A Cobbler's Tale

by Neil Perry Gordon

  The synagogue was the spiritual center of the town, and its leader was Rabbi Shapira. Pincus, like all Jewish boys in the shtetl, had started his Torah studies at the age of three. Although Pincus had shown promise by being able to memorize passages from the Torah, the rabbi knew—because of who his father was—that he was destined for the cobbler’s shop. This exemption from advanced studies had made Pincus unpopular with the other boys. His friend Mendel, a promising scholar, sometimes needed to defend him from occasional bullying.

  Pincus had never sought out the rabbi’s advice before, but now, he thought, it couldn’t hurt to ask, as he walked through the large double wooden doors and into the dark and empty synagogue. The rabbi was busy on the bimah, preparing for the evening services. He looked up in surprise and said, “Pincus, I am pleased to see you, but services don’t start for another hour.”

  “Oh, I know that, Rabbi. I was hoping to speak with you privately for a few minutes,” Pincus began feebly.

  “Sure, of course. Let’s sit in my office,” the rabbi said. What’s troubling you?”

  “Well, it’s not troubles, really. I need your advice on something.”

  The rabbi leaned in and stroked his beard. Pincus had always liked the way the rabbi ran his fingers down his long gray beard. He had seen him do it in the same way for as long as he could remember.

  “I have decided to emigrate to America!” he blurted out. “I’m leaving Clara and the children behind while I go ahead to get established. I’ll come back for them in a year and bring them to join me in the New World.” He looked at the older man whose dark-brown eyes were widely spaced on his long, thin, and gentle face.

  The rabbi looked at Pincus carefully and said nothing for a few moments as he let the announcement sink in. Impatiently Pincus said, “So, what do you think?”

  With the biggest smile he could muster, the rabbi said, “I think that’s wonderful news.”

  “You do?” said the startled Pincus.

  “This is a good decision, and I approve. Things are not good for Jews in this part of the world and will only be getting much worse. The sooner you can get established and return for your family, the better and safer you all will be.”

  “I had no idea you would be so supportive, Rabbi,” Pincus said. “I still need to tell Clara and the children, but I’m planning on doing that tonight.”

  “Don’t worry. You can assure Clara that we’ll support her while you are away.” “Really? This is helpful,” Pincus replied with relief in his voice.

  The rabbi stood up from his desk and walked over to the large window that looked down the street to the market square. “You will be on a sacred journey. Not just for the benefit of your family, but for the other Jewish families from Krzywcza who want to emigrate to America. What I would like you to do when you arrive in America is to get yourself established. You know, with a place to live and with your cobbler business. Then I want you to start a Landsman Society.”

  “A Landsman Society, what’s that?”

  “Its purpose will be to establish a support system for those emigrating to America from Krzywcza. This is very important for our people who want to move from a place where their families have lived for generations to the New World where they know nothing and nobody. There are many Landsman Societies already established. They help families get jobs, find places to live, raise funds in an emergency, locate relatives, and organize committees to call on and help the sick and to properly bury the dead,” the rabbi said.

  “I have many things I must do first before I can start such a society,” Pincus reminded the rabbi.

  “Of course. I know that. Take your time, get settled, and then start the Landsman Society of Krzywcza. The people of Krzywcza will be eternally grateful, and you will become a very important and respected man.”

  “Thank you, Rabbi, please let me think about it. First I must talk to Clara and the children,” said Pincus with renewed enthusiasm.

  CHAPTER 4

  THE NEWS

  The sun had set by the time Pincus found himself standing in front of the dilapidated wooden home where he had lived and slept every day of his thirty-five years. The lanterns were lit, casting uneven light across the entry vestibule.

  As he entered he heard a cheerful “Papa,” and saw his eldest son, Moshe, emerging from the shadows at a run.

  “Moshe, my boy,” Pincus said, as he lifted up the happy-go-lucky nine-year-old and kissed him on the cheek. Pincus saw that his unusual show of affection startled Moshe. But Moshe loved it and returned it with a smile and a hug around his neck that touched his father’s heart.

  Moshe returned to playing with the family cat, Manu, after his father lowered him back down to the uneven wooden floor.

  “Jennie, Hymie, come to Papa,” Pincus called out.

  Jennie, the eldest girl, eleven years old and years beyond that in maturity, was clearly suspicious of her father’s uncharacteristic behavior. She squinted at him as she approached, but Pincus ignored her expression and smothered her with kisses. Hymie was simply caught up in the celebration and smiled, as any naïve two-year-old would.

  Clara was not a suspicious woman by nature, but her husband’s overly demonstrative display of affection clearly puzzled her. She stood there observing him with her hands on her hips. A baby bump rounded out her flour-dusted cotton apron.

  “Pincus, what’s going on?” she said, trying hard to hold back a smile. But her big brown eyes couldn’t fool anyone. Pincus knew she was happy to see him like this.

  “Children, go to your room. Your mother and I need to talk,” said Pincus.

  The children’s complaints rose in a crescendo that blended in with the smells and textures of Clara’s baking, a familiar sensory experience that Pincus noticed and thought he would never forget.

  Once Jennie, Moshe, and Hymie were tucked away in their bedrooms, Pincus pulled a chair out for Clara and sat down across from her, their knees just a few inches apart. He leaned over, clasped her flour-coated hands, and looked into her eyes.

  “What is it, Pincus?” Clara asked nervously.

  “Clara, I have just come from the shul where I had a very good conversation with the rabbi. He wants me to go to America and start a Landsman Society, so we and other families can settle there.”

  “He wants you to go to America and start what?” she asked.

  “A Landsman Society. It’s an organization that assists Jews settling in America. It offers help in finding a place to live and work as well as money for medical treatments and burials. It’s a support group, and the rabbi wants me to be its founder,” he said as he squeezed Clara’s hands.

  In one swift motion she stood up, yanked her hands from his grip, and knocked her chair over.

  “What are you saying, Pincus?” she asked, shaking her head as if something needed to be dislodged from her ears.

  “Sit back down, Clara, and listen,” he calmly implored, righting her chair. “I am buying a ticket, and I am going to America.”

  “Without us?” Clara asked, stunned, as she slowly sank back down onto her chair.

  Pincus studied her face and leaned over again, trying to be convincing. “Clara, you can’t travel now in your condition,” he said, placing his hand over her belly. “You and the children will stay here while I get established. The rabbi said that the shul would take care of you and the children.”

  “Is that so, Pincus?” Clara said with such thick sarcasm that she surprised him. “You really think the men in that synagogue—who, as you say, show you no honor—will take care of us while you’re gone? For how long, Pincus, how long will you be gone before we see you again?” Her questions came fast now.

  “Probably no more than a year at the most,” Pincus said, trying to avert a crisis. “The rabbi said this was a good idea. He warned that it wouldn’t be safe for Jews here very soon. It’s for the future of our family.”

  “And when do you plan on leaving?”

  “As soon as I can. The ticket
agent will be making his rounds again. Then I will buy my ticket and set sail for America.”

  “So I will have this baby without you?” she said, placing her palms on the underside of her belly as if to emphasize that the event was only a few months away.

  He nodded and quickly said, “Your mother will help with the baby, Clara.”

  She offered Pincus a grimace of disgust, rose quickly to go, and slammed the bedroom door behind her, leaving him alone in the kitchen to ponder what he had just done.

  The ticket agent leaned over the counter in Pincus’s cobbler shop as he transcribed the travel details. “Okay, let’s see what we have so far,” he said, reading from a ledger on the counter between the two men.

  Pincus had run into the ticket agent a few days after sharing the difficult news with Clara, and they had made arrangements to meet at his shop early in the morning before he opened for business.

  The ticket agent was well dressed. His black hair looked as if it were pasted to his skull with some substance that gave it an unnatural shimmer. Pincus also noticed and approved of the man’s pristine, black leather shoes.

  “Now, Mr. Potasznik, let’s discuss your accommodations. First class provides the ultimate luxury with a beautiful stateroom for twelve hundred fifty krones. But if that’s not in your price range, you may consider second class for two hundred fifty krones. You would have nice quarters that you share with another single man. Then there is third class for a special price of only one hundred twenty-five krones, but for the most basic accommodations.”

  Pincus had put aside a thousand krones for his journey, but third class didn’t sound so bad, and he could save the money. “I’ll buy a third-class ticket,” he said with a smirk of self-gratification.

  “One last thing,” the agent added as he finished recording the details in his ledger and handed Pincus the boarding ticket and receipt. “When you get to immigration at Ellis Island, you will need to answer some questions. Some are easy, like what is your name or what country are you from? But some you need to learn, things such as what is celebrated on the Fourth of July or what is the name of the American president who freed the slaves? You should study. Take this pamphlet. It has answers to most of the questions you may be asked.”

  Pincus took the pamphlet, receipt, and boarding ticket, and realized he was really going to America. Next would come the hard part: saying goodbye to Clara and his children.

  That night, as Clara waited for him in bed, he busied himself preparing his valise for the journey. He packed and unpacked, intentionally avoiding conversation with Clara. Once she fell asleep, he lay down gently, being careful not to wake her.

  When morning came, Pincus was awake and ready before Clara, Sadie, or the children arose. Moshe woke up first and approached his father, pointing to the valise.

  “Are you going somewhere, Papa?” he asked.

  “Yes, Moshe, I’m going to America,” Pincus said.

  “Can I go too?”

  “Not yet,” Pincus said, kneeling down to look closely at his son.

  Moshe frowned, and tears started to well up in his brilliant blue eyes. “When will you come back?”

  “Very soon, Moshe, very soon.”

  Their voices woke Clara, Jennie, and Hymie. Sadie was probably awake too, but she didn’t stir, and Pincus thought she would prefer to avoid the farewells.

  Clara hugged Pincus tightly, her pregnant belly squeezed against him. She whispered into his ear. “Do not forget us, Pincus.”

  “I won’t, I promise,” he said.

  They all gathered on the front porch and watched Pincus walk toward the train station. He looked back one last time and waved, just before turning the corner. Clara had one arm wrapped around Moshe’s shoulder and the other cradling her belly. Pincus took a deep breath and took a step into his new life, leaving the old one behind.

  CHAPTER 5

  THE VOYAGE

  Sunny skies and calm seas greeted Pincus the next morning as he found himself lying on the open deck. Still woozy from the previous evening’s orientation to sea travel, he realized he was not wearing his eyeglasses and could not focus on his surroundings. He patted the multiple pockets on his coat and found them tucked safely in a deep pocket on his right side.

  Sliding his glasses back in place, he was annoyed at a layer of dirt on his lenses. He reached into the pocket where he kept his cloth and cleaned each lens. After replacing them on the bridge of his nose, he realized his spectacles were not at fault. The entire deck and its passengers, most of whom were still asleep in a tangle of curled-up forms, were covered in the thin coating of black soot that was gently falling from the sky.

  Pincus followed the course of the black snowflakes to the ominous triple funnels towering above him. He then realized that the steerage passengers had been assigned to the portion of the deck downwind from the funnels, which meant that the ash would rain down upon them continuously.

  With a thin black blanket of soot covering his clothes, he struggled to his feet and noticed Jakob still asleep beside him. Looking more closely, he experienced a strange and baffling illusion. He could see no differentiation between the outline of Jakob’s curled body and the flooring beneath him. It was if his body had fused into the metal deck of the ship.

  Jakob shattered the illusion when he stirred from his slumber. He sat up and regarded Pincus with a smile. “Good morning, Pincus, how are you feeling today, and why do you look like a chimney sweep?”

  On the afternoon of the second day at sea, the ship passed through the English Channel and out into the vastness of the Atlantic Ocean. Pincus and Jakob spent as much time as they could top-side breathing in the crisp sea air. Although it intermingled with the falling black ash, it was far better than the stench and stifling conditions of steerage, and the seas had calmed down considerably.

  Some days when the winds blew favorably, the steerage deck was ash-free, which meant that nearly everyone in steerage gathered for the refreshing relief. Pincus was amused by Jakob’s ability to connect with strangers and marveled at how easy it was for him to casually approach people already in conversation and seamlessly engage with them.

  From his perch against the railing, Pincus watched Jakob mingle like a farmer harvesting crops, gathering up the latest gossip. Finally, Jakob approached him with a satisfied grin.

  “There’s talk of a famous palmist on board named Dora Meltzer. She is emigrating to America, and the entire ship is talking about her. I hear she has given readings to many esteemed and wealthy people in Germany,” Jakob reported.

  Twisting his neck to look around Jakob and into the crowd, Pincus asked, “Where is she?”

  “She’s in first class, of course,” Jakob said with a bit of exasperation. “But I hear she will give a reading to anyone who can pay,” he added with a smile and a shifting of his bushy eyebrows.

  Pincus recalled something about palmistry from Mendel, who had studied the Zohar, the main text of the Jewish Kabbalah—that the reading of wrinkles on the palm was not considered magic. Actually, it was mentioned several times in the Zohar and was deemed both an art and a science, which at times could be beneficial.

  “I have money for a reading!” he said.

  “So do I. But we will have to bribe an officer to get us into the first-class staterooms,” he said, looking to Pincus for approval and receiving a nod and a raised eyebrow.

  “Leave it to me,” Jakob said and took off into the crowd with Pincus following closely behind him

  The steerage deck was cordoned off with a railing to prevent the third-class passengers from wandering into the restricted sections reserved for the first- and second-class passengers. Pincus watched Jakob give one of the deck officers a smile that startled Pincus with its spontaneous charm. Once he had caught the young officer’s attention, he approached, shook hands, and skillfully slipped him some money without attracting any unwanted attention.

  “We want to see the palmist Dora Meltzer,” Jakob whispered and planted
a coin in the officer’s palm with such deftness that Pincus was stunned.

  “For the both of us,” he continued with a cock of his head toward Pincus.

  The next moment they were escorted out of the steerage corral and led into the first-class common area of the ship.

  Pincus gawked as his world changed from the stink and sweat of steerage to the sweet fragrance and elegant luxury of the first-class lobby. The floor was carpeted with a plushness that made Pincus unsure of his footing as he walked gingerly across it. Large triangular glass windows that circled under a gold-leafed dome sparkled overhead. Suspended from its peak hung a crystal chandelier that projected prisms of rainbow light that washed over the flocked wall covering, reminding him of the soft green leaves of the forest surrounding Krzywcza. Pincus had never seen such beauty.

  Moments later, Pincus and Jakob stood in front of Dora Meltzer’s first-class stateroom as the officer gently knocked upon the door.

  “Enter, please,” a man’s voice reverberated through the carved wood double doors. The officer twisted the fish-shaped brass doorknobs and pushed the doors open.

  “I will escort you back to your quarters after your session,” said the officer, who stood aside as the men walked into the darkened vestibule.

  “Gentlemen, welcome to the mystical world of the renowned palmist, Madame Dora Meltzer,” said a man so tall that his short-cropped hair brushed along the wood-paneled ceiling. The black suit he wore was buttoned snugly down his elongated slender frame.

  “Please take a seat and allow me to introduce myself.”

  The waiting room was another marvel of luxury. The walls were paneled with wainscoting and stained in a walnut finish. Hand-carved wooden moldings wrapped around the ceiling’s edge. Red silk veils were casually draped over lanterns to cast a soft rosy light.