Ellis Island: Three Novels

by Joan Lowery Nixon

  Kristin had found her own handkerchief in the pocket of a full, gray skirt that was similar to Rebekah’s brown one, and she blew her nose loudly. “It’s not your fault,” she answered. Rebekah could hear the resentment in Kristin’s voice as she glared at her father and muttered, “It’s his. He’s the one who decided we should go.”

  “If you were in danger …”

  “We were in no danger. We had a farm, our friends, uncles and aunts and cousins … and my grandmother. But a man from our village came back from the United States to visit his family, and from him my father heard about the great opportunities in the New World. All my father could talk about was the vast land to be had in the northern United States, with forests and lakes and acres of farmland to plow.”

  “You don’t have these things in your country?”

  “Of course we do! My mother reminded him of this, and she cried and cried at leaving her sisters and her mother, but my father had made up his mind to emigrate, and so we must go to a place called Minnesota.” She glanced again at her father, then back to Rebekah. “It’s not fair that men make all the decisions,” she whispered.

  Rebekah didn’t know how to answer. “The father is head of the household,” she said, “but my mother has taught me that a good wife learns to gently guide her husband.”

  “My mother is a good wife,” Kristin snapped, “but all she could do was pack her favorite belongings and follow my father.” She leaned close to Rebekah and smiled like a conspirator. “What I have to tell you is true. Do you know that one day soon in the United States women will be able to vote? Already, women in America have some rights. In four Western states women already can vote for all offices—even president.”

  “They can vote? Are you sure?”

  “I’m positive.”

  Rebekah could hardly believe this. Jews in Russia could only vote for local councils. No one voted for the czar; he was the ruler without question.

  Rebekah had never even thought of such possibilities, and she was shocked. “At home the men elected the local council for our shtetl. They knew the men who wanted these government positions and if they were honest or not. They didn’t need the women to vote, too.”

  “Why not?” Kristin asked. “I don’t believe for one minute that women aren’t as intelligent as men.”

  Sofia climbed up to join Rebekah and Kristin. “I don’t like this ship,” she said in Yiddish. “It stinks so bad it makes me sick! What could be worse?”

  A ship’s horn blasted so loudly that Sofia shrieked and clapped her hands over her ears. Then, with a grinding roar that set Rebekah’s teeth on edge, the ship’s motors began to turn, and the ship—vibrating and thumping—chugged away from the dock. Rebekah shouted, “This could be worse!”

  As Sofia buried her head in Rebekah’s lap, Rebekah and Kristin looked solemnly at each other. “We’re on our way,” Rebekah shouted.

  “Yes,” Kristin said softly, and again her eyes glittered with tears.

  Rebekah grabbed Kristin and Sofia’s hands in hers. “Let’s go up on deck!” she cried. “We can watch the ship leave the harbor!”

  The girls scrambled past the others and raced up the steps to the deck’s rail.

  The ship was being pushed by small tugboats away from the dock, and Rebekah watched the crowded, pointed-roofed buildings of Hamburg slowly growing smaller and farther away. She squeezed Sofia’s hand. “There!” she said. “You can see everything, just as you wanted to.”

  Sofia turned, craning her neck to look up to the top decks. “Can I see as much as that lady with the flowers on her hat?” she asked in Yiddish.

  “Of course,” Rebekah answered in English.

  “What did your sister say?” Kristin asked.

  “She asked if she could see as much as a woman on the top deck,” Rebekah answered, and to Sofia she said, “Be polite. Speak English.”

  “English is hard. I want to speak Yiddish,” Sofia complained.

  Rebekah didn’t reply, because she and Kristin had automatically twisted to look upward, too.

  “We could have traveled in second class,” Kristin said, “and my grandmother wanted us to, but my father decided to use as little money as possible for travel so that he could use most of his savings to buy land.”

  She sighed. “I have to keep reminding myself that in the United States we will have choices, not just the men in our families.”

  Choices? Rebekah thought. What kinds of choices was Kristin so concerned about?

  Kristin suddenly smiled. “Let’s play a game. If you had all the choices in the world, what would you choose first? Tell me, then I’ll tell you.”

  “What would I choose first?” The words didn’t come from her conscious mind, but from a deep, burning, hidden place within her heart. “I would choose,” she said slowly, “to study at a great university.” Rebekah was amazed at what she heard herself saying.

  Kristin stared at her. “You really mean it,” she said. “I thought we would say silly things, like, ‘I would choose a dozen handsome, wealthy men as husbands—one at a time.’ But your choice is something you really want.”

  “Yes,” Rebekah said. She felt herself blushing, and she looked down at the tops of her scuffed boots. “But my wish is only a wish, nothing I could ever have. I will work in the home with my mother, and in two or three years my parents will arrange a marriage for me. What chance would I have to go to school?”

  “Every chance. In the United States there is schooling for everyone—girls as well as boys.”

  “You mean little children, don’t you?”

  “I mean everyone of all ages. There are public high schools, and there are universities that accept women.”

  For a moment Rebekah closed her eyes, trying to imagine such a place. Classrooms for both boys and girls? University studies for both men and women? So many times, as she sat studying at home with Mordecai, she had wished for a university education but had never believed it was possible. She opened her eyes and looked directly into Kristin’s. “Are you absolutely sure about this?” she asked.

  “I’m sure.”

  “But in my family … I mean that girls help at home, then marry … Their fathers pick out their husbands and …”

  Kristin crooked the little finger on her right hand, holding it out toward Rebekah. “Hold my finger with yours,” she said, and when Rebekah had done so, Kristin said, “All right. Make a wish.”

  “A wish is nothing but a wish,” Rebekah murmured.

  Kristin’s blue eyes burned with eagerness. “Don’t wait for your wish to come true,” she said. “You can make your wish come true in America.”

  Rebekah crooked her own little finger, hooked it with Kristin’s and gave a tug. “All right, I will,” she said, giggling with excitement. “I’ll make it come true. In the United States Rebekah Levinsky will go to school.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  SOFIA went below, miffed because Rebekah had insisted that she speak English. Rebekah and Kristin remained at the rail, enjoying the slow passage of the ship from the harbor channel to the sea, where it began to rise and fall rhythmically with the ocean swells. To Rebekah, who had never before seen the ocean, its vast expanse was magnificent. The gently rolling waters both excited and calmed her, and soon all other thoughts vanished from her mind.

  The peace ended abruptly as a group of kitchen workers began to trundle out on deck an assortment of serving tables, eating utensils, bowls, and large kettles. Attracted by the mingled odors of steaming beef and vegetables, some of the passengers in the hold hurried up on deck, pushing and elbowing each other to get to the tables.

  Rebekah stood back from the fray, watching as these travelers from all parts of a continent gathered together for a meal. Although they came from many European countries, their clothing was basically the same—dark pants, coats, and hats for the men; heavy-duty dark skirts and blouses, drab jackets, and shawls for the women, with kerchiefs covering their hair. Rebekah noticed how different
each group seemed even as they were lumped together. One group waved their hands as they spoke, those in another seemed quieter, their heads closer together, nodding in emphasis. A group studied its neighbors suspiciously, and a few families reeked of olive oil and onions.

  A ship’s bell clanged, and the deckhands added to the shoving and shouting, as they tried to get the emigrants to form orderly lines.

  The line pushed ahead, but Rebekah saw no sign of the members of her own family until Nessin’s head popped into view. He gave Rebekah a wave and tried to shove forward.

  It was impossible for Rebekah to reach him, so she cupped her hands around her mouth and called in Yiddish, “Where are the others?”

  “Down below,” he called back and gestured with his hand.

  With difficulty Rebekah squeezed past those who were climbing the steep stairway and made her way to her family’s bunks, where Leah sat next to Jacob. Pale and moaning, Jacob lay on his side, his head in his mother’s lap.

  “Jacob is seasick,” Sofia announced. She plopped down on the next bunk, on which her father and grandfather were seated, shoulders slumped so their heads wouldn’t bump the upper bunk.

  Rebekah picked up her brother’s yarmulke, which had fallen to the floor, and laid the little black skullcap back on his head. “How could Jacob be seasick already?” she asked. “The ship has gone only a short distance, and the sea is calm.”

  Jacob groaned loudly and put his hands over his face.

  Rebekah added quickly, “Jacob will feel better on deck. The air is fresh, and the terrible smell down here is enough to make anyone feel worse. Besides”—she tried to sound cheerful—“supper is being served.”

  “Supper.” Elias shook his head. “I took care of every detail to get to this ship but I didn’t think far enough ahead. This food is not kosher. We should have brought a large supply of food with us.”

  Rebekah’s mother rubbed her head as it bumped against the metal edge of the top bunk. “How could we have carried any more baggage? Besides, there would be no place to store all the food we’d need, and no room to prepare it.”

  “But we will be unable to keep kashruth. We are on this ship and therefore we cannot follow the dietary laws.”

  Rebekah had never in her life eaten food that was not kosher, but her little sister was too young to be concerned about the religious rules concerning eating kosher food. Sofia’s lower lip began to curl into a pout. “I’m hungry,” she said.

  “There are times,” Mordecai told Elias, “when survival means more than laws. This is one of those times. Our only choice is to adapt to the situation, and there is no reason why we cannot retain our piety. We will wash, say our prayers, and eat what we must.”

  “Then let us wash and go to supper.” Elias calmly stood and held a hand out to Mordecai, helping him to his feet.

  “I can’t go with you. I’m too sick,” Jacob complained loudly.

  “Are you going to throw up again?” Sofia asked with interest.

  “Hush!” Leah said and tapped one of Sofia’s braids.

  Rebekah interrupted, telling her brother, “You don’t have to eat with us today, but believe me, you will feel so much better in the fresh breeze.”

  “You promise?”

  “I promise.”

  Jacob allowed himself to be helped to his feet and to the men’s washroom. As the family regrouped and began climbing the stairs, Mordecai asked, “Where is Nessin?”

  “On deck,” Rebekah said. She saw no need to get her brother into trouble for not remembering the ritual washing and prayers before meals. Maybe Nessin had remembered. She added, “He’s waiting for us.”

  The bread was fresh and the food satisfied their hunger. They did not ask what they were eating. Even Jacob, who’d been seated on one end of a hatch cover and instructed by Leah to breathe deeply, began regaining color in his face.

  A cool breeze riffled across the deck, and Rebekah pulled off her bandanna and loosened her hair, letting the wind lift it to tickle her cheeks and forehead.

  “What are you thinking of?” Leah immediately asked Rebekah.

  “Grandfather said there are times when laws must be set aside.…”

  “On one hand we are talking about starving, and on the other hand a simple matter of forgetting all sense of propriety,” she answered. “There is no reason here for you to uncover your head in public. Please tie your kerchief without any discussion.”

  Rebekah gave her mother a conciliatory smile and did as she had been told. She hoped the weather would remain this pleasant during their entire trip across the ocean. She planned to spend all of each day and much of each evening on deck, as far away from that ill-smelling hold as she could get.

  After the meal some of the steerage passengers remained on deck, but many of them went below to clean their dishes and settle their belongings in and around their bunks. Rebekah was surprised when she noticed her mother standing alone at the railing, her eyes on the distant countryside.

  As she joined her mother she saw tears running down her cheeks. “What is it, Mama? Are you ill, too?” Rebekah asked.

  Leah shook her head and attempted to wipe away her tears. “There is no purpose in weeping for them,” she said.

  “Weeping for whom?” Rebekah put her arms around her mother.

  “For those I am leaving behind.”

  “You mean Hava and her husband?”

  “No,” Leah said. “I am thinking about my parents and my children who did not live beyond their birth.”

  “But, Mama …” Rebekah couldn’t finish.

  Leah took Rebekah’s hand and placed it against her cheek. “I know,” she said softly. “None of them are living, but once they were. I was able to visit the places where they rest and remember the times when they were smiling and happy and my arms were around them. Now I am leaving them behind forever. Before, Elias came with me to say kaddish over them, but now there will be no one for them.” Leah’s tears were hot against Rebekah’s fingers.

  Rebekah silently wrapped her arms around her mother and let her cry against her shoulder until her mother straightened up and dried her face. “Of course we must be brave,” Leah said as if she hadn’t the right to feel her loss.

  That evening, as Rebekah climbed into her bunk, she wrinkled her nose at the strong smell of garlic that permeated the dank air in the hold. Some of the steerage passengers, fearful of disease in their close quarters, had hung clusters of garlic around theirs and their children’s necks to ward off germs.

  Leah slapped her forehead. “How could I have forgotten to bring garlic?” she asked aloud.

  “Leah,” Elias said, “winter is over. How could we have known about these crowded conditions, the food or the noise? We made a decision and now let’s make the best of this journey.”

  “What good are excuses going to be if my children get sick?” Leah fretted. “Ohhh, what kind of a mother am I?”

  Rebekah said a silent prayer of thanks that her mother had forgotten the garlic and another prayer that her mother was back to her normal, worrying self. At last Rebekah tugged her blanket over her head to shut out the dim lantern light that would burn all night, and she fell asleep.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  FOR the next three and a half days the ship followed a course that took it close to the north coast of Germany, through the English Channel, and around the south coast of England into the Irish Sea. With the exception of a few steerage passengers like Jacob, who remained ill the entire time, the emigrants settled down, adjusting to their miserable surroundings and making acquaintances of their temporary neighbors. Now and again there were angry voices raised in argument as boundaries were overstepped or one person behaved as was customary in his culture, not knowing he was offending someone from another country with different ways.

  Elias and Mordecai talked with Mr. Swensen, but Leah, who never had mastered more than a few words of English, just smiled and shrugged when Mrs. Swensen tried to speak to her.

&nbs
p; Many passengers, including Rebekah and Kristin, remained out-of-doors most of the day, and a few of the men bundled up to sleep on deck at night.

  Each day Rebekah spent time with her grandfather, often walking around the main deck with him, slowing her pace to match his gait. She loved reading in English, reciting the names of cities and states in the United States, which he had been teaching her, and learning new things from him about the country that was their destination.

  “I’m eager to see the Statue of Liberty in New York Bay,” Mordecai confided. “The lady, who holds high a torch, welcomes all those who come to her shores.”

  Rebekah took a deep breath and spoke aloud the dream that had been growing in her mind. “Grandfather, Kristin told me that in the United States girls can go to school.”

  “School?” His eyes opened wide in amazement. “But you are fifteen, Rebekah. Schools are for the children.”

  Her heart beat a little faster. “There are schools for older students, and even universities. Some of them allow woman students. Kristin said so.”

  Mordecai shrugged, then said, “Your friend may be right, but your parents will expect you to help your mother in our new home, Rebekah. There may be schools for young women your age—who knows?—but aside from the pleasure of learning, I do not know what benefit formal schooling would be to you. You are already a young woman. Soon, your parents will arrange a good marriage for you. Your life will then be centered on your duties as a wife and mother.”

  Rebekah startled herself, as well as her grandfather, when she blurted, “There are other things to think about besides being a wife and mother.” She looked directly at Mordecai, who had been husband, father, tradesman, student, and a fine teacher in his life. It had seemed to Rebekah, ever since she had been a small girl, that Mordecai had derived no greater pleasure from anything than from his teaching, which was not a duty but a labor of love. Rebekah felt herself blushing as she told him, “If there are woman students, then there must be woman teachers.”