- 
 ities, and when she mentioned my name, they refused. 
 
 "All right," she said. "You go with us." 
 
 We were sent to their doctor to be examined. I 
 passed, but not the child. It seemed he always walked 
 around with a temperature of a hundred and two or 
 three. Again I took William to the Michael Reese 
 Hospital, and was told, after a few days, that he was 
 a sick child who needed a home, fresh air, and good 
 food, or I might lose him. 
 
 Joe had sold the store and taken a loss. He came to 
 see me, gave me rronev. and together we went to see 
 our boy. He kissed and hugged us and begged us to 
 take him home. 
 
 133 
 
CHAIM AND NATHAN ARE MARRIED 
 
 At long last, Brother Nathan decided to sell his store 
 to us. Without a lease, no one else would have it. I 
 went to have a talk with the kind landlady, told her 
 we were still wandering around without a home, and 
 that we wanted to buy the store. She was doubtful 
 whether we could make a living there for the three of 
 us, but I promised her we would pay the rent a day 
 before it was due, for we needed a roof over our heads ; 
 and she consented. So we bought the store from 
 Nathan, and Joe and I were happy, even though the 
 chances of making a good living were poor; and we 
 swore that we would never part again, no matter what 
 happened. 
 
 At Chaim's wedding Nathan met a nice girl named 
 Jenny, who came of a fine family. Nathan made a nice 
 appearance and had saved up some money. The wed- 
 ding was arranged, and invitations went out to the 
 family. 
 
 Now a succession of tragedies deeply shocked our 
 family. It seemed that Cousin Bessie had been in love 
 with Nathan right along, and had been hoping to marry 
 him. When she received the wedding invitation, she 
 turned on the gas and killed herself. About the same 
 time, her sister Sophie, in San Francisco, committed 
 suicide by drinking poison. Their brother, George, 
 died suddenly in an elevated station. Under these 
 circumstances, no one from Chicago came to the 
 wedding. 
 
 Nathan had his money invested in some loan as- 
 sociation which unexpectedly went bankrupt, and he 
 discovered he had lost his savings. The newly-married 
 couple started their life together with plenty of trouble. 
 
 Aunt Hilda went to live with her youngest daugh- 
 
 134 
 
ter, Fay, and she was well provided for. Although Hil- 
 da had a tubercular father, she lived to a very old age, 
 almost ninety. She never used the money she had 
 saved for a rainy day. Others of her family are doing 
 the very same thing. 
 
 In our store we found a slot machine which had 
 been there for a couple of years. The income from 
 that machine paid for our rent. I kept the shack clean 
 and warm, and Joe used to go to town to bring kosher 
 food for us. We paid the rent promptly, as I had 
 promised, and obtained credit at the wholesale store. 
 We paid our bills on time. Many friends and neighbors 
 came to the store, for Joe was a good talker and people 
 liked to engage him in conversation. He often went 
 to the eye doctor, where I also took William. 
 
 One day the Oak Park police came, took away our 
 slot machine, and told us to appear in court. When we 
 appeared there, we found many other storekeepers in 
 court. Each one of us was fined nine dollars for having 
 kept a gambling device on the premises. Our income 
 was out. 
 
 The husband of Meyer's landlady was a cigar maker, 
 hardly able to make a living. Joe and he got together 
 and planned to buy a newsstand. Joe was to work 
 there in the morning, and his partner the rest of the 
 day. Toe was to #0 all over Chicago to look for a fa- 
 vorable location. He tried hard, but the stands he saw 
 cost more money than both of them had. However, 
 pfter six weeks Joe found a suitable stand. His nartner 
 watched the stand for a few days and liked it. Then he 
 went and bought it with his cousins, and all of Joe's 
 efforts went for nothing. The cigar maker came to our 
 store in a happy mood and said he was short fifty dol- 
 lars, and asked for a loan. 
 
 loe exploded. "I ran around to find a stand. You 
 didn't even spend a nickel for carfare, and now I 
 should lend you money!" 
 
 135 
 
The man stood there with his hands in his pockets 
 and said, "Well, everyone does what is best for him. 
 My cousin is a better partner for me than you would 
 be. You have a store. How many businesses do you 
 want?" 
 
 Joe told him to get out. 
 
 A few weeks later the man came to our store again, 
 crying. We asked him what had happened. He told 
 us that his cousin had decided to keep the stand for 
 himself, so the cousin made life miserable for the man 
 and his wife, and they were forced to leave. 
 
 "We told our cousin that it was not fair. We have 
 become enemies with you, and now he came when 
 everything was ready and took it away from us," he 
 told us. 
 
 His cousin had replied, "As you took it from Joe, 
 so can I take it away from you." 
 
 When we had heard the story, we told the man not 
 to bother us any more. We wanted to have nothing to 
 do with people of his kind. 
 
 136 
 
OUR NEW SON, ALBERT 
 
 The winter passed, and we paid Nathan the balance 
 we owed for the store. Our landlady and her family 
 were very kind to us. We were expecting another 
 child. That spring was pleasant and peaceful in Oak 
 Park. The trees and flowers were in full bloom when, 
 on Memorial Day, my second son was born. He was 
 a healthy and handsome boy, and looked like Joe. We 
 were very happy when I came home with him. Our 
 landlady had taken care of William. People came to 
 see my new baby, and brought us gifts. Our landlady's 
 wealthy daughter, who lived in a mansion in Win- 
 netka, came to see us, too. She expressed her liking 
 and respect for me, and said she wanted to do some- 
 thing for us to improve our home. 
 
 "Thank you," I said. "I hope I deserve your kind- 
 ness. I would like to have you open a door into your 
 big back yard and build for us a screened porch. Our 
 store is near a corner where there is a streetcar line and 
 the elevated, and I am afraid to let Willie play outside 
 while I am busy. I'd be very grateful to you." 
 
 She said, "All right," and left. The carpenters 
 came the very next day and built a fine screened porch, 
 and fenced off space in the yard for us, where the lady's 
 gardener planted many beautiful flowers. 
 
 World War I started that summer. There were no 
 radios in those days, and people came for the news- 
 papers we sold in the store. They also bought cigars 
 and tobacco. Everyone was worried, and in the course 
 of time our country entered the war, too. The women 
 knitted sweaters and socks for the soldiers, and every- 
 one who was able bought Liberty Bonds. Flour for 
 bread was scarce, so we used rice flour. We burned 
 candles to save electricity, and we also were saving on 
 
 137 
 
coal. We did all we could to help achieve victory for 
 our allies. At the beginning of the war we were 
 against Russia; but later, when Germany became so 
 strong and all of Europe was bleeding and the free 
 world was in great danger, Russia became our ally. 
 
 During that time Joe became a citizen, and I with 
 him. It was a wonderful feeling to belong to the United 
 States of America. 
 
 We always had some worry. Our landlady was 
 now blind and very old. She had become very thin. 
 Inflation was on, and people bought and sold property 
 and made large profits. We were afraid the good 
 woman would die and we would lose the store, and 
 what would we do with two children, without a home 
 and no means of making a living? Joe started out 
 again to find a newsstand. 
 
 One day he came home all excited. He had found 
 a morning stand to work from six until ten. The owner 
 had told him that the stand sold four hundred papers 
 during that time, which would mean over twenty 
 dollars a week profit. The selling price was four hun- 
 dred dollars. I asked Joe whether he had counted the 
 papers correctly, and he said, "I counted four hundred, 
 and by ten o'clock they were all gone." I asked 
 whether he had counted the money, but he had not 
 been able to do that. 
 
 Joe paid the man two hundred dollars in cash, and 
 we both signed judgment notes for the balance of two 
 hundred dollars. When Joe worked at the stand the 
 following day, two hundred papers were left over, and 
 we knew that we had been gypped. He inquired of 
 the drivers of all the newspapers just what had hap- 
 pened, and finally a Jewish driver told him that the 
 standkeeper had paid them each ten dollars to dump 
 the unsold papers for him. 
 
 We were both terribly upset and miserable about 
 the matter. I went to the courthouse and spoke to the 
 
 138 
 
judge, the same one who had fined us for having a slot 
 machine. I told him how we had been swindled, 
 because for two hundred papers it did not even pay 
 to go there. The judge understood perfectly and gave 
 me his card, instructing me to tell the standkeeper to 
 return the judgment notes. 
 
 "If the man will not return the notes," the judge 
 said, "a lawyer who is a friend of mine will bring him 
 to the Oak Park court. Go home and do not worry.'* 
 
 The man did not return the notes, and our lawyer 
 took him to court. The man's case of enforcing pay- 
 ment was dismissed, and the notes became worthless. 
 
 During the many struggles of our lives, we found 
 that there were also good people who were willing to 
 listen, give advice, and help. That judge was a perfect 
 stranger to us, but how sincerely kind and helpful he 
 was to take such an interest in our troubles. 
 
 Later, we sold the stand to an old man in the neigh- 
 borhood, for two hundred dollars. 
 
 139 
 
OUR LIFE IN CHICAGO DURING 
 WORLD WAR I 
 
 Dark clouds of war hovered over our country and 
 over the entire world. We could not get any mail from 
 our family in Europe, and were entirely cut off from 
 them. American boys were sent across both oceans. 
 
 Our little family in the Oak Park store had its 
 ups and downs. William often caught colds with a 
 croupy cough, but little Albert was healthy and strong 
 and never had a cold, even when he ran around bare- 
 footed. He was a good-natured child and ate every- 
 thing. Both boys filled our hearts with hope and made 
 life sweet. 
 
 William knew many poems and songs, and he could 
 also read, for I helped him study the primer every day. 
 He was to start kindergarten, so Dr. Zucker, the eye 
 soecialist, operated on the child's tear sac, and he had 
 his tonsils removed at about the same time. In a few 
 weeks William's eye was much better. It was the 
 greatest jov of my life to start William in school the 
 day after Labor Day, when the weather was beautiful 
 and the whole world smiled at me. 
 
 At school Willie's teacher soon found out how 
 nicely he could read, so she put him in the first grade. 
 One wintrv morning when Oak Park was covered 
 with snow, I took him to school. On the way I sooke 
 to him about honesty, truth, and the need for advice, 
 and I warned him never to steal or take things away 
 from anybody. As we walked along we found a lady's 
 pocketbook in the snow. 
 
 "Mother," he said, "whatever are you going to do 
 about it?" 
 
 "Let's open it; maybe we will find a card inside," 
 I answered. 
 
 140 
 
There were a card, eye glasses, keys, and change 
 purse with some money in it. We went to the address 
 given on the card and rang the bell. The lady was 
 happy to get the pocketbook, and she gave Willie the 
 change. 
 
 "Isn't it a fine feeling to be honest?" I asked my boy. 
 
 A week later he went to a movie and found a man's 
 wallet on his seat. When he came out of the theater, 
 he examined the wallet and found a bankbook and 
 some money inside. He took it over to the bank. 
 
 Time dragged on, the war was still on, fierce battles 
 were raging, many ships were sunk, and peace was 
 nowhere in sight. Every night our store was packed 
 with people eager to get the latest war news. 
 
 In the spring of 1917 someone told Joe that there 
 was a very good newsstand for sale in an elevated 
 station. It was on the North Side. Joe went to see it 
 and saw it was very busy. The owner was sick, his 
 two sons who had been helping him had been taken to 
 the army, and he had to sell. 
 
 Joe went to my brother Meyer. Both looked at the 
 place and liked it. The price was three thousand dol- 
 lars. They agreed that Meyer should buy it in his 
 name and receive one-third interest. We were to pay 
 off everything within two years. They put it all in 
 writing and bought that big stand. 
 
 On Saturday Joe and Meyer went to take over the 
 stand. I remained with the children at the store. We 
 had no telephone. I waited for Joe all night, but he did 
 not come home because he sold Sunday papers until 
 three o'clock in the morning. Finally he came home 
 on Sunday, at three o'clock in the afternoon with a 
 big bundle. 
 
 Eagerly I asked, "Well, what happened? How is 
 it?" 
 
 He answered, "No good; we have been cheated 
 again." 
 
 141 
 
I fainted. He hastened to revive me, and said, *'I 
 was only kidding. We struck a gold mine there. To- 
 morrow you come with me ; there is work for three or 
 four people. We will get a flat in the neighborhood." 
 
 I told our landlady that we had bought a wonderful 
 business in an elevated station, selling newspapers and 
 magazines, cigars, and cigarettes. 
 
 She said, "Please remember. Do not make newsboys 
 out of your sons. They must go to school." 
 
 I promised. The blind woman touched me, wished 
 me luck, and said she was sorry to see us leave. 
 
 Albany Park was a new neighborhood at that time. 
 Our newsstand was in the elevated terminal, one of 
 the finest stands in Chicago. Many new apartment 
 buildings were vacant, and the landlords gave three 
 months' concessions to new tenants. I rented four 
 beautiful, light rooms on the second floor, with closets, 
 cabinets, steam heat, and a fireplace. We did not have 
 enough furniture for such a fine place, but we wanted 
 to pay for the stand first and buy furniture later. One 
 week passed in great happiness; then trouble started 
 brewing again. 
 
 Suddenly the newspaper drivers started swamping 
 us with papers. In those years the newspaper com- 
 panies used to fight over circulation. The more papers 
 they sold, the more money they received for advertise- 
 ments. The man at the newsstand paid a certain 
 amount of money for the permit to sell papers at a 
 particular corner, but the newspapers were the real 
 bosses. The drivers and the division men were real 
 sluggers. If a newsstand man did not know how to get 
 along with them, he could not remain at his stand; and 
 they put someone else in his place or refused to give 
 him papers. There was a lot of graft and bribing in- 
 volved in running as big a stand as ours. The driver 
 made us take seventy-five copies of an unpopular 
 paper and told us to put away the unsold copies in 
 
 142 
 
the basement. They called it * 'basement circulation." 
 He often threatened with a knife. Otherwise, he would 
 show us a sharp knife and tell us to behave. Even the 
 largest newspapers had questionable arrangements and 
 sluggers. They even made us take several hundred 
 extra copies of the better selling papers. 
 
 When we pleaded with the drivers and the division 
 men, they told us that we didn't know how to sell 
 papers. These things made our lives miserable. 
 
 One morning a woman ticket agent at the next sta- 
 tion overheard some fellows say that they were "feed- 
 ing us with plenty of papers." She advised Joe to talk 
 plainly with the division man. 
 
 When Joe asked him, "How much?" he slapped 
 him on the back and said, "Now you are learning to 
 sell papers!" It cost us four hundred dollars, which the 
 drivers divided among themselves, and we started re- 
 ceiving a normal amount of papers. 
 
 Joe got up at four o'clock in the morning. I came 
 to help him at six-thirty. Several months later the 
 building where we lived was entirely rented, and 
 twenty-three tenants signed a petition to get us out; 
 they did not want Jewish people in the building. We 
 had to go, so we rented a stove-heated flat in an old 
 house which was near the school. The landlord was 
 almost blind. His wife did the housework, and we got 
 along fine. When I was busy, I arranged with the 
 landlady to dress the children and give them their 
 meals. The school was across the street. I paid the 
 woman, and she was a great help to me. 
 
 143 
 
ALBERT IS HURT 
 
 On hot summer days I liked to take my boys to the 
 beach. We dressed neatly, took the street car to reach 
 our destination, and there we had to put our clean 
 clothes in a dirty locker. It was a good feeling to lead 
 a woman's life, have two fine youngsters, carry a 
 picnic basket with good food, but somehow I could 
 never quite forget how, by force of circumstance, we 
 had been driven from place to place; and there was 
 always a fear in me that our luck would change again, 
 that it simply could not last long. 
 
 One evening when we came back from the beach it 
 was dark, and Joe was putting his papers together, 
 ready to close up the stand. I had noticed that Mary 
 Pickford was playing in a nearby movie, and I loved 
 her pictures. So I asked Joe to take the boys home, 
 give them their supper, and put them to bed. 
 
 He said, "All right. Go to the show!'' 
 
 I used to get up early in the morning to help Joe 
 in the business. I did my housework, and when I came 
 home from the beach I was very tired. It was restful 
 to sit in the show, but while I was watching the pic- 
 ture, somebody came up to me and whispered that 
 one of my boys had had an accident. I ran to the stand. 
 Little Albert had been run over by a car. He was taken 
 to a hospital, and they found that he had been injured 
 quite badly. It took him six weeks to recover. The 
 owner of the car was insured, and a man from the 
 insurance company came to investigate. 
 
 Someone from our temple recommended a lawyer 
 to us, Mr. William Levine, a very fine and honest man 
 who in later years became our best friend and adviser. 
 The case of little Albert had to go through the Probate 
 Court, where Henry Horner was presiding judge at that 
 
 144 
 
time. We told Mr. Levine to settle with the insurance 
 company. When we all came to court, our boy, look- 
 ing so sweet and clean, made quite a hit with everyone, 
 including the judge, who was a bachelor. He told 
 Albert to walk, run, and do some exercises, saying, 
 "If the child is not well, I will not settle this case.*' 
 
 But the boy was all right, and the case was settled. 
 Judge Henry Horner later became governor of the 
 State of Illinois, one of the best our state ever had. 
 
 Since coming to the United States, I had always 
 read the Jewish Daily Forward. I noticed an article in 
 it about a great man who had taken an important part 
 in the Russian Revolution and eventually gave his life 
 to help Russia become a free country. This hero had 
 been sentenced to Katorge, Siberia, and during his 
 escape had been shot in the spine. He had come to 
 America, become paralyzed, and lay helpless for years 
 in Bellevue Hospital in New York. Now he had died, 
 and everyone who had ever known this hero would 
 never forget him. It was our dear friend, Abraham; 
 but we did not know that he had suffered for so many 
 years. Later, when the war was over, my sister wrote 
 that Abraham's father and mother had been shot by 
 the Germans, that the woods where we spent that 
 beautiful summer had been cut down. Our paradise 
 had been destroyed. 
 
 45 
 
WE BUY OUR OWN HOME 
 
 Business was good, and we enjoyed our good for- 
 tune. The entire neighborhood passed through the "L" 
 station where our stand was, and we became acquainted 
 with many of the people. When we were approached 
 to join some charity organizations, we were glad to do 
 so. We joined a great many of them, and did not mind 
 the five or ten dollars it cost in membership fees. We 
 were happy to be able to give money away; only we 
 did not have time to attend the meetings. The Jewish 
 Consumptives Aid Society was organized at that time 
 by Bessie Hershberg, an old-time cigar maker. Many 
 workers in that trade were afflicted with tuberculosis. 
 I took a particular interest in that society, and became 
 very active in its auxiliary. We became known as a 
 fine family, and were the first Jewish family to settle in 
 that neighborhood. Later a great many Jews from the 
 West Side moved to Albany Park, and they kept the 
 kosher butcher shops and grocery stores busy. 
 
 We had arranged with Brother Meyer to pay off the 
 money due him for the stand within two years. How- 
 ever, business was so good that we were able to pay 
 off in eighteen months, but he was not at all anxious 
 to sign over the permit in our name. 
 
 *' Why are you in such a hurry? Don't you trust me?" 
 he asked. "If it were not for me, you would not make 
 so much money." 
 
 He wanted the stand and the money, and to have us 
 work for him. However, we stood firm. The news- 
 papers knew that he had just loaned us the money. He 
 did not like it, but we made him sign; and it was a 
 relief to know that the stand was ours. 
 
 Someone told Joe that there was a good lot for sale 
 near the station, which was very valuable business 
 
 146 
 
property. Joe told Meyer about it, and Meyer gave Joe 
 five hundred dollars to put down as a deposit, and then 
 he bought the lot. Three months later Joe sold it for 
 him, and Meyer made almost five thousand dollars. 
 Joe's commission was two hundred dollars. Meyer no- 
 ticed that Joe knew many people and received all sorts 
 of information from them. A real estate boom started 
 about that time. Joe asked Meyer for a loan to buy a 
 two-flat building near the station, right next to the 
 building from which we had been compelled to move 
 because we were Jews. Meyer let him have the money 
 on the same conditions as the stand. So we bought our 
 first home, a lovely place with modern plumbing, 
 fine woodwork, and a sun parlor. 
 
 Joe, the one who could not make a good cigar and 
 had been a "shlemiel" (inefficient person) for so 
 many years, and I suddenly became clever business 
 people to whom everyone looked up and came for 
 advice. But deep in my heart I had a feeling that it 
 could not last long. I was sad about the war and 
 because we had heard nothing from home. 
 
 Meyer and Joe became partners in the real estate 
 business. Meyer had become a rich man; he had a 
 wholesale mail-order house, and did big business on a 
 cash basis. He left all the real estate business to Joe. 
 They bought and sold property, with only a verbal 
 agreement entitling Joe to half of the profits. 
 
 We moved into our beautiful six-room apartment, 
 and it was like a dream to me. I wrote a letter to my 
 landlady's daughter, who was in the insurance business. 
 She came, and I showed her around. She could not 
 believe her own eyes. 
 
 "Is it possible," she asked, "that you paid for that 
 stand and bought this fine house besides?" 
 
 I told her it was true, but that God only knew how 
 long our good luck would last. I was always afraid 
 of the tomorrow. When she brought the insurance 
 
 147 
 
policies which I asked for, a few days later, she asked 
 me to visit her mother. 
 
 When I came to Oak Park, our dear old friend 
 touched me and wished me luck. She said she hoped 
 I would not get spoiled, and I told her some people 
 thought I had always been spoiled. 
 
 "Some people think I am fine, and others think I 
 am bad. You who are sightless think I am good, and 
 I'll try to live up to your expectations.'' 
 
 A few years later her daughter told over the tele- 
 phone that her mother had died, and that her mother's 
 last words were that I should be called to the funeral. 
 
 I sent a lovely wreath, and went to their home, where 
 my old friend lay in a costly casket, pale and thin; 
 but it seemed as though she were smiling at me. There 
 was a large crowd of rich-looking people. I was asked 
 to say a few words. My talk was simple and short: 
 
 "This pure little lady was a true Christian, and prac- 
 tised real Christianity in her life. I, a Jewish woman, 
 beaten and driven by many people, both here and in 
 the old country, was despised for being Jewish, as if it 
 were some kind of crime. But Mrs. June befriended 
 me and my family, as if I had been her sister or daugh- 
 ter. In her heart there was only love, instead of hatred 
 and prejudice. How seldom do we meet such a won- 
 derful person with such fine understanding ! She lived 
 the good life, and to follow in her steps is to walk in 
 the right path to real humanity.*' 
 
 The priest and many other people there shook hands 
 with me, and I rode to the cemetery in her oldest son's 
 car. 
 
 148 
 
THE TIME OF THE ARMISTICE 
 
 Meyer and Joe were doing business together, and 
 everyone knew that Joe had a rich man as his silent 
 partner. Dealers in real estate came to see Joe at the 
 stand about all kinds of deals, and Joe gave deposits 
 on lots right and left, sold the contracts overnight, and 
 both made profits. Mr. Levine represented both men, 
 and also took care of the bookkeeping. This went on 
 for several years. Some of our friends came to borrow 
 money from us, and we gave them loans, as friends 
 should, without interest. 
 
 Came the year 1918, when the Kaiser and his 
 Junkers were beaten by the Allied armies. How well I 
 remember November 1 1 , when the Armistice was 
 signed! Crowds of men, women, and children were 
 waiting at the station for the papers. The people 
 grabbed the papers from the trucks. It was an unfor- 
 gettable night. People, big and small, were on the 
 streets, marching with pots, pans, and washtubs, bang- 
 ins: away on anything that made a noise. Boys and 
 e;irls of all ages jumped and danced. Even strangers 
 kissed each other and cried, "The war is over!** But 
 few realized that we lost the peace. 
 
 A few nights later Joe came home with two men 
 and a contract all prepared and ready for my signa- 
 ture. They had offered him a fine profit for the house 
 we lived in, but I protested violently. 
 
 "I will not give up my beautiful house. This has 
 been a lucky home, and I'll stay here!" I exclaimed. 
 
 I wanted to tear up the contract, but Joe said to me, 
 "Listen, if you will not sign, this home will not be 
 lucky any more. I am in the real estate business. I buy 
 and sell, and you are going to do what I say." 
 
 Now I knew my happiness was not for long. I had 
 
 149 
 
to give in to keep peace in the house. My home was 
 sold, and they bought a six-flat building, into which I 
 moved. I was expecting another baby. 
 
 After Armistice Day the weather was very mild. 
 A terrible epidemic of what was called Spanish influ- 
 enza started. In some homes entire families were sick, 
 and so many people died that the undertakers were 
 hard pressed to take care of them all. 
 
 Just at that time Joe's father, his little sister, Goldie, 
 and his baby brother, Israel, came to America. The 
 mother had died. Joe's sister had married a widower 
 with many children. She had never forgiven Joe for 
 marrying before her, and she quarreled with everyone 
 around her. She never came to us, and we never went 
 to her house. Her father had brought some money 
 with him ; she borrowed it, and never tried to return it. 
 Everyone in her house was sick, and they sent for Joe, 
 saying that his father was dying. The old man, who 
 was nearly seventy, had pneumonia, and the doctor 
 could do nothing for him. When Joe and I came to 
 the house, the old man had a high fever and was de- 
 lirious. He jumped out of bed. The next day he passed 
 the crisis, his temperature dropped, and, to everyone's 
 surprise, he was better. 
 
 One day Joe came home very sick. William also fell 
 ill with a headache, sore throat, and a high temperature. 
 Meyer happened to come to our house, and exclaimed, 
 "Quick, get a specialist! William is burning up with 
 fever!" 
 
 One of our drivers told me about Doctor Ross, a 
 little Irishman, who attended many flu patients suc- 
 cessfully. I called Dr. Ross in a hurry. He told me the 
 boy was in very serious condition, instructed me to 
 wrap him in wet, ice-cold bed sheets or blankets, and 
 give him medicine. We put ice into the bathtub, 
 worked over him all night, and fever was reduced 
 a little. Albert had also become sick, and there I was 
 
 150 
 
with three patients ; but I attended the stand Saturday 
 and Sunday. Dr. Ross came to the station and said 
 that I, too, ought to be in bed. 
 
 * 'If I lie down," I said, "I am afraid I won't be able 
 to get up." He took my temperature. It was a hundred 
 and three, and I had the chills. Sunday afternoon I lay 
 down, but I could not get up. 
 
 There was no one in either of our families to take 
 care of Joe's father. They asked the County Hospital 
 to take him in, but hospital authorities said to take him 
 to Oak Forest. A cab was hired to take him to Oak 
 Forest. There was a collision, and the poor old man 
 was killed instantly. We could not even go to his 
 funeral. 
 
 Dr. Ross procured a practical nurse for us. The 
 woman took such wonderful care of us that we all 
 recovered. Meyer helped out a little, but most of the 
 time the money and the papers were lying around, and 
 everyone helped himself. 
 
 Joe developed complications from the flu; he had 
 pus in his lungs. I was sick all winter, and had to be 
 operated on my nose and throat while I was expecting 
 the baby. Toward the middle of summer a girl was 
 born to us, and we named her Esther Chana, after 
 Joe's mother. She was a beautiful baby, with golden 
 hair and blue eyes. She reminded me of little Dochen- 
 ka, in the woods near Lida, and I called her by that 
 name. 
 
 151 
 
MEYER AND JOE BUY A BUILDING IN LIDA 
 
 Our baby girl brought happiness to the entire family. 
 We had our own home, made a good living at the 
 newsstand, and Meyer and Joe did big business in real 
 estate. Joe bought a beautiful playpen for the baby, 
 and we placed it in the sun parlor. William did very 
 well in school, and Albert was to start school soon. 
 Both boys sometimes helped out at the stand. One day 
 Joe took me to a fur store to buy me a mink coat. 
 
 "Why do you want me to have a mink coat?" I 
 asked. 
 
 "You deserve it,'* was his answer. "You worked 
 with me shoulder to shoulder, and you earned it.*' 
 
 In that case, I thought it was time to repay my debt 
 to Feigel and my parents in Lida. 
 
 Since the end of the war we had received mail from 
 my family; there were eleven of them left. Poland 
 had become an independent country, but not a democ- 
 racy. The Jews there were treated worse than in the 
 times of the czar. They were thrown off trains, their 
 beards were torn. The new officials and police in uni- 
 forms covered with gold buttons paid no attention to 
 Jewish complaints. Yesterday it was the Russians who 
 mistreated the Jews, now it was the Poles. 
 
 They told the Jews, "Go back to Palestine where 
 you belong. We don't want you in Poland." 
 
 So we wrote to our people to sell what they could 
 and we would send them the money to come to 
 America. We told them that we had a good business 
 and would work together. But Feigel answered that 
 Father and Mother were old and could not travel, and 
 her sick son could not enter America. Instead of 
 bringing them here we should send them the money 
 for which they could buy the finest court building in 
 
 152 
 
Lida. They could buy it for five thousand dollars, but 
 its real value was fifty thousand. Both Meyer and Joe 
 were against buying property in Poland, but my opin- 
 ion was that if our family wanted it, we should not 
 refuse. 
 
 * 'Perhaps they might come here and could not adjust 
 themselves," I said. "Remember how many years we 
 suffered and could not adjust ourselves? Didn't Meyer 
 loan you money, Joe? Now, when Feigel needs it, you 
 refuse. Remember, yesterday you wanted to buy me 
 an expensive fur coat ; you said I worked with you and 
 earned it. Give me what I earned and I'll send it to 
 Feigel. I have not forgotten my bitter life. My answer 
 will be, 'Yes.' ' 
 
 Meyer liked my attitude, and told Joe that I was 
 right. Meyer sat down and wrote out a check, had it 
 certified, and sent it by registered mail ; and the build- 
 ing in Lida was bought. There were many apartments 
 and stores in it; it had a swimming pool, and only 
 aristocrats could afford to live in such a grand house. 
 There was also an orchard, with apple, pear, and cherry 
 trees. It was obvious that sometimes from crumbs 
 comes a sandwich. 
 
 My brother Nathan could not make a living in Bos- 
 ton, and our family had to help him out. I wrote him 
 that Joe was not well and that he should come to Chi- 
 cago and work at our stand, and I sent him train fare. 
 He came, but he did not like to get up early and work 
 long hours. Nathan wanted to sell merchandise to the 
 stores as Meyer did, and he wanted to work up a route. 
 We did not want to send him back to Boston empty- 
 handed, so Meyer bought him a truck, filled it with 
 merchandise, and Nathan started in business for him- 
 self. He rented a flat, and his wife, Jenny, and their 
 little girls came to Chicago. Nathan did not earn 
 enough, and they struggled. Meyer was angry, and 
 afraid that his merchandise might be lost. 
 
 153 
 
Joe's oldest sister had married a rich widower and 
 never cared to see us. Now she heard that we were 
 getting along well and had a new baby girl, so she sent 
 friends to hint that we ought to invite her. 
 
 Joe said, "She was always mean and made trouble 
 for the family. They called her 'the witch.' No, I do not 
 want her." 
 
 Other people spoke up for her, and I finally said, 
 "If any of the family want to come and behave, I shall 
 not close the door to a sister, good or bad." 
 
 But I made a terrible mistake. She came with her 
 husband and children. They were unreliable, mean 
 people, who were always fighting. We would not have 
 minded had they come only once in a while, but they 
 bothered us all the time. Not so long ago we had been 
 poor and had no place to live. Now we had entire 
 families in our house and no privacy for ourselves. 
 Lots of people came for favors and loans. A cousin, a 
 shyster lawyer, came and asked that we give him the 
 legal work connected with our real estate, but we knew 
 that we could not trust him. We discovered that hav- 
 ing money had its disadvantages. We could not please 
 everybody, and we acquired enemies whom we had 
 never wronged. 
 
 Our house was open to all comers. For the holidays 
 I cooked a lot of food for guests. Many of my friends 
 from Lida came to see us often. We joined the Lida 
 Organization to send relief to our countrymen abroad. 
 
 My other attempt to marry off Meyer occurred at 
 the same time. He asked me to speak to our attornev's 
 secretary, a very fine, intellectual girl of marriageable 
 age. I knew her and her family. I told her that Meyer 
 was very much interested in her and he wanted to 
 date her. She was well-pleased. We made a date for 
 the following week. 
 
 I said to him, "Now listen to me, Meyer. Take 
 with you about two hundred dollars in cash and we 
 
 154 
 
will go downtown. You must buy three fine suits, 
 shoes, shirts, and an overcoat. Go to the barber, get a 
 haircut, and everything will be fine. You are a prosper- 
 ous man. It is time you got married and raised a 
 family." 
 
 Meyer listened, and obeyed me like a little lamb. We 
 bought everything, and hoped we would have a wed- 
 ding shortly. 
 
 Two days before the date he called the girl on the 
 phone and told her that he had changed his mind. 
 
 "Why, what happened?" she asked. 
 
 "Nothing happened," he said. "Only I think that you 
 are too fine and too good for me. You will not love 
 me, divorce me, and then I will have to pay you ali- 
 mony. No, I'll remain a bachelor. That is final." 
 
 When I heard this story, my question was, "What 
 will you do with your clothes?" 
 
 "Well," he said, "I was too hasty to spend so much 
 money. You persuaded me to do it. I'll never listen 
 to you again." 
 
 About a year later, a girl arrived from Poland to a 
 family he knew well. The girl looked strong and 
 healthy. Her cheeks were rosy. Meyer figured that 
 this girl from Poland, who had suffered years of pov- 
 erty, would really be good for him. She would be satis- 
 fied to live modestly. So Meyer proposed to her in 
 the following manner: 
 
 "Do you know, Becky, that you are a nice girl? 
 Would you care to marry a fellow like me?" 
 
 "Perhaps I would," she said. "I was told you are 
 a wealthy man. You are a smart businessman. Why 
 not?" 
 
 Her answer pleased him, and he spoke again: "Tell 
 me, Becky, why are the people in Europe healthy and 
 have pink cheeks, although they live in poverty, while 
 in America the people are pale, the girls and women 
 use rouge?" 
 
 155 
 
"That is simple," she said. "American people work 
 hard for themselves, and also to help their families in 
 Europe. But the people over there do not have to 
 work and worry about their families in America." 
 
 Meyer liked her explanation, and complimented her 
 on her cleverness. 
 
 "Are your cheeks naturally pink?" he questioned 
 again. He wanted to be sure. 
 
 "Take a wet towel and try to wipe them," she said. 
 
 Meyer tried, and the more he wiped, the redder the 
 cheeks got. He smiled. "Fine," he said. "Now answer 
 me a couple of questions. Would you be willing to 
 wear gingham or cotton dresses? Would you be satis- 
 fied with cotton stockings? And, if we marry, would 
 you accept secondhand furniture and a coal stove 
 without nickel? Nickel on a stove is a nuisance, and 
 you have to spend money for polish and work hard 
 to make it shine." 
 
 Becky looked at him and said, "Before I answer 
 your questions, I will ask you one. If I should marry 
 you, will you let me send some money to my poor 
 parents in Poland? You see, Meyer, should I marry a 
 poor fellow, I will go to work to help my husband 
 and my family." 
 
 Meyer's answer came quickly. "I did not say that 
 you won't work for me." 
 
 "I am glad," she said. "I don't have to answer your 
 questions. It is all settled. 'No' is my answer," she said, 
 and Meyer's romance came to an end. 
 
 Becky married a poor fellow, and worked two 
 months after her marriage. She died after she was 
 operated on for a mastoid. 
 
 156 
 
JOE'S ILLNESS — WILLIAM'S GRADUATION 
 
 A few years passed. Joe was a very sick man. His 
 body often swelled up, and he sometimes had to re- 
 main in the hospital for several weeks. Some doctors 
 advised an operation, but our Dr. Ross was against it. 
 He told me that Joe would not pull through. When- 
 ever Joe planned to go ahead with the operation, I 
 tried to put him off. 
 
 "Wait till next month, perhaps you will feel better; 
 or try a sanitarium where they will keep you on a strict 
 diet, you might get cured without an operation," I 
 said. 
 
 Often he had sleepless nights and suffered dread- 
 fully, so when I tried to stop him from being operated 
 on, he accused me of not wanting to spend the money 
 for recovering his health. He was going to the hospital 
 to make arrangements for his operation when I begged 
 him to wait until William's graduation in the spring. 
 
 In order to ease the strain of work, we decided to 
 run the stand only from five until ten in the morning. 
 We could manage to live on less if necessary. Since we 
 could not work at the stand all day, we rented it out 
 to Joe's sister and her husband. They earned more 
 than we did, for there were four of them and they 
 worked longer hours. 
 
 In the spring Joe and I went to William's public 
 school graduation. We both cried because Joe was 
 very sick. Even his eyes were inflamed, and we felt 
 that this was perhaps the last important event in his 
 life. 
 
 When Joe was well, he used to take the boys to lec- 
 tures by such prominent men as Scott Nearing, Clar- 
 ence Darrow, Eugene V. Debs, and others. He also 
 visited the Art Institute and the museums with them. 
 
 157 
 
A company of Shakespearean players sometimes came 
 to Chicago. They were wonderful, and we attended 
 their performances as often as possible. 
 
 That spring Joe said to me, "Dress the boys nicely. 
 We are going to the theatre to see the Shakespearean 
 players in 'Julius Caesar.* ' 
 
 He bought the best tickets. We watched the inter- 
 esting play, and both shed tears. When Caesar was 
 attacked by his enemies and saw among them his best 
 friend with a knife in his hand and exclaimed, "You 
 too, Brutus?" we felt that the knife went straight into 
 our own hearts. We both knew Joe's end was coming. 
 
 During the summer Joe was building stores in two 
 places. He wanted to learn how to become a builder. 
 I told Meyer not to let him build because he was very 
 sick, but Meyer said, "Don't mix into our business. Joe 
 knows what to do." 
 
 Toward the end of the summer, when Joe got worse, 
 he called Meyer to our lawyer Levine's office and de- 
 manded a written record that he, Joe, was entitled to 
 half profits on thirty-two parcels of real estate in which 
 they were dealing, and he also wanted the books 
 straightened, according to their verbal agreement. He 
 felt he should not wait any longer. 
 
 But Meyer said, "Don't you trust me?" 
 
 Joe began to cry, "I am a dying man. Do it right 
 away." 
 
 Meyer signed a paper that Joe was entitled to half 
 of the profits on all the deals, and Joe was relieved. 
 
 The next day Joe said, "Dress the boys, the baby, 
 and yourself. We are all going to be photographed." 
 
 We were all photographed, but Joe never saw those 
 pictures. Then we bought a fine outfit for him to take 
 to the hospital. 
 
 That night, at home, he felt depressed and said to 
 me, "I'd ike to buy a bungalow for you so that you 
 would have a nice home for the children. We must 
 
 158 
 
buy it quickly, just for ourselves, not in partnership 
 with Meyer, just a home so we won't have to move 
 around any more." 
 
 I answered him, "Joe, it is good to have a bungalow 
 when people are well, but now I would prefer to buy 
 a store and flat building in a business block. If we or 
 the children should need it for a living, we could use 
 it. No partnership, just us." 
 
 The next day the real estate agent found a two-flat 
 building in a good block. We did not even see the 
 inside, but we bought it; and it was nicer than we 
 expected. Joe wanted to have it decorated, but I said, 
 "Let's move in. We will decorate when you come back. 
 I hope you will get well, and we will arrange a big party 
 for your homecoming." 
 
 He was pleased with the idea. Then he said, "There 
 is one more thing. Let's go to a music store and buy 
 the best Victrola, with many good opera records." 
 
 In the same store he bought a violin and a trombone 
 for the boys, and he took them to music teachers. He 
 was such a devoted father. 
 
 At night Meyer came, and Joe told him he had 
 bought a home for us. Meyer became angry. 
 
 "You mean you are buying that property your- 
 selves? Nothing doing!" 
 
 He thought we had gotten a bargain and wanted to 
 keep it to ourselves. We explained that we had paid a 
 high price, but he insisted on a partnership, as before. 
 Well, he was the stronger, and it was done the way he 
 wanted it done. 
 
 I took Joe to the hospital. 
 
 159 
 
THE LAST NIGHT WITH JOE 
 
 Joe himself had picked the surgeon, and several 
 physicians who had attended him before. He said he 
 wanted to see whatever was going to be removed from 
 his body, and they promised to show it to him after 
 the operation. Joe was in the hospital several days 
 before the operation and saw many patients who were 
 operated on and recovered. 
 
 Joe had a private room and a nurse. While the oper- 
 ation went on, I was waiting in the hall. The doctors 
 worked a long time on him, and finally he was brought 
 back to his bed. I could not tell him anything because 
 the doctor was too busy to talk to me. I felt that things 
 were very bad with Joe. He was very sick, but his 
 mind was clear to the very end. After a few days I 
 called in several doctors, the best in the city, for a con- 
 sultation. They told me that Joes entire system was 
 infected, and advised against an operation. It was just 
 as Dr. Ross had told me. But neither can one live with 
 infection in the body. Joe said he had known it, but 
 was willing to take a chance. 
 
 Saturday night Joe said to me, "Etta, stay with me. 
 Don't go home. Lie down near me, and let us talk 
 things over quietly, just by ourselves. I don't want 
 anybody else to hear," and he told the nurse not to 
 admit anyone to his room. 
 
 Then he said to me, "Do you remember when we 
 went to the lectures at the Masonic Temple on a winter 
 night, and how the snow glittered like diamonds in the 
 moonlight?" 
 
 "Yes, Joe, I remember," I answered. 
 
 He continued, "When we worked in the shop, you 
 brought me delicious sandwiches every day, when I 
 did not earn money enough to buy lunch. Why did 
 you do it?" 
 
 160 
 
I answered simply, "Joe, we worked together and I 
 knew you were hungry. Remember, I was sitting next 
 to you. I was stronger, and I had a feeling that I must 
 take care of you." 
 
 After a short pause, he said, "You know, Etta, you 
 weren't pretty, but there was something about you 
 that many people liked. Although I quarreled with 
 you for many years, I want you to know that I loved 
 you, only you." 
 
 "Joe," I said, "if I had not loved you, I would not 
 have come back to you. I know I have been a foolish 
 and stubborn woman all my life. I was guilty of all 
 the trouble we ever had." 
 
 "Oh, no," he said, "you are as honest and pure as 
 a white dove." 
 
 Then he called in the nurse and some doctors and 
 said to them, "I want all of you to hear that I lived 
 with my wife for seventeen years. She is the most 
 honest person in the world. She is like a white dove. 
 I always loved her dearly, and will love her until my 
 last moment." 
 
 Afterwards he said, "Tomorrow is Sunday. Call 
 up the house, tell them to dress the children nicely, and 
 bring them here. Nathan should also bring our little 
 Esther. The world is not coming to an end yet." 
 
 I was with him all that night, and I knew the end 
 was coming. I telephoned for the family to hurry. It 
 was November, and raining hard. The whole family, 
 both mine and his, many of our friends, and our lawyer 
 were all with him in the room. Joe looked long at our 
 boys, told them they looked like little men, and then 
 he said to them, "William and Albert, remember to 
 be good in school and to mind your mother." He 
 looked at our little girl, who was two years old, and 
 said, "Oh, Esther darling, what a pretty pink sweater 
 you have!" 
 
 His sister came with her family. She stood near Joe 
 
 161 
 
for a long time while I was in the hall. When she tried 
 to fix his pillow, he recognized her and began to call, 
 "Etta, where are you?" 
 
 1 came in and he said to her, "Please leave me. I 
 want my wife near me." 
 
 Sunday evening he talked to our lawyer. "Please, 
 Mr. Levine, you are our best friend," he said. "Protect 
 my wife and children." 
 
 The lawyer told him not to worry. Then Joe's heart 
 failed and he died. Yes, my world had come to an end. 
 They took me home to the house he had just bought 
 and in which he had lived only two weeks. All was 
 dark and empty. I had always been the sick one, but 
 he had died and I had to carry on. I would have liked 
 to rest with him in peace. He was only forty-two 
 years old. 
 
 62 
 
AFTER THE FUNERAL 
 
 There were obituaries about Joe in the newspapers 
 which said he was a brilliant and intellectual man. He 
 was the first one to buy "The Book of Knowledge" for 
 the children, and the "History of the Jews," by Gratz, 
 in English. Rabbi Mendelsohn of the temple said he 
 never met a man who mastered the Hebrew language 
 as Joe had. In his coffin Joe looked pale, thin, and 
 handsome, as he did on the first day I met him in the 
 cigar factory. I really enview him. He was through, 
 but my troubles were beginning. Mr. Levine said to me 
 at the hospital right after Joe died, "You see this crowd 
 of relations? I am afraid they will give you plenty of 
 trouble soon." 
 
 It did not seem to matter. I felt like retreating from 
 everything. 
 
 I spent the week of mourning at home. Joe's sister 
 and brother-in-law told everyone that Joe had told 
 them on his dying bed that the stand is theirs. They 
 added, "Joe left you plenty; the stand is ours." 
 
 I had the permit, and I got in touch with my lawyer. 
 He told me to advertise and sell the stand. 
 
 "It is beyond your strength to fight with a bunch 
 like that," he said. 
 
 I was all broken up and had a big lump in my throat. 
 Several buyers came during the next few days, but 
 Joe's sister stood there with a bottle threatening to 
 break it over the head of anybody who would try to 
 take the stand away from her. My lawyer approached 
 the newspapers and told them about this holdup of a 
 widow and her children. The newspaper companies 
 said they would sign the permit over to the new buyer, 
 all but one big afternoon paper, which said one of its 
 drivers had told them Joe had said to him before going 
 to the hospital that he would leave the stand to his 
 
 163 
 
sister. When things could not be arranged otherwise, 
 some prominent people on the street got together and 
 we gave our worthy relations two thousand dollars. 
 The stand was sold. 
 
 A few days later that driver came to me and said, 
 "You know that I am a dirty dog. You should spit in 
 my face." 
 
 I told him to have someone else do that and not to 
 bother me. 
 
 He said, "Don't you know what this is all about?" 
 
 1 told him I wasn't interested. Whatever it was, it 
 was too late. 
 
 Then he said, "Joe's sister had promised me three 
 hundred dollars to say that I had heard Joe promise the 
 stand to her." 
 
 They had not given him anything, and he had done 
 his dirty work for nothing. I told him that Jesus was 
 sold for money and Judas was sorry afterwards. I told 
 him 1 was not sorry for him. If he had received pay- 
 ment for his crime, he would not even think of his 
 crime. I told him to get someone else to spit in his face. 
 I wasn't in the mood for such things. 
 
 Our cousin, the shyster lawyer, went to Meyer and 
 said, "Joe was an honest man, but now he is gone. Mr. 
 Levine is an expensive lawyer. I will do all your legal 
 work at a more reasonable rate." 
 
 He advised Meyer to file partition suits for the real 
 estate since some of Joe's heirs were minors, and my 
 kingdom began to shatter. Even the house that had 
 been bought for a home was to be sold at auction. 
 When I protested, Joe's and my own relations called 
 me crooked. I had only one friend, our lawyer, Mr. 
 Levine, who protected us in every way he could. In 
 order to save the home, I had to give Meyer a big 
 profit for his half share. The shyster lawyer became 
 the big boss over Joe's and Meyer's real estate affairs. 
 
 One day, Meyer's bookkeeper, who knew about all 
 
 164 
 
the transactions, came to me and said, "I cannot keep 
 quiet any longer. Your cousin is using all the tricks 
 of the trade to rob you. I am sure he will swindle your 
 brother and embezzle his money later on, too. I advise 
 you to go to your brother and talk to him. Perhaps he 
 will listen to you." 
 
 I answered, "I know what you say is the truth, but 
 my brother will never listen to me. But I'll go to him. 
 No one can say I didn't try." 
 
 Of course, Meyer said right away, "Don't think I'll 
 let a woman run my business!" 
 
 I said, "I want you to run it. You are my father's 
 and mother's son and will do me justice. I'll agree with 
 whatever you do, but send that shyster away and let 
 our old friend, Mr. Levine, take care of the business. 
 If you wish to sell, I'll agree to everything." 
 
 Meyer softened and called ud the cousin, told him 
 that I was in his office, that he had made up with me, 
 and that our former lawyer was going to be in charge 
 a^ain. But our cousin was a smooth talker and told 
 Meyer that I was a tricky person and that Meyer was 
 foolish to listen to me ; so my brother changed his mind 
 again, told me to get out, and that he never wanted to 
 see me again. Had I been considered poor, I might at 
 least have gotten some svmpathy. As a rich widow, 
 I received none. My riches, however, were only on 
 paper, and my lawyer said that I would have to try to 
 do something to make a living for my family. 
 
 After the funeral I naid the bills for the hosoital. 
 doctors, nurses, gave to charity organizations, and 
 donated a hosnital bed in Toe's name. It all amounted 
 to about two thousand dollars. After I had oaid Toe's 
 sister a similar amount, there was verv little left in 
 cash. It distressed me to think that perhaps I had not 
 managed right, and thinking over the problem, I re- 
 membered the words of my old landladv in Oak Park, 
 not to make newsboys out of my children. I decided 
 
 165 
 
to talk the matter over with William, who was going to 
 high school, and Albert, who was in grammar school; 
 both were very bright. I spoke to them as I would 
 to grownups. 
 
 "Sons, now you have to take Father's place and ad- 
 vise me what to do. Do you want a newsstand and 
 have plenty of money, or do you want to go to college 
 and choose any profession you like? I would not want 
 you to blame me in later years that I stopped you from 
 having your way. If you are not in the newspaper or 
 any other business, you will be free to study. Make 
 your decision now, like men." 
 
 They understood, and said, "Mother, if someone is 
 educated, nobody can take it away from him. We want 
 to go to school." 
 
 I invested the rest of the money I had received for 
 the stand in an old frame house near a theater. There 
 was a big store and a little popcorn store. In case of 
 need, I could run the little store. 
 
 We tried to adjust ourselves to a lower standard of 
 living. We seemed isolated. No one came to visit us, 
 and we were not invited anywhere. The children had 
 their friends, schoolmates, and their bicycles. A 
 widow lives in the shadows of the memories of the 
 past. On holidays, when I was particularly depressed, 
 I played over and over again the records Joe had 
 bought: Enrico Caruso singing the last aria from "La 
 Tosca" and Schubert's "Serenade," John McCormack's 
 "I Hear You Calling Me," and many others. 
 
 The Probate Court settled the estate and straightened 
 things out with Meyer. The children and I received our 
 part of the profits. The real estate and bonds began to 
 fall, and no investment was safe. Everything in the 
 country was shaky. As the administratrix for my minor 
 children, I bought for them bonds of a big temple, figur- 
 ing that the Jewish community would always pay the 
 interest and would not allow foreclosure on a temple. 
 
 166 
 
My judgment was good, because when the stock mark- 
 et dropped and the real estate boom collapsed, this in- 
 vestment remained good. 
 
 During vacation time the following year we took 
 a basket of food and went to the cemetery every other 
 day. We sat on the lot, near the white granite stone I 
 had bought for Joe. We sat there and imagined that 
 Joe was pleased with our visits. He was also lonely. 
 
 One day that summer, Joe's sister called up and 
 said she and her sister wanted to see the children. I 
 told her they would be waiting for her outside. She 
 took the boys downtown, where they met Meyer. 
 Meyer and Joe's sisters told the boys that they, the 
 boys, were rich and William should go to New York 
 to live with the sisters. The boys came home late, and 
 William said, "My aunt wants me to retire right now," 
 and Albert added, "Don't worry, Mum. She can go by 
 herself!" 
 
 When she called up again, I told her not to bother 
 my boys. No one was going to take my children away 
 from me. 
 
 Mr. Levine had been right. The families caused us 
 plenty of trouble. 
 
 167 
 
I MARRY AN ARTIST 
 
 That first summer of my widowhood, with no busi- 
 ness to take care of, I attended the house and the chil- 
 dren, but I was very lonely. Both boys used their 
 bicycles often, and I worried that they might get hurt. 
 I often thought of my sister Feigel, who was also a 
 widow. My family in Lida cried over our bad luck, 
 and they all were very grateful that we had bought the 
 building for them. 
 
 One summer day when I was out walking with my 
 little girl, we met Meyer's old friend, Sam, who had 
 lived in the same house with him and dreamed of 
 becoming an artist some day. I told him that I had 
 lost my husband and sold my business. 
 
 "Can you imagine me doing nothing?" I asked 
 him. He told me that his wife had died and that he 
 was lonely, too. He still had his small sign shop, and 
 made a living working there. Saturdays and Sundays 
 he painted, but he had not advanced very much. 
 
 The following Sunday morning Samuel came to 
 visit. After I had given the children their lunch, I 
 put my little girl in her buggy, and we went for a walk. 
 Sam told me, in plain and simple language, that he 
 wanted to marry me, that he thought I would inspire 
 him in his painting, and that he had liked me the first 
 time he met me. 
 
 Sam and I were about the same age. He was good- 
 looking, the kindest man I knew, and he had lived 
 very happily with his first wife. I told him to find a 
 single girl. 
 
 "Why do you want a woman with three children?" 
 I asked. "You don't realize the noise they can make 
 and what a responsibility you would be taking on." 
 
 Sam answered, "George Washington married Mar- 
 
 168 
 
tha, and she had children. I am also an orphan, no 
 mother, no wife. Adopt me like a son, and you will 
 have four children." 
 
 After that, he came as often as he could. He prom- 
 ised not to interfere, that I could manage things the 
 way I wanted to. I went with him to my dear friend, 
 Mr. Levine, who formed a very good opinion of him. 
 I told my sons that Sam wanted to marry me, and that 
 it was up to them. They agreed that he was a quiet 
 and peaceful man and it might be nice to have him 
 around. 
 
 One day Sam met Meyer on the streetcar. "You 
 know I am interested in your sister," Sam told him. 
 "We are planning to get married some day." 
 
 "Don't do that," Meyer warned him. "She is a mean 
 and nervous woman ; when she gets angry, she breaks 
 dishes over your head." 
 
 The next day Sam told me what Meyer had said. 
 I remarked, "Meyer is right. It's true. That's the kind 
 of woman I am. I made plenty of trouble for Joe, and 
 I would be more dangerous for you." 
 
 "I am not afraid," said Sam. I'll never give you an 
 opportunity to break dishes over my head. How could 
 you? I'll wash them myself." 
 
 I exclaimed, "I would never have believed that you, 
 such a plain little fellow, could be so brave! So, you 
 are not afraid to marry a mean woman with three chil- 
 dren. Perhaps you need a psychiatrist! Don't say that 
 I did not warn you. We have plenty of time; you have 
 a lot of thinking to do. Remember, you are a free, 
 single man, with no obligations." 
 
 However, he kept coming, brought some delicacies 
 or flowers every Friday night. He helped me with the 
 dishes. My children became used to him, and he be- 
 came like one of the family. 
 
 Sam promised to sign a paper renouncing all 
 claims to anything I possessed. And I said, "If I 
 
 169 
 
marry you, you will work in the shop during the day 
 for a living and study art at night so you will ad- 
 vance?" I promised that he would have the freedom 
 to go sketching and to paint at the studios to which 
 he belonged, and I would be happy to see him realize 
 his dream. 
 
 He said, "Yes, I know with you I'll work, and I hope 
 to please you and myself." 
 
 The following year we were married. 
 
 Sam took me to the Academy of Fine Arts, where 
 he was a member ; also to Hull House, where he studied 
 painting under the fine teacher, Miss Benedict. He 
 introduced me to all the artists he knew. They told 
 me that he was talented and a fine colorist but he 
 never completed his canvases. But now he really 
 started to work with enthusiasm, and began to exhibit 
 small subjects. Whenever I came to the opening of an 
 exhibition with him, I told him how happy I was to 
 see even a small thing painted by him, and I hoped 
 that in time it would get better. 
 
 He studied for nine years. Sometimes he painted in 
 the house until morning. We visited many exhibitions, 
 and both enjoyed the world of art. We saw many a 
 "Madonna and Child" by great masters, and Sam said, 
 "I want to create different madonnas, not heavenly 
 but earthly ones, Jewish madonas. In heaven, they 
 will rate only a footstool to their husbands, the schol- 
 ars, but on earth they deserve the same rights as the 
 men. His first successful Jewish madonna was "A 
 Letter to Mother." All the artists admired that paint- 
 ing. Sam had been inspired by the famous Rubinoff, 
 who had played on his violin a popular Jewish folk 
 song, "A Letter to Mother." I was the model for that 
 painting. Sam painted simple characters, women do- 
 ing all kinds of work. His pictures were accepted for 
 the Art Institute's and other prominent exhibits. He 
 became well-known in the world of art. His work ap- 
 
 170 
 
peared in magazines, newspapers, and he was men- 
 tioned in many editions of "Who's Who in American 
 Jewry." But Sam remained a peaceful, honest person, 
 and easy to get along with 
 
 A couple of years later a son was born to us, whom 
 we named Fred. Sam was the happiest father in the 
 world. He did not differentiate between his and Joe's 
 children. Later on the older sons, William and Albert, 
 adopted his name. We wanted to be all one family. 
 
 171 
 
WILLIAM AND ALBERT HAPPILY MARRIED 
 
 Our married life was better than we might have 
 expected. We were satisfied to live a simple life. 
 When our little boy was born, Sam helped with every- 
 thing around the house, and even took care of the 
 baby at night. 
 
 William and Albert were good students and started 
 university at an early age. They played chess for 
 recreation, and ushered in a theater during vacation 
 time. They grew tall and handsome, and they were 
 absolutely honest. I talked to them openly about the 
 dangers of life and they promised that they were going 
 to find nice girls and marry young. I asked them to 
 remember that a wife is the most precious partner in 
 life and they should help her in every way so that 
 she would always be well, beautiful, and in good 
 humor. And I reminded them to be tidy. 
 
 At the university William met his first girl, Sadie 
 Kaplan, the daughter of a very fine family. They 
 were married while they still attended school at Cham- 
 paign, Illinois. One winter evening I received a tele- 
 phone call from my son and new daughter-in-law that 
 they had just been married. I congratulated them and 
 told William to be sure and be a good husband. But 
 the young woman was afraid to call her own parents ; 
 instead, she gave me their telephone number. 
 
 I called Sadie's parents and said. "Mazel tov! Your 
 daughter just married my son in Champaign." 
 
 They were frightened because the children were 
 only nineteen years old, and the depression of 1 929 
 had started. I invited the Kaplans to come over. The 
 table was set with wine and other good things to eat 
 and drink. There were many oil paintings and beauti- 
 ful plants in our home. I made the Kaplans welcome, 
 
 172 
 
and told them we hoped that our children would have 
 good luck and that we would all try to help them until 
 they could find work. Long before our guests left, we 
 had become good friends and were not afraid any 
 more. Both parents continued to send the young 
 people their weekly allowance as before. When they 
 graduated, we were all present at the ceremonies. 
 
 When the stock market crashed, the real estate 
 boom came to an end, factories closed, and many 
 business people went bankrupt. President Hoover 
 said that prosperity was around the corner. But 
 the depression became worse. William, who had ma- 
 jored in chemistry, could find no job in his line and 
 finally took a job in a factory at twelve dollars a week. 
 Sadie found a position as a cashier. Six months went 
 by. The young couple lived with her parents, and 
 William was very discouraged. One morning I re- 
 ceived a telephone call from a consulting chemist 
 that there was a job for William in a food canning 
 plant. William could hardly believe his ears when I 
 told him about it. He had handed in an application 
 to the American Chemical Society, and this chemist 
 picked his name from among all the applicants. Later 
 on William asked him, "How did you happen to pick 
 me from so many applicants ?" 
 
 His employer answered, "You are Jewish and so 
 am I. I know how hard it is for a Jew to get a start." 
 
 William started on his new job, and when he came 
 home to me, he said, "Mother, I am not experienced. 
 It is just like climbing a high mountain.'* 
 
 "Yes, my son," I answered, "life is always hard; but 
 the one who has the courage to climb will succeed, 
 and I think you will." 
 
 He worked in the place for many years and eventu- 
 ally became buyer and manager. Sadie became a 
 schoolteacher, and both of them continued their edu- 
 cation by taking courses in school. 
 
 173 
 
My second son, Albert, followed in the footsteps of 
 his brother. He met his girl, Barbara, in high school 
 and married her during his second year at the univer- 
 sity. Both of her parents were dead. Barbara was a 
 beautiful and capable girl. She started to work for a 
 lawyer. The young couple lived with us and it was a 
 pleasure to have them. They promised that Albert 
 would continue his studies. He worked half a day at 
 an advertising agency and continued his studies at 
 the University of Chicago. When he graduated he 
 kept his job and taught chemistry at night school. 
 Later he worked for the government in the Wild Life 
 Department and spent two years in Chile, the Phil- 
 lipines, and other places. 
 
 During the depression my husband lost his house 
 and I lost mine. Houses were not even worth the first 
 mortgage, and whatever we had paid in for so many 
 years was lost. We moved into an old, stove-heated 
 frame house. After paying the movers, we were left 
 with thirty-five cents in cash. Sam worked all night 
 in a restaurant making signs. He brought home fifty 
 cents and a sandwich. We were lucky the children's 
 inheritance was well-invested and not lost. Sam and 
 I realized that after seven fat years had come the lean 
 years. 
 
 As times got harder the city arranged one summer 
 to have an outdoor exhibition for the suffering artists. 
 Many benches were installed in Grant Park for the 
 artists to display their works. The hot sun beat down 
 all day, but many people came to the grounds. How- 
 ever, not all artists were lucky enough to sell. There 
 was no social security nor unemployment benefits in 
 those days. Artists had to struggle as never before. 
 
 Our display of paintings made a hit. Sam was well- 
 known at that time. He painted underprivileged char- 
 acters: a poor man with a cart, a broom peddler, sev- 
 eral canvases of simple Jewish women. Many people 
 
 174 
 
wanted to buy his pictures, but for very low prices. 
 About fifty people wanted to buy the painting, "A Let- 
 ter to Mother," offering fifty dollars or more for it. 
 It was a lot of money for an artist, but we refused to 
 sell the painting. We reasoned that if everyone wanted 
 it, perhaps someone would help us to make reproduc- 
 tions. We sold still lifes, landscapes, nudes, and other 
 pictures, which the dealers bought for little money. It 
 is very encouraging for an artist when his work finds 
 a market. 
 
 We went to see our friends, the B. Bregers, whose 
 son, Dave Breger, has become a well-known cartoon- 
 ist. They arranged for several of Sam's paintings to 
 be copyrighted and reproduced. My husband used me 
 as the model for his paintings of simple women. We 
 were invited to exhibit in galleries and churches. We 
 had colored slides made to be used in lectures, and sold 
 some reproductions. We had a beautiful exhibition 
 every year. We contributed our share toward placing 
 art into many Jewish homes. 
 
 About that time several of my friends decided to 
 organize a Pioneer Women's Club to help the up- 
 building of Palestine. Our first meeting was held at 
 Dr. Celia Jurbin's office. We named the club Chanita. 
 Among the organizers were Z. Breger, Celia Youssim, 
 Sarah Blau, and myself. I was recording secretary. 
 Sweetin, one of the Pioneer women, always encour- 
 aged me to write. We raffled off many paintings to 
 raise money for Palestine. 
 
 There were other organizations among the Jewish 
 women in Chicago, and they all belonged to a coun- 
 cil. Circles to read history and other good literature 
 were formed. We also had book reviews and lectures. 
 
 The Jewish Women's Art Club introduced art and 
 literature, and sold paintings, and books, for the artists 
 and authors. 
 
 175 
 
THE STORY OF AN OIL BURNER 
 
 My son Albert had been, from childhood on, the 
 handy man around the house and my best helper. He 
 was able to repair things, and even the neighbors called 
 him for small repairs. One day Albert and Barbara 
 surprised me with an oil burner to make my work 
 easier. A salesman at Albert's place had told him that 
 the burner worked fine and would cost less than coal. 
 They paid one hundred dollars down and signed notes 
 for the balance, to be paid in monthly installments. I 
 appreciated their thoughtfulness, but secretly I did not 
 believe that the burner was a good one. A real good 
 one would have cost twice as much. 
 
 When cold weather set in, we burnt oil, which cost 
 four times as much as coal ; but we were still freezing. 
 So we went back to coal. I told the dear children not 
 to worry, we all make mistakes, and we called the 
 company to take their burner back. We did not mind 
 losing the hundred dollars. But the firm replied that 
 we would still have to pay the balance on the notes. 
 
 Shortly thereafter, they took Albert to court to col- 
 lect the money. Our young couple were not even of 
 age. When we came to court, I noticed that the lawyer 
 for the company was a very sympathetic Jewish man. 
 I went up to him and told him I wanted to have a talk 
 with him, and he said, "All right. Let's go outside." 
 
 I said to him, "My boy is a student and does not 
 earn much, but he wanted to surprise me with this 
 burner. You know, my good boy, that the burner is 
 no good. Please have it taken away, give me back the 
 notes, and we'll all be happy." 
 
 He smiled, and answered, "Come to my office and 
 we will see about it." 
 
 At the office he took the notes from his safe and 
 
 176 
 
handed them to me. When he saw the astonishment 
 on my face, he said, "You look like my mother, you 
 talk like my mother, and you are as fine as my mother. 
 How can I refuse you?" Then he kissed me, and we 
 parted the best of friends. 
 
 I ran to Barbara's lawyer with the notes. Barbara 
 and her lawyer — with other lawyers who were in the 
 office — looked at me and said, "Where did you dis- 
 appear to?" 
 
 I told them what had happened, but the lawyer did 
 not believe me, and said, "Tell me the truth. How 
 much did you give him for the notes?" 
 
 I said, "I swear, he gave me the notes for nothing, 
 and kissed me besides." 
 
 Barbara's lawyer was astonished, and said, "I never 
 heard of such a thing. We'll put in a desk for you, and 
 you can practice law." 
 
 177 
 
TIME OF ILLNESS AND DESPAIR 
 
 In the thirties, the time of the Great Depression, 
 when I was nearing middle age, I became very ill and 
 Sam had to take me to a hospital to be operated on. 
 In those days, people bartered when they lacked the 
 cash. Some paid with merchandise for medical and 
 dental services. We offered our paintings to the hos- 
 pital, told them to come to our home and take whatever 
 they wanted. I was admitted to the finest hospital, and 
 they put me in a beautiful private room. 
 
 I begged to be placed in a ward, saying, "I am a 
 simple woman, of common people, and like to be treat- 
 ed as one." But I was told I deserved the best of every- 
 thing. I was in bad shape when I entered, and the best 
 surgeon was to operate on me. I told him, "When a 
 doctor makes a mistake, the earth covers it up and it 
 is finished; but when an artist makes a mistake, it 
 remains." 
 
 I felt that I had lived such a long time, and I was not 
 afraid to die. I was strong in that way. I was very ill 
 after my operation, and the doctors and nurses had a 
 hard time with me. When my family brought me 
 flowers, I insisted that Sam use them as models for 
 still life pictures, right there in the hospital, so he sat 
 there and painted and we gave the pictures to the 
 doctors. Every night, during visiting hours, people 
 came to my room and we had conversations about art 
 and literature. When I returned home, I felt fine and 
 I renewed my activities in the clubs to which I be- 
 longed. But I gradually lost strength again, and be- 
 came very sick with sciatica. Only people afflicted 
 with this disease can understand what it is really like. 
 I was crippled and in great pain for many months. As 
 
 178 
 
a result of taking drugs to ease this pain, I became a 
 drug addict for a short time. The doctors in a big 
 hospital could do no more for me and gave up. How I 
 wanted to die! But death does not come when you 
 call it. I was taken some place for baths. I fainted in 
 the first bath after a few minutes. Gradually 1 stayed 
 a little longer each day. I had electric treatments and 
 a miracle happened — I began to feel better. The first 
 thing I thought of was to stop the drugs. I had a hard 
 struggle, but I won. 
 
 Some time after my return home, Albert had to go 
 to Buffalo for his company. He said, "Mother, come 
 with me. It will do you good." Sam, I, our girl Esther, 
 and our youngest son, Fred, started out with him on a 
 beautiful summer day, looking forward to a short va- 
 cation. On our way, we ran into a rainstorm. I had 
 a premonition that something bad was going to hap- 
 pen, but I said nothing. Early the next morning, in 
 bright weather, we started out to complete our trip; 
 and we had a terrible accident. My son's machine was 
 smashed. Esther was frightfully injured; her arm was 
 broken in two places, and her face, nose, and lips 
 needed many stitches. She remained unconscious for 
 many days. My heartbroken family went back to 
 Chicago. I remained with Esther at the hospital in 
 a small town in Ohio. In the waiting room there, I 
 picked up a Bible and began to read the story of Job. 
 Never before had my heart been so close to God as 
 when I read Job's lamentations. 
 
 Esther had to have plastic surgery performed on her 
 face no less than four times. As time went by, she 
 developed a very fine personality, which made one 
 forget the defect resulting from her accident; she 
 became a secretary in an office and made a living. 
 
 When World War II started with all its horrors, and 
 our son Fred had been sent to Europe with his regi- 
 ment, I became restless and depressed. Elderly people 
 
 179 
 
could find work in those days, so I took a job in a 
 factory. That was about ten years ago, and I have 
 learned to be a good sewing machine operator. I still 
 work there, and find, in my old age, satisfaction in 
 being busy. 
 
 80 
 
FRED — OUR YOUNGEST SON 
 
 Our country entered World War II, and the factories 
 worked day and night. Fred was past seventeen and 
 expected to be inducted at eighteen. We had tried to 
 give all our other children music lessons, but they 
 would not practice. Since they were not interested in 
 music, we gave up trying. By the time Fred was of 
 school age, the depression came along and we did not 
 even think of giving him music lessons, but there was 
 a piano in the house. Fred wanted to learn to play it 
 and told his teacher about it. The teacher arranged for 
 him to have lessons at twenty-five cents a week. He 
 began to play nicely, and practiced without being told. 
 Everyone said he was talented. He kept on playing 
 for years and his teachers were glad to teach him free 
 of charge. When he graduated from high school, he 
 was chosen to play at the graduation exercises. He 
 played Rachmaninoff's "Prelude," and he played it 
 beautifully. He received tremendous applause and 
 congratulations on his fine performance. 
 
 His high school education finished and his induction 
 into the Army very near, Fred went to work. He and 
 I worked in the same factory, manufacturing pocket 
 books. The Army took him early in the fall of 1942. 
 I saw him go with his friends of the same age. They 
 had been to kindergarten together; now they were 
 soldiers who had to learn how to dig foxholes, carry 
 guns, rifles, and other weapons, and how to kill or be 
 killed. I thought to myself, "This is the little baby 
 whom I used to weigh on the scale every day and 
 watch gain by ounces." I smiled at him, although 
 my heart, knowing of the danger, was full of fear. For 
 what seemed an eternity from then on, I listened to 
 reports of war and battles on the radio. 
 
 181 
 
Fred was sent to Europe and fought with many 
 outfits. H,e was in Berlin during the final battles. After 
 the Germans and their Fuehrer had lost the war, Fred 
 played the piano with Army bands in many cities of 
 Germany. A year later he came home, big and strong, 
 but saddened because he hated war. He still plays the 
 piano, and studies commercial art. 
 
 When will peace return again to this earth? There 
 can be no real happiness as long as our country and 
 the rest of the free world are threatened by powerful 
 enemies. 
 
 82 
 
DR. ZUKER AND OTHER CHICAGO ANS 
 
 Several years after World War II, Albert's eye was 
 hurt by a baseball bat and we went to the clinic to see 
 our old friend, Dr. Zuker. During the war he had 
 been requested by the government to go to France, 
 although he was a man in his fifties. I had not seen 
 him since and looked forward to the meeting. The 
 doctor examined the eye and said, "What a lucky boy! 
 That accident might have been very dangerous!" 
 
 Dr. Zuker had aged a lot ; his face was deeply lined, 
 and he seemed faded and grouchy, not the man I used 
 to know. When he did not say anything, I, as a 
 woman, began to talk. 
 
 "My dear doctor, what is the matter with you? You 
 have changed; you look strange. I am older now. 
 Perhaps I will understand." I told him that my first 
 husband had died and that I had remarried, and life 
 goes on. I felt sad to look at him; his face had become 
 thin and grayish, his eyes lay deep in their sockets. 
 "Come with me," he said, "into the next room and 
 vou will find small square glasses, like white inkwells. 
 Each one of these squares contains the eye of some 
 person." It frightened me. "Are you scared?" He 
 continued, "These are reminders of the war. The 
 Germans destroyed with shrapnel the eyes of many 
 boys in our armies. I treated those eyes, but many of 
 them had to be removed. Day and night we worked at 
 the hospitals and tried to repair the damage done to 
 the poor crippled boys. Now I am a sick man myself; 
 my professional knowledge, my ambitions are all fa- 
 diner away." 
 
 The horrors of war had wrecked the spirit of this 
 great man. He had once been to a convention of eye 
 specialists in Holland, and there received great honors 
 
 183 
 
and recognition. His entire life had been devoted to 
 saving the eyesight of young and old, but here he had 
 a grisly collection of hundreds of dead eyes he had tried 
 to save. I understood his tortured question, "Why?" 
 but I was unable to answer. 
 
 I saw him several times after that meeting. He 
 bought some tickets for my organizations from me 
 and told me that he was to be operated on shortly. It 
 was not long afterwards that I read in the paper of his 
 death. Anyone who knew this fine man will never 
 forget him. He, too, was a victim of the war. 
 
 Another well-known personality in Chicago was 
 George Harding, a real estate tax collector for many 
 years. He was a millionaire. We knew him as a lover 
 of art. He used to go to Europe and bring back many 
 art treasures and antiques. He lived in a bis: mansion 
 on the South Side. As a member of the Pallet and 
 Chisel Club and the Academy of Fine Arts, Sam was 
 invited to see the art treasures brought from abroad. 
 
 We were at Mr. Harding's place several times. He 
 was a short man, with silvery white hair and rosy 
 cheeks. He was plain, simple, and friendly. Although 
 he had many servants, he served us himself. He had 
 a great respect for artists, and we always had a won- 
 derful time. 
 
 We all went down to his cellars and what we saw 
 there made us forget that we lived in Chicago. It took 
 us back to the Dark Ages. There were torture devices 
 of all kinds, coats of armor, knives and swords, old- 
 time weapons for killing, torturing, and destroying. 
 There was nothing that preached to love, to be good, 
 and to obey the Ten Commandments. All objects 
 spoke of war and destruction, and we were glad to go 
 upstairs again. Mr. Harding showed us a large col- 
 lection of musical instruments, creations of centuries. 
 I remember a walking cane out of which sprang a tiny 
 violin. He touched everything with love and care. In 
 
 184 
 
many big rooms the walls were covered with paintings. 
 There was a canvas of fishermen struggling with huge 
 waves trying to get ashore. His collection of war 
 paintings was also very impressive. There were battle- 
 fields covered with dead horses, wagons, and soldiers 
 in torn uniforms, without glamor, carrying wounded 
 young buddies to some hospital, or a dead comrade to 
 rest. Other war pictures showed sick boys who needed 
 a mother or wife to help nurse them back to health. 
 Harding understood a great deal about art. Another 
 canvas I recall was called "A Soup Line," by Larve, 
 showing hungry people with bony faces and torn 
 clothes holding small tin cans, waiting in line for soup. 
 Still another great painting, by the same artist, was 
 that of a gypsy lying on the sand in the sunlight, 
 nursing naked twins, and we could just feel the milk 
 streaming into their rosy little lips. Harding's won- 
 derful collection, I am sure, was worth many millions 
 of dollars. 
 
 One day we went to attend the celebration of the 
 75 th anniversarv of the advancement of the colored 
 people, at the Coliseum. They showed all kinds of 
 machinery, agricultural implements, inventions, sculp- 
 ture, painting, and literature. It was great to see what 
 the colored people had accomplished, the fine works 
 of art created by free men and women who had been 
 slaves or children of slaves, bought and sold like cattle. 
 An orchestra played the finest of music and people 
 came from everywhere to see, admire, and inspire the 
 Negroes to create and advance, to produce things 
 worthwhile, and to work shoulder to shoulder with the 
 other people who strive to achieve a free world for 
 all men, regardless of color, religion, or creed. 
 
 The artists of Chicago had a costume ball in one of 
 the biggest hotels. I made a costume which attracted 
 a great deal of attention. It was during the World's 
 Fair, about 1934, and it was at the time when the 
 
 185 
 
Germans burnt the works of the most famous writers 
 in huge bonfires. My husband painted the head of a 
 big wolf, his sharp red tongue hanging out and his 
 pointed teeth showing. I gathered the photographs of 
 many of those writers and pasted them on my dress, 
 with bright red flaming swastikas burning their books. 
 People crowded around me singing, "Who's Afraid of 
 the Big Bad Wolf?" No prizes were awarded at that 
 ball, but later I won first prize at the "Forwards" ball 
 for my costume. 
 
 86 
 
LABOR LEADERS 
 
 Emma Goldman was a dressmaker from Kovno, 
 Russia. She was a very enegetic and intellectual girl, 
 and it was due to her inspiration that the needle in- 
 dustry was organized. She was a marvelous speaker. 
 In later years she became the editor of "Mother 
 Earth," a magazine for the working people. She also 
 wrote a book of her life. 
 
 She left for Russia after the Bolsheviki came into 
 power. She was disgusted with living in the unjust 
 capitalistic world and went to Uncle Joseph Stalin's 
 paradise. But after living there for some time, she was 
 very disappointed and wanted to return. However, 
 she could not re-enter the United States; she had lost 
 her citizenship and become a woman without a coun- 
 try. Finally, she married an English miner and came 
 to Canada. Before she died, she told her friends her 
 last wish was to be buried in the United States, in the 
 same cemetery with the victims of the Havmarket 
 tragedv. So her bodv was brought from Canada to the 
 United States, and she now rests peacefully near Lucy 
 Parson, wife of one of the victims. We were asked to 
 the dedication of her stone, and to bring the por- 
 traits of Lucy Parson and Ben Reitman. The few re- 
 maining comrades who came to the dedication were 
 old. iust a small remnant of the once-powerful men 
 and women fighting for real freedom in this country. 
 Thev wrote a glorious chapter in the history of the 
 working class the world over. 
 
 Emma Goldman lived for many vears in free union 
 with Ben Reitman, a native American. He was tall, 
 dark, and handsome. He always wore his hair long, 
 and affected a big cowboy-like hat and a black bow 
 tie. He was a fine speaker. In later years he became 
 
 187 
 
a doctor of medicine. People used to call him "Mr. 
 Goldman," but he wanted to be someone in his own 
 right. 
 
 Ben Reitman lived the life of a hobo for many years. 
 Many of his friends were in prison; he befriended 
 them and was loved by the underprivileged. He was 
 named the "King of the Hoboes." He visited places 
 of prostitution in the red-light district, studying the 
 lives of the men, or pimps, who together with certain 
 politicians made fortunes out of unfortunate women 
 and girls. He specialized in the dreadful venereal dis- 
 eases, and when his patients had no money to pay him, 
 he treated them free. He studied and prepared statis- 
 tics about these diseases. 
 
 Dr. Reitman was the author of two books. The first 
 one was called, "The Second Oldest Profession"; his 
 later book was "Sisters of the Road." He was a colorful 
 figure, and lived a Bohemian life. We used to meet 
 him in the artists' colonies and at exhibitions. He often 
 spoke in Bughouse Square, near the Newberry Library, 
 and at the Dill Pickle Club in Chicago, and on summer 
 Sundays in Washington Park. We met him at the 
 Outdoors Art Fair, and became good friends. He used 
 to help us with carrying the paintings, and we rode in 
 his car many times. We also had dinner at his mother's 
 house. He owned many books and works of art. 
 When Dr. Reitman was about sixty years old, he 
 became a diabetic. 
 
 Dr. Reitman had a son by his second wife. This son 
 was also tall and handsome, and studied medicine. 
 During World War II, he became a flier and was sta- 
 tioned in Detroit, Michigan. 
 
 When Ben Reitman was about sixty-three, he lived 
 with his wife and babies in his mother's cottage 
 on the South Side. One day he felt sick; he laid his 
 big head on his old mother's knees like a child, and 
 passed on forever. He left a few hundred dollars to 
 
 188 
 
observe his death with a good dinner. We were in- 
 vited to his wife's and mother's home for dinner; and 
 his handsome son, with his young wife, was also pres- 
 ent. 
 
 Ben Reitman was an interesting, paintable character 
 and Sam asked him to pose for a picture, and he agreed. 
 Sam's portrait of Dr. Reitman was outstanding ; a tired 
 wanderer resting some place among the rocks, with his 
 bushy hair, and his famous hat and cane beside him. 
 The painting was a remarkable success in many ex- 
 hibits, and prints of it appeared in many newspapers 
 and magazines. 
 
 A few weeks after Dr. Reitman's death, his son took 
 part in maneuvers in the air over Detroit. He was way 
 up in the clouds when he became sick with spinal men- 
 ingitis. He brought the plane down to safety, was 
 picked up unconscious, and died that same night. His 
 father had been lucky to die before his beloved son. 
 How could he have survived that loss? 
 
 S. Younovsky was for years the editor of the weekly 
 Yiddish newspaper, "The Frie Arbeter Shtime." He 
 was brilliant in his writing and speaking, and he de- 
 voted all his life to the betterment of the working class. 
 He came to Chicago once in a while, and was well- 
 known among the radicals. During one of his visits to 
 Chicago he had a very bad attack of arthritis. He could 
 not walk and I was called to spend a day with him. I 
 knew him from my early years in New York. When 
 they called me, I had just come home from the hospital 
 after an operation, and I was thin and puny. While I 
 was with him, our friends brought a tray with good 
 things to eat and drink. Mr. Younovsky put his hands 
 on my shoulders and said to me, "I did not see you for 
 a quarter of a century. Now you are grown up. You 
 learned a lot; you are an interesting woman now." 
 
 I replied, "I am sorry, Comrade Younovsky, I cannot 
 return the compliment. You remained the same; you 
 did not grow.*' 
 
 189 
 
He laughed, and understood that I was joking. 
 
 At that time my husband had a one-man exhibit of 
 his paintings. My son, William, came and took us 
 there. Mr. Younovsky liked Sam's work and had Sam 
 paint his portrait. He left for California, where his 
 daughter lived, and shortly afterwards I read that he 
 died of cancer. 
 
 Morris Siskind, Lithuanian-born, was a soapbox 
 speaker for the Jewish working people in his younger 
 days. Morris is a plain man, not much on looks, but 
 he possesses such charm that everyone loves him. He 
 was with the "Jewish Daily Forward" for more than 
 half a century, and for years was their Chicago labor 
 editor. Although Morris Siskind is a great grandfather 
 now, he is young in spirit and busy at his desk every 
 day. During his early years in this country, he was a 
 cigar maker. Sam also painted his portrait. We have 
 quite a collection of portraits of people who were ac- 
 tive in movements for the betterment of the working 
 people and the progress of society. 
 
 190 
 
EUGENE V. DEBS 
 
 When I was learning the cigar trade, Joe and I at- 
 tended many mass meetings. Samuel Gompers, who 
 organized the Cigar Makers Union, was a briliiant and 
 sincere man. He later became the leader of the Ameri- 
 can Federation of Labor. 
 
 We also heard John Most, a German speaker whose 
 voice erupted like a volcano against the terrors of the 
 capitalistic system. He had only one shirt, we heard, 
 and always had to wait until his wife washed and 
 ironed it. 
 
 Whenever the famous Emma Goldman spoke, there 
 were many policemen in the hall, and she was arrested 
 many times. We also attended a meeting at which 
 Alexander Berkman spoke. He had served time for a 
 murder he did not commit. 
 
 I always loved to listen to Eugene V. Debs, several 
 times a candidate for the Presidency of the United 
 States on the Socialist Party ticket. In his fine and 
 clear voice, he explained the evils of capitalistic intol- 
 erance, and the capitalists' efforts to break the unions 
 and blackmail the workers who belonged to the unions. 
 Debs' thin face and kind, sparkling eyes warmed and 
 inspired his listeners. He was loved by many people as 
 an honest man devoted to his ideals to unite the work- 
 ing people. Later, President Franklin D. Roosevelt 
 spoke almost like Debs and succeeded in achieving 
 many reforms for the working people. Debs was con- 
 victed and thrown into prison for demanding many 
 reforms for what have become laws by now. During 
 the First World War, he was in prison for being a paci- 
 fist. After World War I, Eugene V. Debs was freed 
 from prison walls, and his devoted friends and follow- 
 ers arranged a celebration and banquet at the Labor 
 
 191 
 
Lyceum. He was then seventy years young (as he 
 said) ; his kind face was thin and wrinkled, but his 
 smile was young and sweet. The tables were decorated 
 beautifully with flowers; there was a big crowd, all 
 happy to meet again the great friend of labor and the 
 Socialist Party candidate for President. It was a happy 
 evening for many of us. Mr. Debs came around to all 
 of us and kissed us as a dear father. I always felt he 
 was the kindest man who ever lived. A very short time 
 later he died, but the people who knew him could never 
 forget him. As a speaker, a leader, and a friend, in his 
 charm, he was equal to Franklin D. Roosevelt. 
 
 But even this great man was shortsighted and could 
 not foresee that a more horrible evil might come out 
 of the ranks of the working people. The leaders in 
 Russia twisted the minds of the working people and 
 brought about a giant dictatorship, headed by gangsters 
 whose methods are so cruel that the capitalistic and 
 democratic countries became as innocent lambs com- 
 pared to them. Now the capitalistic democracies have 
 to teach the world the blessings of liberty and demo- 
 cracy, freedom of the press and speech, freedom of or- 
 ganized labor, and the right to vote. 
 
 Theories of great idealists are wonderful, but in 
 practice they sometimes become tools for unholy, 
 false, and power-hungry leaders who seek power only 
 for themselves and destroy the real ideals. Commu- 
 nism today threatens the entire free world. It dims the 
 thoughts of the people and tolerates shameful crimes 
 to reach the desired goal. 
 
 The founder of the real communistic ideal was Mi- 
 chael Bakunin, a Russian anarchist. However, his idea 
 did not materialize in practice. The word "commun- 
 ism" is now meaningless, the fancy words of those 
 ideals have lost their sense; communistic phrases are 
 bluffs and have nothing to do with ideals. It is a per- 
 fectly healthy urge to want to improve the lot of people 
 
 192 
 
in all countries, but the communists of today pervered 
 that urge to strengthen the dictator of Russia. It is 
 impossible to understand such logic. Those masses 
 must be crazy, neurotic human beings. As the Germans 
 believed in Hitler as their Messiah, the communists 
 believed in Russia and Uncle Joe Stalin as their Mes- 
 siah. What a hard task it is to make crazy people think 
 straight ! 
 
 193 
 
MEMORIES OF LUCY PARSON 
 
 A tragedy, known as the "Haymarket Riot," oc- 
 curred in Chicago in the year 1 886, and the memory 
 of that shameful event can never be wiped out. There 
 was a strike at the Harvester plant ; a bomb was thrown 
 and seven policemen were killed. Four innocent men, 
 union leaders, were accused, prosecuted without a fair 
 trial, and hanged. In later years, honest Governor 
 Altgeld reopened the case and it was proved that the 
 four executed men were innocent. 
 
 I knew Lucy Parson, the wife of one of those vic- 
 tims. Mr. Parson was white, Lucy was dark. She said 
 she was an Indian, others said she was colored. I knew 
 her as an intellectual and brave human being. She was 
 a fine speaker. When she had grown very old and near- 
 ly blind, she lived in a cottage near the tracks on the 
 North Side of Chicago. 
 
 Half a century after the tragedy, many old-timers 
 went to the German cemetery in Waldheim to visit 
 the graves of those martyrs. My husband and I thought 
 it a good idea to paint Lucy's portrait, with the grave 
 and the monument in the background, and call the 
 painting, "The Memories of Lucy Parson." 
 
 On a very cold Sunday in December, my husband 
 took canvas and paints with him, and we knocked at 
 Lucy's door. Her friend, Mike, opened, and we ex- 
 plained what we wanted. Lucy came to the door, a 
 very unfriendly old woman, and she would not let us 
 in. 
 
 "Everybody comes to me for something they want," 
 she complained, "but they are not interested in my life, 
 my loneliness, or poverty. No, you cannot come in"; 
 and she closed the door. 
 
 There we stood in the cold wind, disappointed. I 
 
 194 
 
decided to knock again. When the old woman opened, 
 I said, "Lucy, you have a right to be bitter, but it is so 
 cold outside. I am a woman, too. Let us come in to 
 warm ourselves. If you don't want to be painted, we 
 cannot force you, but we came a long way and it is 
 wrong to chase us out into the cold. Please let us in." 
 
 I put my cold hand on her cheek. She softened, 
 opened the door, and let us in. 
 
 "I am half blind," she said. "I see a little. There is 
 something in you that I like, I'll do what you propose." 
 
 I answered, "I have suffered a lot, too. I want to be 
 your friend, and you be mine." 
 
 She sat in a rocking chair and Sam made a quick 
 sketch of her. She looked at it closely and liked it. 
 
 "All right, I will cooperate. Do you think when I 
 die that my picture will hang some place in some union 
 headquarters, near Eugene V. Debs' ? And don't paint 
 me dark." 
 
 I told her I would talk to her comrades of the Free 
 Society, and would try to do as she wished. 
 
 Lucy told her devoted friend Mike to make tea for 
 her guests ; she took out her best dishes and served us. 
 Every Sunday for two months we went to her; and 
 Sam painted a wonderful picture, which was exhibited 
 and highly praised by critics and the press. Each time, 
 we brought her delicious kosher corned beef and sa- 
 lami sandwiches. When the painting was done, she 
 gave us a book about the trial and a letter of apprecia- 
 tion for the painting. When we said good-bye, she 
 cried bitterly and begged us to come often and visit 
 her, and to tell her comrades to do the same. 
 
 The poor woman's end was tragic. The following 
 spring, on the first of May, several communists called 
 for her and took her along in their car to march with 
 them in the May Day parade. After that, her old 
 friends left her and no one came to see her any more. 
 The communists had used her for propaganda pur- 
 
 !95 
 
poses. Shortly after that, a fire started in the Parson 
 cottage during Mike's absence and Lucy was burned 
 to death. We have her painting, "The Memories of 
 Lucy Parson." 
 
 196 
 
MODERN GREAT MEN 
 AND MODERN DICTATORS 
 
 When in 1905 the revolution in Russia by organ- 
 ized revolutionists and strikes failed to reform that 
 country, there appeared at the court of the czar and 
 czarina, a big, tall man. He looked like a mystic and 
 declared that he could perform great miracles. He also 
 promised to cure their sick young son, the czarevitch. 
 The czar, the father of all Russia, trusted this man, 
 and soon he had the confidence of the czar's entire 
 family and of the Russian people. His influence was 
 so strong that he became the boss of Russia. His name 
 was Rasputin ; he said he was a priest, and he became 
 the guide and adviser of Nikolai the Second. 
 
 Russia h^d been defeated in her war with Jaoan, and 
 there were frequent revolutionary outbreaks. Rasputin 
 and his "Black Hundred." as they were called, made 
 use of the popular slogan, "Death to the Jews and Save 
 Russia." People who were disgusted with the govern- 
 ment listened to Rasputin's command and made hor- 
 rible pogroms on the Jewish people. Thus, by killing 
 and robbing the Jews, Rasputin diverted attention 
 from other evils and suppressed further revolutions. 
 
 World War I started. Bandits of all kinds routed 
 the Jews everywhere in Russia. Kerensky's govern- 
 ment, which tried to make Russia a free republic, was 
 rrushed bv the Bolsheviki under the leadership of 
 Lenm. Trotsky and Stalin. Rasputin and the czar's 
 entire family were killed. Later, Lenin died a natural 
 death, they said. Trotskv escaped to Mexico, where 
 he was later murdered. The resting place of Lenin's 
 bodv became a bolv serine in the Kremlin. 
 
 After Germany lost the First World War. a rather 
 funny-looking man with a little black mustache, a lock 
 of hair over his forehead, and eyes like sharp points of 
 
 197 
 
steel appeared in that country. His name was Adolph 
 Hitler. When he spoke, his whole body twitched with 
 emotion. While in prison for political activities, he 
 wrote a book, "Mein Kampf." No one took the book 
 seriously, but the book became the bible for millions of 
 Germans who believed that they were a super race 
 destined to conquer the world. Hitler told them to 
 destroy and burn all the books of the best modern 
 writers with their nonsense of morals and laws. He 
 used the slogan Rasputin had used, "Kill the Jews and 
 Save Germany!" 
 
 The German Fuehrer, who wanted to become an 
 artist without sweat or talent, became a black magic 
 artist. Instead of brushes, he used rifles and swords 
 and fire and smoke for paints. Instead of creating, he 
 destroyed, and became a wholesale killer; his canvas 
 was all of Europe. 
 
 Through his assistant, Von Ribbentrop, the black 
 magic master artist signed a treaty in Russia with Mol- 
 otov, assistant to the Russian dictator, Stalin. There 
 was a great celebration; they walked on red plush 
 carpets and drank vodka. That unholy deal strength- 
 ened the hand of Hitler and started a full scale new 
 war. World War II. First they blasted Poland with 
 airplanes; it was a colossal picture painted with blood 
 and tears; in the foreground and background, there 
 were great masses of homeless and dying people. 
 
 England tried to appease those maniacs. But Hitler 
 arranged to have a fifth column in every country, 
 which spread lies and false propaganda. The Germans 
 were victorious in every country into which they 
 marched. They had taken Czechoslovakia, destroyed 
 Poland; their armies marched into France. Through 
 the French fifth column they were soon in Paris. It 
 was easy for them, for the fifth column Frenchmen 
 opened the gates for the Nazis and the Fuehrer of 
 Germany danced at Napoleon's grave. 
 
 198 
 
The super race built gas chambers, crematories, and 
 concentration camps, and in their constantly operating 
 huge ovens, millions of Jews and other people perished. 
 The Germans listened to their Fuehrer and destroyed 
 justice and God. Books of the best and most famous 
 writers were piled into large heaps, and fiery flaming 
 tongues changed them into ashes. 
 
 Then the victorious Germans, drunk and strong 
 with confidence, marched and goose-stepped with their 
 iron heels into the land of their partner, Joseph Stalin. 
 Many Russian cities were burnt and destroyed; many 
 people were killed or made homeless. Russia became 
 an ally of the free democracies; all the armies fought 
 together, equipped mostly with American ammuni- 
 tion, clothes, and food. Years of fighting brought the 
 destruction of Germany and the black magic artist 
 Hitler, who died of poison which he himself took in his 
 underground quarters. What a rat! 
 
 All the countries who were in on the struggle, al- 
 though victorious, failed to win the peace. Most of 
 the countries of the world organized the United Na- 
 tions to be protected from aggressors in the future. 
 But they have not succeeded as yet to bring peace to 
 the world. Hitler's former partner, Joseph Stalin, 
 double-crossed his allies, the free countries, and war is 
 still going on. 
 
 Mussolini, the "Duce" of Italy, was short, strong, 
 and of dark complexion. He had a big forehead and 
 a wide chin; his voice was strong with confidence in 
 himself. In his speeches, he used such terms as "lib- 
 erator" and "socialist," but in reality he was the Fas- 
 cist dictator of the Italian Black Shirts. The Italians 
 are peace-loving and hard-working people who believe 
 in God. There was no hatred in Italy; even the Jews 
 had equal rights, and Italians never persecuted other 
 people. Hitler was at first a pupil of il Duce, but later, 
 when Hitler became victorious, Mussolini became his 
 
 199 
 
pupil and began to walk in his footsteps. II Duce 
 covered his broad chest with glittering medals, and 
 with his Black Shirt army marched into France, al- 
 ready bleeding under Hitler. Hitler demanded of Mus- 
 solini that he destroy the Jews in Italy, but the Duce 
 did not dare do that, even during the war. The Italian 
 people were good to the Jews. 
 
 Mussolini's son, a flier, said it was a wonderful sight 
 and a beautiful scene to see the destruction of cities 
 and people below. This son was killed, and Mussolini 
 himself was butchered by his own people, who even 
 spat on his dead body. 
 
 The Arabian mufti, who was always befriended by 
 dictators and also by some leaders of the free countries, 
 intrigued and schemed to betray his own people. He 
 made a deal in oil, a valuable commodity for all the 
 world. The crooked mufti made plans to destroy the 
 Jews of Palestine. He gathered his bandits, who came 
 with weapons and ammunition to kill and rob the Jews 
 and chase them into the sea. He used the same old 
 slogan, "Kill the Jews and Save Arabia!'' What kind 
 of magic is there in that slogan that people understand 
 it in many languages? Doctrines of destruction are 
 cruel and false and dangerous for the entire world. For 
 many years, the mufti was appeased. Thank God, the 
 Israeli army defeated the foxy mufti! 
 
 Japanese warlords attacked the United States; 
 we had to battle for years, and many of our young 
 men lost their lives in World War II. 
 
 Franklin D. Roosevelt was a good man. He came of 
 an aristocratic family but he understood the problems 
 of the working class and the poor. He pulled our 
 countrv out of a terrible depression. He was fore- 
 sighted, and aroused the world with his glorious voice 
 of wisdom and courage: "We have nothing to fear but 
 fear itself": "the more men will earn, the more they 
 will buy" ; "more will be produced and we will secure 
 
 200 
 
prosperity." His words encouraged all freedom-loving 
 people the world over. He was crippled, wore steel 
 braces on his legs, could not walk very well by himself, 
 but he was a giant, a thinker, a leader in the struggle 
 to crush the military machine of Germany and Japan. 
 Like a brave captain, he brought his ship to the shore 
 and died. 
 
 Winston Churchill of Great Britain also came from 
 an aristocratic family. He is blessed with wisdom and 
 intelligence, a great orator and writer. During World 
 War II, when London, Coventry, and other cities were 
 blasted by German airplanes and the people of Britain 
 were fighting for their lives, Winston Churchill's voice 
 spoke of "blood, sweat, and tears." "We will fight on 
 the beaches, in the streets, and in the homes to free the 
 world," he stated, and he inspired the people of Britain 
 and other free countries. He lived to enjoy the victory 
 of the war, but not yet the victory of peace. 
 
 I wonder why the voice of Churchill was still in 
 1933, when Hitler so brutally attacked the Jews in 
 Germany. 
 
 Dr. Theodore Herzl was the son of a fine Jewish 
 family in Vienna. He was foresighted enough to see 
 that the Jewish problem could be solved only by having 
 the Jews return to their old homeland in Palestine. Dr. 
 Herzl was the founder of the modern Zionist move- 
 ment, which took roots and sprouted all over the world. 
 This Jewish prophet died young, but his dream came 
 true after fifty years. His bones were brought to rest 
 in the free Jewish state of Israel. His prophecy was 
 right; Israel was the last stop for the European Jews. 
 
 How often have the cries of the Jewish people been 
 like an echo in the desert! All the great men of the 
 world were still when the mufti organized pogroms on 
 the Jewish colonists in Palestine in 1 929. Five hundred 
 Jews were killed then, but the free countries practiced 
 appeasement and dealt with the mufti, and arranged 
 
 201 
 
for his escape. He started a war on Israel, and free coun- 
 tries supplied him with ammunition. How the world 
 needed another Emile Zola to cry out, "J'accuse!" 
 
 Millions of people in Russia are slave laborers in 
 Siberia. People there are compelled to sign confessions 
 of crimes, treason, or spying they did not commit. All 
 the opponents of Stalin were killed off long ago. 
 
 Mahatma Gandhi was also one of the great men of 
 our times. He was small in size, nourished on goat's 
 milk, and his linen clothes were woven by himself. 
 He was born of an aristocratic family in the great coun- 
 try of India, which was then a colony of Great Brit- 
 ain. Although Gandhi was small and toothless, he 
 was a man of great wisdom and led his country of hun- 
 dreds of millions of people to victory. It became an 
 independent country without fighting or bloodshed. 
 What a wonderful achievement! 
 
 But the voice of this great man also was still when 
 Hitler openly spoke of his plans of destruction and of 
 conquering the world for Germany. Emile Zola 
 aroused the world to clear one Jew. But there was no 
 one to speak for millions of people in terrible danger. 
 
 202 
 
LEADERS OF THE ZIONIST MOVEMENT 
 IN CHICAGO 
 
 Dr. David Rebelsky, who was one of the leaders 
 of the Histadruth Labor Organization for Palestine, 
 was the most capable organizer of the Jewish people. 
 He worked for many years toward the upbuilding of 
 the state of Israel. In all kinds of weather, he went to 
 all organizations to explain the necessity for the Zion- 
 ist movement. 
 
 Dr. Mordechai Dolnick, one of the leaders of the 
 Paole Zion and the National Workers' Alliance organ- 
 izations, inspired men and women with his teaching 
 at the Seminar about the prophets. 
 
 Dr. Rubin Hurvitz was also a teacher at the Semi- 
 nar. He taught literature and was an active leader 
 in the Paole Zion group. 
 
 Chicago was fortunate to have a man of great 
 wisdom in its midst who was an orator equal to the 
 prophets of the ancient times. I refer to the rabbi of 
 Anshe Emet Synagogue, Dr. Solomon Goldman, who 
 died recently. He had been a leader and inspiration 
 to the Zionists for many years. He was a middle- 
 sized man, with silvery white hair and a sincere, kind 
 face. His golden voice had inspired great masses of 
 people who learned from him and enjoyed his teach- 
 ings. Year after year, young and old came and lis- 
 tened eagerly to this great rabbi's speeches. He was 
 acclaimed by members of all religions, as well as by 
 radicals. Jews and Christians looked up to him for 
 hope of a better world. 
 
 We had listened to Dr. Goldman for many years, 
 always finding him new and interesting, but humble 
 and simple. In our protest marches against the horrors 
 
 203 
 
of Hitlerism and later, against England for supplying 
 weapons to the Arabs against the Jews in Palestine, 
 he marched with all of us plain little women and men 
 of Jewish faith, protesting with us against the schemes 
 of our enemies to destroy our people. 
 
 204 
 
ROSA RAISA 
 
 When the reproductions of Sam's painting, "A Let- 
 ter to Mother," were completed, we celebrated by 
 going to the opera. Madame Rosa Raisa sang magnifi- 
 cently the role of 'The Jewess," by Halevi. How we 
 enjoyed her singing ! We wrote her a letter expressing 
 our pleasure at her beautiful singing and sent her a 
 reproduction as a gift. Sam wrote that she inspired 
 him and that he would love to paint her in the role 
 of "The Jewess.*' 
 
 Rosa Raisa answered, saying that she loved his gift, 
 "A Letter to Mother," and when she had time, she 
 would pose for him wearing the same costume she 
 wore in the opera. 
 
 Several months later she called for Sam to come. 
 He and I came to the hotel where she lived, and while 
 Sam worked several days for short periods, I read to 
 Madame Raisa in Yiddish. She was friendly, plain, 
 and simple with us. She is also a Russian-Jewish 
 woman, very sweet and intelligent. She told us that 
 her father sang beautifully. She complimented me, a 
 simple little working woman, on my great love for 
 music, literature, and art. 
 
 I told her, "We are supposed to understand the voice 
 of God. Music is the language of the angels which 
 streams through the souls of mortal human beings." 
 
 Sam made a painting of "The Jewess," and it was 
 shown at many exhibits. 
 
 Madame Rosa Raisa once said, "When an artist, like 
 a painter or sculptor, creates a work of art, it lives a 
 long time, perhaps for ages; but when a singer's popu- 
 larity fades away, she is quickly forgotten." 
 
 She treated us once with tickets to the opera and 
 invited us into her taxi. I carried her flowers. 
 
 205 
 
WHAT A THRILL TO MEET ALBERT 
 AND FAMILY! 
 
 Albert was born when we lived in the shack in back 
 of our little store in Oak Park. Through the cracks in 
 the boards we could see the sky, but little Albert was 
 strong and healthy, and a sturdy child. The work in 
 school was easy for him; he was nicknamed the "Sci- 
 ence Shark." Now he is near middle age, tall and hand- 
 some, honest and reliable, a university graduate, with 
 a degree of master of science, very well qualified to be 
 the assistant supervisor of the laboratories in a chemi- 
 cal plant in New York City. 
 
 I had started my journey around Christmas time, 
 which comes about the same time as the Jewish holi- 
 day, Chanukah. It was also Albert and Barbara's 
 twentieth wedding anniversary. They live in Rock- 
 ville Center, in their own home. 
 
 I was overwhelmed with joy when they met me at 
 the station. The whole world suddenly smiled at me. 
 I felt shrunken and faded, and thought I'd better just 
 listen and learn from them. I was in the front seat with 
 Albert ; Barbara had stayed at home to prepare a good 
 dinner. We drove through New York City, Long Island, 
 along many highways, until we reached their home. 
 It was a white house, with clinging vines and sur- 
 rounded by bushes, with a large maple tree in the 
 yard. The house is equipped with all modern conven- 
 iences to make a happy home complete. 
 
 After dinner I took out the Chanukah, Christmas, 
 and anniversary gifts. The biggest surprise was for 
 Barbara. I had been wanting for twenty years to give 
 her a fine gift; now I presented her with a diamond 
 ring. She was delighted. I had a lump in my throat 
 
 206 
 
and tears in my eyes. I was so happy that I could 
 finally afford it. It was worth all the years of struggle 
 to see the joy that surrounded me. Somehow, I 
 thought of "The Book of Knowledge" which we had 
 bought when our children were small. It was well- 
 worn, a sign that it had been well used. This book was 
 the first open door to wisdom for our new generation. 
 
 On Christmas Eve, Iris and Alice, my granddaugh- 
 ters, danced beautifully and read short poems which 
 they had written as schoolwork. When they retired 
 upstairs to their own bedrooms and bade us good night, 
 I wiped away a tear of sheer happiness. Barbara, Al- 
 bert, and I sat near the flaming logs of the fireplace. 
 Albert put on his glasses and opened a thick book of 
 great poems. He read some poems of Byron, Oscar 
 Wilde, Gray, and others, and I wished the evening 
 would never end. 
 
 But while I was listening, I thought bitterly, deep 
 down in my heart, "Why can't civilized people, who 
 have the blessings of education, art, music, and in- 
 dustry, achieve what we desire so much all over the 
 world, a life of peace?" 
 
 It seemed that instead of being able to enjoy what 
 nature and science offer, intelligent people are com- 
 pelled to dig foxholes into which they crawl, some- 
 times to die there like rats. They have to study how 
 to be master killers in the water, on the ground, and in 
 the air; learn how to destroy human life, countries, 
 and cities, and make other human beings homeless. 
 It all seems like the work of Satan. Our eternal desire 
 for peace remains forever unfulfilled. Recently, a 
 war was raging in Korea, and the hope for peace is like 
 a tiny spark in the faraway distance. 
 
 207 
 
I GO VISITING, FIRST TO SISTER ROSE 
 
 More than forty years had passed and I was seized 
 with a great desire to visit my young sister Rose and 
 get acquainted with her family. They lived in Boston. 
 I left behind my shop and the routine housework, and 
 my husband Sam. I took with me only a small suit- 
 case, as I did so many years ago, but what a differ- 
 ence! Now I had my own dear family and a home 
 which I had struggled so many years to achieve. Al- 
 though advanced in age, I felt at ease and lighthearted, 
 looking forward to a wonderful holiday, a well- 
 deserved vacation. My journey started around Christ- 
 mas time, and I would have felt perfectly happy had 
 not the sadness about the war in Korea clouded my 
 mood. 
 
 All the women in my sister's family worked for the 
 Red Cross and did everything possible to help achieve 
 victory. They all understood the great struggle of the 
 Jews and the necessity of a homeland in Israel. How 
 happy I was to be among this family who treated me 
 with so much love and respect! My soul was filled 
 with joy at the thought how my sister had come to 
 this country, married, raised children; and all of them 
 were now good and fortunate American Jews. 
 
 My beloved brother Chaim had established himself 
 in the small town of Taunton, Mass. He had become 
 a butcher, true to my prediction in Lida, and he made 
 good on the first job he found in America. His ambi- 
 tion and spirit of enterprise were like those of my sister 
 Feigel ; aside from his good looks, he was capable and 
 willing, and always a hard worker. The daughter of 
 his boss was of the same type; they married, worked 
 together, and became the most prosperous in the fam- 
 ily. But they remained simple and kindhearted. In 
 
 208 
 
that way, too, Chaim and his wife Becky followed in 
 our sister Feigel's footsteps. Their two daughters, 
 Frances and Beverly, are college graduates. Frances 
 is married to Philip Silver, an engineer and business- 
 man; Beverly to Eddie Kuperstein, a lawyer. There 
 are three grandchildren. Albert, their only son, was 
 an officer in the Army, and is a university graduate 
 and a doctor of music from Columbia University. 
 
 Chaim, an American citizen for many years, is 
 thankful and proud to live in the United States, where 
 he received everything in the fullest measure. He is 
 president of the Zionist movement in Taunton, an 
 active member in the B'nai B'rith and other organiza- 
 tions. He came here from Russia empty-handed, and 
 progressed in the years that followed; he and his wife 
 express their gratitude by working for and giving to 
 the Red Cross and numerous other welfare organiza- 
 tions. They give with their hearts, souls, and wide 
 open pocketbook. 
 
 Strange as it seems, my baby brother was now a 
 man of over sixty, and he had achieved all his heart 
 could desire. Not long before, Chaim and his wife had 
 come home from a visit to Israel, the new independent 
 Jewish state, where they had visited the other mem- 
 bers of our family. As is his custom, Chaim had been 
 most generous with gifts to his relatives in Israel. I 
 saw the colored movies he brought home from his 
 trip. My heart rejoiced at his good fortune. We had 
 been such little people in Lida, lower than grass. Now 
 we were transplanted, branching out, growing as nor- 
 mal Americans. My heart was full of gratitude. It 
 was a glorious feeling to "belong" here, and, in my 
 mind, I kissed the soil of the United States. 
 
 Feigel's older son, Shaye Komenov, and his wife 
 and two daughters are living happily in Haifa, Israel. 
 He devoted almost all of his life to the development 
 of his new country; he worked as a builder, and also 
 
 209 
 
in the Histadruth (Zionist labor movement). The 
 older daughter, about seventeen, a very brilliant girl, 
 is an officer in the Israeli army. His wife works with 
 him, side by side. 
 
 His younger brother, Granum, is highly educated, 
 a lawyer by profession. He speaks seven languages. 
 They have a boy, Godian, and a baby girl Zipporah, 
 named after her grandmother, Feigel. Zipporah is the 
 Hebrew word for "bird," while Feigel is the Yiddish 
 word. 
 
 Our brother Moshe and his two children were killed 
 with millions of other Jews. His wife, Deborah, and 
 daughters Kale and Esther were in Siberia, and wan- 
 dered for seven years until they came to the island of 
 Cyprus. Finally they reached Israel. During their wan- 
 dering the girls met nice young men, whom they mar- 
 ried. They have little children and are happy to live 
 in a free Jewish homeland. All are working. When 
 Chaim and Becky came to visit them, my good brother 
 equipped the homes of his relations with electric re- 
 frigerators, washing machines, and many other useful 
 and necessary articles. 
 
 210 
 
VISITING MY GIRL FRIENDS FROM LIDA 
 
 Christmas Day in New York was beautiful. The 
 snow fell on trees, bushes, and rooftops. Everything 
 was covered with a mantle of white, and the highways 
 were ribbons of white. Albert drove me to New York 
 to visit my childhood friend, Rose Leader, from Lida, 
 a lovely woman of my own age. I remembered the 
 time I lived with her and her husband, Clarence, in 
 their little home. My son William was born at that 
 time. It was a rather sad visit, because I found her 
 seriously ill in the hospital. Her golden hair had 
 changed to white, her face was faded and pale; but 
 her smile was warmer and sweeter than ever before. 
 
 Her husband was attending and watching her at 
 Montefiore Hospital. My pen is too weak to describe 
 our meeting at the hospital. Her daughter had told 
 her of my coming, and she was impatient and fearful 
 that I might not come after all. But when she saw 
 me, she became full of sunshine and hope. Several 
 other friends from Lida came to her hospital room, all 
 old folks now, but we pushed aside the memories of 
 many troubled years and had a happy reunion right 
 there near a very sick person. We gave her hope and 
 courage to look for a speedy recovery. 
 
 The next day Barbara, Iris, and Alice went to New 
 York with me to visit another childhood friend, Dr. 
 Sarah Kellman. When her father had left Lida for 
 the United States, her mother had to support her many 
 children by herself. They lived in a big house which, 
 luckily, had a big, built-in oven. Mrs. Kellman started 
 to bake rye bread, chaleh, and pumpernickel, the most 
 delicious bread in all Lida. At night she baked; in the 
 daytime she had a stand in the market place and sold 
 her goods to support her family. On Friday all her 
 
 211 
 
customers brought their Sabbath food, cooked on Fri- 
 day, to keep hot in her oven. 
 
 This brave handsome blond woman wanted her 
 children to be educated. So she sent them to cheder 
 to learn Hebrew, Yiddish, and Russian. When Sarah, 
 the oldest, was fifteen, the whole family came to the 
 United States to their husband and father. 
 
 Sarah started working in a dress shop and attended 
 night school. Later she attended high school and uni- 
 versity. She has been famous for many years as a 
 good doctor of medicine and a psychiatrist. Her office 
 has the most modern equipment, and her extensive 
 library has everything of interest to doctor and patient. 
 She owns a lovely, old-fashioned place, and her 
 dwelling upstairs has beautiful things of artistic and 
 antique value. Sarah's maid prepared blintzes and 
 other delicious food for us. Dr. Kellman achieved 
 her outstanding success by hard work. She is plan- 
 ning to visit the state of Israel in the near future. 
 
 212 
 
THE SPIRITS OF THE MADONNAS 
 
 At night my weary head rests on my trousseau 
 pillow, which I have always cherished, and in my peace- 
 ful slumbers I often seem to feel the gentle touch of 
 my devoted mother's soft hands. Her fingers plucked 
 the feathers for these pillows night after night, year 
 after year, to produce a most important item for the 
 daughters: feather beds and feather pillows for their 
 trousseaux. The job was faithfully and well done by 
 our three simple women of three generations: Grand- 
 ma Gitl, Mother Rachel, and Sister Feigel. 
 
 To me they are unforgettable. Perhaps their 
 souls are now whiter than snow, crystallized and 
 "koshered," washed in blood and tears, but their 
 spirits remained with me forever. The dreams of my 
 childhood materialized, and I traveled far into the big 
 free world. It was a rough, long journey, but my heart 
 and soul remained with my simple little women of 
 the past. 
 
 Often I see them distinctly sitting at the big round 
 table during the long and cold winter night, knitting 
 stockings with colorful yarns or plucking feathers with 
 quickly moving fingers for the girls* trousseaux. 
 Through the frosty bluish windowpanes of our home, 
 one could see millions of stars in the deep blue sky, 
 the Milky Way, the moonlight, and the snowy roof- 
 tops trimmed with pale, soft lights and shadows. 
 
 While our women were working on the future 
 trousseaux, they told us stories and legends from the 
 Bible about Abraham and Sarah, Isaac and Rebecca, 
 and Jacob and Rachel. 
 
 In order to marry Rachel, Jacob worked for her 
 father, Lavan, for seven years; but his father-in-law 
 
 213 
 
tricked Jacob, veiled his older daughter Leah, and had 
 Jacob marry her instead of Rachel. But Jacob did not 
 give up ; he worked for another seven years and finally 
 married his sweetheart, Rachel. She bore him two sons, 
 Joseph and Benjamin. Rachel died young while on 
 a journey, and Jacob buried her on a lonely road. 
 Her tombstone still stands in Israel, for many cen- 
 turies a holy shrine for the Jewish people. Rachel is 
 considered by the Jews a holy mother, or madonna. 
 For ages, pilgrims of the Jewish faith have been pray- 
 ing and shedding tears at her lonely grave. 
 
 When Joseph, the son of Jacob and Rachel, dis- 
 appeared, Jacob mourned for him until he miracu- 
 lously found him again in Egypt. 
 
 We children were always thrilled when we heard the 
 story of Joseph and his brethren; how the jealous 
 brothers threw Joseph into a pit and later sold him as 
 a slave to some wandering Egyptians; how, during 
 the years of famine, the brothers came to Egypt to buy 
 food; how Joseph recognized them and helped them, 
 although they had been so cruel to him; and how he 
 was finally united with his father and made the whole 
 family happy. 
 
 We also enjoyed the brilliant, true story of the 
 king of Persia and his queen, Esther, and her Uncle 
 Mordecai. King Ahasuerus had a high official, Ha- 
 inan, an evil man, who planned to destroy all the Jews. 
 But Queen Esther and Mordecai opened the king's 
 eyes so he understood the evil that was menacing his 
 country. Haman was like Hitler and the mufti of 
 our times, but instead of destroying the Jews, Haman 
 and all his sons were hanged on the gallows. Our gay- 
 est holiday, Purim, commemorates this event for the 
 Jews. 
 
 Grandmother and Sister Feigel worked all night to 
 bake delicious Haman taschen and other good things to 
 celebrate the great Purim festival, as did the Jews the 
 
 214 
 
world over. Everybody gives and receives gifts. In 
 the synagogue the children slug Haman every Purim 
 with special toys for this occasion. Grandma said when 
 the Messiah came to redeem the Jews, other holidays 
 might be forgotten, but Purim would remain forever. 
 
 We were sad when we heard the tragic story of 
 Samson and Delilah. Samson was a big, handsome 
 and very powerful man. The source of his mighty 
 strength lay in his long hair. It was easy for him to 
 battle even the lion. But the giant Samson was tricked 
 by his pretty Philistine sweetheart, who discovered the 
 secret of his strength. While he lay asleep, she cut his 
 locks and he lost his strength. The Philistines gouged 
 out his eyes and threw him into prison. Later, when 
 they brought Samson to their temple to make fun of 
 him, his strength returned and he knocked down the 
 pillars with his bare hands and brought down the big 
 structure, killing himself and many of the assembled 
 Philistines. Of all the stories, this one made us shiver 
 and gave us goose pimples ; but it sounded interesting 
 and beautiful when Grandma told it to us. 
 
 How we loved the story of David and Goliath! 
 Goliath was a giant warrior, and he and his gang 
 wanted to destroy the Jews and conquer their land. In 
 Judea, there lived a young shepherd boy, David. He 
 was very musical ; the legend says that he invented the 
 harp. But he also was very brave and clever, and killed 
 the giant Goliath with a small stone from his slingshot. 
 David grew to manhood and was well liked in Judea, 
 and finally became king. 
 
 David loved his neighbor's wife, Bathsheba, and 
 when her husband, through some scheme of David's, 
 was killed in the war, the king married the widow. 
 Their first born son died, and they were terribly dis- 
 tressed because they knew God had punished them for 
 their sin. David was deeply repentant, and created 
 songs of sadness in the Psalms, the most beautiful 
 
 215 
 
songs ever written. Their second son was Solomon, 
 who later became king. 
 
 How eager we were to learn about the wisdom of 
 the Jewish King Solomon — especially his wise de- 
 cision in a quarrel between two women over a baby! 
 Each of the women claimed to be the real mother of 
 the child. When the wise king ordered the baby to 
 be cut in half, one of the women screamed loudly, 
 "Stop, don't cut my baby! Give it to her. Let her 
 have it. Let the baby live!" King Solomon said, 
 "The screaming woman is the real mother; the baby 
 belongs to her!" Grandma Gitl and Mother Rachel 
 shed tears over such a clever decision. But they could 
 not understand why a wise man like King Solomon 
 had to marry a thousand wives before he found out 
 that it is hard to find a good one. Weren't the first 
 few examples enough for him to find out? Our single 
 women were puzzled about that. 
 
 The same flame of the kerosene lamp lit up the faces 
 above the fleecy white piles of goose feathers, and the 
 smiles of three beloved women of my family still 
 linger in my memory. I still hear them singing love 
 songs of long ago, until the flame becomes dimmer, 
 smaller, and finally dies completely. Those women 
 were the real earthly and heavenly madonnas, who 
 taught us decency, purity, and culture, warned us of 
 the temptations of youth, and not to sneer at principles. 
 They enriched our lives with the value of music, litera- 
 ture, and art, and taught us to seek the company of 
 cultured people. 
 
 216 
 
THE URGE TO WRITE 
 
 Two brothers of mine possessed an urge for writ- 
 ing. Brother Meyer, a retired businessman, read a lot 
 and he tried to write. Several short stories of his were 
 published in the Jewish Daily Forward of New York 
 City. One of his short stories received a prize. 
 
 My younger brother, Moshe, in Lida, wrote for the 
 local newspaper before Hitler came into power. 
 
 During the struggles of my long life, reading was 
 a necessity to me, and the urge to write also came to 
 me. My first published article was about the unholy 
 Stalin-Hitler pact, and during the bloody years of war, 
 when the black magic artist spread evil and destruction 
 over Europe, a poem and articles of mine were pub- 
 lished in several Jewish papers. 
 
 217 
 
A MOTHER'S MESSAGE 
 
 My dream boy came to me in Springtime, 
 When floating clouds through rainbows spray; 
 Together with him came faith and sunshine, 
 Fulfilled my songs with love and prayer. 
 
 Again my soul fluttered with gladness, 
 
 Tender and peaceful breezes waved the air. 
 
 It's different now — a time of bloodshed, madness; 
 
 We're compelled to slaughter in despair. 
 
 Today — souls are trembling in fear and sorrow, 
 Chained, bleeding masses, innocent as you and me. 
 No sacrifice too great to achieve a better tomorrow, 
 To restore safety and freedom on land and sea. 
 
 218 
 
ISRAEL AND SATAN 
 
 Again the Holy Land in flames, besieged by Satan's 
 
 kingdom, 
 Where evils are spreading death and fear. 
 But God has gifted Israel ; 
 
 prophets' commandments and wisdom 
 Perhaps will achieve and formulate thoughts to clear. 
 The evil shall vanish in bloodstreams that flows 
 And Prophets' predictions — swords shall melt into 
 
 plows ! 
 Always Israel's in battle to restore civilization anew. 
 Only the purest of mankind protect the land and life 
 
 of the Jew. 
 
 219 
 
THE REQUEST OF A JEWESS 
 
 When I am lonely, depressed, and speechless, 
 Eagerly awaiting my journey's end, 
 Although our world is tragic, cruel, and heartless, 
 I still have you, my son and friend. 
 
 My gift for you is eternal, throughout the ages treas- 
 ured; 
 
 It contains most precious gems for you; 
 
 Our Prophets' teachings, pure-scaled and measured, 
 
 You are trustworthy — cherish them as a conscientious 
 Jew. 
 
 USELESS 
 
 Food is useless to those who lack a stomach, 
 Loveless hearts still when others break. 
 Minds are useless if false and thoughtless thinking; 
 Souls unconscientious are deep in dreggels sinking. 
 A seeing eye is blind for one who sheds no tear ; 
 Wicked, such strong and mighty — cowardly in fear. 
 
 220 
 
TRANSPLANTED 
 
 The seasons of my life passed, and the end of my 
 years may not be far off. My journey was hard, un- 
 certain, and long, but I always looked toward the far- 
 distant horizon. Now, being an old woman, my mind 
 wanders back to the past of long ago. When youth is 
 blazing bright, we are full of illusions. We dream of 
 faraway lands which are fascinating. We hustle to 
 provide for the present and the future. We follow our 
 natural instincts to love. We thrill to be mated and 
 build a human nest. How deeply satisfying it is for a 
 woman to give birth to little ones, our own flesh and 
 blood, to rock the cradle ! By and by we learn that life 
 is full of hardships, struggles, and dangers, the uncer- 
 tainties of the tomorrow, and war; but when you are 
 young, your body and spirit are buoyant and you feel 
 able to leap the hurdles in your way. To me, the birth 
 of a child was so sweet and divine an event that I was 
 able to push aside the heavy bundle of sickness and 
 insecurity and to carry on with courage. 
 
 Now that I am old, I feel relieved. I think only of 
 the past and of today; the doubt of tomorrow is off my 
 shoulders, and I feel at ease. It is no tragedy to become 
 old. I am glad my goal is reached, and I am prepared to 
 meet whatever will come. I merely wish to be strong 
 enough to face it. My job is done. What is the balance 
 of my achievements? 
 
 Forty years have passed since I came to Chicago 
 from New York on a rainy Passover night, standing 
 alone in the railway station with my precious six-week- 
 old baby, William, in my arms. 
 
 William is now a handsome, middle-aged man, hon- 
 
 221 
 
est and reliable, with a master of science degree. He is 
 the manager of a plant and a successful man. His 
 charming wife, Sadie, is a schoolteacher, a fine woman, 
 good to everybody, and all like her. They have their 
 own house, with car and garage, and their yard is full 
 of flowers, blooming bushes, and trees. Their rooms 
 are handsomely furnished; there is nourishment for 
 body and soul in their house. Their only daughter, 
 Judy, is beautiful, well-mannered, with an excellent 
 record in school. She was valedictorian at her grammar 
 school graduation. 
 
 Our only daughter, Esther, and her husband, Wally, 
 are fine and friendly people. They are working and en- 
 joying the blessings of our country. They have a sweet 
 baby girl named Deborah Jo. 
 
 Our son Fred is a talented boy who studied com- 
 mercial art and the piano, served our country during 
 World War II, and is making his way in the world. 
 
 When I came back from my trip to my home with its 
 green plants, to my husband, sons, daughter, and 
 granddaughter, they all received me with love. How 
 happy I was to be back in my home town, Chicago! 
 
 Sam is getting old, but he still works and is busy 
 with his painting. Our walls are covered with pictures 
 created by him. Some of their reproductions hang in 
 public libraries and many institutions. We will always 
 remember the thrill when his work was accepted by 
 juries for prominent exhibitions. How greatly our life 
 has been enriched by art! We enjoy having the por- 
 traits of our many friends who posed for Sam; some 
 have left this tragic world, but on canvas they are still 
 with us. 
 
 How I love our beautiful Chicago, the blue waters 
 of Lake Michigan, and our many fine parks! Chicago 
 has museums and public libraries, and monuments to 
 great people. It has Buckingham Fountain and the 
 band shell in Grant Park near the lake, where the 
 
 222 
 
finest of concerts are presented in the summertime. 
 What treasures are housed in the Chicago Art Institute, 
 the Museum of Natural History, the Museum of Sci- 
 ence and Industry, and the Planetarium and the zoos! 
 There are also many great medical centers and uni- 
 versities. 
 
 Everyone in the United States can travel all over 
 the country without being asked for a passport. We 
 are not afraid of the police. No one will knock at our 
 door in the middle of the night and take us away to 
 disappear forever. 
 
 Election Day is like a holiday. Our whole family 
 votes, and we go to the polls knowing and choosing 
 our representatives. When we become dissatisfied 
 with our officials, we change them at the following 
 election. We can say what we want, and tell our rep- 
 resentatives what we need. Every individual is entitled 
 to justice. Our constitution is a holy document, written 
 by some of the wisest men who ever lived. 
 
 On the Fourth of July, Independence Day, people 
 of all races and colors go picnicking in the parks with 
 their families. It is a peaceful sort of celebration. 
 
 How we love Thanksgiving, the traditional holiday 
 when families and friends enjoy the turkey dinner and 
 remember the trials of the pilgrims. 
 
 On Memorial Day we visit the graves of our beloved 
 dead. They are gone, but not forgotten, and we place 
 flowers on their graves. But we will never know the 
 graves of our dear ones in Europe, who were killed by 
 black-hearted scoundrels. Our family there has van- 
 ished, but here we are able to live and prosper. 
 
 There is no place in all the world where the people 
 celebrate Christmas and New Year as they do here, 
 with gifts for everyone. Americans are lavish and gen- 
 erous in their giving. 
 
 We have strong labor unions, and union representa- 
 tives in Washington. All of us are paying taxes to 
 
 223 
 
preserve our liberties and to safeguard our homeland 
 from brutal dictators. 
 
 Throughout all the seasons of the year, I love Chi- 
 cago, even the smoke belching from the chimneys of 
 its factories, and the noise of its trains; its bridges, 
 skyscrapers; the wind, rain, and snow; but above all, 
 I love our freedom. 
 
 We, the Jews of the United States and all over the 
 world, will always remember that the United States, 
 headed by President Harry S. Truman, was the first 
 country to recognize the new Jewish state of Israel, 
 and to sponsor its admittance to the United Nations. 
 Joseph Stalin also agreed to give Israel recognition. 
 Deep is my love for our country, America. I shall 
 never understand how anybody can live here without 
 cherishing it. It must be a lack of common sense, or a 
 lack of education. When Dr. Chaim Weizmann, the 
 well-known scientist and president of Israel, and his 
 wife, Dr. Vera, were guests at the White House, and 
 the blue and white flag with the Star of David was 
 waving in Washington, our hearts were overflowing 
 with gratitude for all the things the United States had 
 done for us. We felt a joy almost as if the Messiah had 
 arrived. A few short years later, it seems Stalin and 
 his gang were disappointed because the small state of 
 Israel was a democracy, and the Jewish people know 
 well the evils of a dictatorship. Where there is no 
 freedom, there is persecution and darkness surrounded 
 by an iron curtain and slavery. So the Russians' in- 
 trigues are like the Nazis', or fascists', and the world 
 is tangled in war to defend democracy and freedom 
 against the horrible dictators whose plans are destruc- 
 tion of free countries. Little Israel struggles now with 
 such strong enemies, together with great democratic 
 countries such as the United States. 
 
 I am working in a shop with a silent but noisy part- 
 ner, my sewing machine ; and the working people, the 
 
 224 
 
foreman, the bosses are my friends, whom I love. The 
 noise of the machine does not stop me from singing 
 and thinking. 
 
 When I reach the last stop of my journey, I hope to 
 be strong in spite of bodily weakness; strong enough 
 not to be frightened, but to welcome and trust the 
 mysterious visitor, the prompt and experienced mes- 
 senger from Father Time, who, under his wings, will 
 carry away the little body of Yecheved, the fifth child 
 of Israel Joseph and Rachel from Lida and Luptz, and 
 who will place her tenderly in the care of our eternally 
 faithful, good, and gentle Mother Earth, to rest in 
 peaceful slumber. Even then my soul will sing forever- 
 more "Hatikvah," the song of hope, to Israel, and to 
 my deeply beloved adopted country, "the land of the 
 free and the home of the brave," a song of gratitude. 
 
 225 
 
PEARL-FISHING 
 
 I became jobless at the age of sixty-eight, not 
 because my speed slowed down, my work was no 
 loi ger satisfactory, or my employers disliked me. Our 
 shv>p was packed with beautiful merchandise, but even 
 ou/ experienced salesmen could not sell it. 
 
 I began to work at my job when my two bosses, 
 partners, opened their factory and I happened to be 
 their first worker. 
 
 Both of my bosses, the foreman, and the working 
 people have been my friends for many years. I en- 
 joyed working there; I considered the shop as my 
 second home. 
 
 I cherished my silent, noisy partner, my machine, 
 which I could take apart to clean and oil every morning. 
 
 I was happy and proud of my honest check every 
 week, and with the bonus and party at Christmas. I 
 knew that sometime a change would come ; I was ready 
 to face it, but when it happened I could not take it. 
 
 All of a sudden our rent and telephone bills were 
 raised; instead of a nickel a call to pay, a silver dime. 
 The streetcars and busses raised their fare. Dentistry, 
 medical care, food, and clothing went way up in their 
 cost. The working people demanded more pay to be 
 able to reach the high prices. 
 
 Even with their higher wages, their buying power 
 stopped. The storekeepers' stocks remained on the 
 shelves, and the store owners stopped buying goods 
 from the factories. Naturally, workers were laid off, 
 first the old folks, and I among them. 
 
 I was the same woman as before, yet not the same. 
 Everything about my routine changed. Something 
 whispered in me, "Never again will you rush with your 
 lunch to the bus early in the morning. Take it easy; 
 sleep late; it's time for you to rest." 
 
 226 
 
My knees wobbled when I came for my last check. 
 Politely, one of my employers told me to take a vaca- 
 tion, which I deserved, he said. His eyes were sad. 
 My bosses remembered the many thousands of pieces 
 of leather merchandise they had sold from the samples 
 that I had made. 
 
 He nodded his head and said, "A recession, you 
 know." My boss tried to make it easier for me, and he 
 promised to call me as soon as any orders for goods 
 would come in. How well I remembered previous re- 
 cessions and depressions ! 
 
 Long days, weeks, and months passed as I waited 
 patiently for a hopeful, precious phone call, but none 
 came yet. I got tired of reading, was bored with listen- 
 ing to the vulgar, silly love songs on the radio. I was 
 disgusted with the political graft scandals, and the 
 meaningless phrases of the diplomats at the confer- 
 ences about achieving a simple peace for our sick and 
 tired world. 
 
 At an old age, to lose a job gives a person a feeling 
 of being unwelcome and useless to everybody, includ- 
 ing oneself. Retreat, pessimism, escorted by funeral 
 marches, is the goal. 
 
 What next? Only empty dreams of long ago. Dur- 
 ing sleepless daydreaming, I was in the depths of the 
 ocean away on the bottom, swimming through won- 
 derful plants, leaves, and natural gadgets of marvelous 
 designs that I was meeting for the first time during my 
 long life. 
 
 I saw that I was one of the pearl-fishers, searching 
 for artistic substances ; just like millions of stars in the 
 endless universe, there were so many varieties of fish 
 in the depths of the ocean. I imagined that the big, 
 monstrous fish were luring, chasing, and swallowing 
 the small ones, just like the people on the surface of 
 the earth. 
 
 Fish are also smart and logical. They understand 
 
 227 
 
their struggle for existence. They are free creatures 
 without bills or recessions. Why should they know 
 about depressions? Lucky fish. 
 
 My mind cleared immediately — just the job for me, 
 to work, to become a pearl-fisher, at the age of sixty- 
 eight. Just the right age. 
 
 When I told my friends about my new job, I found 
 they laughed at me. Perhaps they thought my mind 
 was feeble, but I knew my thoughts had never before 
 been more sane. 
 
 My impulse chased me out of my house on a cold 
 winter morning, the sidewalks and roof-tops covered 
 with glittering snow. Sunlight and shadows beautified 
 the streets, and I entered the nearest school for children. 
 
 "What do you wish, little lady?" asked the principal 
 of the school. 
 
 "Dear sir," I replied, "will you please advise me 
 where I can find the right place for pearl-fishing?" 
 
 To my surprise, he understood perfectly what I 
 meant. Smilingly, he called in a few teachers to his 
 chamber. They all decided the Wells Evening High 
 School was the best place for me to learn pearl-fishing. 
 
 I came to that beautiful structure. Its big windows 
 were lit, day and evening, and its wide doors were 
 open for all people, big and small, young and old, of 
 all nations, colors, and creeds. 
 
 They all looked happy and friendly there. Many of 
 them came from ignorant, suppressed countries, lands 
 of superstition, from ghettos of stone walls and fences, 
 and from behind modern iron curtains. I was refreshed 
 immediately. My heartstrings grew stronger, and what 
 a miracle happened ! I forgot completely about retreat- 
 ing pessimism and funeral marches. Youth surrounded 
 me again. 
 
 Surely, I understood that precious treasures in full 
 measures could be found here. 
 
 It seemed to me that I entered a holy temple, with 
 
 228 
 
the wide corridors, with the reddish glossy brick walls, 
 dignified with oil paintings created also by pearl- 
 fishers. My feet walked on solid holy ground. The 
 school building was permeated with the knowledge 
 and wisdom of real people. 
 
 Those pearl-fishers had made this colossal achieve- 
 ment possible for many generations to come. A fan- 
 tastic and real palace, it seemed to be, and not costly at 
 all, allowing one to search for the genuine gems of the 
 most precious, transparent jewels of eternity. 
 
 There were to be found pearls of the graves of 
 Egypt, and from everywhere ; of our entire world, and 
 from the endless universe; from the millions of stars, 
 rainbows, clouds, and storms; among the secrets of 
 nature, of the beasts and insects of the jungle, of the 
 colorful flowers and forests; in the melodies of the 
 birds, reflections in the rivers and lakes, and among 
 the waves and the ships of the ocean. 
 
 There were and are pearl-fishers among the dead 
 and wounded in the foxholes, on the battlefields, at the 
 hospitals and the graveyards, in the elegies of the mu- 
 sical pearl-fishers, among the first cries of newborn 
 infants, in the heavenly divine young mothers who 
 brought the most precious pearls into such a tragic 
 world. 
 
 A young boy took my wrinkled, aged hand. He led 
 me and showed me glittering jewels. 
 
 I find pearls in the slums, among prostitutes and 
 drunkards, among widows and orphans. In the midst 
 of human slaughter, you will find pearl-fishing every- 
 where you go — at the public library, at the museums 
 of art, science, and industry, in the seasons of the year. 
 
 There are wonderful, exotic pearls in the good, old 
 Bible, which signify our holy days. They are created 
 also in bodies, souls, and in spirit. 
 
 Gracious pearls abound in befriending strangers, in 
 feeding the hungry, clothing the naked (I don't mean 
 
 229 
 
those of the movies), in curing the sick, helpless, and 
 jobless. 
 
 Seeing eyes are blinded through selfishness, narrow- 
 mindedness, laziness, or mental deficiency. To such, 
 pearl-fishing is meaningless, zero. For me, it strength- 
 ened me physically and spiritually. 
 
 My sleepless dream became a reality. Even the few 
 pearls I'll find will be the greatest, most valuable trea- 
 sure for me. 
 
 My present job keeps me busy. That is sufficient, 
 as I seek my own pearl-fishing, an achievement at my 
 age of sixty-eight — young in spirit. 
 
 230 
 
OUR WILL 
 
 My beloved husband, Sam, and I will equally divide 
 our humble gifts to all our children, grandchildren, 
 nieces, and nephews, and to all our friends who love 
 such works of art. We will be glad that people at 
 large will enjoy the dreams of our hearts and souls, 
 our paintings, which were created in our humble home, 
 and which we enjoyed seeing displayed at exhibitions 
 in many art centers, homes, and cities, and reproduced 
 in newspapers and magazines. 
 
 We did not lock them into safety vaults, nor did 
 we hire lawyers to protect them. 
 
 Our gifts have been viewed by many people during 
 our life, and will continue to be seen after our death. 
 They will be valued by cultured people. We hope to 
 be remembered with love and appreciation. Our 
 paintings will always speak for themselves, a language 
 of tones, color, and form; arrangements of still life, 
 portraits, animals, and landscapes. Our long and hard 
 journey was not in vain. 
 
 — Sam and Yecheved 
 
 23 
 
PAINTINGS 
 
 By 
 
 SAMUEL BYER 
 
Samuel Byer, a graduate of the Art Institute in 1911. 
 
 Dear 
 
 Mr. Byer: 
 
 
 
 1 am enclosing herewith a statement regarding 
 
 your 
 
 work, which 1 hope will be of 
 
 use to you in 
 
 connection with your wife's book. 
 
 
 
 Sincerely yours, 
 
 
 
 PATRICK T. MALONE 
 
 
 
 Assistant Curator of Painting 
 
 and Sculpture 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 Mr. Sam Byer was born in Warsaw, Poland, in 1 886. 
 He came to Chicago when he was twenty years old, 
 and studied at Hull House Art School under Enella 
 Benedict for many years. Mr. Byer was also a student 
 at the Chicago Art Institute and the Chicago Academy 
 of Fine Arts. In 1 930, he was awarded the Worcester 
 prize in an exhibit with a group of the Chicago Etching 
 Society. His paintings have been represented in many 
 exhibits, including the Chicago shows at the Chicago 
 Art Institute. Many of his works are Hebraic in theme, 
 attributed to his early childhood education in Hebrew 
 school. Such titles as "The End of the Sabbath,*' **A 
 Lesson in Talmud,*' and "Capores," bring to mind 
 those cherished stories of Biblical days. His portrait of 
 "La Jeuf" (The Jewess) was posed by the operatic 
 star, Rosa Raisa. 
 
 Although Mr. Byer has painted in several media, he 
 seems to derive more satisfaction from oil painting. 
 His greatest achievements have been in his portraits 
 and illustrated Biblical stories. 
 
 Perhaps the most outstanding characteristics of his 
 work are his ability in the handling of color, and his 
 feeling for line and form. One cannot help find sin- 
 cerity and emotional appeal in his paintings. 
 
 Michael Gamboney, Head 
 Hull House Art School 
 
J 
 
 
 

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TABLE OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 Oil Paintings by Samuel Byer 
 
 Etta Byer 1 
 
 Self-Portrait 2 
 
 The Yellow Badge 3 
 
 The End of Sabbath 4 
 
 Friday Morning 5 
 
 Capores 6 
 
 A Nude 7 
 
 Ben Reitman 8 
 
 Mr. Liph 9 
 
 Mr. Ther 10 
 
 (a) Broom Peddler 11 
 
 (b) Broom Peddler 12 
 
 A Cobbler 13 
 
 The Jewess 14 
 
 Chanukah 15 
 
 Lucy Parson 16 
 
 His First Step 17 
 
 Goats 1 8 
 
 Fish 19 
 
 Old House 20 
 
 Admiral Byrd's Dogs 21 
 
 Friday Eve 22 
 
 Sweeten 23 
 
 A Letter to Mother 24 
 
 A Lesson in Talmud 25 
 
ETTA BYER - 1 
 
SELF-PORTRAIT - 2 
 

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 THE YELLOW BADGE - 3 
 
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 THE END OF SABBATH - 4 
 
FRIDAY MORNING - 5 
 

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 CAPORES - 6 
 

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 A NUDE - 7 
 
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 BEN REITMAN - 8 
 
MR. LIPH - 9 
 
MR. THER- 10 
 
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 mm. 
 
 (a) 3ROOM PEDDLER - 1 1 
 

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 (b) BROOM PEDDLER - 12 
 
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 A COBBLER - 13 
 
THE JEWESS - 14 
 
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 CHANUKAH - 15 
 
LUCY PARSON - 16 
 
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 FISH - 19 
 
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 FRIDAY EVE - 22 
 
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 SWEETEN - 23 
 
A LETTER TO MOTHER - 24 
 
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 A LESSON IN TALMUD - 25