When I was a young child, my mother, Yocheved, would tell me stories of her life as she was growing up in Poland. She kept a closeness with her mother and father and sisters and brothers with long-awaited letters from them, which she read over and over, holding them pressed close to her chest, to absorb their presence and the words of love that were written to her. You see, in those days when you left your home in Poland to go to America, you knew that you would never hear your mother’s voice again because there were no inter-continental telephone cables at that time.
My mother’s life included some heart-wrenching events, but things did change for the better as time went on. I can remember many of the details because I listened intently when she spoke about her life in Poland. After her father, Yitschak, put an end to her arranged marriage, for good reasons, she met Peretz, and after they were seeing each other for a while he professed his love to her. But he had a burning desire to go to America, “where the streets are paved with gold,” and he did just that! He left for America, promising to send for her as soon as he could.
I don’t know how much time passed, but one day she received a letter from him with a ticket enclosed for a passage on a ship, a shiftscarte as it’s called in Yiddish, to America. Well, you can imagine the mixed feelings that went on in the family that day. They wanted her to go, and then again they didn’t want her to go, but as they say, “Life must go on!” so they cried and hugged and kissed, and cried some more, and shortly after that she left for America with a heavy heart.
I don’t know the name of the ship my mother came on, but I do remember the awful trip that she spoke about. She said that she was seasick for the entire time. She told me that she had to take a train to Vienna, and then make connections for another train to a port leading to the Atlantic Ocean where the ship was docked. She said Vienna was beautiful and when she talked about it she burst into song: “Wien Wien nur do ahlain dort vee dee ahlteh heiser sehn.” It’s a song about Vienna and the beautiful old homes there. When she finally arrived in America after that harrowing journey and saw the magnificent Statue of Liberty in New York harbor, she said that she and other passengers wept for joy. However, it wasn’t over yet as she and the others were taken to Ellis Island where they were interrogated.
Their papers had to be in perfect order; their health had to be good. They were examined by doctors, and if anything was wrong they were detained and then sent back on the next ship. Can you imagine the anxiety and the fear she felt until she was given that clean bill of health?
She never married Peretz; you see, Peretz had a younger brother who was killed shortly after he was conscripted into the Polish Army (this was the first World War). Peretz had been asked by his family to send his brother a shiftscarte to come to America first, and then to send for his sweetheart, but he didn’t do that and he felt responsible for his brother’s death. My mother had gotten word about his brother’s death before she had a chance to contact Peretz to tell him that she had arrived in America, and when she did, they arranged to meet on a street corner on the East Side of Manhattan.
My mother looked at him, but he looked down at the ground. I never forgot that scene in my mind, she said that he did not look at her and they hardly spoke, but they both knew that from this terrible tragedy and guilt no happiness could ever come. They said goodbye and she walked away, I’m sure with tears streaming down her face, never to see one another again.
My mother found distant cousins in Brooklyn with the help of the Jewish organization HIAS, and she lived with them for a while. She got a job in the garment center without a problem and I’m sure they were very glad to get a good worker like her. I recall her telling me that all she ate for an entire day was a bowl of soup and a buttered roll. She was saving her money; she had a mission to accomplish. She had to bring her youngest brother Shimon to America.
That joyful day finally did come, but before that she met my father. She and a girlfriend (Molly) who came from the same shtetl in Poland met in New York and were good friends. They were walking on the East Side in Manhattan and they noticed two gentlemen looking at them. My mother and Molly were looking in a store window when my father walked up to my mother and said something to her. She told me that she looked at him and fell in love with “his voice, his manners, and he was so good looking.” From that day on they were together.
My father had a car, and they went to the mountains on trips, and to the beach, and to the movies. I remember one story when they went to the Catskill mountains, five people in the car including Shimon, Molly and her boyfriend, Julius. They stopped at a farm because they were all thirsty, and got fresh milk. It was nice and cold from the icebox, and they drank and drank and then got back into the car and were riding along when suddenly one of them screamed and then another said, “Stop the car!’ My father pulled the car to the side of the road and they all ran out to different parts of the woods to answer “nature’s call.” They laughed about this for years, and so did I.
My mother had a cousin Avrum in Rochester, New York. She wrote to him and he invited my mother and father to come to his home. Avrum was wealthy and in the real estate business, and he was touched by their story and said that he wanted to pay and make arrangements for their wedding, which he did. It was a beautiful wedding, which they always spoke about and never forgot. I have their wedding picture in a special place on the wall near our bedroom entrance: my mother in her bridal gown and my father wearing a tuxedo and a top hat, both with a solemn demeanor.
I recall my mother telling me how my father proposed to her. They were at a movie; she said it was a love story about a couple who somehow became separated and had no way of finding one another, and then they finally did meet again. She said, “It was a miraculous, beautiful ending, which made you kinda think about life.” They walked out of the movie holding hands and my father stopped and looked at my mother and said, “What do ya say we get married?” That’s exactly how it happened.
She spoke to me in Yiddish most of the time, and also some English with a beautiful Polish accent, but it was easier for her to speak in her mother tongue. For me it was great, because I learned another language that has a wonderfully rich culture. I can say so much more about my sweet mother and my loving father, but we’ll save that for another time.
By David S. Weinstein
